La Via Campesina Delegation Visited Palestine in December 2024: Notes from their Daily Diaries [Part – 3]
From December 8 to 18, 2024, a delegation of nine peasant-farmers traveled to Palestine, in the West Bank. All their organizations are part of the international peasant movement La Via Campesina, which also includes the Palestinian organization UAWC (Union of Agricultural Work Committees) as a member. For many years, La Via Campesina has stood in solidarity with Palestinian peasants in their struggle against colonization, land and water grabs, and the numerous human rights violations they endure. However, since 2023, the scale of massacres in Gaza and the openly genocidal intentions of the far-right Israeli government have led La Via Campesina to intensify its solidarity work with Palestinian farmers. Organizing a delegation visit to the West Bank thus gradually became an imperative. Due to the obstacles posed by the Israeli state for accessing Palestinian territories, all delegates were European, hailing from the Basque Country, Galicia, Italy, Portugal, Ireland, and France. We, Fanny and Morgan, are both small-scale farmers, based in Ardèche and Brittany, and members of the Confédération Paysanne. The following texts are our journal from these ten days, which profoundly changed our lives and worldview. [ Access all the notes here].
Day 4 – Jordan Valley
Morgan:
Wednesday, December 11th 2024 – We leave early in the morning towards the East, towards the Jordan Valley. It is approximately 70 km from Ramallah to Jericho. First, we cross a densely populated area, with multiple villages, including Taybeh, known for its beer production.
Then begins a more mountainous region, very arid, with breathtaking landscapes.
The Bedouins live in these mountains. They are nomadic herders, who traditionally set up their camp for a few months in one place, then move according to the grazing needs of their sheep. But Israeli colonies are multiplying here, as well, occupying the heights. Along the road, we can see several Bedouin camps burned and ransacked. Our minibus stops on the side of the road so that we can take photos. We overlook the Jordan Valley, the Dead Sea, and we can see as far as the Jordanian mountains in the distance. Behind us, just across the road, a devastated shepherds’ camp. The pieces of torn tents and the charred metal sheets bear witness to the violence of the assault.
Even without much of a Christian culture, I can’t help but think of the Bible. The names of cities and regions resonate with stories that are both sacred and familiar. Jericho, Hebron, Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Jordan. It’s strange to be here, in the heart of these places loaded with our founding myths, as if we were suddenly being propelled into the Shire of the Lord of the Rings and the fictional landscapes were taking shape. The great stories about the beginnings of agriculture also belong to this region of the world, a few hundred kilometers further East, between the Tigris and the Euphrates. It’s incredible to realize the weight that all these stories -where reality and myth are woven- have on the present. Would these arid lands of Palestine be the object of so much desire if they were not the site of sacred stories? The vertigo of human history.
The stops on the road are never very long, nor serene. The UAWC team and Mustapha monitor the heights and check that the passengers in the cars are not staring at us too insistently. They urge us: “Quickly, we have to leave before the soldiers, or worse, the settlers, notice us.”
We are now descending towards the Valley. The Bedouin families have gathered at the foot of the mountains to be less vulnerable to attacks by the settler militias. The minibus arrives at Jericho’s Zone A. At the checkpoints that mark the entrance to the territory controlled by the Palestinian Authority, the Israeli government has put up large red signs written in Hebrew, Arabic and English to warn Israelis that this area is dangerous and forbidden.
This is the Jordan Valley. In this region, more than 80% of the agricultural land has been confiscated for the benefit of Israeli settlers since the 1967 war. Here, agriculture takes on its full strategic aspect. This land is very fertile, with unique irrigation possibilities in the entire region. Until the 1960s, more than 300,000 Palestinians lived in the valley. But they were massively deported to refugee camps in Jordan, Syria or southern Lebanon. Today, there are approximately 65,000 Palestinians left and more than 20,000 Israeli settlers have been installed, spread across 33 agricultural colonies. We are still in Zone C of the occupied West Bank, but the colonization process is much more advanced here than around Ramallah or Nablus. This is the lost breadbasket of Palestine.
The peasants tell us about the Water War. In 1967, their parents and grandparents dug a 67-meter-deep well with their own hands. But in 1973, the Israelis dug two boreholes 350 meters deep, drying up the Palestinians’ well.
We take Route 90, which runs through the entire valley from South to North. It runs along an impressive fence of barbed and electrified wires, which “protects” the Jordan River. The mythical river must be really close by, just a few kilometers away, but we will never see it. I am surprised, I was expecting a majestic river. Fuad explains to us that the entire area along the river is militarized and strictly forbidden to Palestinians. He tells us that we are not missing much by not seeing the Jordan River, because there is almost nothing left of it, a ridiculous and polluted stream, all the water being pumped to irrigate the monocultures of the colonies.
Indeed, along the road, we can see the succession of colonies and their agricultural installations. Monocultures of date palms, vines, banana trees. Factory farms of thousands of cattle or poultry. The few Palestinian villages that remain are completely besieged. On the side of the road, Israelis are waiting for a bus. To our surprise, they have a hippy look: the men have dreadlocks or long hair, the women are carrying babies in large, colorful scarves. This is not at all the idea we had of settlers. Tamam laughs at our astonishment. “Ah, you Westerners, with your romanticism about the kibbutz! It’s so nice to go and do meditation and yoga, a personal development course!”
We are not missing much by not seeing the Jordan River, because there is almost nothing left of it, a ridiculous and polluted stream, all the water being pumped to irrigate the monocultures of the colonies.
Fuad explains to us that the living conditions in the Jordan Valley are difficult. Temperatures are well over 40°C for more than eight months of the year. The Israeli government is trying to encourage settlers to come and settle here with a very generous policy of financial aid, subsidies, tax exemptions and free public services. But despite all of that, it’s not very effective. Rather, it is the more “marginal” people who come here. And most of the agricultural work is done either by Palestinians or by migrant workers, Nepalese, Thai or Indian.
We arrive at Bardala, which is the northernmost Palestinian village in the Jordan Valley. Its 3,000 inhabitants all live from agriculture. As we arrive, we can see the market gardens, greenhouses and boxes of vegetables being loaded onto trucks. Our small group gets off the minibus and we greet the peasants. They set up plastic chairs outside overlooking a small sheepfold. We are offered the traditional small cardamom coffee. Bardala is suffering from massive land grabs. What they have left is 500 hectares of irrigated land, 1,000 of non-irrigated land and about 5,000 hectares of pastures in the mountains. In recent years, they have lost 2,000 hectares, confiscated by neighboring colonies. And now they are apprehensively watching the construction of a road around the village. The construction site is there before our eyes. The bulldozers finished the work probably less than a month ago.
A freshly dug dirt road lies less than ten meters away from the first houses and separates them from the small sheepfolds. They have been ordered to dismantle all the buildings that are outside this perimeter. We ask what this road is going to be used for. The peasants tell us that it is a “security route” to be used by the Israeli military. They fear that the next step will be to prohibit people from crossing the road, to cut them off from their land for good, and finally suffocate them economically. They tell us that in other villages, the army has built a wall with barbed wire along a similar road. They are preparing for the worst-case scenario. Less than a hundred meters in front of us, the top of the hill has been levelled to build a military post, in a perfect spot to monitor the entire village.
The peasants tell us about the Water War. In 1967, their parents and grandparents dug a 67-meter-deep well with their own hands. But in 1973, the Israelis dug two boreholes 350 meters deep, drying up the Palestinians’ well. The Israelis agreed to “give” 240 m³ per month to the villagers, a tiny amount compared to what they themselves were taking. Little by little, they “turned off the tap,” and today the village only receives 70 m³ per month. For about ten years, the UAWC has been supporting this community to help them build irrigation infrastructure. In 2017, after long negotiations with the Israeli administration to obtain the necessary authorizations, they carried out a project with German funding to connect new fields intended for grain production to water. A hundred families were supposed to benefit from the infrastructure. Fuad explains to us, frustrated, that the settlers waited until the project was finished to come and destroy hundreds of meters of pipes.
The farmers say that their life is much more complicated than the life of their ancestors. The land is fertile, they were rich. “Now the settlers are coming and they are taking everything from us. The military are trying by all means to discourage us from continuing to work the land.” Israeli officials offered them work on the colonies’ plantations, with good wages. They refused. “As long as we are here, we will resist, we will be farmers. We will not move.”
As we speak, Israeli fighter planes tear the sky apart. Syria is less than a hundred kilometers to the northeast.
Fanny:
This morning, going down into the Jordan Valley, we were amazed by the mountainous landscape as far as the eye could see, with Jordan’s high plateau on the horizon. As it is a Bedouin herders’ territory, I imagined the herds grazing in these immense semi-desert and stony areas where pastoralism is the only possible agricultural activity. We are going there to meet a family of herders in the village of Faresyeh.
For over a year, the sheep have not been out, or only within a 100-meter perimeter around the camp. The family feeds the animals with oats. It is extremely expensive, milk production has dropped terribly, they no longer have any income and what is the point of having a flock if it can no longer feed itself and use the resources outside?
We arrive at a hollow of the valley where a few tents and huts are scattered. We enter one of them, and, seated on soft benches, we are served the first tea of our stay. I feel as if I were in Morocco or Mauritania.
The men of the family tell us about the difficult living conditions of the Bedouins. But above all, they tell us that the situation has become impossible after October 7. They explain that for less than 2 years, the colonies, initially made up of a few caravans, have been imposing themselves everywhere on the tops of the hills and monopolizing all the surrounding pastures. They plant flags anywhere, even in remote places, and it is completely forbidden to approach them within several hundred meters. If the herd strays too far, advancing according to the resource to be grazed, the settlers seize it, confiscate the animals or kill them. They also destroy their solar panels, prevent them from having any access to water, set fire to the installations. In the Jordan Valley, there are 69 Bedouin communities, with nomadic lifestyles, but the future seems impossible to them.
We go out to see the herd, confined in an enclosure. For over a year, the sheep have not been out, or only within a 100-meter perimeter around the camp. The family feeds the animals with oats. It is extremely expensive, milk production has dropped terribly, they no longer have any income and what is the point of having a flock if it can no longer feed itself and use the resources outside? As a breeder who grazes my flock of sheep on large areas of moorland and forest, it makes my stomach churn.
That is when we realize that there is a colony right next door, less than 300 meters away. We had not noticed it when we arrived. The settlers surround the camp, like a trap. At the top of the small hill, there is a watchtower. We feel spied on, crushed.
One of UAWC members moved a little further away to take some general photos. The farmer’s stress is increasing. Since they speak Arabic, we don’t understand everything, but the tension is tangible. The farmer tells us that we have to leave. We walk in front a tent where one of the women is standing in the half-open door. The oldest woman is sitting right in front. She quickly explains that they are afraid, that the settlers come and throw stones at them at night, that they don’t dare leave the tent anymore. We feel that we have to leave, that the fear is too strong, that we can’t allow them to take more risks than what they are already experiencing. We get on the bus without even having time to say goodbye.
Tamam is shocked, she explains to us that normally, any visit to a Bedouin family drags on because there is always a last tea offered, after the previous cup of tea, and it never ends.
We set off and hit the road again, but barely 200 meters further, we see that a settler car has stopped in the middle of the road because it is unintentionally dragging a long pipe with it. A young guy gets out to remove it. He has long hair, a big earring, and a grunge look, as if he were part of our group of friends.
In the morning, we had come across two young mothers, dressed as hippies, babies slung over their bellies, accompanied by 2 Israeli soldiers armed to the teeth. Both to Morgan and to me, it seems unbelievable, they “look” so much like us. Seeing settlers in the flesh, in front of us, makes things real and yet it is impossible for me to understand.
They plant flags anywhere, even in remote places, and it is completely forbidden to approach them within several hundred meters. If the herd strays too far, advancing according to the resource to be grazed, the settlers seize it, confiscate the animals or kill them.
I am at the front, next to Sana, and for once, we don’t say anything. The atmosphere is tense, on both sides. The guy manages to remove the pipe, he gets back in the car, making a gesture with his hand. The car starts up again. Sana explains to me that this kind of situation can be very dangerous because it can go off at any moment. I can well believe his words. I am suffocating, with this feeling of being claustrophobic, even in the open air. I am devastated by the despair of the family we have just met and so stunned by my inability to understand these young people who have chosen to become armed settlers, at war with families, women, children who have asked for nothing. We drive in silence in a heavy atmosphere.
We arrive at Jiflek, surrounded by palm trees and cultivated fields. Several farmers from the cooperative called “Al Jifrsla Community”, which has about forty members, are waiting for us under a large covered porch for the meal. We relax. The farmers thank us for being there. They explain that about 4,000 Palestinians live in the community, which depends on agriculture for 70% of its population. The UAWC supports the cooperative with irrigation equipment, refrigeration, seedlings, etc.
Since October 7, thousands of acres have been confiscated and important access points have been blocked, which sometimes forces them to make detours of more than 50 km. They only have access to 1/5 of the land. The settlers, with complete impunity, also confiscate fruit, equipment, tractors, fridges. Houses have been demolished or ordered to be demolished; families have been displaced.
The cooperative plays an important role in the life and support of the community, and Fuad says that its members are the real heroes here. After a large meal, ending with the tasting of delicious dates full of sugar, we go for a walk to see the plantations and we walk along the electrified fence that separates them from the lands that have been taken over.
We talk a lot, we laugh too. Among peasant, it’s easy, we understand each other, we are curious about each other, we compare our farms, our systems, the production costs here and at home. It’s lighter than this morning because we don’t feel watched, oppressed. At least, we don’t see it, and that changes everything.
We hit the road again with much more enthusiasm. On the way back to Jericho, we stop and Fuad gets off the bus and asks us to wait. We realize that we are in the parking lot of the cable car that rises above the city, all the way up to the cliff where the famous Temptation Monastery is located, where Jesus is said to have been tempted by the Devil.
When we drove passed it this morning, I was convinced that it was no longer working. What a joy to imagine that it is still possible. We are excited like kids when Fuad signals to us that it is ok, that we can get on board. For some of us, it is the first time and we can feel they are not reassured at all. With Morgan, we laugh because at the entrance there is a big advertisement that says that it is the longest cable car located below sea level in the Guinness Book of Records. Not sure that there is much competition. We remember that the Dead Sea -which is less than 400 meters below sea level- is very close by.
Among peasant, it’s easy, we understand each other, we are curious about each other, we compare our farms, our systems, the production costs here and at home.
Once we arrive at the top, we go to drink some tea on the terrace leaning against the cliff, which overlooks the city and part of the Jordan Valley. It is quite surreal to play tourists after the day we have just experienced. I feel like I’m in a Kusturica film. I try to imagine pilgrims from all over the world coming to visit all these mythical places and I find myself dreaming about what Palestine would be like without all this madness. We come down from the cliff, it’s already dark. We are exhausted, we have gone through so many conflicting emotions that we are drained of all our energy.