Burin – Settlers’ violence

We are outside the area just declared closed military zone, looking at the soldiers on the other side of the road, to control that Abu Salem can continue to pick olives from his olive grove.

Suddenly a loud noise comes from behind us. I turn around. I don’t have time to realize that the sound I’ve just heard is a shot, that I start to run following the others. We rush inside the car which starts to speed in the streets of the village of Burin. When it starts to slow down, we jump outside the car which is still with the engine turn on.

A few days ago I spoke to A., a 6 year old girl from the Peace Community.
Her mother had warned me: A. wants to tell you what she is doing, how she is doing, the small and large achievements of the children of her age.
Now A. speaks very well so that understanding each other is simple.
Some time ago the dialogue would have been a little more complex.
So she begins her story by talking to me about the school, the arrival of the rainy season, the family, the mare, the mules.
She shows me how much she has grown (she is marking her height on the wooden part of the house) and her mother, there with her, points out that her temper has also started to grow.
We both smile.
Then she starts talking about plants, flowers, field crops, yuca, ñampi (a tuber similar to yuca), rice, plantain, bananas, beans, fruit plants: papaya, pineapple, coconut.

Bruqin - Coordination and settlers' violence

It’s the first day of the olive harvest. Farah has waited for this day all year. Throughout the year she tried to remember her olive trees, the smell of the land, the sun that filters through the branches of its ancient and powerful trees at dawn. For a whole year, she hoped that her field would not be vandalized by the settlers of Bruchin, the settlement just outside her land.
They are all at work: her brother, her four children, and her husband. Sometimes Farah looks at the soldiers not so far from them. They are four, with their khaki uniforms and their M-16 held tightly. They are near the jeep, showing no interest in anything that surrounds them. Farah is not quiet. The soldiers are there to protect them from the settlers, in case of need. She knows it. But she is still not quiet. The soldiers are not on their side, they’ve never been.
While she is loading a sack on the truck, she hears voices coming from the settlement, right behind her. Shortly after, four settlers appear. They are young. They get close to the jeep, where the soldiers greet them with big smiles, shaking hands, and hugs. They start to talk altogether and then a soldier nods at Farah and her family, who in the meantime are still working, pretending nothing is happening.

The "We the Syrians" Peace Proposal is the result of years of work by Syrian refugee communities in northern Lebanon and all around the world, civilians who do not belong to any political factions and still believe that nonviolence is the only way to end the war in Syria and return to their homes.
Our appeal is for anyone who wishes to be involved in supporting the creation of a just and peaceful future in Syria.
Find out more on www.operazionecolomba.it/wethesyrians
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Two days left, when I will say goodbye to you once again.
I met you for the first time a year ago, and one of those love stories that you see in the movies was born: your fields, your green hills and the smiles of the people who welcomed me here, where I thought that I would have had a three-month experience, but that has become Home.
You were strange, my Palestine, especially in the eyes of those who had never seen you, and never understood your inconsistencies, if not those read in the books.
I saw the wall they had built around you, with strips of sand on its sides to check that no one was approaching it, and barbed wire on its top, and I wondered why the man had decided to separate himself from his fellow men, with that barrier.