Christmas and Tear Gas

I went to a Christmas party this morning in Bethlehem. It was the first of many that are scheduled for the week ahead. This one was at Wi'am, a Palestinian conflict-resolution center that focuses on initiating dialogues about peace, and also works to empower women and children in the West Bank so as to improve society there.

This party was held for the staff at Wi'am, all local Palestinian Christians, and also for several international volunteers working through EAPPI (Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine/Israel). We had 15 people gathered around the table from a variety of countries: Palestine, Brazil, South Africa, Singapore, Australia, Finland, the UK, and the US.

We did a white elephant gift exchange (which I learned is something that people from other countries have never heard of before), and played "dirty santa" in which you take turns either opening a gift from the pile, or stealing an already-opened one from someone else. This game was new to almost everyone there, and so led to many laughs and playful squabbles over gifts that ranged from colorful, fuzzy socks, to a can of tuna fish. We shared home baked cookies and pastries, many cups of tea, and basked in the warmth of the portable space heater.

We also went around and recounted a favorite Christmas memory from each of our pasts. People told tales of being home around family, of unique traditions and special moments. We discussed slight differences in how Christmas is celebrated in each of our home countries. I learned that, in Australia, a glass of cold beer is left out for Santa, rather than cold milk. And in Brazil, though Christmas day is usually the hottest day of summer (with temperatures averaging over 100 degrees!), they still decorate with snowflakes and images of frosty landscapes.

At the end, we sang familiar Christmas carols, alternating between english and arabic verses, and I felt such a sense of peace and calm come over me. This year will be my first time ever being away from home, and my family, for Christmas. And as the 25th draws closer, I find myself missing both them, and our traditions, more and more. So to have a morning of good cheer and holiday spirit was refreshing and nice. I didn't want it to end.

But then, there was the sound of a pop on the roof. And the room fell silent.

We'd waited too long, you see. Lost track of time in the midst of the gift-giving and the laughter. Friday afternoon prayers had ended, and the weekly demonstration had already begun.

Wi'am, though an organization that works for peace, is located in one of the least peaceful spots in Bethlehem: right next to a guard tower along the wall. This is a high-tension spot, because it is where teenage boys direct their stone-throwing to (the tower is manned 24/7, so they know someone is always there, watching), and also because there is a metal door here that can be lifted up from the other side so that Israeli soldiers can come through once a situation escalates.

Wi'am is just out of range of this picture, to the left of the guard tower. The metal door is also immediately to the left of the tower. The small black rectangles on the tower serve as observation points, and can also slide open to allow tear gas canisters or rubber bullets to be shot out.

Every Friday after prayers, there is a demonstration here. Also every Tuesday at 11:00am. In October, when the conflict was at its highest point, there were clashes every day.

We immediately went up to the roof to get a better look at what was going on. There were two teenage boys on the street below - one less than 10 feet from the building, the other maybe 30 feet further down. Both had slingshots, and were shooting marbles up towards the guard tower. One begins kicking at several metal dumpsters lining the sidewalk. He knocks them on their side, then positions them along the street. They will be used as shields once the soldiers start retaliating.

The roof of Wi'am is littered with marbles and rocks that never quite made it to their intended targets. I look down towards the boys. One has a scarf around his face, the other has a gas mask. They're maybe 16 years old. I wonder what their goal is. What are marbles and rocks to a 25ft. high, concrete wall? Even with the knowledge that soldiers are inside the tower, it's not like the bullet-proof, tiny, rectangular windows can be penetrated with items slung from sling shots.

But I guess it's not about that. It's about expressing frustration, anger. It's about doing something to show that you're still alive - that you won't take things sitting down. So many teenagers are exasperated by the current government, by their tired parents who have given over to hopelessness and resignation. They're taking things into their own hands, in the only way they know how.

We hear the sound of a different kind of pop - the firing of a tear gas canister. One of the Wi'am staff members yells up at us to come back inside. That it's no longer safe to be up there. We come down and view the scene from a window that has two separate metal screens outside of it. Wi'am is no stranger to the damage demonstrations can do. Even though they take no part in them, their building bears scars from misfirings from both sides. A few weeks ago they had an awning catch fire and burn up because three gas canisters landed on it and sparked an electrical wire.

I've circled Wi'am in yellow. The guard tower has a line down it in pink, and the dumpster-barricade set up down the street has been outlined in blue.

I'm surprised to see the tiny tendrils of smoke coming from the tear gas canisters down the street. So far, it was only the two teenage boys with sling shots. Not a riot, not a protest. Just the beginnings of a demonstration. Three more pops, three more tendrils, and the street begins to cloud. Soon, more boys will be joining.

We discuss our options. The volunteers from EAPPI have an arabic class soon, and need to leave. I have Ellie at home, who needs to be let out. The problem though, is how. If we go up towards the Palestinian teens, we have to walk through the growing amounts of tear gas. If we cross the street instead, we must pass directly in front of the wall, and so risk being hit by flying stones. We decide that we have only a small window, and so should leave now, before things get worse.

We gather our things, say our goodbyes. We look outside again to double check the situation, and discover that in that 10 minute interval, things have escalated. The teens are burning tires now, in the middle of the street. Yet another cloaking strategy, for the burning creates thick waves of black smoke that they can hide behind. There are pops of rubber bullets now, coming from the soldiers. More tear gas canisters as well. More loud cracks of rocks hitting against the wall.

The staff at Wi'am tell us that if we leave as a group now, before things get worse, we should be ok. We nod our heads and line up near the gate leading outside to the street. We've each come prepared with a scarf, which we wrap around our mouths and noses. Zoughbi, the director at Wi'am, calls out to the teenagers in Arabic, telling them to stop for a minute, that people need to pass through. Some seem to listen, but a few rocks are still coming; one skips on the pavement outside the gate and rolls to a halt along the street, stopping 10 feet from the wall.

Zoughbi tells us to go. We run. A couple more rocks fly over our heads. We hear shouting in Arabic, see the smoke. We successfully make it across the street, and observe for a few minutes from a safe distance. My stomach feels tied up in knots. One of the other volunteers turns to me and says, "I don't know why we're all so shocked." He's right. We know this happens all the time. We knew it would happen again today.

And yet it's different, being there. Knowing that what we were seeing was only just the beginning. That it was going to get much, much worse before the day was over with.

View from the other side of the street, once we had left Wi'am.

We continue the walk back towards the checkpoint. With every step I get further away from the conflict, and also further away from being able to make sense out of any of it. I don't understand why the teenagers continue to throw stones when it accomplishes nothing except put their lives in danger. I don't understand why the soldiers retaliate, when their personal safety is not even slightly at risk.

I don't understand how my morning started off so warm and comfortable, sharing Christmas memories with new found friends, and then ended with tear gas and fear. I don't understand how all of these different things can coexist in one place: in Bethlehem. In the town known for Christ's birth. 

Accumulation of rocks thrown at the wall. The orange metal container was shot from an IDF tank, containing several canisters of gas. (Picture taken on a different day, following a demonstration.)

View from the center of Bethlehem. From left to right: Bell tower at Church of the Nativity, Christmas tree in Manger Square, and Minaret of Omar's Mosque.