Qalandiya

Qalandya was a calm. Very little
vehicular traffic went through, and what little there was travelled
mostly north. Taxi drivers we spoke to said that since the removal
of the Surda roadblock, trucks and cars use that route, which is
less chaotic. Pedestrians queued in three or four very tidy
"lanes", bounded by concrete blocks (which could pose a
problem when tear-gas or bullets are used). They were called one by
one to take their positions in front of the checking soldiers or
--this week-- volunteers. There was scarcely any waiting at all,
and very few people were turned back, none of them raising any
objection to being told "back to Ramallah". One man tried
to jump the queue, waving a piece of paper and saying he had a
hospital appointment at 08:00, and thus should not be asked to
stand in line. "But it says ten o'clock here, you're a
liar" the soldier dealing with him shouted. "I'm older
than you, how can you call me a liar!" the man protested.
Nevertheless, he went back to take his turn. Noteworthy was a woman
volunteer, speaking fluent Arabic and maintaining a completely
business-like and polite attitude to the Palestinians. As she
called one woman back, for whatever reason, the form of address she
used was "Madame! One moment please!" By contrast, the
male volunteer, when he first noticed us, insisted rather
aggressively that we "move back there!', but a couple of
metres satisfied him. Also noteworthy was the progress made by the
"separation fence"-- growing apace, barbed wire gleaming
in the sun, it is bounded by the brilliant black of a brand-new
road, strictly for Israeli defence forces and in heartbreakingly
harsh contrast to the pot-holed, ripped, litter-covered roads that
are little more than tracks that serve the "local
population". The "hudna" may have eased some aspects
of life at the checkpoints, but there are still umpteen reminders
that occupation is occupation is occupation.