Contradictions in Place: Everyday Geographies of Palestinian Children and Families Living Under Occupation

A DISSERTATION

Submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements of Ph.D. in Social Work

Bree Akesson

School of Social Work

McGill University, Montreal

© Bree Akesson, 2014

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

TABLE OF CONTENTS ................................................................................................................................ 2  

ABSTRACT ........................................................................................................................................................ 3  

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ........................................................................................................................... 4  

1   INTRODUCTION: MAPPING THE RESEARCH(ER) .................................................................. 7  

2   MAPPING PALESTINE ........................................................................................................................ 28  

3   THEORIZING THE PLACE OF PALESTINIAN CHILDREN AND FAMILIES ................ 46  

4   “EVERY CORNER, YOU WILL FIND A STORY”: PLACE-BASED RESEARCH WITH

CHILDREN AND FAMILIES .................................................................................................................... 60  

5   HOME AS CASTLE AND CAGE ....................................................................................................... 89  

6   SCHOOL AS PROTECTIVE AND RISKY ..................................................................................... 120  

7   NEIGHBORHOOD COMMUNITY AS A POSITIVE AND NEGATIVE PLACE ............. 140  

8   ANGER AND HOPE IN THE CONTEXT OF THE PALESTINIAN NATION-STATE 167  

9   IMPLICATIONS AND RECOMMENDATIONS FOR SOCIAL WORK PRACTICE,

POLICY, AND RESEARCH ...................................................................................................................... 192  

10   EPILOGUE ............................................................................................................................................. 207  

APPENDIX A: FAMILY BIOGRAPHIES ............................................................................................. 210  

APPENDIX B: CONSENT FORM .......................................................................................................... 221  

APPENDIX C: DRAFT INTERVIEW GUIDE .................................................................................... 224  

APPENDIX D: SAMPLE NEIGHBORHOOD WALK ...................................................................... 226  

APPENDIX E: SAMPLE OF GPS-CODED NEIGHBORHOOD WALK .................................... 232  

APPENDIX F: INTERVIEW FEEDBACK FORM (IFF) .................................................................. 233  

APPENDIX F: BIBLIOGRAPHY ............................................................................................................ 235  

   

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ABSTRACT

Scarce research to date has examined the role of place in the lives of children affected by political violence. The following dissertation explores the concept and meaning of place for children and families living under occupation and experiencing political violence in post-second intifada Palestine. By tackling a theoretical concept such as place, this dissertation tangibly uncovers how and to what extent the occupation and political violence affect Palestinian children and families’ relationships with place and how different kinds of places—home, school, neighborhood communities, and nation-state—protect or do not protect children and families. Using an innovative rapid ethnographic approach to data collection, 18 families from various physical settings (e.g., refugee camp, encampment, village, city) throughout the West Bank and East Jerusalem participated in collaborative family interviews. Interviews included narrative, drawing, and mapmaking and were each followed by a child-led neighborhood walk tracked with global positioning system (GPS) software. Data were analyzed using grounded theory and ultimately organized according to the socio-ecological layers of home, school, neighborhood community, and nation-state. Data indicate that Palestinian children and families experience multiple contradictions in place in the context of occupation and violence: home can be experienced as a castle and a cage; schools can be both protective and risky; neighborhood communities can be positive and negative; and the nation-state supports feelings of both anger and hope. Findings reaffirm the importance of place in the lives of children and families affected by violence and inform international social work practice and policy.

À ce jour, peu de recherches ont examiné le rôle du concept du lieu dans la vie des enfants touchés par la violence politique. Cette thèse a pour objet principal l’étude du concept du lieu et la signification de cette notion pour les enfants et les familles vivant sous l’occupation et victimes de la violence politique de la seconde Intifada en Palestine. En examinant un concept théorique comme celui de « lieu,» cette thèse dévoile comment et dans quelle mesure l'occupation et la violence politique affectent les enfants palestiniens et les relations familiales avec le lieu et la façon dont les différents types de lieux— le domicile, l'école, les communautés du quartier, et l’État-nation—protègent ou n’arrivent pas à protéger les enfants et les familles. En utilisant une approche innovatrice d’ethnographie rapide pour la collection des données, 18 familles provenant de divers environnements physiques (par exemple, le camp de réfugiés, le campement, le village, la ville) dans toute la Cisjordanie et Jérusalem-Est ont participé à des entretiens familiales collaboratifs. Les entretiens ont inclus le récit, le dessin, et la cartographie et ont été suivis par une promenade du quartier guider par enfant, ce dernier étant surveiller par le logiciel du système de localisation mondial (GPS). Les données ont été analysées en employant la théorie ancrée et ont été organisées selon les couches socio-écologiques de la maison, l'école, la communauté du quartier, et de l’État-nation. Les données indiquent que les enfants et les familles palestiniennes ressentent des contradictions multiples en ce qui concerne le concept du lieu dans le contexte de l'occupation et de la violence: la maison peut être vécue en même temps comme un château et une cage; les écoles peuvent à la fois être considérées comme des lieux sûr et des lieux de danger et de risque; les communautés du quartier peuvent être positifs et négatifs; et l'État-nation provoque à la fois les sentiments de colère et de l’espoir. Les résultats de cette recherche réaffirment l'importance du lieu dans la vie des enfants et des familles touchées par la violence et rend visibles les pratiques et la politique international du travail social.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This dissertation is the culmination of almost five years of work, during which I benefited from the

assistance and support of many. The list of those who extended their help to me is in the hundreds,

so here I must confine myself. I apologize to all those who have helped me over the years and

whose names I have failed to mention.

I must first thank Myriam Denov, who has guided me through my dissertation from its early

conceptualization in 2009 with great wisdom and (at times) much-needed humor. She started as my

supervisor, and became my mentor and friend. My doctoral committee—Claudia Mitchell and Ceren

Bogaç—expertly balanced encouragement and feedback to strengthen my understanding of theory

and methods related to my research topic. And Julie Norman gave me invaluable advice on

conducting research in Palestine and provided me with invaluable feedback on the first draft of this

manuscript.

Conducting research in Palestine would not have been possible without the cooperation,

trust, and commitment of numerous individuals, families, and institutions. I witnessed true

Palestinian hospitality first-hand, and I thank everyone who took time away from their important

work and daily lives to assist me. I would especially like to thank my two research assistants—Noor

and Maisam—who patiently guided me through Palestine’s geography and culture. During my first

visit to Palestine in 2010, the An Najah University’s Community Service Center (CSC) and the

McGill Middle East Program, provided me with office space and a place to sleep and opened up

doors to individuals and organizations. During my second visit to Palestine in 2012, the

International Friends Guest House in Nablus provided me with the space—both physical and

mental—I needed to conduct my research. I would also like to thank the following local

organizations for their assistance and insight: Alternative Information Center, Arab al-Jahalin

Charitable Society, Arab Women’s Union Society, Christian Peacemakers Team, East Jerusalem

YMCA, Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel, Jahalin Association, Medecins

Sans Frontieres, Popular Resistance Committee, Syndicates of Psychologists and Social Workers,

Tomorrow’s Youth Organization, Women’s Worker Association, Yafa Cultural Center, Youth

Against Settlements, and Zajel Youth Exchange Program. I must express extreme gratitude for my

McGill colleague and friend, Nuha Shaer, who welcomed me into her home and shared her

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experiences as a mother with me. Nuha and her family’s understanding of the concept of place and

the future of Palestine inspired many of the words I have written in the following pages.

Writing can be a lonely process, so I feel fortunate to have had the company and feedback of

so many amazing scholars both at McGill and beyond. Thank you to Lysanne Rivard for reading a

very early draft of Chapter 6 and pushing me to deepen my analysis. I give a special thanks to Jen

Thompson, who also reviewed Chapter 6, and suggested that writing can be a political act in and of

itself. And a special thank you to my colleague Omri Grinberg from University of Toronto, who

reviewed an early version of Chapter 2 and opened my eyes to the importance of contextualization.

This research would not have been possible without the financial assistance of the Social

Science and Humanities Research Council, who awarded me a Vanier Canadian Graduate

Scholarship from 2011-2014. During that time, I also received travel assistance from the Centre for

Research on Children and Families and the McGill University School of Arts. I thank these

organizations for supporting and valuing my work.

Perhaps most formative, I would like to thank my parents—Sam and Patti Akesson—who

are always interested in my work, even though they do not always agree with it. To my late

grandmother, Katy Roy, who would have shown this dissertation to everyone she met, whether or

not they wanted to see it. And to Paul Mathers, for supporting me throughout this process,

distracting me at the best possible times, and being my number one fan. I literally could not have

done this without you.

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“…truth has only one face: that of violent contradiction” (Bataille, 1984).

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1 INTRODUCTION: MAPPING THE RESEARCH(ER)

On a sunny afternoon in the spring of 2012, I walked through the streets of the northern Palestinian

city of Nablus. Groups of female college students dressed in hijab (headscarf) and long, flowing jilbab

(dress coat) walked and whispered in each other’s ears. Older men in kûfîya (black-and-white

checkered headscarf) sat in plastic chairs on street corners, conversing in pairs, while smoking

cigarettes and observing the bustle of city life. A young couple held hands as they crossed the busy

intersection, with a toddler in one arm and overflowing shopping bags in another. Teenage boys

played football in large abandoned lots. Street vendors greeted potential customers with “Salaam

alaykum (peace be upon you)” and were answered with “Wa alaykum al salaam (and upon you be

peace)”. It was difficult for me to imagine that the region was still experiencing daily flashes of

violence from the Israeli army and settlers, as well as intra-Palestinian violence. As I walked through

the streets that warm afternoon, this seemed like a contradiction to me: how could people engage in

everyday activities when surrounded by the potential for violence at any moment?

My thoughts echoed what Kelly (2008) has identified as the ordinary in the midst of violence.

Research in this area tends to overemphasize the conflict while ignoring the mundane nature of daily

life. One would expect physical violence to be first and foremost in the minds of Palestinians. Yet,

Palestinian families continually expressed that they have additional everyday concerns such as

poverty, unemployment, depression, and deteriorating infrastructure. For the children who have

witnessed violence and experienced oppression their whole lives, this paradoxical ordinary in the face

of the extraordinary plays out in their homes, schools, neighborhood communities and the broader

nation-state. Yet, this is just one contradiction in place among many that I uncovered in my research

with Palestinian children and families.1

In the following dissertation, I explore the concept and meaning of place for children and

families living under occupation and experiencing political violence in post-second intifada Palestine.

By tackling a theoretical concept such as place, I hope to uncover how and to what extent the

occupation and political violence affects Palestinian children and families’ relationships with place

1 Though convenient for research, it is important to note the problematic nature of categorizing children by age groupings. As Arai (2011) notes: “Children do not fall neatly into such groups…child growth is a process, not a set of

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and how different kinds of places—home, school, neighborhood communities, and nation-state—

protect or not protect children and families. In exploring these areas, the following pages feature

everyday violence from the occupation and its normalization within the lives of Palestinian children

and families, while still acknowledging their everyday experiences. Using the above questions as a

guide, I explore the tensions posed by the many contradictions of place that Palestinians face as they

navigate and negotiate spaces and places in the face of political violence.

My focus on contradictions in place developed as I struggled to find commonalities—or a

common narrative—of the Palestinian experience. Instead I uncovered extreme diversity and often

paradoxes within and between the families that I interviewed. Rather than becoming frustrated with

this messiness, I began to view these experiences as part of a larger tapestry of experiences. I found

that contradictions such as these were what were most prevalent. By exploring contradictions in

place, I do not aim to uncover discrepancies or deceit within the Palestinian narrative; for as Pascal

(1958) states, “Contradiction is not a sign of falsity, nor the lack of contradiction a sign of truth.”

Rather, I seek to unpack the complexity of everyday life for Palestinian children and families,

marked by connection to home, school, neighborhood community, and nation-state, while at the

same time alienation from their land and severe restrictions on their freedoms. Furthermore,

focusing on how Palestinian families shape their experiences—and the inherent contradictions

involved—helps to understand Palestinian agency and avoids a simple recounting of their

victimization.

Mapping the Research(er) A complex mix of attachments, experiences, emotions, and understandings connect me to my

research topic. In delineating the borders that define my research and in mapping my own place as a

researcher, I have noted patterns in my research interest with children and families affected by

violence. In attempting to understand the nonsensical effects of large-scale violence on children, I

often recall the African proverb, “When elephants fight, it is the grass that gets trampled,” which

reminds me that children are omnipresent in environments affected by violence and therefore share

the effects of its toxicity. My interest in understanding where children fit in the context of violence

underscores the diversity of childhood, which includes how children grow up and alternative ways of

raising and protecting them.

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The journey of this research project began almost ten years ago when I first began working

with displaced people in crisis-affected settings. Working with the International Rescue Committee

in the Northern Caucasus region in 2005, I travelled among various internally displaced persons

(IDP) camps to interview children and families who had fled the political violence in neighboring

Chechnya. Several camps reflected a standard set-up: large, muddy fields with row after row of

identical tents covered in aid agency logos. However, many other camps were situated in old,

abandoned residential buildings and factories. In one camp, families were living in school buses that

had been gutted out. Working with Save the Children in Uganda in 2008, I saw a similar

phenomenon. At the end of a long drive from Kampala to Gulu, the driver pointed out clusters of

houses forming what appeared to be several small villages along the side of the highway. These, the

driver explained, were the camps, where thousands of families fleeing the political violence in

northern Uganda were living, oftentimes traveling between their IDP camp home and their “real”

home to tend to the land. Based on these experiences in Ingushetia and northern Uganda, I began to

question the standard approach to war-affected children’s mental health and well-being, which

focuses on individual characteristics and the child’s social system (e.g., parents, siblings, family,

community). There is no doubt that a child’s social environment is critical to his or her well-being,

but I wondered about the role of the physical environment? In this way, I have learned to view the

physical environment as a means by which to further understand children’s experiences.

An American in Palestine

Over the past 20 years, I have had 22 homes in five different countries. As I have moved from place

to place, I have often asked myself what the word home means. I find that when I stay in a new

locale, even if only for one night, I find myself nesting: putting clothes in drawers, organizing my

books on the desk, and orienting myself with the neighborhood. I consider my personal identity to

be interlinked with all of these places that I have lived, whether briefly or permanently. When asked

where I come from by a curious taxi driver or waiter, I often answer not with allegiance to one

national identity, but by narrating my geographical journey from country to country (as well as that

of my parents), so that I present my place in the world as an amalgamation of several places.

I can connect my own background as an American to my focus on Palestine for this research

project. As an American, I was virtually unaware of Palestinian’s experience under occupation.

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Though raised a devout Catholic, my early understanding of the relationship between Palestine and

Israel was largely determined through interactions with the Jewish-American community, as I found

a strong affinity for their rich culture and history. There were many Jewish families in my

neighborhood, and I was often invited to share in their religious traditions such as Passover and

Hanukah. This continued into university, where I was drawn to Judaism’s familiar traditions, of

which I saw many parallels to my own Christian faith. There was nothing during this time in my life

that would have made me think that Israel was anything other than a peace-seeking democracy,

harassed by aggressive Arab neighbors. Since then, I have come to realize that among the American

media and even within the Jewish-American community, there was a persistent refusal to entertain

criticisms of Israel and wholly understand the experience of Palestinians. In fact, it was as if the

Palestinian discourse was completely omitted from the Jewish-Israeli discourse. Yet as I came to

learn, Palestinians and Israelis share an intertwined history and common narrative, as well as a

shared goal for peace.

Though I have worked with children and families in conflict-affected settings for over a

decade, I only started to learn about the context of Palestine four years ago when I chose this region

as the context within which to conduct my doctoral research with children and families. Though

fully supportive of my choice of research context, my supervisor warned me of the challenges of

conducting research in such a politically volatile context. Not one to avoid a challenge, her

cautionary advice actually motivated me to learn all I could about this region and its history. And I

naïvely told her that I would make sure that I conducted my research from the perspective of a

neutral academic, a perspective which I now know is unrealistic when working in conflict settings.

Once I began to sift through the mountains of literature on Israel and Palestine, I was (and

still am) overwhelmed by the amount of conflicting ideas, theories, and “facts”. I discovered a

familiar pattern of what Caplan (2010) has identified as “competing narratives”, with one side

presenting its “true” account against the other side’s “lies”, “myths”, and “propaganda”. I suddenly

found myself trapped in the us-versus-them dichotomy that tends to characterize the Israel-Palestine

conflict. I felt as if I was constantly trying to determine which side one is on, for it is much easier to

comprehend and justify violence if one can identify sides.

This feeling of being ensnared by the us-versus-them dichotomy followed me to the field. In

2010, when walking through the old city of Nablus, an elderly Palestinian woman directed an angry

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expletive at me, which my Palestinian friends later explained was because she thought I was Israeli.

During the same trip, a group of Palestinian teenagers intentionally threw a soccer ball at me as I

walked through the streets of East Jerusalem. In 2012, an Israeli settler yelled at me to leave Hebron

and demanded that the border police arrest me or escort me from the area. Multiple times during

both visits, the Israeli military interrogated me about my background and research, warning me not

to get involved in any protest activities. Even when presenting my research in Europe and North

America, I was unsure if I would be embraced or heckled. In all of these instances, I wanted to

defend myself and say, “I am not one of them. Nor am I one of you. I am an outside observer, a

neutral academic.” But I know that this is not true anymore.

Ideally, if one were to ask me which side I am on, I would respond that, as a social worker, I

am on the side of human rights, social justice, and truth. But I know that this is unrealistic (and

again, perhaps, naïve) within this context. If pushed, I would admit that I view Israeli policies

towards Palestinians as devastating to Palestinian children and families, with the ongoing occupation

as harmful to both Palestinians and Israelis. I support a solution that would lead to the development

of a Palestinian state, not in lieu of an Israeli state, but alongside one another. Of course, I condemn

the everyday Israeli brutality against Palestinians that is reflected in much of the following pages. But

I equally denounce Palestinian attacks on Israelis, especially as it contributes to further oppression

and the unrelenting cycle of violence.

It is no surprise that this research presented a huge challenge to me as I cultivated my own

positions and views. I am not a political scientist or historian, nor have I ever claimed to be an

expert on the region and its complex history. In fact, I doubt that I ever will be, and I am skeptical

about those who say they are. Despite having read hundreds of articles, reports, and books on the

topic, I am continually humbled by how much there is to learn about the history and context. In

order to best represent my research, and especially the voices of my participants, I have made

conscious attempts to seek multiple viewpoints from those who are more familiar with the context

than I am, namely the Palestinians and Israelis whose everyday lives are affected by this protracted

conflict. And I am always surprised by some other aspect of everyday life that I was unaware of and

challenged my preconceived notions of this enduring and perplexing conflict.

I understand that these views may be controversial to some. And I intend to use the

contentiousness of this research as a means by which to engage in authentic conversation and

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discussion about the issue at hand, which I hope can result in practical solutions to this seemingly

intractable conflict. The only thing I can say to any critic of what lies in these pages is that I have

done my best to maintain research integrity and to bear witness to the individuals that I spoke with

and learned from, with all of its complexities and contradictions.

Some Notes on Terminology The struggle between Israel and Palestine can be considered one of the most bitterly contentious

protracted conflicts today. Attempts to recount any of the events related to the conflict is bound to

be contested by someone, even if, as Caplan (2010) notes, “that account is deliberately neutral in

intent, purged of any overt editorializing, and without passing judgment on motives, causes, or

effects” (p. 3). Undeniably, the retelling of history is complicated and can pose multiple

contradictions depending on who is writing it.

As with discussion of any conflict, use of particular historical terminology can be a

complicated endeavor, for there are a wide variety of ways to understand and represent parties and

events. In all accounts of conflict, terminology can be used to identify the good and the bad (Caplan,

2010). Terminology that generally describes, names involved parties, identifies events, and labels

places can intentionally or inadvertently favor one side or another, thus creating further means by

which to separate sides (Caplan, 2010). Caplan (2010) explains:

A number of problems stem from the complexities that flow from the very act of naming the conflict and its main protagonists. In naming the conflict and defining what it is about, one is immediately, if unwillingly, taking a position that will surely be disputed by someone holding a different view (p. 4).

For example, an act of “terrorism” to one may be interpreted as an act of “resistance” to another. A

“terrorist” may be considered a “freedom-fighter” depending on the extent to which the user of the

word wishes to vilify or honor the individual and his or her act. With both sides claiming virtue and

nobility in their use of certain terms, readers may be forced to choose one side or another when

considering such terminology (Caplan, 2010). This section describes my rationale for the use of

several potentially contentious terms that I have grappled with as a means to better understand what

Wheatcroft (2008) has described as “the single most bitterly contentious communal struggle on earth

today” (para. 2).

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Palestine and Palestinians

The identification and naming of a contested place such as Palestine has the potential to be highly

sensitive. For example, some readers may prefer to identify Palestinians as Arabs, consistent with a

belief that there is no such thing as a separate Palestinian people and a Palestinian nation-state.

Indeed, technically, there is no independent state of Palestine today, although the stated goal of the

current peace process is to establish a Palestinian nation-state alongside the state of Israel. Therefore

the term Palestine can vary depending on the context; it can refer to historical Palestine or it can

refer to the future state of Palestine, as envisaged by the peace negotiations.

My use of terminology reflects the language of various United Nations resolutions. On 29

November 2012, following a historic vote that recognized the occupied Palestinian territories as a

non-member observer state, the United Nations designated that State of Palestine shall be used in all

official UN documents (United Nations, 2012). In May 2013, the Palestinian Authority (PA) lobbied

global corporations such as Google to include Palestine in their list of countries, rather than occupied

Palestine or Israel-Palestine (Greenwood, 2013). This reflects the actions of other leading international

organizations, such as the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers (ICANN),

International Organisation for Standardisation (ISO), and other international organizations (e.g., the

United Nations Security Council, the United Nations General Assembly, the European Union, the

International Court of Justice, and the International Committee of the Red Cross). Therefore, I use

the term Palestine to describe both the geographical region, which is occupied by Israel, while also

reflecting my participants’ hopes that Palestine will one day be an official nation-state.

Occupation

Occupation is yet another loaded term, yet I also choose to use this term based on its wide usage by

the United Nations and other international organizations. The term occupied Palestinian territories was

used by the United Nations Security Council (1967) Resolution 242 to refer to land seized by Israel

from Egypt, Jordan, and Syria during the 1967 Six-Day War. This area consists of the West Bank,

including East Jerusalem, which is where my research is focused. Organizations such as the

International Court of Justice (2004), the United Nations General Assembly (2012), and the United

Nations Security Council regard Israel as an “occupying power” in violation of international law.

Israel prefers the term “disputed territories” to describe the West Bank (Gold, 2002). Gold (2002)

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argues that using the term “occupied territories” represents an accusation that denies Israel a right to

the contested land of Palestine. For this research, I use the term occupation to describe the multi-

layered policies that Israel uses to control Palestinians including the actions of the Israeli police and

army within West Bank and East Jerusalem and Israeli policies such as the permit system,

checkpoints, and barriers, all which will be described at length in Chapter 2.

Conflict, armed conflict, and political violence

Qualifying the violence described in this research also posed a challenge for me, mostly because of

my hesitation to use any term that underestimates the power differentials between Israel and

Palestine and reinforces the perception that this is an equilateral conflict. The term war implies a

state of violence between two different parties, suggesting visions of two large armies meeting each

other on a battlefield. Yet this description is neither realistic nor relevant to modern conflict,

especially one as enduring and perplexing as this one, and does not adequately represent the

imbalance in the relationship of Israel and Palestine. Another potential term is mass violence, which

Gerlach (2010) defines as widespread physical violence against non-combatants, that is, outside of

immediate fighting between military or paramilitary personnel, including killings, but also forced

removal or expulsion, strategic bombing, and excessive imprisonment. Yet, as opposed to the term

war, mass violence implies one-sidedness, with Israelis depicted as the aggressors and Palestinians

depicted as the victims. This term does not allow for the reality that the same party can be both

victim and victimizer.

For the purposes of this research, I use the terms armed conflict and political violence to

describe Palestinian life under occupation. I want to emphasize the relevance of violence, because it

creates conflicting claims about place and its meaning, which can carried out in practice as well as

discourse (Jess & Massey, 1995; Keith & Pile, 1993; Pile & Keith, 1997). Yet, conflict and violence

are not the same thing (Cockburn, 1999). Conflict is broadly understood as the pursuit of

incompatible goals by different individuals or groups and can be non-violent (Moser & Clark, 2001).

Conflict has the potential to be peacefully resolved without resorting to violence. Yet, when

resolution is no longer an option, conflict may give way to violence. When weapons are used in a

conflict situation, then this can be termed armed conflict, thereby making the term a narrow category

of conflict. Likewise, political violence is only one category within the broad spectrum of violence

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(Moser & Clark, 2001). Therefore I use the term conflict to describe the general non-violent struggle

between Israelis and Palestinians (e.g., policies, peace negotiations) and armed conflict as actions that

involve force. I also use the term political violence to describe an element of the armed conflict, defined

by the intentional use of physical or psychological force.

My choice of the term political violence to describe the Palestinian experience does not mean

that I exclude other forms of violence that occur in Palestine in this study, such as family violence

and community violence. Of course, there is Palestinian violence within homes, schools, and

communities that greatly affects children and families. In fact, these multiple forms of violence may

shape the lives of Palestinian children and families as much as violence related to the Israeli

occupation. A challenge in all research studies that examine violence and its effects is that it is

extremely difficult to tease out the different forms of violence and their confounding effects on the

individual, family, and community.

Key Features of the Dissertation Multidisciplinary influences

Developing a deeper understanding of how children and families give meaning to place—and

aligned with the multidisciplinary nature of social work—necessitates a multidisciplinary approach.

Therefore, this dissertation brings together ideas from the fields of architecture, anthropology,

education, environmental design, environmental psychology, geography, psychiatry, sociology, and

urban planning to examine children’s and families’ complex negotiations with their environments.

This layering of disciplines is reflected in the re-establishment of the Geographies of Children,

Youth and Families Working Group of the Royal Geographic Society, which includes scholars in

anthropology, business, education, geography, law, psychology, and sociology. Nevertheless, their

most recent edited collection on children’s geographies (Holt, 2011)—though reflecting diverse

disciplinary affiliations of authors—still does not include one social work scholar. This research

attempts to address this gap by presenting a social work voice to the field of children’s geographies.

A trend to cross-pollinate among disciplines and research traditions has become evident at

recent social work conferences. The 2013 Canadian Association of Social Work Education

Conference (CASWE) focused on research that “challenges [social workers] to examine how we

currently theorize, teach and do research and/or introduce theories and approaches that are ‘at or

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beyond the edge’ in social work knowledge, education and practice” (CASWE, 2013, p. 3). A session

at the 2013 Annual General Meeting of the Council on Social Work Education (CSWE) focused on

social work in the era of global environmental crisis, and called for the CSWE to include the

environment as a specific research track at future meetings.

Central to my exploration are several scholars from multiple disciplines who were critical to

the formation of my thesis. I first understood the importance of place after reading Fullilove’s

(1996) impressions about the impact of displacement on the mental health of individuals and

communities. Jack’s (2008) research focused my approach on the relevance of place attachment on

children and provided me with the first reading of place from a social work perspective. After

reading Boğaç’s (2009) research on displaced populations in Cyprus, I was able to understand the

importance of place for generations of displaced families, inching closer to my current research

question exploring the concept and meaning of place. Harker’s (2009a, 2009b, 2010, 2011) body of

work framed my conceptualization of family and place from a Palestinian perspective, while

Garbarino (1985, 2001) and Garbarino and colleagues’ (1992) research showed me how to apply a

social ecological framework to children affected by adversity.

Perhaps most prevalent throughout this dissertation is the wide variety of perspectives

emerging from the new field of children’s geographies, which focuses on where children are located,

how they negotiate specific places, and how these places are given meaning (Holloway & Valentine,

2000; Philo, 2000). One central scholar in the field of human geographies, Philo (2000) stressed the

importance of accounting for the “diverse spaces (types of settings for interaction), places (specific

sites of meaning), environments (surroundings full of nature and humanity) and landscapes (visible

scenes and prospects)” (p. 245) in children’s lives. By drawing from the field of children’s

geographies, I am able to examine how place is fundamental to a broader understanding of

children’s lives. Moreover much of the scholarship in children’s geographies uses child-centered

research methodologies that bring children’s voices into focus, recognizing children’s unique

understandings of their formal and informal places. The field of children’s geographies puts children

and their places as the focus of inquiry. Clark’s (2001, 2004b) mosaic approach and De Lay’s (2003)

mobility mapping provided me with excellent illustrations of how children’s geographies play out in

research, since both of these methods inspired me to examine mapmaking as a methodology for

children and their families.

17

A socio-ecological approach to child protection

A socio-ecological approach to children’s experiences emphasizes how the physical environment

interacts with the multiple layers of the social ecological system. In the field of child protection, this

model is referred to as “the protective environment” (Ager, Boothby, & Bremer, 2009). As shown in

Figure 1.1, this is often depicted with the child in the center of a series of concentric circles.

Figure 1.1: The Protective Environment

Source: Author

In one way, this perspective can provide a theoretical lens through which to view children’s

multifaceted relationship with the environment. It can elucidate the different elements of the

environment, such as the relevance of home and family spaces in contributing to children’s well-

being. Such a perspective can also provide a platform by which to challenge preconceived notions of

how environments act upon children and how children act upon their environments. For example, it

can help contextualize how the home can serve as a site of protection or a space where the line

between private and public is blurred. However, despite the importance of understanding children’s

Nation-State

Neighborhood Community

Education / School

Family / Home

Individual Child

18

environments, this relationship has yet to be fully investigated when considering children’s lives in

violent settings.

Focus on the family: A present absence

At the beginning of this research project, I had originally proposed to study the concept and

meaning of place for young children affected by political violence, noting their presence in these

contexts and their paradoxical absence in the scholarship.2 I wanted to focus on young children

under the age of nine for two reasons. First, the majority of place-related research focuses on older

children (Derr, 2002; Hay, 1998). Second, young children are underrepresented in research in general

and specifically in research with populations affected by political violence (Hart, Galappatti, Boyden,

& Armstrong, 2007). This may be because young children’s abilities are underestimated and the

importance of their knowledge is misjudged. Despite these assumptions, young children have much

to share about their everyday geographies. According to James (2008), “Young children are working

hard to understand the world around them and the roles they will play in it” (p.416). It is the

responsibility of research to listen to young children and their families as they speak about their lived

experiences. For if research is going to contribute to the needs of children and their families, it is

important to know what those needs are as expressed in their own voices.

However, throughout the research process, I consistently discovered that young children’s

geographies could not be disengaged from their family systems. For family is integral to an

understanding of children’s lives and experiences. For example, Mayall (2000) emphasized the

importance of a multi-generational perspective when conducting research with children. Similarly, in

his research with Palestinian children, Hart (2002) asserted that children define themselves as a

generation in fundamentally different ways than adults. Yet, with the exception of Hart (2002), in

studies of children affected by armed conflict, familial relations are rarely the primary emphasis. The

focus is usually on the individual child and the impact of armed conflict. Similarly, in place-related

studies, such as geography, sparse consideration has been given to family relationships beyond the

parent-child dyad. There are few studies that look at relationships between adult children and their

parents, siblings, grandchildren and grandparents, and the wider family network of aunts, uncles, 2 For the purposes of this research, a young child is a child under the age of nine.

19

cousins, etc. (Valentine, 2008). Given recent changes in socio-cultural constructions of ‘the family’

(Beck-Gernsheim, 2002; Morgan, 1996), this absence of broader definitions of family is particularly

significant in the context of growing numbers of non-nuclear family relationships across multiple

generations.

Therefore, in this research, I did not focus solely on either children’s or parents’ experiences.

Rather, I focused on the family, with an emphasis on children’s experiences, as the family is

considered to be a vital component of childrens’ environments. All family members were

represented in the research process, with their narratives intertwined and told in concert, in order to

better understand how family experiences of occupation are co-constructed. In this way, the

dissertation identifies the contradiction that family represents a present absence. Although the family

unit is ubiquitous in all places affected by conflict, it is relatively absent from the academic work that

attempts to understand, decipher, and explain the role of place in families’ lives. In this way, there is

a juxtaposition of two apparent opposites—presence and absence.

Children-in-families approach

Most studies with children focus on the individual child and not the family and community’s

influence on the child. Many studies make reference to the presence of children within families, but

the experiences of families are often addressed from the perspective of adult family members,

usually the parents, thereby reinforcing adult agency. Therefore, research on family’s experience with

occupation and violence is incomplete and can be considered to be “adultist”, because it overlooks

the possibility that children have agency in family relationships. Adultism views children’s

experiences “from the perspectives of adults and not from children’s own meanings of it; it renders

what children do together invisible” (Mikkelsen & Christensen, 2009, p. 40). This research attempts

to challenge prevailing adultist attitudes within contemporary research on war-affected children by

using a “children-in-families” approach (Bushin, 2009).

In her research on family migration decision-making, Bushin (2009) developed a children-in-

families approach to encourage children’s voice in the research process. A children-in-families

approach to research includes children in research methodologies, thereby encouraging children to

be active participants in the study. This approach also includes siblings and adult family members, so

children’s experiences can be contextualized within the context of both intra- and inter-generational

20

familial networks. This is important because it is within this context that the structural boundaries

between adulthood and childhood have become “fuzzy” (Sibley, 1995). Using a children-in-families

approach attempts to “de-fuzz” these relationships by deeply exploring how families function and

how they co-create everyday experiences.

Viewing children’s experiences from a children-in-families approach challenges the

researcher by requiring a change of mindset rather than simply a change in research methods

(Bushin, 2009). Using a children-in-families approach to research families affected by political

violence within a qualitative research framework allows for the exploration of familial networks and

relationships, revealing the agency of both adults and children. This approach also prioritizes

“intergenerational geographies” (Vanderbeck, 2007) of politically or socio-spatially contested places,

uncovering the complex negotiations that children and adults engage in. In the current analysis, I

demonstrate how a children-in-families approach enables theorizations of children affected by

political violence to be furthered.

Children, families, and place

There is a growing body of literature on children’s relationship with place drawing, not just from

environmental psychology, but also from urban planning, human geography, education, and

developmental psychology. Scholarship in this area has explored themes such as children’s

perceptions of their environments (see for example, Bell, 2002; Bourchier, Barrett, & Lyons, 2002; J.

James, 2008; Korpela, 1992; Risotto & Tonucci, 2002; C. Spencer & Darvizeh, 1981; Taylor, Kuo, &

Sullivan, 2002; Van der Burgt, 2008). Research has looked specifically at concepts such as sense of

place and place attachment as an element of children’s development (Derr, 2002; Hay, 1998; Jack,

2008; Read, 2007). For example, Ní Laoire et al. (2010) looked at children who migrate and the way

they form belongings and attachments to home. Research has also addressed children’s relationships

with their natural environments (H. Matthews, 1995; M. Matthews, 1984). For example, Sebba

(1991) explored how a child’s relationship with the natural environment is ingrained in memory as

the child matures. Other research has examined children’s use of different aspects of their

environments (C. Clark & Uzzell, 2002; Kyttä, 2002). A more recent area of research has been on

children’s relationship with risk and safety within specific environments (Harden, 2000; Parkes,

2007; Valentine & McKendrick, 1997). There are also a number of studies addressing design for

21

children and their participation in the design process (Chawla & Heft, 2002; Francis & Lorenzo,

2002; Sutton & Kemp, 2002). For this particular research, I have drawn upon the field of childhood

sociology, particularly the work of James, Jenks, and Prout (1998), in particular the geographical

research on children’s places (Halseth & Doddridge, 2000; Holloway & Valentine, 2000; Matthews

& Limb, 1999). However, it is important to note that, with the exception of Leonard (2007, 2010),

the scholarship tends to focus on children in non-conflict settings.

A vast literature devoted to children growing up in situations of political violence has

documented and analyzed the psychosocial impact of displacement and loss (see for example, Apfel

& Simon, 1996; Boothby, Strang, & Wessells, 2006; Boyden & de Berry, 2004; Cairns, 1996; Daiute,

2010; Fernando & Ferrari, 2013; Garbarino, Kostelny, & Dubrow, 1991; Garbarino et al., 1991;

Leavitt & Fox, 1993; Singer & Kutlesic, 2012; Wessells & Kostelny, 2012; Wessells & Monteiro,

2004). This is an important element in describing the context within which these children live. But it

is not the only element. For research that excludes the environment does not give us a complete

picture of the world within which children live. Yet, there is little research that explicitly considers

the importance of place in the lives of children affected by political violence.

An understanding of place is critical to those who have been removed from particular places.

An examination of place as it relates to children is especially relevant, because place can represent a

protective physical, social, and emotional environment where children can develop in safety and

security (Jack, 2008; Spencer, 2005). For example, in times of uncertainty, families and communities

often work to create stable environments conducive for their children to grow, survive, and thrive

(Ní Laoire et al., 2010). However, certain environments can also be hazardous, compromising their

intended protective elements and making a particular locale an unsafe place. Therefore, in addition

to better understanding the concept and meaning of place for Palestinian children and families under

occupation, this research explores how the Israeli occupation and related political violence affected

children and families’ relationships with place, as well as how different kinds of places—specifically

home, school, neighborhood community, and nation-state—contribute to the protection of children

and families.

With these research goals in mind, a critical examination of place as related to children living

in Palestine must take into account multiple approaches to place. This research aims to do just that.

By invoking place as an analytical tool to explore the lives of children and their families, I attempt to

22

investigate everyday family practices—all of which involve the child—amidst the atypical

circumstances of occupation and political violence, while at the same time examining the broader

socio-spatial implications of place.

Place-based methods with children and families

Children’s worlds unfold across time and space. Moreover, there is a relationship between the

environmental and behavioral variables that effect the development of children. Therefore, place is

central to an understanding of childhood and child development (Hay, 1998) and relevant to

children and families affected by political violence. Since this research is concerned with the concept

and meaning of place for children and families in Palestine, a place-based approach is fundamental

to a broader understanding of their lives.

In order to better understand the concept and meaning of place for children and families

living under occupation in Palestine, I developed an innovative place-based research methodology

that aimed to unpack my research participants’ complex relationship with place. Research was

conducted in vivo, within children and families’ homes and communities in order to observe their

interactions with place and better understand the context of their everyday physical settings. During

family interviews, participants were invited to create drawings and maps of their familiar physical

environments: homes, schools, neighborhood communities, and nation-state. At the end of the

family interview, children were invited to guide me through their neighborhood communities and

show me the places that they move within and through in their daily lives. These methods in

combination generated diverse readings of children and families’ environments and further added to

my understanding of the contradictions in place. Chapter 3 provides further details on my research

methodology.

Through this methodology, I observed children’s mobilities in and between the home,

school, neighborhood communities, and their wider environment. By focusing on place, I tried to

better understand how and why places are created for, and by, children. I observed the supervised

and unsupervised movement of children between places, or what Peteet (2005) has described as

“…the interplay between spatial modes of containment and the creative placemaking capacity” of

children (p. 31). I observed children and families’ interactions with their familiar environment. I

noted particular kinds of place-related practices, which can be effective in addressing inequalities

23

that determine how place and space affects children’s lives. Overall, using place as an analytical tool

helped me explore children’s and families’ experiences with safe and unsafe places as a means of

child well-being.

In studying the geographies of children and families through a place-focused methodology, I

found that it was possible to understand that the places where children live, work and play matter

because they provide a sense of place in a turbulent world. Research conducted with children should

support their active role in place and space. As participants in research, it is important that research

is conducted in a way that supports and contributes to this understanding (Rasmussen & Smidt,

2003). Through an exploration of children and families experiences, I found that they engage in acts

of resistance, participation, and negotiation within place. I believe that this innovative

methodological approach contributes to the broader scholarly projects that the field of children’s

geographies seeks to advance.

Why Palestine?

According to Debray (2007), “No conflict in the world is as well documented, mapped and

recorded” as Palestine (p. 5). Therefore, Palestine is a key area to study the effects of political

violence on children. Furthermore, nothing seems to be more appropriately linked to questions of

place than the Palestinian struggle for statehood in the face of Israel’s expansion of the Jewish state.

Alienated from their land and confined for years by restrictions on their freedoms with checkpoints,

roadblocks, and the separation wall, Palestinians negotiate everyday boundaries, borders, and

barriers within their own homeland. These delineations of place remind the Palestinian people who

they are and who they are not (Khalidi, 1997). Palestinian identity is inextricably connected to their

places of origin, their current places, and their dream places. In essence, Palestinians are a stateless

people, caught in a legal limbo of international law (Al-Natour, 1997; Shiblak, 2006). But at the same

time, they have both a sense of rootedness to the land and an objective sense of place. Israeli author

Danny Rubenstein (1991) noted, “Every people in the world lives in a place. For Palestinians, the

place lives in them” (p. 120). Nowhere is the importance of place more apparent than among those

who are in place while also out of place, such as the Palestinians. Yet, I contend that for Palestinians,

place is the product of a history of contestation in which they are consistently on the losing end.

24

Since 1967, illegal Israeli settlements have been constructed throughout Palestine in violation

of international humanitarian law (Defence for Children International (DCI), 2010). Settlements are

organized residential, industrial and farming communities of Israeli civilians established on land in

the occupied West Bank, including East Jerusalem, with the “approval and direct or indirect support

of the Israeli government” (UNOCHA, 2007, p. 13). Settlements have a profound affect on

Palestinian life. Apart from the loss of land taken for settlements, destruction of property is an

everyday occurrence in the lives of Palestinians. Furthermore, there has been a sharp increase in

Israeli-sanctioned demolitions of Palestinian homes, resulting in the displacement of families (Save

the Children UK (SCUK), Palestinian Counseling Centre, & Welfare Association, 2009).

The violence that has become a normalized feature of daily life in Palestine has shaped the

lives of Palestinians for several generations (Taraki, 2006). The continual remapping of this region as

a result of occupation has separated Palestinians from their homes, lands, and livelihoods (Shehadeh,

2008). Forced displacement and restrictions on movement have ruptured social relationships

(Taraki, 2006). This has consequences for children; for when family members are suddenly separated

from one another, the family unit is undermined and children’s protective environments are

compromised. Moreover, many children live in settings characterized by the threat of violence—

perpetrated by both Israelis and Palestinians—in their homes, schools, and neighborhood

communities, compounded by abject poverty resulting from decades of Israeli occupation (Hart &

Lo Forte, 2010; SCUK et al., 2009; Trojan, 2009).

Moving beyond traumatization

As a result of the multiple struggles that Palestinians have encountered, concepts of trauma have

become “a near-universal set of theories and practices” to understand and address their suffering

(Thompson, 2009). Research examining the effects of political violence on children has traditionally

centered on trauma exposure (Barber & Schluterman, 2008). A focus on trauma follows the

traditional focus on a Western, deficits-based medical model, where the pattern is a reliance upon

negative psychopathology, such as posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Palestinian children are

commonly thought of as being traumatized, and the language of trauma has become ubiquitous at

every level of civil society in Palestine (Marshall, in press). Yet, PTSD is not necessarily the best way

to conceptualize the experience of Palestinian children. Because of PTSD’s focus on the connection

25

between trauma and negative psychological consequences, other aspects of children’s experience

may be overlooked. There may be little emphasis on variations in interpreting these experiences such

as level and layering of exposure, potential mediators (e.g., socioeconomic contexts, family support,

political ideology), and positive outcome measures (Barber & Schluterman, 2008). Furthermore,

Marshall (in press) suggests that trauma restricts political action:

While individual stories of victimization and abuse draw attention to human suffering, such discourse often distracts from the wider context of political violence. The discourse of suffering ‘on both sides’ depoliticizes the violence of occupation and obscures the massive asymmetries in power between occupied and occupier (p. 9).

Entire populations are deemed to be traumatized by violence and thereby “rendered politically

disabled and in need of external intervention” (Marshall, in press, p. 9; see also Fassin & Rechtman,

2009). According to Thompson (2009), this is a case of “universalizing the particular” where the

particular example of one comes to represent the experience of all. Therefore, this research seeks to

understand the diverse experiences of children and families, rather than to generalize about their

supposed traumatization.

The place of social work: Challenging the person-in-environment model

A hallmark of social work is its commitment to the person-in-environment perspective, the feature

that has distinguished it from other helping professions (Probst, 2012). An environmental

perspective is considered to be the foundation upon which the social work was built (Janchill, 1969),

a “conceptual umbrella” under which social work practice has taken place (C. H. Meyer, 1983), and a

pillar of social work theory (Goldstein, 2009).

Since the birth of the profession in the late 1800s and early 1900s, the environment was a

central concern of social workers (Strom-Gottfried, 2002). However, by the late 1920s, this concept

was eclipsed by evolving theories related to individual functioning, such as Freudian psychoanalysis

(Strom-Gottfried, 2002), which continued through the 1970s. Although theoreticians did not entirely

exclude the environment from their formulations, it was only marginally included. This emphasis on

the individual had more to do with social work’s reliance on well-developed theories, whereas

theories relating to the environment were far less common (Strom-Gottfried, 2002). However, the

1970s ushered in greater interest and emphasis on the environment in social work, supported by

26

prominent ego psychologists. In fact, Germain (1973), Meyer (1970), and Siporin (1975) all advocate

for social work that placed primary emphasis on systems theory and ecological theory.

Since then, the definition, utility, and operationalization of the environment in social work

has been inconsistent and poorly conceptualized, reflecting recurring changes within the profession

to redefine itself (Rogge & Cox, 2001). As Rogge and Cox (2001) note, there is ambivalence,

disagreement, and confusion as to what person-in-environment means, how it should be integrated

into social work practice, and if it should even be social work’s signature concept. Those in favor of

the person-in-environment as a central social work tenet suggest that it promotes holistic

understanding of clients, whereas opponents assert that the person-in-environment is too broad a

notion to guide practice (Probst, 2012).

Some social work scholars emphasize that the individual and the environment are constantly

interacting, and the social worker’s role is to intervene at this point of interaction (Buchbinder,

Eisikovits, & Karnieli-Miller, 2004; McLaughlin, 2002). Whereas others assert that social workers

draw upon their personal preferences and theoretical biases to emphasize either clients’ individual

characteristics or the difficulties created by their environments (Alperin & Hollman, 1992). In other

words, the current social work discourse tends to emphasize the social environment rather than the

physical environment (Coates, 2003; McKinnon, 2008; Närhi, 2004; Zapf, 2009). Furthermore,

current social work trends tend to strictly dichotomize the concept of environment into social and

physical spheres, rather than acknowledging the synergy of people and place as a part of one’s

personal geography. This research attempts to address that dichotomy in social work by better

understanding the interaction between people and place.

One of the barriers to using the concept of place as a social work approach is that there is

little research exploring how the environment contributes to or ameliorates social problems.

Without this grounding, the concept of place is just that: a concept. Then, the environment becomes

an assumption that cannot tangibly contribute to social work’s understanding of human behavior

and the ways that social work can address human suffering (Probst, 2012). Therefore, this research is

one of the first to better understand how elements of place may contribute to and ameliorate serious

social problems.

27

The Structure of the Dissertation Chapter 2 provides background on the context of Palestine, highlighting key issues affecting children

and families. Chapter 3 outlines the theoretical framework of place, with a specific focus on the

concept of territoriality as a place-related concept that can be used as a lens through which to view

Palestinian children and families’ experiences under occupation. Chapter 4 describes the place-based

methodology I used to conduct this research. A socio-ecological approach is reflected in the four

analysis chapters (Chapters 5-8), exploring the concept and meaning of place in children’s micro-

level spaces (e.g., the family and home), meso-level spaces (e.g., school and neighborhood

community), and macro-level spaces (e.g., nation-state) in a wide array of contexts ranging from

small villages, refugee camps, and cities. Contradictions in places are thereby organized around these

four different settings: home, school, neighborhood community, and nation-state. Chapter 5 explores

how home can be both a castle and/or a cage. It emphasizes how both Palestinians and Israelis are

constantly striving to create a home often at the expense of others not having a home. Chapter 6

assesses school as a site of protection and risk. Chapter 7 looks at both the positive and negative

understandings of neighborhood communities as they contribute to children’s protective

environment, and how these understandings support healthy child development and well-being. As

the final analysis section, Chapter 8 looks at the multiple contradictions inherent in families’ broader

understandings of Palestine as a nation-state manifested as an ongoing navigation between hope and

hopelessness, which I suggest is where place identity is formed. In this way, Palestinian families, and

specifically children, are learning how to negotiate what it means to be Palestinian and searching for

power in Palestine’s history. Finally, Chapter 9 outlines the implications of this research and suggests

recommendations for future social work practice, policy, and research.

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2 MAPPING PALESTINE

A Brief History of the Occupation of Palestine For almost a century, Israelis and Palestinians have been at the center of one of the most bitterly

contentious and protracted conflicts on earth. The conflict escalated in the early 1900s, when in

response to anti-Semitic policies and pogroms in Europe, young Jews began migrating to Palestine.

In 1917, the British government issued the Balfour Declaration, named for the British Foreign

Secretary who supported a home for the Jewish people in Palestine. During that time, armed

struggle over control of Palestine intensified, accompanied by political maneuvering over the fate of

both Israel and the Palestinian people.

The armed struggle culminated in the 1948 Arab-Israeli War, which began after the State of

Israel was officially formed, and resulted in the invasion of Israel by the surrounding Arab states of

Egypt, Iraq, and Syria. Due to the violence, a large number of Palestinians left, fled, or were expelled

from their homes,3 which Palestinians refer to as al-Nakba, meaning “the catastrophe” in Arabic

(Caplan, 2010).4

The initial borders of Israel were established along what became known as the Green Line,5

encompassing 50% more territory into Israel than was originally allotted for a Jewish state by the

UN Partition Plan, a total of 78% of historic Palestine. The Green Line is clearly delineated in Stage

2 of Figure 1.1. The West Bank and Gaza Strip (the remaining 22%) came under Jordanian and

Egyptian control, respectively (Baltzer, 2007). In the years following 1948, Israel destroyed hundreds

of Palestinian villages, which disappeared from maps or were eventually identified by piles of rubble

3 The exact number of refugees is a matter of dispute, with numbers varying from one account to another. According to Khalidi (1997), half the Palestinian population was uprooted and became refugees. Sa’di and Abu-Lughod (2007) state that at least 80 percent of the Palestinians living in the part of Palestine upon which Israel was established—more than 77 percent of Palestine’s territory—became refugees as a result of al-Nakba. The number of Palestinians who remained and became nominal citizens of the newly established state of Israel ranges from 60,000 to 156,000, depending on the source (Sa’di & Abu-Lughod, 2007) 4 According to Allan (2007), other terms have also been employed to refer to this event including al-îghtisab (the rape), al-ahdath (the events), al-hîjra (the exodus), and lamma sharna wa tla’na (when we blackened our faces and left). 5 The Green Line is the armistice line, which formed Israel’s de facto borders from 1949 to 1967, and currently forms the internationally recognized border between Israel and the West Bank. It is not considered to be an international or permanent border (Schwebel, 1994).

29

(Abu-Sitta, 1998; W. Khalidi, 1992). Since then, Israelis and Palestinians have engaged a seemingly

intractable conflict over control of land and resources.

Border incidents and hostilities between Israel and neighboring countries continued until

1967, when Israel launched bombing raids against Egyptian airfields. As a result, war broke out

between Israel and Egypt, Jordan, and Syria. Within six days, Israel occupied the West Bank, Gaza

Strip, Sinai Peninsula, Golan Heights, and parts of East Jerusalem.6 About 320,000 Palestinians were

displaced, most of them voluntarily fleeing the violence (Sachar, 2010). Israel’s subsequent military

occupation of Palestine resulted in complete military rule of Israel over Palestine. Home

demolitions, detention without trial, torture of political prisoners,7 and extensive land confiscations

characterized Israel’s occupation of Palestine during this period, elements of which are still being

enacted today.

The first int i fada

As a response to the growing injustice that Palestinians were subjected to at the hands of Israel,

Palestinians initiated two major Palestinian intifadas (uprisings or Arabic for “shaking off”).8 The first

intifada (1987-1993) was characterized by Palestinian-driven non-violent civil disobedience and

boycotts against Israel, known as “the popular struggle”. Palestinians formed “popular committees”,

6 Although Israel has considered East Jerusalem annexed land since its occupation of the West Bank in June 1967, the international community insists that it is occupied land that exists in violation of international humanitarian law. 7 According to the prisoner support and human rights association Addameer (2013), as of August 2013, 5,042 Palestinians were being held in Israeli prisons, often for political rather than criminal reasons; approximately one-quarter of these Palestinians being held in Israeli prisoners were arrested for being in Israel illegally (B’tselem, 2013). Of those, 134 Palestinians were under administrative detention, which means that they have not been charged and are being held indefinitely and without trial. 159 of these prisoners were minors (under the age of 18), with 22 of these minors held in Israeli prisons for being in Israel illegally (B’Tselem, 2013a). Human rights groups claim that Israeli military courts violate international standards of fair trails by denying access to lawyers, using confidential evidence, and giving briefings in Hebrew without Arabic translation (Asser, 2003). Detainees face an increased use of solitary confinement, a ban on reading materials and television, a halt of transfer of funds from family members for prisoners to purchase basic food products, and the discontinuation of academic studies for distance learning. Furthermore, allegations of torture and other ill-treatment in Israeli jails, including of children, has been documented by Amnesty International (2012), Human Rights Watch (2012), and B’Tselem (Wolfson, 2010). Palestinians consider Israeli's detention of Palestinians as not only punishment for the individual, but also collective punishment for Palestinian families, who face increased economic hardship and targeting by Israeli forces as a result of the imprisonment of their fathers, sons, and brothers. Due to the illegal transfer of prisoners outside the occupied territories, a large number of Palestinian prisoners cannot be visited by their families. This is a major challenge for Palestinian families. To protest the prison conditions, Palestinian prisoners have organized karameh (dignity) strikes. 8 It is unclear how organized these intifadas were. Historical accounts and views vary.

30

which included women, children, and the elderly. As part of their strategy of sumud (steadfastness),

popular committees encouraged activities such as home gardening and sewing cooperatives, thereby

enabling women to help support their families during a time of economic hardship (Allen, 2008).

Simply surviving and staying on the land became a nationalist value. Homes, neighborhoods, and

schools became political sites for organizing and resisting the occupation. As a response to the

popular struggle, Israel increasingly restricting Palestinians’ freedom of movement by implementing

a permit system, and in 1988, Israel prevented Palestinians from traveling between the Gaza Strip

and the West Bank. Palestinians began to view actions such as these as a form of collective

punishment.9

Palestinian children were highly visible symbols of the popular struggle during the first

intifada. Television screens around the world showed Palestinian youth armed only with Palestinian

flags and muqlaa (homemade slingshots) facing down Israeli tanks and being beaten by heavily armed

Israeli soldiers (Ayyad, 2009; Johnson & Kuttab, 2002; Olson, 2013; Peteet, 1991, 1994), thus

depicting Palestinians’ struggle against an oppressive Israel as a David-versus-Goliath fight. The

engagement of children and young people engaged in active resistance posed a challenge to Israel’s

then 20-year-old occupation (Marshall, in press). Through media, the international community was

witnessing Israel’s occupation as cruel, rather than a benevolent response to violence, as had been

Israel’s claim (Marshall, in press).

In the first two years of the first intifada, Save the Children (as cited in Pearlman, 2011)

estimated that 7% of all Palestinian children suffered injuries from shootings, beatings or tear gas.

Over the course of the first intifada, Israeli military killed about 1,100 Palestinians and Palestinians

killed 100 Israeli civilians and 60 Israeli military personnel; additionally thousands of Palestinians and

Israelis were injured (B’Tselem, 2013b).

9 Collective punishment—a penalty imposed on every member of a group without regard to his or her involvement in the group’s actions and conduct—is a war crime under the 1949 Geneva Conventions, to which Israel is a signatory. The drafters of the Geneva Conventions were responding to actions during World Wars I and II. During World War I, Germans executed Belgium villagers as retribution for resistance activity. In World War II, entire villages, towns, or districts were considered to be “guilty” for resistance activities, and thereby warranting widespread penalties.

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The Oslo period and the fragmentation of Palestine

The first intifada ended in 1993 with the signing of the Oslo Accords between the Israeli government

and the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO), which in 1994 was formally established as the

Palestinian Authority (PA). Though at the time the Accords were hailed as a means to establish

Palestinian control over some of the West Bank, they actually further fragmented the West Bank

(Jones, 2012). According to Gordon (2008), the Oslo Accords outsourced the task of managing the

Palestinian population to the PA, which was now responsible for the welfare of the maximum

number of Palestinians in the least amount of area, whereas the least populated areas of the West

Bank were left under direct Israeli control. The Accords resulted in the temporary division of the

West Bank into three areas—referred to as Areas A, B, and C—and additional areas annexed by

Israel (see Figure 2.1), effectively turning Palestine into a “swiss cheese” state (Krouzman, 1999;

Weizman, 2007).

Figure 2.1: The Palestinian Territories According to Administrative Area

Source: (Centanni, 2013)

32

Area A (approximately 18% of the land, 55% of the population) includes the major

Palestinian cities, but only a small portion of the remaining West Bank, and is under full PA control.

This means that in Area A, the PA makes all decisions concerning security- and civilian-related

issues for Palestinians. Area B (approximately 21% of the land, 41% of the population) comprises

most Palestinian rural communities and falls under the control of the PA for civil affairs, such as

education, while the Israeli military controls security in these areas. Approximately 61% of the West

Bank and 4% of the population is considered Area C, where the Israeli military retains authority over

law enforcement as well as Palestinian civil affairs, while simultaneously building its own settlements

and roads.

The Palestinian city of Hebron was excluded from the Oslo negotiations. Since early 1997,

the city has been divided into two sectors: H1 and H2. H1 is home to around 120,000 Palestinians

and, like Area A, remains under PA control. H2, where several hundred Israeli settlers live alongside

approximately 30,000 Palestinians, is under intense Israeli military control to “protect” the settlers.

These noncontiguous territorial divisions remain today leading to physical, political, and

jurisdictional fragmentation within the West Bank. This greatly impairs the authority of the

Palestinian government and civil society to ensure protection and cohesiveness of Palestinian

children, families, and communities.

The second int i fada

Several political and social conditions, such as the failure of the Oslo Accords to improve the lives

of Palestinians and preparations from both Israel and Palestinian leaders to engage in violence, led to

the beginning of the second intifada (or al-Aqsa intifada) in September 2000 (Pressman, 2003).

Compared to the first intifada, the second intifada was more devastating and marked by higher levels

of violence perpetrated by both Israel and Palestine. Israeli forces shelled and invaded Palestinian

towns and cities, with urban warfare between the Israeli military and Palestinian civilians.10

Palestinian suicide bombers brought the violence into Israel with attacks on military and civilian sites

(Araj, 2012; Brym & Araj, 2006; Moghadam, 2003).

10 Allen (2008) notes that cities were not just the environment within which attacks occurred, but they were often the explicit target, an example of a direct attack on place (see also Graham, 2004; Gregory, 2003).

33

During the early years of the second intifada, both Palestinians and Israelis experienced a

period of uncertainty, living under the persistent potential for violence (Allen, 2008). In the early

days of the second intifada, Israeli snipers hid on rooftops shooting Palestinians, a tactic that resulted

in a high number of Palestinian casualties (Pratt, 2006). Palestinian suicide bombers engaged in a

range of attacks on both Israeli military and civilian targets, becoming a very real and consistent

threat to Israelis. As a response, the Israeli military intentionally destroyed the family homes of

Palestinian suicide bombers in order to deter potential suicide bombers from attacking (Benmelech,

Berrebi, & Klor, 2010), though it can be argued that Israel’s actions only further motivated future

suicide bombers. Roughly crafted and unguided Qassam rockets became the next generation of

Palestinian violence (BBC News, 2008; Human Rights Watch (HRW), 2005; Sharp, 2008).11 The

second intifada tapered off in 2005,12 ending with approximately 4,000 Palestinians dead and more

than 50,000 injured (B’Tselem, 2013b), while 1,137 Israelis were killed and another 8,341 were

injured (Institute for Counter-Terrorism (ICT), n.d.).

Although the Oslo Accords called for the gradual transfer of power and responsibility for

planning and zoning in Area C from Israel to Palestine, this transfer has been halted since the start

of the second intifada. It is estimated that there are as many as 150,000 Palestinians living within Area

C. A recent OCHA survey (2010) found that up to 271 communities—many small herding

communities scattered in remote areas—have more than 50% of their communal structures located

in Area C. Area C is important not just to the people living within its borders, but it contains critical

land reserves, such as agricultural and grazing land, as well as the only available space necessary for

the expansion of Palestinian population centers.

Palestine Today: Israel’s Matrix of Control in the Post-Second Int i fada Era With distance growing between the end of the second intifada and the present, many Palestinians in

the West Bank express sentiments that their lives have returned to some level of calm regularity. Yet

11 With a kill rate of 0.5 percent, Qassam rockets cause relatively few casualties. Yet, they create very real and constant terror for Israelis living within their range. 12 The ending date of the second intifada remains disputed, as there was no definitive event that effectively brought it to a close.

34

daily proof of violence still exists. When I visited Palestine in 2010 and 2012, F-16s continued to fly

low through major Palestinian cities, a tactic that Palestinians I spoke with claimed was an Israeli

military tactic used to unnerve them and remind them that they are still occupied. I read reports of

precious Palestinian olive groves destroyed by Israeli settlers (UNOCHA, 2012), families being

threatened with displacement due to settler activity (UNOCHA, 2012b), and children injured as a

result of participating in demonstrations against the separation wall or settlement expansion

(UNICEF, 2012). I walked along streets that bore the names of shuhada (martyrs) and saw how

massacres were noted on memorials on city streets, a process that commemorates the past and

current violence that marks Palestinian spaces (Allen, 2008).13

While the Israeli government has maintained a public position of negotiating peace with

Palestinians, it has also enacted an incremental process of Israeli territorialization while

simultaneously engaging in Palestinian deterritorialization (Weizman, 2007; Yiftachel, 2006). Prior to

the creation of the State of Israel in 1948, Palestine was described as “a land without a people”.14

Israel has used the language of “development”—improving the land by making it “modern”,

“civilized”, and “productive”—to justify its actions (Dewsbury, 2003; Harker, 2007; Jones, 2012).

According to Braverman (2009) and Falah (1996), Palestinian land in both Israel Palestine continues

to be transformed into a Jewish space, with roads renamed in Hebrew, Israeli settlements

established, industrial businesses developed, and, in the process, most traces of Palestinian history

removed from the landscape. Falah (1996) argues:

Mindful of the centrality of control of the land, landscape and its meaning for political hegemony, Israeli authorities pursued a strategy which, by removing the past cultural traces of other peoples from the landscape, undercut and weakened Palestinian claims to this territory, i.e., a strategy of ‘de-signification’ (pp. 257-258).

13 According to Allen (2008), all Palestinians who are deemed to have died for the national cause are honored as shuhada, not exclusively stone throwers, suicide bombers, or militants. This includes children shot while sitting in their classrooms or people who died from not being allowed to reach a hospital beyond a checkpoint. (For example, during a four year period in the second intifada, 61 pregnant and laboring women were refused passage and forced to give birth at checkpoints; 36 of their babies died as a result.) This means that whether an individual has died as a civilian bystander or as a combatant, they are considered to be shuhada. Shuhada often receive a picture posted in town honoring them (see Figure 3.1), as well as a gravestone in the local cemetery. 14 Although the phrase “a land without people for a people without a land” is commonly thought of as a Zionist slogan, scholars have debated its origins. Dowty (1998) and Muir (2008) claim that the phrase was used as early as the mid-nineteenth century by Christian Restorationists and never widely adopted by Zionists. On the other hand, Shapira (1999) contends that the phrase was common among Zionists at the end of the nineteenth and into the twentieth century (p. 42).

35

But more important to Israel and contributing to the “hollowing” of Palestinian land (Weizman,

2007), these tactics create new “facts on the ground”—building settlements, creating by-pass roads,

controlling aquifers, and restricting Palestinian movement—that mark Israel’s presence and re-

signifies the landscape as belonging to Israel (Abu El Haj, 2001). Such “facts” can be military and

strategic as well as cultural and historical (D. K. Allan, 2007). As a result, Palestinian geographical

space is consistently shrinking under the weight of these Israeli-driven “improvements”. This

framing of deterritorialization through development mirrors the language of colonialism and the

early Zionist movement.15

Over the last decade, in the name of Israeli national security and supported by the

international “war on terror”, Israel established a network of restrictions in Palestine dividing Israelis

and Palestinians and controlling Palestinian movement. These policies contribute to what Israeli

anthropologist Jeff Halper (2000) has identified as Israel’s “matrix of control” and others have

identified as a form of colonialism and apartheid (on apartheid, see Davis, 1989; Farsakh, 2003;

Peteet, 2009). In addition to the checkpoints and the wall, the matrix of control includes use of

outdated laws to confiscate Palestinian land,16 the construction of Israeli-only access roads

(Biesenbach, 2003; Misselwitz & Rieniets, 2006; Weizman, 2007), policies of closures (Brown, 2004;

Hass, 2002; Roy, 2001),17 the development of Israeli settlements on Palestinian land (Campbell,

2005; Gordon, 2008; Halper, 2000; Weizman, 2007), the doling out of differentiated identification

cards and travel permits (Abu-Zahra, 2008; Tawil-Souri, 2010), policies of land ownership and

residency registration (Khamaisi, 1995), and the demolition of Palestinian homes when these

regulations are defied (Jones, 2012). The matrix of control cultivates artificial borders, deprives

15 According to Caplan (2010) the term Zionism describes “adherents of ideological and political movements seeking to create a national home or state for the Jewish people in Palestine” (p. 6). Yet for most Palestinians, this term continues to negatively signify those who took over their beloved land and nation-state. Some historians have purported that the goal of Zionism was to create an exclusively Jewish state in Palestine (Gelvin, 2007; Pappe, 2007). Caplan’s (2010) less pejorative definition challenges the narrative that early Zionism was primarily concerned with creating an exclusively Jewish state and suggests the possibility that they cooperated with Palestinians. 16 For example, one Ottoman land law states that any privately held land not cultivated for three consecutive years can be confiscated by Israel. Another law from the British Mandate period says that land covered by more than 50 percent stones is not suitable for agriculture and therefore can be acquired by Israel (Bunton, 1999). 17 According to Roy (2001), there are three kinds of closures: (1) a general closure restrict overall movement of labor, goods, and other factors of production between the West Bank and the Gaza Strip, and between them and Israel, (2) a total closure completely prohibits any movement, usually enacted when there is a threat or after an attack on Israeli interests, and (3) an internal closure restricts movement between Palestinian areas within the West Bank and Gaza Strip.

36

Palestinians of their freedom of movement, and effectively suppresses the progress of human

development within Palestine.

This dissertation will focus on what I have termed as the present “post-second intifada era”.18

This time frame is characterized by a tentative “peace” with everyday violence from settlers and the

army directed at Palestinians, flashes of Palestinian resistance in the face of Israel’s matrix of control,

and inter-Palestinian violence. This chapter details three elements of the matrix of control in the

post-second intifada era—the separation wall, checkpoints, and settlements—painting a fuller picture

of the everyday experience of children and families in Palestine.

The separation wall

In March 2002, Hamas conducted the deadliest attack against Israelis during the second intifada.

Popularly known as “the Passover massacre”, 30 Israeli civilians were killed and 140 were injured

when a suicide bomber attacked a hotel in Israel (Helmus & Glenn, 2005; Nacos, 2004; Newman,

2003). The Passover massacre set the stage for Israel to further justify construction plans on the 700

kilometer separation wall (henceforth referred to as the wall).19 The building of the wall was a logical

outcome of efforts to connect Israeli policies in Palestine with the global war on terror and thereby

engage the political and financial support of the United States, who was recovering from and

responding to recent attacks on the World Trade Center.20 Building upon the United States increased

efforts to combat global “terrorism”, the Israeli government recognized that there would never be a

better time to act aggressively against the Palestinians (Jones, 2012). Rather than the official position

18 Labeling the present period “post-second intifada” has the potential to be controversial, as many Palestinians believe that the intifada has never ended (Rudoren, 2013a). This current intifada is conceptualized as non-violent resistance such as cultural and economic boycott of Israel. On the other hand, this period could also be labeled the inter-intifada period, reflecting a common Palestinian belief (or hope) that a third intifada is inevitable. Nevertheless, a focus on the post-second intifada era does not exclude any discussion of the past history of the conflict nor the future of Palestine. 19 There are differences in the terminology used to refer to the wall. The Palestinians refer to it as Al Jedar (the wall) or in English, they use the terms fence and wall interchangeably. The Israelis use the terms separation barrier, security fence, terror prevention fence, or anti-terrorist fence. The structure includes both fence and wall components; as such it is neither entirely one, nor the other. In its opinion, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) (2004) referred to it as a wall, employing the same terminology used by the UN General Assembly, whereas the United Nations Secretary General (2003), in his report to the General Assembly, used the term separation barrier (for more on terminology, see Parry, 2004). 20 Between 1972 and 2011, the United States has used its United Nation’s (UN) Security Council veto to block at least forty-two UN resolutions critical of Israel and aimed at curbing Israel’s violations of international law (AICE, 2013). The United States is not the only country supporting Israel’s military and human rights violations; France is currently one of the largest arms traders with Israel in contradiction of European Union rules on the defense industry (Cronin, 2009).

37

of preventing Palestinian terrorists from entering Israeli cities (Makovsky, 2004), the wall is best

understood as a culmination of a century-long process of reimagining Palestine as a Jewish space

(Jones, 2012). It is a misconception that the wall keeps suicide attackers out of Israel, as hundreds of

Palestinians cross over it every day to work illegally in Israel (Bsaikri, n.d.).21

Official construction of the wall began in the summer of 2002, and as of 2012, 62% of the

wall has been built (B’Tselem, 2011d). Although the wall’s exact elements differ according to

location and topography, its core is an electrified fence, equipped with surveillance cameras and

other sensors and flanked on either side by barbed wire. Other obstacles include a six-to-eight foot

deep trench, a military patrol road, and a dirt path to record footprints. In many places, the wall

diverges from the Green Line by anywhere from 200 meters to 20 kilometers, zigzagging through

Palestinian land to incorporate Israeli settlements and other Israeli interests (B’Tselem, 2003).22 The

full route of the wall will include 15% constructed on the Green Line or in Israel, with 85% inside

the West Bank (B’Tselem, 2011c). Once completed, the wall will be more than three times as long

and twice as high as the Berlin Wall (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2006).

In some places secondary walls have been constructed, creating a number of completely

surrounded enclaves around Palestinian communities. For example in the West Bank town of

Qalqilia, approximately 40,000 residents are trapped within the confines of the wall, in what an

Israeli court has called “a suffocating ring” (as cited in Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2006), cutting them off

from school, livelihoods, health services, and family (Giacaman et al., 2009; UNOCHA, 2009). The

wall includes a limited number of Israeli-staffed gates to allow for the crossing of people and goods,

and a number of agricultural gates to facilitate access to agricultural land (Israeli Ministry of Defense,

2004), which are collectively opened for a total of 55 minutes each day (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2006).

Approximately 35,000 Palestinians holding West Bank ID cards in 34 communities are

located between the wall and the Green Line (UNOCHA, 2009). Residents of these towns and

21 According to Israel’s internal security and intelligence service, Shin Bet (also known as Shabak), suicide attacks significantly decreased due to increased pursuit of Palestinian militants by the Israeli army and intelligence agencies, Hamas’s increased political activity, and a truce among Palestinian militant groups (Hrel, 2006). Moreover, former Israeli Defense Secretary Moshe Arens (2008) claimed that the reduction in violence perpetrated by Palestinians was due to the entry of the Israeli army into the West Bank in 2002, which greatly controlled Palestinian mobility. 22 The Israeli government argues that the route of the wall between settlements and Palestinian areas throughout the West Bank is necessary for security. However, Jones (2012) identifies this as circular reasoning; for if these settlements had not been built within the West Bank, they would not be vulnerable to attack.

38

villages require permits to live in their homes, and they are only able to leave their communities via a

gate in the wall. Approximately 125,000 Palestinians are surrounded by the wall on three sides and

26,000 Palestinians are surrounded by the wall on all four sides, with a tunnel or road connection to

the rest of the West Bank (UNOCHA, 2009). The World Bank (as cited in Chomsky, 2004) suggests

that the wall has isolated 250,000 to 300,000 Palestinians—more than 10% of the population—and

it might annex up to 10% of the land. As one aspect of its complex matrix of control, Israel has

effectively created a wall against Palestinian development.

Almost a decade ago, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) (2004) ruled that “the

construction by Israel of a wall in the Occupied Palestinian Territory and its associated régime are

contrary to international law”. Yet construction on the wall continues today. The wall has led to

substantial economic loss for Palestinians, including loss of land, destruction of key environmental

assets, and restricted access of farmers to their land (Save the Children Sweden (SCS), International

Bureau for Children’s Rights (IBCR), & DCI - Palestine Section, 2011). Completed sections of the

wall have so far resulted in the destruction of 84,000 dunums (84 square kilometers) of olive and

other fruit trees, 615,000 dunums (615 square kilometers) of irrigated agricultural lands (including

greenhouses), 37,300 dunums (37.3 square kilometers) of water networks, and 15,000 dunums (15

square kilometers) of agricultural roads in the governorates of Jenin, Tulkarem, and Qalqilya

(UNOCHA, LAC, & HEPG, 2003). Of the 1,500,000 dunums of existing rangeland in the West

Bank, 85% is closed to Palestinians as a result of Israeli settlements, military areas, and the wall

(Consulate General of Spain in Jerusalem, 2007).

Checkpoints

Checkpoints are another key aspect of Israeli’s matrix of control, mediating Palestinian mobility and

representing the denial of the collective and individual rights of Palestinians to a homeland/place

(Biesenbach, 2003; Graham, 2003; Misselwitz & Rieniets, 2006; Said, 1995; Segal & Weizman, 2003;

Tawil-Souri, 2011; Weizman, 2007). Checkpoints are barriers manned by Israeli soldiers or border

police to monitor Palestinian movement within the West Bank and the border spaces between

Palestine (West Bank and Gaza) and Israel. Checkpoints can take on many forms and functions and

have a temporal element. For example, a checkpoint that may have started as a roadblock and over

time may be transformed into part of the wall. Movement in Palestine is highly controlled through

39

checkpoints, and travel between Israel and Palestine is almost completely banned; it is only allowed

for restricted categories of people such as medical personnel or employees of diplomatic or

international institutions, all of whom are required to obtain special permission from Israeli

authorities prior to travel (Abu Nahleh, 2006). Palestinians who wish to travel between the West

Bank and Israel must apply for an often unobtainable permit. Yet, even those granted permission

may or may not be able to pass due to the prevailing political climate. Children are allowed to pass

through checkpoints without their parents. However, if one member of the family is refused access

through a checkpoint, the entire family often turns back together.

Checkpoints, littering the landscape of Palestine, form what Tawil-Souri (2011) describes as

“a tangled mosaic of barricades and crossing points, of interpenetrating nodes superimposed on the

landscape” (p. 17). Tawil-Souri (2011) continues:

Checkpoints interrupt and obtrude, and demarcate where and when Palestinian life is allowed to flourish or squeeze through. They are real no-man’s-lands, liminal, interstitial, intervening Palestinian space-flows with definite political, economic, social, and geographic impact—often negative (p. 20).

The above description of checkpoints illustrates that places in Palestine are constantly changing,

causing instability and uncertainty for Palestinian families. They reinforce the transcience of the

Palestinian experience, which Edward Said described as “scattered, discontinuous, marked by the

artificial and imposed arrangements of interrupted or confined space, by the dislocations and

unsynchronized rhythms of disturbed time” (p. 20).

Because of its ambiguous and contested nature, checkpoints often serve as a flashpoint for

resistance against Israeli occupation. Abu Nahleh (2006) describes a particular checkpoint where

international activists and Palestinians (a majority who are under the age of 18) gather for weekly

protests. Even though the Israeli army tends to initiate the confrontation by shooting at the

protesters with rubber bullets and grenades when the activists and Palestinians defy their commands

and get too close to the checkpoint gates, both sides continually antagonize each other. Young

Palestinian males throw stones and taunt the soldiers, both Palestinians and international activists

sing songs of resistance and freedom, while the soldiers respond by firing tear gas grenades, rubber

bullets, and other means of dispersal. The checkpoint serves as a place where both sides interact

with one another to challenge the territorial fragmentation of Palestine.

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Settlements

For the most part, settlements are the main reason for the development of the devastating route of

the wall and the ubiquitous checkpoints. Although settlements have been growing in Palestine since

1967, the early-1980s marked an Israeli-sponsored acceleration of settlement building. Settlements

are residential, agricultural, and industrial areas exclusively for Israelis, built and sustained by the

Israeli government on land inside the Green Line (Prusher, 2009; UNOCHA, 2007). Apart from a

few exceptions in East Jerusalem, residence in Israeli settlements is restricted to Israeli citizens and

to persons of Jewish descent entitled to Israeli citizenship or residency under the Law of Return

(UNOCHA, 2007). Settlements are often situated on tops of hilltops, where they can monitor

activity in the surrounding area. At night, settlements can be identified by the soft glowing yellow

lights contrasted with the harsher white lights of Palestinian towns, marked occasionally by the green

light of a mosque.

Israeli settlers in the West Bank fall into three groups of roughly equal size: ideological

settlers, economic settlers, and ultra-orthodox religious settlers (Buck, 2010). Whereas economic

settlers and ultra-orthodox religious settlers live in the West Bank mainly for quality-of-life factors

(e.g., cheaper housing, segregated housing, etc.) and live close to the Green Line, ideological settlers

claim that Palestine is part of greater Israel and aim to claim all of the West Bank land and establish

a Jewish majority there (Friedman, 2007). Quality-of-life settlers are considered to be pragmatic, and,

though they would vote to remain in their homes and communities, they will not fight to retain

them, as opposed to the ideological settlers who consistently antagonize and attack Palestinians

(Martin, 2011). Since 1967, Israel has established 135 settlements in the West Bank (including East

Jerusalem). Currently, over 350,000 Jewish settlers live in the West Bank area between the wall and

the Green Line, with an additional 300,000 living in East Jerusalem (Sherwood, 2012b).

The settlements have been declared illegal by the UN General Assembly and the Security

Council (Hollander, 2007). According to the Fourth Geneva Convention (International Committee

of the Red Cross (ICRC), 1949), which was ratified by Israel in 1951, “The Occupying Power shall

not deport or transfer parts of its own civilian population into the territory it occupies” (Article 49).

The Hague Regulations prohibit an occupying power from undertaking permanent changes in the

occupied areas unless these changes are due to military needs, or unless they are undertaken for the

41

benefit of the local population. Despite this, Israel continues to sponsor the development of

settlements.

Settlements are part of a vast Israeli government-sponsored project aimed at reterritorializing

Palestine landscape into Jewish-only colonial settlement blocs (Weizman, 2007). Though settlers are

civilians, they are allowed to carry automatic weapons, as opposed to Palestinians who are not

allowed to own any firearms (G. Cohen, 2011; Foundation for Middle East Peace, 1994; Sherwood,

2012a). Overall, the settlers’ ubiquitous presence leads to increased instability and violence for

children and families living near settlements.

Intra-Palestinian Violence

Conflict between Palestinians constitutes a further source of insecurity for Palestinian children and

families and marks a breakdown in Palestinian communities. When Hamas was elected to

government in January 2006, there was a full-blown conflict among Palestinians, leaving 161

Palestinians dead and another 700 injured (O’Callaghan, Jaspars, & Pavanello, 2009). In the

following year, 353 Palestinians were killed by other Palestinians (B’Tselem, 2011b). While the level

of violence has decreased, there are still instances where Hamas and Fatah have targeted each other’s

activists, leaders, and supporters (Bronner, 2008, 2009; O’Callaghan et al., 2009).

Palestinian civilians have also been specifically targeted by Palestinian entities such as the

Palestinian Authority, Fatah, or Hamas on suspicion of collaboration with Israel. Since the beginning

of the first intifada, dozens of Palestinian civilians have been abducted, tortured and killed after being

accused of being collaborators (B’Tselem, 2011a). Since 2007, Hamas has executed 14 people,

including six convicted spies, and in 2013, the Palestinian Authority condemned a member of the

Palestinian security forces to death for being a collaborator (Al-Mughrabi, 2013). Collaboration has

been broadly defined to include directly assisting Israel, agreeing with Israel’s political positions,

brokering and selling land to Israel authorities, failing to participate in strikes, and marketing banned

Israeli merchandise (B’Tselem, 2011a). In some instances, collaboration includes actions that are

deemed to be immoral, such as prostitution and drug dealing (B’Tselem, 2011a). Human rights

organizations have documented instances when Palestinians were pressured to collaborate with

Israeli authorities in order to receive permits necessary to earn a livelihood or to obtain medical

treatment (Al-Mughrabi, 2013). In other instances, Palestinians have been arbitrarily accused of

42

being collaborators. Families of accused collaborators face extreme stigma and discrimination in

their communities. For example, children of collaborators are often not allowed to marry.23

Children in Palestine

As a place affected by political violence, Palestine is a landscape deeply inscribed with physical,

emotional, cultural, and political scars. During her research in the West Bank, Peteet (2005) noted

that “the potential for physical violence was always on display” (p. xi). This potential for violence is

not just related to the occupation. There are also violent aspects of Palestinian society such as child

abuse, family violence, and gender-based violence that are not directly related to the occupation.

These factors may be further exacerbated by factors such as unemployment, poverty, and religious

ideology. My acknowledgement of non-occupation related violence does not diminish the

occupation and its affects, but rather paints the picture of Palestine as an extremely complex society.

The occupation has created an environment where violence is normalized, and children act out this

normalization. Studies of Palestinian children show that no child is spared the osmotic effects of

violence on their society (Baker & Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1999; Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2006; Thabet,

Abed, & Vostanis, 2004).

Children living in Palestine have been particularly affected by high rates of morbidity and

mortality (Morris et al., 2010; Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics, 2008), both directly related to

the occupation and otherwise. Fifty percent of children in Palestine are regularly exposed to violence

in their homes, at school, on the streets, or traveling in between these places (DCI, 2008).

Palestinian childhood is also characterized by violent experiences such as night raids, arrests of

family members, home demolitions, wall construction around or through their communities, and

personal assaults and injuries (Arafat & Boothby, 2003; Qouta, Punamäki, & El Sarraj, 1995).

In war-affected settings, child protection efforts tend to focus on mental and physical harm

to children as a result of war-related violence. Therefore, family violence—child neglect, child sexual

and physical abuse, corporal punishment—may be overlooked. Nevertheless, family violence is still a 23 In 2010, I visited a residential facility for girls in Nablus and was told that many of the girls had been abandoned by their families and communities after one of their parents had been accused of being a collaborator with Israel. One girl told me that she intended to marry her cousin, because he was the only one who would marry her since her mother was accused of being a collaborator.

43

serious issue in any context and especially in the context of political violence where multiple forms

of violence may accumulate (Garbarino & Kostelny, 1996). Indeed, there is a link between political

violence and family violence. As Jewkes (2002) notes, when violence is an established practice in a

society, it is more likely to occur at domestic levels. In fact, Al-Krenawi and colleagues (2007) found

that exposure to political violent events is strongly associated with violence within the family and

between parents.

However, there is some research (though few that are recent) as to the prevalence and type

of violence experienced within Palestinian families, a gap that is reflected broadly within Arab

cultures. In a domestic violence survey (Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics, 2006), 27.9% of

women agreed that a husband should beat his wife if she left the home without asking for

permission, while 10.5% believed that a husband should beat his wife if she fails to prepare food on

time. Figures from the Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics showed that over 50% of mothers

supported the use of corporal punishment when children misbehave (Trojan, 2009). In a cross-

sectional survey of 1,185 secondary school children in East Jerusalem and the West Bank, Haj-Yahia

and Abdo-Kalota (2003) found high rates of children witnessing and experiencing different forms of

violence in the family including father-to-mother violence (30-36%), mother-to-father violence (11-

38%), parent-to-child violence (32-52%). Another study by UNICEF and Birzeit University (2004)

found that 52% of fathers and 60% of mothers physical punish their children. In a survey of 2,332

students (ages 14-17), Sehwail, Rasra and Al-Krenawi (2005), 43.6% of respondents had siblings

who were beaten by their father and 47.5% by their mother. In a cross-sectional study of 652

Palestinian undergraduate students, Haj-Yahia and Tamish (2001) found 5.7%, 11.6%, and 13.2% of

participants had been sexually abused by a family member, relative, or stranger respectively before

the age of 12. Clearly, political violence is not the only violence facing Palestinian children, as many

must also cope with violence within their homes.

The Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) (United Nations, 1989), the Geneva

Conventions (International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), 1949), and national laws in many

countries provide clear guidelines about the treatment of children in conflict settings. Yet

governments enact emergency legislation, such as terrorism prevention acts, that sidestep or

disregard measures that are intended to protect children in clear breach of Articles 2, 37, and 38 of

the CRC (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2006). Harassment, arrest, imprisonment, and torture of children

become government actions justified by emergency legislation. In interviews with over 300 children

44

and families from 2008 to 2012, DCI (2012) reported that there is a systematic pattern of ill

treatment and torture of children in the Israeli military detention system. In the past 11 years,

around 7,500 Palestinian children, some as young as 12-years-old, are estimated to have been

detained, interrogated, and imprisoned by Israel. There have been media reports of much younger

children being arrested and detained by Israel. For example, in May 2011, Israeli police arrested and

detained a 7-year-old Palestinian boy while he was playing (Hasson, 2011). In March 2013, the Israeli

Information Center for Human Rights in the Occupied Territories (B’Tselem) (2013c) reported that

soldiers detained a group of 27 children who were suspected of stone throwing; Israel later

confirmed that at least 14 of the children were under the age of 12 (the lower age limit of criminal

responsibility for Israeli and Palestinian children), with the youngest being 8-years-old. And in July

2013, a five-year-old Palestinian boy was arrested and detained by the Israeli army after they accused

him of throwing a stone (B’Tselem, 2013d). For multiple reasons, the majority of abuses rarely come

to light.

Conclusion Article 13 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (United Nations, 1948) and article 12 of

the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (United Nations, 1976) reaffirm that people

are entitled to move freely within the borders of their country, to leave any country, and to return to

their country. Therefore, I suggest that all elements of Israel’s matrix of control—the wall,

checkpoints, and settlements—can be considered a human rights violation. Tied to the discourse of

the global war on terror, the matrix of control aims to claim authority over territory (Jones, 2012).

For example, the wall is not so much for security, but rather a means for the Israeli government to

acquire more Palestinian land. Furthermore, the wall creates “facts on the ground” that shape any

future negotiations regarding the boundaries of Israel and Palestine (Abu El Haj, 2001).

The remapping of Palestine through Israel’s matrix of control has separated Palestinians

from their homes, lands, and communities. Forced displacement, restrictions on movement, and the

construction of physical borders have ruptured social relationships of families and communities.

This has had specific consequences for children—who make up half of the Palestinian population

(Palestinian Central Bureau of Statistics, 2008)—and their families; for when family members are

45

suddenly separated from one another, the family unit is undermined and children’s protective

environment and overall well-being is compromised.

In the following chapter, I will first explore the current context of Palestine through the lens

of place theory, with a focus on the concept of territoriality. Then I will turn to the place of children

and families in Palestine, further describing the challenges and contradictions they face in place.

46

3 THEORIZING THE PLACE OF PALESTINIAN CHILDREN AND FAMILIES

Place frames and permeates this research. However, the concept of place can be a “fuzzy” concept

taking on multiple forms and functions. In order to contribute to some clarity on the topic, this

chapter first describes the theory of place, with a focus on the concept of territoriality. With the

context of Palestine described in Chapter 2 as a historical backdrop, I attempt to illustrate how the

theory of place can be used to better understand the experiences of children and families in

Palestine.

What is Place? Uncertainty continues to surround the concept and meaning of place in large part due to its

contextual and subjective nature (Casey, 1997).24 As Geertz (1996) notes, “Like Love or Imagination,

Place makes a poor abstraction. Separated from its materializations, it has little meaning” (p. 259,

emphasis in original). However, over the past several decades, multiple theorists have turned their

attentions towards unpacking the complex meanings of place. One such theorist is Relph (1976),

whose influential work on the phenomenology of place and placelessness conceptualizes place as

theoretically organized around three basic elements: physical setting, activities, and meaning.

As a physical setting, place can be a geographic center, site, situation, or location for events

(Relph, 1976). In this way, place must have the basic necessary components for human life—food,

shelter, water—so that one may grow with basic security. This is especially relevant for children who

are dependent upon their physical and social environment for these basic elements. This also

highlights the fact that the basic components of place as a physical setting may differ depending on

24 There is a debate in the literature that space, as an abstract concept, takes primacy over place, as a concrete concept (Casey, 1996). However, I avoid dichotomizing the two terms by agreeing with Peteet (2005) that the two terms are “mutually interactive and constitutive” (p.28), and use the two terms in concert throughout this document. Nevertheless, based on the literature, let me offer a slight distinction. According to Hengst (2007), space is a bounded entity or location that is tangible; it is something that a child has within his or her physical reach. Whereas, according to Kjørholt (2003) place refers to the practices and relationships that define a specific geographical locality or area. Through these particular meanings ascribed to space and place, we can say that what identifies the place is therefore not its physical limits (space), but rather the symbolic and cultural meaning that can be identified as a particular place. This distinction adds to my more specific definition of place as a location with meaning.

47

age, gender, culture, and context (Tuan, 1977). For example, a child’s place may be small and

oriented towards security, whereas an adult’s place may revolve around work and family. In this way,

place must have the basic necessary requirements to support human life (e.g., food, water, shelter),

and to maintain security and well-being. However, the concept of place as a fixed physical setting

can also imply that nation-states as places are homogenous entities with homogenous cultures (Brun,

2008). Just as people are multi-faceted and continually in motion, places are also settings that are

constantly transforming in meaning.

The dynamic nature of place indicates that it is more than mere setting. Place can be defined

by the activities and social interactions that occur in a given location (Fullilove, 1996), described by

Altman and Low (1992) as “the psychosocial milieu”. Brey (1998), for example, defines place as a

habitual site of human activity. Agnew (1987) uses the term locale to describe the settings (informal

or institutional) in which social relations are constituted. This emphasis on place and action is

aligned with a concept emerging from the field of environmental design, which argues that the

physical design of the built environment shapes how people live their lives (Architecture for

Humanity, 2006; Frumkin, Frank, & Jackson, 2004). At the same time, it should be emphasized that

the relationship between particular geographies and human experience is reciprocal. The process by

which the built environment is developed is as affected by the interaction between people and their

environments. In other words, just as people act upon their environments, so too does the

environment act upon people. The importance of the people who use specific places is emphasized

by the work of Canter (1977), who states that because individuals conceptualize places differently, it

is important to consider places from the perspective of their users. In the field of educational

architecture, Perkins (2001) suggests the term wayfinding to describe how children actively find their

way through place by negotiating various pathways and boundaries. Similar to wayfinding, children

are constantly involved in the act of placemaking. Placemaking is the action by which children seek to

develop a place for themselves in society throughout time (Olwig & Gulløv, 2003); in other words, it

is the process through which one’s sense of place is established. Through these activities with place,

individuals are making meaningful connections with place.

In addition to place as a site of activity, the previous two elements highlight meaning—

Relph’s (1976) third element of place—as an important element within the multiple definitions of

place. Relph (1993) notes that this is the most difficult of the three elements to grasp, yet it is of vital

importance for “ a place is above all a territory of meanings” (p. 36). Multiple disciplines have

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stressed the importance of meaning in the definition of place, highlighting an individual’s past as

well as present attitudes, beliefs, and actions. For example, Hutchison (2004) claims that place

becomes “a reality informed by the unique experiences, histories, motives, and goals that each of us

brings to the spaces with which we identify” (p. 11). In this regard, the concept of place represents a

relationship between physical, social, and cultural conditions. Drawing from the field of children’s

geographies, Philo (2000) proposes that place is a specific site of meaning. Likewise, architecture has

defined place as “space with a distinct character” (Norberg-Schulz, 1980, p. 5). Geography indicates

that place represents the meanings that one attributes to it or one’s life story (Paasi, 1991). In this

way, place represents the nodes of the life biography, which, from a life course perspective, is a

unique web of situated life episodes (Altman & Low, 1992). Casey (1987, 2009) suggests that being

in a place is to have knowledge of that place as well as one’s own consciousness and presence in the

world.

The complex meanings of place are furthermore obfuscated by factors such as time and

context. Indeed, places are not isolated (Massey, 1994, 1995b), nor are they static (Gustafson, 2001).

Rather than essences, places must be considered as processes (Massey, 1994), interacting with their

surroundings and acquiring new meanings to different people over periods of time (Gustafson,

2001). For example, political violence creates conflicting claims about place and its meaning, which

is carried out in practice as well as discourse (Jess & Massey, 1995; Keith & Pile, 1993; Pile & Keith,

1997). One important question related to these place-related concepts is whether the place gives

meaning to the individual or whether the individual gives meaning to the place. Jack (2008) proposes

that place develops when children give meaning to the space in which they live. Yet, considering the

interconnectedness of people and place, with place as both a social and physical location, this

process may be bidirectional.

All three of these elements of place—physical setting, activities, and meaning—indicate that

the significance of place includes a deep emotional attachment with an element of meaning coursing

throughout (Groat, 1995). Certainly, a place is geographically located, emerging in a specific context

through meaningful social interactions, and consists of a bidirectional process by which the

individual gives meaning to place and place gives meaning to the individual. By bringing together

these diverse disciplines and their multiple definitions, I suggest that place refers to location with

meaning. This definition is useful in the current analysis, because it reflects the research participants’

tendency to conceptualize place as a geographical site that invokes a powerful myriad of emotions.

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Understanding the Complexity of Place in Palestine The protracted occupation in Palestine has resulted in a recent surge in research focusing on the role

of place. This academic attention is occurring at a time when place is becoming increasingly

intertwined with politics (Massey, 1992), space is shrinking (Yiftachel, 2002b), and conflicts are being

waged over land and resources. This is especially true within the context of Palestine. Literature

examines the shifting territorial boundaries between Israel and Palestine (Falah, 1995, 1997, 2003;

Newman, 1996), destruction of Palestinian cities (Graham, 2002, 2004b), seizure of Palestinian lands

and subsequent displacement of Palestinian peoples (Falah, 2004), illegal Israeli settlements in the

West Bank (Campbell, 2005; Casakin & Billig, 2009; Falah, 2003; Gordon, 2008; Halper, 2000;

Weizman, 2007), and role of surveillance and barriers in dividing communities and increasing

territorial control over Palestinian lives (Halper, 2000; Harker, 2009b; Parsons & Salter, 2008;

Weizman, 2007; Zureik, 2001). This section focuses on the place concept of territoriality, which the

current analysis indicates is extremely relevant within the current context.

Territoriality

The concept of human territoriality is central to any exploration of place in the Palestinian context.

Human territoriality is the segmentation of space as a source of power (Sack, 1986). Possession of

space—the power to claim this is ours not yours—is a fundamental attribute of territorialization. The

process of creating a territory need not necessarily be constant, as there can be a continual

territorialization and re-territorialization of space (Paasi, 2000), which has been occurring in

Palestine. The first step towards territorialization occurs when a person or group of persons

attributes meaning to a space, attributing significance to it. It thereby becomes a place for certain

activities, which continue to support it as a place of meaning. In other words, space is occupied and

managed in a way until a network of “spatial relations” becomes embedded within it (Philo, 1992, p.

138). What is relevant for Palestine is that once a place is bounded and restricted for some, then the

freedom and scope of movement for others may be restricted (Thomson, 2005). Israel’s matrix of

control exemplifies the way place is territorialized and re-territorialized. This plays out further in the

multiple violent negotiations of space among Palestinians, the Israeli army, and Israeli settlers.

Scholarship on territoriality in Palestine has explained how the Israeli occupation has shaped

Palestinian place and the role of the different actors (e.g., Israeli and Palestinian) in creating these

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places (Falah, 1997; Newman, 2001, 2006; Yiftachel, 2002a). In Palestine, territories are clearly

defined. Markers of territoriality include multiple bypass roads, some of which are designated for use

only by Israeli settlers (B’Tselem, 2004; Falah, 2003; Halper, 2000; Ma’an Development Center,

2008; UNOCHA, 2007).25 The 709km wall is one of the most extreme exercises in territoriality,

slicing deep into the Palestinian territories (Falah, 2003; Fields, 2010; Halper, 2000; Parsons & Salter,

2008). Furthermore, the whole West Bank has been territorially segmented with certain areas

designated for either Palestinian or Israeli access (Falah, 2003; Hanafi, 2009; Newman, 1996). Tawil-

Souri (2011) describes Israel’s occupation-based territoriality as a demonstration of “how directly

and explicitly domination and control are inscribed into the way space is organized” (p. 13).

In Palestine, territorial behavior—or place-related behavior that involves personalization of a

place or object that is owned by a person or group—is ubiquitous throughout the region. For

example, public spaces are marked by depictions of death and martyrdom (see Figure 3.1). Graffiti

also marks territory, indicating spaces that are for one population or another. During my many

drives through the West Bank, I saw road signs indicating the location of an Israeli settlement that

had been painted over with Arabic writing, while other signs indicating a Palestinian place had also

been scrawled over with the name of the place in Hebrew. Another example is shown in Figure 3.2,

which shows both the name “Sharon” (indicating the former Israeli Prime Minister, Ariel Sharon)26

and the Israeli Star of David graffitied on stones at the entrance to a small Byzantine church, which

serves as a tourist attraction. In conversations with Palestinians, I was told that this was a warning to

Palestinians that this place belonged to Israel. In other words, this particular instance of graffiti turns

this historical place into a contested place belonging to one side or the other. These ubiquitous

symbols are everyday reminders of the ongoing territorial conflict and the potential for physical

violence. The many facets of place reflect and signify social divisions and inequality resulting from

variations in influence and power. In this way, the territory of place frames social meanings and

opportunities for multiple generations of Palestinians.

25 Only cars with yellow and black Israeli license plates are allowed to drive on settler roads. Palestinian cars with green and white license plates are forbidden. 26 Remembered most notably as the Prime Minister of Israel from 2001-2006, Ariel Sharon continues to be a controversial figure in the region. He is considered by many to be a great military strategist who championed the construction of Israeli settlements. However, he also faced criticism from many right-wing Israelis for orchestrating the withdrawal of the Israeli military from the Gaza Strip in 2004-2005.

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Figure 3.1: Martyr Poster in Nablus

52

Figure 3.2: Graffiti at Entrance to Byzantine Church, Sebastia

53

The Place of Children and Families in Palestine Geertz (1996) notes that the concept of place has not been explicitly examined within the

scholarship on family and community. He speculates that this may be because place is considered

ubiquitous and therefore not something commonly studied in its own right: place simply “goes

without saying” (p. 259). Furthermore, critical studies of children’s geographies have shifted away

from focusing upon children within the family context. With the exception of a few notable studies

(Bushin, 2009; Christensen, James, & Jenks, 2000; McIntosh & Punch, 2009; Punch, 2007, 2008;

Valentine, 1997; Young & Ansell, 2003), the place-related experiences of children within family

contexts has been relatively under-explored. This section aims to situate the family as one key social

context of childhood. However, as Holt (2010) cautions: “To focus exclusively on the family could

reproduce the limitations of earlier research wherein children were viewed as merely familial ‘objects’

rather than active subjects” (p. 3). As stressed throughout the current analysis, children are active

agents within their environments, mutually engaging with their homes, schools, neighborhood

communities, and the nation-state.

A social ecological approach to children and families

Countless factors affect an individual’s development and well-being. In addition to individual-level

factors (such as genetics and temperament), the social and physical environment interact with the

young child at different levels. In this way, children can be seen as active participants in the social

ecological system. According to this system, children are located within multiple interlocking spheres

of family, school, community, nation-state, and higher-order systems such as society, policy, and

culture. Disruption within any of these spheres, which often happens during times of political

violence, can potentially alter the course of a child’s development and well-being.

Bronfenbrenner’s (1979) socio-ecological model of hierarchically nested ecosystems provides

a framework to conceptualize the place of political violence from the child’s perspective, including

the effects of violence on education, neighborhood, community, and nation-state (Cicchetti &

Lynch, 1993; Cummings, Merrilees, et al., 2013; Lynch & Cicchetti, 2002). Bronfenbrenner (1979)

defines the ecology of human development as:

…the scientific study of the progressive, mutual accommodation between an active, growing human being and the changing properties of the immediate settings in which the developing person lives, as

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this process is affected by relations between these settings, and by the larger contexts in which the settings are embedded (p. 22).

This definition suggests that children’s development is affected by the places and spaces where they

are raised, and by the people who influence those places and spaces. Tuan (1974a) explains:

Place is not only a fact to be explained in the broader frame of space, but it is also a reality to be clarified and understood from the perspective of the people who have given it meaning (p. 387, emphasis added).

In other words, multiple people may give place meaning, and these meaning-making processes are

mutually dependent upon one another.

Children’s development and the ways that they are able to cope with crisis are shaped by the

environment, with family and community being key social elements of this system (Euwema, de

Graaff, de Jager, & Kalksma-Van Lith, 2008). In fact, positive family and community relationships

are regarded as key factors that enhance children’s coping amidst political violence (Loughry &

Eyber, 2003; Stichick, 2001). These fundamental components of the social ecological system are

critical to children’s negotiations with their physical environment. Family and home (see Chapter 5)

are very much linked, because family creates a physical and symbolic haven for children in the form

of the home. The neighborhood community (see Chapter 7) is a vital element to the social ecological

system, because it contributes another important layer of people and place to children’s protective

environment. Furthermore, the family and the community are both interdependent, as indicated by

the multiple layers of the social ecological system. In accordance with the social ecological model,

children are not a distinct group defined in contrast to adults, but rather interact and negotiate with

them on a daily basis. Therefore, this dissertation closely examines the nature of relationships of the

family unit and how these relate to their interactions with place.

Family in Palestine: The present absence

Johnson and Joseph (2009) note that Arabic scholarship has revolved around one of two central

themes: family or political violence. Yet the two topics have rarely interacted in the literature.

Johnson and Joseph further contend that research on Arab families tends to be “highly under-

theorized and under-problematized” (p. 1). Joseph (1999) states, “…the centrality of family…has

been so axiomatic that there has been relatively little problematizing of the psychodynamics of

family life” (p.9). Beitin, Allen, and Bekheet (2010) add another voice to the dialogue, claiming that

55

scholarship on Arab families tends to use a Western lens, neglecting the dynamic and diverse nature

of family practices. With that being said, this dissertation does not necessarily intend to focus on the

problems facing families in Palestine. Rather, I acknowledge that families play an important role in

the ongoing socio-spatial discourse especially as related to children. Despite the centrality of family

in the lives of Palestinians, like children, family tends to be invisible in the literature on place,

political violence, and Palestine, yet another present absence.

Contemporary analysis considers families as situated in both time (through the family life

cycle) and space (through the home and community). In his work studying Palestinian families,

Harker (2011) suggests the terms family spaces to describe “the temporal-spatial formations, relations

and flows that are manifest by families” (p. 4). This term emphasizes the importance of space and

place in describing the family and its associated practices. In this way, Harker conceptualizes the

family as a dynamic concept. Similarly, Morgan (1996, 1999) advocates for a re-theorizing of the

family as a verb (as opposed to a noun), suggesting the term family practices. Adding the term practices

to family makes the term more active, reflecting the functional ways that families interact in myriad

social contexts. By using the verb family practices as opposed to the noun family, Morgan believes

researchers can broaden their understandings of what family is and what activities families engage in.

In understanding the environment within which family practices occur, we are better able to

understand which places represent and facilitate particular kinds of practices and relationships that

are important to children.

Responding to Morgan (1996, 1999), Finch (2007) argues that family practices must be

recognized by families themselves in order for them to be meaningful. Both Morgan and Finch’s

approaches recognize family as active in both time and place, thus establishing family as a

meaningful unit to study in its own right. One example comes from Halldén’s (2003) narrative

research exploring meanings of family and home with children found that home is created through

the caring routines of family members (e.g., family practices). Halldén’s research indicates that

everyday domestic routines are an important aspect of children’s placemaking processes and

resulting sense of place. This can be applied to the post-1948 Palestinian family, which engages in a

complex structure of family practices aimed at enhancing its capacity to survive dispersion (Ghabra,

1988). The prioritization of family and the practices that maintain it are maintained through yearly

wajibat (family duties). Ghabra explains:

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In death and in marriage, the family is present. In visiting and weekly social relationships, as on religious occasions, the family is a priority and a source of social and emotional fulfillment. In housing patterns and economic enterprise, the family is also present. Even when family members face the challenge of educating their children or confront economic crisis, the family steps in as a support system. The family has also had an important role in political socialization, by maintaining an ongoing relationship with the homeland. In other words, the family, which exhibits all these characteristics and roles, has become much more than an agency of individual survival; it has become the agency that protects and reknits the Palestinian social fabric in the diaspora (p. 67).

The prioritization of the family has become a basic tenet of Palestinian society. In fact, the crises and

challenges stemming from political violence, statelessness, and economic stress have increased the

solidity of the Palestinian family: “Although families suffered personal loss, were scattered and

deprived, bloodlines could not be erased. The sinews of the social system held together even though

they were scattered and stretched” (Ghabra, 1988, p. 80).

Harker (2011) suggests that studies which focus one-dimensionally on Palestine as a land of

occupation and political violence, “work at a collective level to produce—albeit unintentionally and

unknowingly—a stereotypical representation of place” (p. 2). Such a conceptualization leaves out an

understanding of Palestine as a place of everyday family practices: babies are born, children attend

school, families eat together, parents earn a living. All of these everyday activities are very important

to the construction of place for children living in Palestine. Political violence is not necessarily the

most pressing form of adversity for children in these settings. Rather the greatest hardships may be

societal and contextual factors—poverty, separation from family, loss of loved ones, weakened

community and family structures, insufficient social services, loss of control over personal space and

movement—which all may be worsened by political violence (Betancourt, 2011; Cairns, 1996;

Ressler, Boothby, & Steinbock, 1988).

Family is a prominent feature of everyday life in Palestine and frames the social and physical

environment that children are a part of. The Palestinian family is generally conceptualized and

practiced in two interrelated ways (Johnson, 2006).‘A’ila is the small or nuclear family, represented

by the father, mother, and children. ‘A’ila is complemented by hamula, the big extended family or, as

Johnson (2006) describes, “a patronymic group often made up of several patrilineages” (p. 62),

represented by countless uncles, aunts, and cousins. Palestinians tend to maintain very strong ties

with their extended families (Harker, 2009a), and as a result Palestinian communities are often made

up of several related hamula (Harker, 2011). For example, over 50% of Palestinians in the West Bank

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share their residences with relatives (Johnson, 2006).27 In many of these cases, clusters of families

from a larger family group live near each other, which is useful for daily interaction, socialization,

and family security (Ghabra, 1988). The atmosphere of these family-based communities is village-

like, with families sharing meals if they live in the same building and the women helping each other

with domestic responsibilities. However not all family members are able to live close to one another

due to various factors such as housing costs, location of schools, and place of employment, as well

as the overarching matrix of control.

How family is defined has a great impact on the way that Palestinians give meaning to the

everyday occupation and, as an extension, to the multiple meanings of place. In fact, the definition

of family determines Palestinians’ mobility (Harker, 2010, 2011), as family is a common motivation

for what are often lengthy and difficult journeys within the West Bank. However, the subject of

what actually constitutes a family remains a topic of debate for both Israelis and Palestinians. In its

policies related to family reunification between family members inside and outside Palestine, Israel

insists that the definition of family constitutes only ‘a’ila, whereas Palestinians have emphasized the

importance of hamula in addition to ‘a’ila in terms of Arab culture and practice (Zureik, 2001).

Zuriek explains: “It is clear that each definition impacts the number and category of displaced family

members, if and when they are allowed to return home” (p. 219). However, since the start of the

second intifada in 2000, all family reunification requests have been frozen, with Israel citing security

risks (Ashkar, 2006; Stein, 2004). The combination of the definition of family and the policy freeze

threaten family life for Palestinians, severing connections geographically and socially. Families are

unable to maintain solidarity when each unit is separated geographically and holds onto different

travel documents. Such a disjointed social environment has a negative effect on children, because

families may not be able to provide for children’s needs for care and support. Another consequence

of these types of policies is the fragmentation of Palestinian places, specifically the home and

neighborhood community, which will be discussed in Chapters 5 and 7, respectively.

According to Abu Nahleh (2006) and Sourani (as cited in Massih, 2013), Palestinians are

experiencing the most serious threat to their existence since the 1948 Nakba. The ongoing

occupation and Israel’s matrix of control create “a sustained multidimensional crisis in Palestinian

27 Over 90% of Palestinians in southern West Bank and 80% of Palestinians in Gaza share their residences with relatives.

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society” (Abu Nahleh, 2006, p. 103) impacting the Palestinian family by sharply reducing household

income, which in turn creates widespread poverty. These policies also isolate families from their

extended kin and social networks, leaving them dependent on their insufficient household resources.

In addition to these threats to daily livelihoods, families have to contend with very real physical

threats to their lives posed by Israeli settlers and the military.

What is important is the overall role played by the family in the context of daily life in

Palestine. Returning to Bronfenbrenner’s (1979) social ecological system, family is represented as a

structure with the child in the middle encircled by a web of family ties.28 During times of comfort

and peace, the circle represents a more stable environment, with family relationships loosening and

tightening, yet remaining secure, in response to events throughout the life course. During a crisis,

the ecological system is stretched, yet it tends to hold strong despite the challenges. In fact, the

family may experience greater closeness as it mobilizes to meet new challenges. In the case of

Palestine, the recurrent nature of crises since the 1948 Nakba, has created family systems which have

been stretched and tightened as a reaction to the prevailing conditions. However, there are times

when the circle is stretched to its limit, and ties between family members become so distant as to not

be able to form a protective environment for the child. An understanding of how crisis mediates

family systems is crucial to an understanding of the everyday experiences of Palestinian children and

their families.

Building upon Olwig’s (2003b) research, I assert that because of Palestinians’ strong sense

place identity related to geographic location (i.e., historic Palestine), which is passed down through

the generations, children are drawing from multiple sources (e.g., self, caregivers, siblings,

community) to develop their own sense of place. In this way, family and community spaces (home

and neighborhood, respectively) are given form, function, and significance by the people in and

around them. Therefore, the family acts as a place for activity between the older generation, which

Palestinians refer to as jayl al-nakbah (“the generation of the catastrophe”) and the younger

generation. Through family practices, the older generation provides solidarity and social cohesion

28 Of course, not all families are homogenous, and therefore, they may react to stress differently. Furthermore, this model does not take into consideration negative family practices such as family violence, which creates an unsafe environment for children.

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for the younger generation, who continue to deal with ongoing crises of occupation, displacement,

and violence (Ghabra, 1988).

Conclusion One of the advantages of applying a place-focused approach to the examination of children and

families’ lives is that it reveals multiple intersections and overlaps. It can reveal, for example, that in

particular places, the boundaries between children and their familiar caregivers are intertwined.

Furthermore, a place-focused approach to research with children and families affected by political

violence reveals that the uncertainty of place caused by the occupation and resulting violence has

important consequences for children’s development and well-being, because children’s location in

place structures their experiences, worldviews, and behaviors. Yet, children’s position in the place-

related literature on Palestine has until this point been overlooked.

The culture of the Palestinian family provides a conduit by which the concept and meaning

of place becomes a struggle over defining identity and nationalism. The Palestinian family has an

extremely strong link to its ancestral land; for these families believe that their family’s worth

emanates from its place of origin (Ghabra, 1988). The manner in which Palestinian families lost their

land has contributed to their place identity. Therefore, place—in the form of land—is intertwined

with the family’s attachment to Palestine as a nation-state. Moreover, for a dispersed and uprooted

people such as the Palestinians, family serves as an important institution critical in the survival of

their culture.

Extending the theory of place, Chapter 4 uses place as a theme of the research methodology,

and it describes how place was an element in the choice of research sites, sampling, and chosen

methods used to research children and families in Palestine.

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4 “EVERY CORNER, YOU WILL FIND A STORY”: PLACE-BASED RESEARCH WITH CHILDREN AND FAMILIES

Place serves as a useful point of departure for research with children and families, especially those

living in Palestine, where place is a central theme of daily life. This chapter explains the place-based

methods that were used to better understand the concept and meaning of place for Palestinian

children and families. I first describe the preliminary research that I conducted in 2010 and how it

informed the current study. Then I detail elements of the methodology—including site selection,

sample, and specific methods—all which contribute to an understanding of the place-based

experiences of children and families. Finally, I will describe the study’s strengths and challenges,

thereby opening a conversation as to how this research methodology can be replicated and used in

other contexts.

Preliminary Research Pilot Interviews

In the winter of 2010, I conducted pilot interviews with three Palestinian youth (ages 18-23) who

had grown up in the West Bank and had moved to Montréal as teenagers in order to attend school.

Data were obtained through semi-structured interviews, drawing, and mapmaking focusing on the

concept of place. In reflecting upon their childhood experiences growing up in the occupied

Palestinian territories, I carried out three levels of discourse with the youth-participants. The first

level covered their general experiences growing up in the West Bank. The second level addressed

reflexive accounts of their relationship with place, organized around home, school, and play spaces

and within the context of the second intifada. The third level concentrated on their current place in

Montréal and plans for the future. The maps and drawings were labeled to correspond with the

narrative accounts of the participants. In closely comparing the narrative to the maps and drawings,

I labeled parts of the maps and drawings with color-coded stickers. These stickers corresponded

with the safety level indicated by the narrative accounts. Green represented safe; yellow represented

neutral; and red represented unsafe. Constant comparison analysis of the data resulted in four

themes: (1) the place of childhood, (2) places of protection, (3) places of power(lessness), and (4)

place changes. (In Chapters 5-8, data from pilot interviews can be identified with the prefix PI.)

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Places of childhood

Not only did the pilot research confirm my understanding about the importance of place for

Palestinian children and families, but it also challenged my conception of children and childhood.

Despite being confronted with war and violence, the pilot participants had a keen awareness of what

an ideal childhood was and how, because of the violence that they had experienced during the

second intifada, this differed from their own childhood. The pilot data indicated that childhood is

both defined and experienced quite differently in distinct places as well as across various contexts.

Places of protection

The pilot data also indicated that the home was a principal setting in which childhood processes take

place. It is where the child’s early social and cognitive development occurs. It is a social world

mediated by caregivers, siblings, and relatives. And for my pilot research participants, home

represented a safe physical place amidst violent conflict. For these young men, home represented a

place where family would gather together. Narrative and mapping revealed that place often

represents family, providing a protective network of social relations. At the same time, pilot

participants suggested that the home and family were not always protective to children, especially in

the context of violence, when survival of the individual often superseded care of others. This

became a theme for the current research.

Places of power(lessness)

During the course of the pilot interviews, participants gave examples of how they negotiated being

children while being faced with restrictions of freedom. The interviews gave evidence that the

primary consequences of checkpoints is a serious strain on family and community structures.

Another source of powerlessness was the separation wall, and participants spoke about the physical,

social, and economic barriers that the wall posed, as well as the sense of futility faced by the people

it enclosed. Participants explained how the wall dramatically changes spaces and places and

transforms individuals’ lived experiences. Where once a neighbor was able to interact with his

neighbor, the wall now divides neighborhoods and communities, creating further obstacles for the

Palestinian people. In relation to children’s experiences, the wall is yet another layer of restriction

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that makes the world of childhood smaller and more limited. Nestled in feelings of powerlessness

and fear, were expressions of anger and resistance, which became a theme—albeit in different

forms—throughout the interview. This theme is repeated in Chapter 8.

Place changes

Pilot interviews indicated that places change depending on the context. For example, during the first

intifada, which was generally characterized as non-violent, the respondents generally felt safer in their

communities. But during the second intifada, there was an increase in violence. Therefore, levels of

safety posed by the local environment also change, with children determining which spaces are safe

based on perceptions of safety and risk. This indicates that the levels of safety and risk posed by the

local environment may change depending on context

Preliminary Field Visit

Pilot research was followed by a field visit to the West Bank in the spring of 2010. During this time,

I met and spoke with 30 key adult informants—youth, parents, community members, social

workers, and other researchers—who provided me with insight into the relevance of place in the

lives of children living in Palestine.29 These interviews were used to explore, confirm, and modify

findings from the pilot interviews conducted in Montréal. Using interview and observation, I further

investigated the four themes above to learn more about the different experiences of childhood, how

places can be protective, the relationship between place and power, and how places change

depending on the context. These four elements continued informed my approach to the research

methodology, described below, and are further reflected in the research analysis.

29 I understand that using the term “informants” is not the best term to use in the Israeli-Palestinian context. There is a potential for this term to be confused with Palestinian “spies” who provide information about Palestinians to the Israeli government. However, I use this term in accordance with the ethnographic research method of key informant interviews.

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Community Entry Gaining Trust

In her research with Palestinians during the second intifada, Norman (2009) addressed the challenges

of negotiating different trust relationships to gain access to the field and the research participants. In

my experience, I first had to negotiate trust relationships with the Israeli and Palestinian authorities

in order to access the field “without violating the trust of communities in which the research is to be

conducted” (Norman, 2009, p. 74). Both times I entered the West Bank from Jordan, through the

Allenby Bridge Crossing, I was interrogated by Israeli border security about matters related to my

research and my personal background. While this not unusual treatment of outside researchers

coming to the West Bank, the process raised logistical, methodological, and ethical considerations

for me.

The fact that I was a United States citizen living in Canada posed another barrier to

developing trust with my Palestinian participants, considering the American and Canadian

governments’ support of Israel and its policies. Therefore, I found that engaging different well-

respected community-based and non-governmental organizations, many of whom I had met during

my field visit in 2010 and maintained relationships with, was the first step in gaining the trust of

research participants.

Prolonged engagement

Prolonged engagement is a defining characteristic of qualitative studies that helps to eliminate

reactivity and respondent bias. As Padgett (2012) notes, “The effects of the researcher’s presence

dissipate considerably when spending long periods of time in the field and becomes accepted (or at

least benignly tolerated)” (p. 208). Prolonged engagement also helped to build trust with participants,

contributes to a better understanding of culture, and provides an opportunity for the researcher to

check for misinformation that stems from distortions introduced by the researcher or participants.

The idea of building trust was especially important in this context. In her anthropological study of a

Palestinian refugee camp, Rosenfield (2004) states that “trust during fieldwork is not built in a

moment or in the course of a single incident, but is repeatedly put to the test” (p. 21).

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Over the course of two field visits to the West Bank and East Jerusalem in 2010 and 2012, I

spent a total of three months in the field. Living in the West Bank (as opposed to basing myself in

Israel and commuting to the West Bank and East Jerusalem to conduct research) allowed to me

observe everyday life for Palestinians. Even when not formally conducting research, I engaged with

Palestinians in their everyday activities when shopping for groceries, reading at a café, or going for a

walk. These exercises in normal daily activities, provided me with the opportunity to engage in

discussions with Palestinians outside of my sampling frame.

As Fetterman (1987) notes, “Working with people day in and day out, for long periods of

time, is what gives ethnographic research its validity and vitality” (p. 46). Through prolonged

engagement with children and families, I was able to make decisions about what was relevant to

focus on and include in the study. At the same time I was cognizant to ensure what Padgett (2008)

has identified as “boundary maintenance” (p. 77), especially when conducting prolonged qualitative

research.

Community gatekeepers

As an outsider, gaining entry, acceptance and trust into the Palestinian community was a challenge.

Community gatekeepers are especially important for accomplishing this. For this study, I engaged

with a range of gatekeepers—rather than just one—in order to help me gain access into

communities and recruit families. Using community gatekeepers within this research context was an

especially important element of the methodology given the fact that in Israel and Palestine secret

police have posed as journalists and researchers to collect information on activists as a basis for

subsequent arrest (Garbarino & Kostelny, 1996; Norman, 2009). By contacting other individuals and

organizations, they paved a path of trust for me.

Though vital for international research, engaging with gatekeepers also poses several

challenges. If gatekeepers are well known and/or hold positions of power within the same ethno-

cultural group, participants’ responses may be impacted (Edwards, 1998; Murray & Wynne, 2001).

Therefore, I used multiple gatekeepers in each sampling site in order to minimize the potential bias

that might have resulted from being associated with one individual or organization.

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Research assistants

Conducting research cross-culturally—when the research participants and the researcher do not

speak the same language—is a challenge in terms of logistics, but also when considering how these

procedures can impact data validity, and ultimately, the research conclusions (Knight, Roosa, &

Umaña-Taylor, 2009; Shklarov, 2007; Williamson et al., 2011). Consistent with recommended and

commonly used practices for conducting cross-language interviews (Knight et al., 2009; Lopez,

Figueroa, Connor, & Maliski, 2008), I recruited, hired, and trained two Arabic-speaking research

assistants (one in the West Bank and another in East Jerusalem)30 to translate during the interviews

conducted in Arabic and produce interview transcripts. I spent time preparing these two research

assistants to ensure that they had requisite knowledge about the purpose of the study, their role in

the study, the information that the interview questions aimed to prompt, and ethical considerations

(Adamson & Donovan, 2002; Freed, 1988; Murray & Wynne, 2001; Squires, 2009). I made special

effort to inform my research assistants about the importance of confidentiality during the research

process.

As recommended by Gregory, Russell, & Phillips (1997), my research assistants were

included as members of the research team, playing a key role in ensuring confidentiality and in

making decisions about what got transcribed and how. Literature suggests that interpreters can

contribute to the data generation process, in what Murray and Wynne (2001) refer to as a “three-way

production of data” (p. 165). Therefore, continually discussed the interviews as a part of the research

process. I also interviewed both research assistants as key informants at the conclusion of the

research in order to elicit additional substantive contributions from another perspective.

Research Sites This research implies that children and families’ place-related experiences are impacted by the

context within which they live, specifically areas A, B, and C. Therefore, research was conducted

with families in six different sites within the West Bank and East Jerusalem to reflect these

30 I had to hire one research assistant in West Bank and another in East Jerusalem, because each was not able to travel to the other area due to Israel’s restrictive permit system.

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variations.31 Sites were chosen based on conversations with Palestinian adults and key informants

during the first year of field work in 2010. Figure 4.1 below shows the location of the field sites in

Palestine.

Figure 4.1: Map of Field Sites

Source: Author

31 Due to time pressures and difficulties in obtaining permission from the Israeli government, it was not possible for me to include the Gaza Strip as a research site. It is acknowledged, though that the experiences of Palestinian children and families living in Gaza differ in important and complex ways from the experiences of Palestinian children and families living in the West Bank and East Jerusalem.

Balata (BA)

East Jerusalem (EJ)

Hebron (H1 & H2)

al-Makkah (BE)

al-Jazari (VI)

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Table 4.2 summarizes the settings where sampling was conducted.32 These sites were selected to

represent the different places that children and families were living in. In consultation with

Palestinian and Israeli organizations who were assisting me with the research, I chose these

particular sites because of their environmental differences. For example, in the site of Balata, 30,000

people live in a space of one-square-kilometer, contributing to overcrowded and potentially

unhealthy living conditions for children and families. In contrast, though about 1,000 people in a

space of two-square-kilometers in the village of Al-Makkah, the population faces its own unique

challenges such as the imposition of the separation wall and travel restrictions.

Table 4.2: Site Selection

Area Site (Code) Setting Type Security

Control*

Civilian

Control**

Area

(km2)

Population

(Palestinian)

A Balata (BA) Refugee Camp Palestinian Palestinian 1 30,000

B Al-Makkah

(VI)

Village Israeli Palestinian 2 1,000

C Al-Jazari (BE) Bedouin

Encampment

Israeli Israeli 5 100

H1 Hebron (H1) City Palestinian Palestinian 18 140,000

H2 Hebron (H2) City Israeli Israeli 4.5 30,000

C East Jerusalem

(EJ)

City Israeli Israeli 70 260,800

NB: Three family interviews were conducted at each site. * Refers to who controls the security, such as police forces.

** Refers to who has control over civilian affairs, such as schools and businesses.

Sampling from multiple sites—in various settings (e.g., refugee camp, village, city) under a range of

territorial control (e.g., Israeli and/or Palestinian)—provided diverse examples of how children and

32 All names and identifying details about the participants, including places, have been changed to protect the anonymity of the participants.

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their families interpret, understand, and navigate places in Palestine. A brief description of each of

the field sites below describes the specific challenges that exist in each setting. Appendix A also gives

a more detailed description of these places.

Balata Refugee Camp (BA)

In the early 1950s, Balata Refugee Camp (in Area A) in the city of Nablus was created by the United

Nations Refugee Works Agency (UNRWA) for 5,000 refugees who fled the Jaffa area.33 It is now

the largest refugee camp in the West Bank, with up to four generations of refugees living within its

boundaries. Balata is known for the traumatic violence that it endured in 2002 during the second

intifada (Weizman, 2007). Nablus spent almost 200 days (18 June through 31 December 2002) under

sustained curfew, forcing residents to spend almost 80% of their time indoors (Bleibleh, 2010). 246

people were killed within the confines of the one square-kilometer camp. The invasion of Nablus

had a devastating emotional and physical impact on it’s residents—memories that still haunt

residents to this day—as “the Israeli security establishment has always tended to see the refugee

camps as both the locus of and the urban condition for the ‘breeding’ of resistance” (Weizman,

2007, p. 192).

Currently, Balata experiences ongoing incursions by the Israeli army and confrontations with

Israeli settlers. According to Rothschild (2013), almost every adult male from Balata has been

arrested at some point in his life. The infrastructure of Balata has continued to grow throughout the

decades, but horizontal expansion has reached its limits and families have begun to develop their

homes vertically. Tight living quarters characterize the camp, with 29,000 people living in a space of

about one square-kilometer, with each home about 60-80 square meters. Most homes are dark and

humid, with mold and other environmental hazards characteristic of overcrowded and poor living

conditions.

In addition to high population density, UNRWA (2009) cites unemployment and

overcrowded schools as major issues facing the residents of Balata. Unemployment in Balata is

about 46% and higher in people under 29 (Rothschild, 2013). With 75% of Balata's refugee

33 UNRWA, established 8 December 1949 by United Nations General Assembly Resolution 302, was solely created to address the needs of the Palestinian population.

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population under 18-years-old, there are three UNRWA schools from first to ninth grade

(Rothschild, 2013). Six thousand children ages 6 to 15 are enrolled in these schools, and so classes

are overcrowded, underfunded, and inadequate to respond to the needs of so many children

(Rothschild, 2013).

Al-Makkah (VI)

Al-Makkah (in Area B) is a small Palestinian village in the Jerusalem governorate, with a population

of about 1,000 inhabitants. The village is knows for its non-violent political activism, with weekly

demonstrations against the nearby wall. The demonstrations, though modest in size, are considered

to be the most consistently peaceful demonstrations in the West Bank, with children and families

often participating. Episodes of stone throwing are extremely rare, yet Israeli forces still occasionally

respond to protesters with sound bombs, tear gas, and arrests of protesters. Al-Makkah has

experienced seizures of its surrounding farmland by the Israeli authorities. Since the construction of

the wall, the Palestinian residents have had increased difficulty accessing health and medical services.

Al-Jazari (BE)

Al-Jazari (in Area C) is a Bedouin village located a few kilometers from of Jerusalem. The village was

founded in the late-1990s, by members of a Bedouin tribe who were living in the northern Negev,

but were displaced following several evictions and land confiscations by the Israeli army over a 40-

year period. As of 2006, there were approximately 1205 inhabitants in this community. The village is

located on a hillside between a large Palestinian village and 300 meters from the municipal dump.

Nearby is a military firing zone, where the Israel army trains.34 Because the firing zone is a closed

area, Bedouins from Al-Jazari face restrictions on grazing their livestock, which is their primary

source of income, or the risk of being shot.

34 According to UNOCHA (2012c), approximately 18 percent of the West Bank has been designated as a closed military zone for training or “firing zone. Palestinians are prohibited in these zones without permission from the Israeli authorities, which is rarely granted. The boundaries of these zones are rarely marked and constantly shifting.

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Hebron (H1 and H2)

With 160,000 inhabitants, Hebron is one of the largest cities (Giroud, 2005) and, from my

experiences there, perhaps one of the most violent places in the West Bank. In the late 1970s, the

Israeli army began the demolition of homes in Hebron, closing the thriving agricultural market in

order to build the new settlement of Avraham Avinu. In 1984, the Israeli army occupied a bus

station in the center of the city for “security reasons” and turned it into a military outpost that still

stands today. During the Oslo Accords, Hebron was divided into the Palestinian controlled H1 and

Israeli military controlled H2. H2 contains the Old City and all the Israeli settlements as well as the

city’s commercial center. During the second intifada, the Israeli army imposed 377 days of curfew on

the city.

Today, Israeli army presence in Hebron is massive due to the presence of 800 settlers and at

least four Israeli settlements (Avraham Avinu, Beit Roman, Beit Hadassh, and Tel Rumeida) near the

city center. Severe movement restrictions have been imposed on the 35,000 Palestinians who live in

H2, which aims to protect the settler population. Palestinians living in H2 face daily harassment

from settlers and the Israeli army. The Palestinian open-air souq (market) has been covered with

netting, to catch the rubbish that the settlers throw down from the upper floors of their occupied

homes. Palestinian youth retaliate against these daily provocations by throwing stones, and as a

result often face harsh punishment from the Israeli army. International human rights organizations

operate voluntary teams to escort Palestinian children to school in an attempt to neutralize the

volatility and document human rights violations.

East Jerusalem (EJ)

East Jerusalem is the predominantly Palestinian part of Jerusalem. As a result of the Israeli conquest

of the Western part of Jerusalem in 1948, the city was divided and East Jerusalem was created. Until

1967, the land belonged to Jordan and extended over an area of six square kilometers, encompassing

the walled Old City and it’s immediate neighborhoods. In 1980, Israel annexed East Jerusalem and

much of the land surrounding it in violation of international law. The United Nations Security

Council Resolution 478 (1980b) declared Israel’s annexation of Jerusalem illegal and required that it

be rescinded. Israel’s annexation has not been recognized by any other country (United Nations

Security Council, 1981). In early 2000, as a reaction to the second intifada, the Israeli government

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surrounded Jerusalem’s eastern perimeter with a wall, effectively cutting Palestinians living in East

Jerusalem off from their families and communities in the West Bank.

Today, East Jerusalem extends over a far more vast region due to the Israeli municipality’s

encroachment into the lands of the West Bank (Braier, 2013). The European Union (McCarthy,

2009), the International Court of Justice (2004), and the United Nations General Assembly (2012)

and Security Council (1980a) consider East Jerusalem to be a part of the West Bank, and thereby

occupied by Israel. However, Israel considers all of Jerusalem to be its capital and sovereign

territory.

Palestinians living in Israel represent a 20 percent minority within the country, and are

frequently referred to as “Arab-Israelis”.35 The Israeli government has issued Palestinians living in

Israel blue identification cards, which obligates them to pay Israeli taxes and provides certain

privileges such as insurance and freedom of movement within Israel. Yet, they are not granted Israeli

citizenship and are therefore considered to be stateless, which opens them up to discrimination and

abuse (Shiblak, 2006). Furthermore, their IDs can be revoked at any time, after which they would be

“deported” behind the wall (Hasson, 2009). Depending on the neighborhood, families living in East

Jerusalem often face home evictions and daily harassment from Israeli settlers and police.

Place-Based Sampling In 2012, I conducted the primary data collection by sampling three families from each of the above

administrative region of the occupied West Bank (Areas A, B, C, H1, H2) and annexed East

Jerusalem, for a total of 18 families. Families were chosen through a combination of convenience

and snowball sampling. In using convenience sampling, I asked a local community-based

organization to connect me with a family who might be willing to participate in the study or I

walked down the street of the sample site and asked people if they might know a family who was

interested in participating in the study. With snowball sampling (Jacobsen & Landau, 2003), I asked

35 Some Palestinians argue that the term “Arab-Israeli” aims to take away their Palestinian identity. According to Rudoren (2012), “after decades of calling themselves Israeli Arabs, which in Hebrew sounds like Arabs who belong to Israel, most now prefer [to be called] Palestinian citizens of Israel” (para. 9).

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the family being interviewed if they could identify other families who might be willing to participate.

I used these methods until I had interviewed three families at each site.

In an effort to deliberately include young children in all family interviews, I asked three

family members to participate in the research: a young child (under the age of nine), his or her older

sibling (age nine and above), and the adult caregiver (most commonly the father or mother).

Inclusion criteria were based on family composition; in other words, only families with a child under

the age of nine, with an older sibling between 9-18, and an adult caregiver were considered for the

study.36 Different generations were represented in the research sample to better understand

intergenerational experiences with place. Because of the timeline of the Israeli occupation of

Palestine, inclusion by these three family members provided a complete picture of the family’s

everyday experience living under occupation. The young child provided data about his or her

experience growing up in the post-second intifada era. The older sibling added to the data by

reflecting upon his or her experience growing up during the violence of the second intifada. And the

adult caregiver reflected upon the whole experience of living under occupation over several decades.

The inclusion of all three family members in the research sample also supports the premise that

caregivers—whether parents or older siblings—influence children’s experience with place. Even

with the inclusion criteria outlined above, interviews often included members of the larger extended

family—or hamula—with some interviews including up to 13 family members. The inclusion of the

hamula provided a complex portrait of family experience in Palestine. Family biographies are

available in Appendix A.

Basic demographics—gender, age, education, employment—were collected from each family

member and used to inform the descriptions of each family included in Appendix A. Table 4.3

shows the distribution of the study sample, according to age and gender. As described in Table 4.3, I

interviewed 18 families, with a total of 149 individual family members (48% male and 52% female):

50 adults and 99 children. There were 103 family members who were from the primary index

families (a’ila), and 46 family members who were part of the extended family (hamula). Interviews

36 Even though the sampling frame called for at least three family members of distinct generations (adult, older child, and young child), the research included two exceptions. In EJ1, I had begun the interview before discovering that the young child was actually ten-years-old. And in EJ2, the interview was conducted with only two family members; the father explained that his other children would arrive shortly to participate, but they did not arrive before the interview was complete.

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were conducted with up to 13 family members present; the average number of family members

present was eight. Interviews included 16 mothers and nine fathers; both parents were present for

six of the 18 interviews.

Table 4.3: Family Demographics (Age and Gender)

Index Family (a’ila)* Other Family (hamula)** Total

Adults (18+) Male (Father) 9 Male 8 17

Female (Mother) 16 Female 17 33

25 25 50

Children (<18) Male 45 Male 10 55

Female 33 Female 11 44

78 21 99

Total 103 46 149

* a’ila: immediate, nuclear family ** hamula: extended family, such as aunts, uncles, and cousins

Table 4.4 presents the distribution of the index families within the study sample, according

to education and employment. In nine out of 18 households, one or more parent had completed

tarjehe (secondary school). Eleven out of 18 households had one or more parent who was employed

outside the home; in six of 18 households, both parents were unemployed. Four out of 18

households had index school-age children who were not attending school, with a total of eight index

children not currently enrolled in school at the time of the interview (10% of total index children).

Participants were not paid for their participation in the study. All children were given a

sticker of their choice at the beginning of the interview. Materials used for the drawing and

mapmaking—pens, pencils, markers, and paper—were left with each family at the end of the

interview. Finally, I provided each family with a box of candy as a token of my appreciation for their

participation.

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Table 4.4: Family Demographics (Education & Employment)

Completed Tarjehe* Employed Outside Home Index School-

Age Children In

School? Father Mother Father Mother

Yes 4 7 9 3 70

No 14 12 9 16 8

Total (n) 18 19 18 19 78

* tarjehe: secondary school

Research Methods Due to the difficulties of collecting data in unstable settings, a large amount of research on children

affected by political violence has included research methodologies that employ cross-sectional

surveys of school-aged children. Although this research still adds to the field’s knowledge base, it

limits our complete understanding of the experiences of children in these contexts. There is a need

for studies that use creative methods to collect data about multiple perspectives from diverse

sources. Therefore, the methodology for this study was designed to adequately answer the research

question, effectively engage family members of all ages, and reflect the research’s theoretical

commitment to explore the concept and meaning of place.

The methods were primarily qualitative in nature using rapid ethnography (Mignone et al.,

2009) for the data collection process and grounded theory (Charmaz, 2006; Glaser & Strauss, 1967)

for the analysis. The aim of conventional ethnography is to describe a specific society or culture, to

understand the world and the benefits and practices of participants through the participants’ own

eyes (an emic approach) without the imposition of outsider assumptions in order to understand

participants’ ways of living. Rapid ethnography starts with the same assumptions about culture as

conventional ethnography, with participants selected for their unique cultural perspective and

expertise (Handwerker, 2001). This method provides a reasonable understanding of the research

participants and their activities given significant time pressures and limited time in the field (Millen,

2000). Rapid ethnography differs from conventional ethnography in that the researcher enters the

cultural system with a specific data plan, identified informants, and specific timelines, because the

researcher already has some familiarity with the issue and context (Handwerker, 2001). The core

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elements of rapid ethnography that I included in this research was a tight focus on place and

children, the use of key informants, the capture of rich data through use of interactive observation

techniques, and multiple data gathering techniques (narrative, drawing, mapmaking, and

neighborhood walks) to increase the likelihood of discovering new concepts, a quick way of

triangulating data (Millen, 2000).

The compatibility of ethnography and grounded theory has previously been explored in the

literature (Pettigrew, 2000). Overall, the use of ethnography suited my research goals of trying to

better understand place, whereas grounded theory helped me to ascertain and analyze the meaning

and significance of concepts that participants attributed to their experiences. My research

methodology sought to combine methods in a way that created crystallization as opposed to

triangulation. According to Tracy (2010), the process of crystallization encourages several theoretical

frameworks to gather multiple types of data using a variety of methods.

Participant observation

I included my own in-depth observational data of physical activities and social and material contexts

during fieldwork in the West Bank and East Jerusalem. This consisted of observations, informal and

formal discussions, and interactions with children, families, and community members. I created a

written record of what I saw, heard, and experienced in the field. Notes were created in vivo, and

elaborated upon as written daily analytic memos (both written and audio recorded). Analytic memos

reflected upon the main concepts, themes, issues and questions that I encountered during the

research process.

Engaging in participant observation also gave me the opportunity to reflect upon my place

as researcher. In this way, throughout the research process, I was mindful of my position as a white,

American, non-Arabic speaking female academic affecting the data and its subsequent analysis. I was

obviously an “outsider” to the research participants and setting. However, I took advantage of my

outside status to explore the unfamiliar and make it familiar (Padgett, 2008). I made (sometimes

unsuccessful) attempts to ensure that my ignorance or prejudices did not cloud my perceptions of

the unfamiliar. Even if I presumed to know about something that my participants were speaking

about, I would ask for them to explain it to me. By doing this, I was sometimes surprised when the

participants challenged my preconceived ideas, further widening my view of the diversity of the

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Palestinian experience. For example, when interviewing one family, the father offhandedly remarked,

“You know about what happened here during the second intifada?” Even though I was aware of the

circumstances that families lived through during the second intifada, I replied that I did not, because

I wanted to hear this particular family’s experience. In allowing the father to explain the

circumstances that he and his family lived through during the second intifada, I confirmed some of

my own assumptions, yet I was also surprised to hear a diversity of experiences.

The process of challenging what was unfamiliar was a constant exercise for me throughout

the research process. As Padgett (2008) notes “avoiding stereotypical assumptions demands the

same vigilance of self…monitoring one’s own assumptions as potential sources of bias” (p. 27).

Without the protective layers of distance and neutrality, my vigilant awareness of my place in the

research process was a vital element in the research, which ultimately added to the richness of the

data.

Collaborative family interviews

Human subjects approval was obtained from McGill University’s Research Ethics Board prior to

commencement of the study. One of two Arabic-speaking research assistant attended all family

interviews in order to translate first the consent process and then the family interview. Family

interviews were conducted by first obtaining the full and informed consent of each family member.

Written consent was initially sought from each family member. However, participants expressed

hesitation to sign their name to a document, considering their past history of having signed away

land deeds to Israel (Norman, 2009). Therefore, oral consent, which was seen as more important

than a written agreement, was obtained from all families. See Appendix B for a copy of the consent

form, which was read to each family at the start of the collaborative family interview. Participants

were guaranteed anonymity and assured that all information would remain confidential and used

only for research purposes. Interestingly, several participants stated that were not concerned with

anonymity, stating, “I have nothing to hide” and adding, “What more can Israel do to us that they

haven’t already done?”

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All interviews lasted between one and two hours. Sixteen of the 18 family interviews were

conducted primarily in Arabic.37 Eight of ten key informant interviews were conducted primarily in

English. With the participants’ permission, interviews were audiotaped and subsequently transcribed.

All but two families agreed to be audiotaped. Two families asked for the audio recording to be

stopped for portions of the interview when sharing especially sensitive information.

Guiding questions during family interviews initially focused on getting to know the family

and its history living in this particular place, as well as building rapport and trust. In this section, I

also asked questions about basic demographics (e.g., names, ages, education, etc.) for descriptive

statistics (see Tables 4.2 and 4.3). The second set of questions focused on describing daily life in

relation to place, as well as the effects of everyday occupation and violence. I asked participants to

describe their neighborhood, what a typical day was like, and how they get from place to place. Then

I asked what their experiences have been in the context of the occupation. The final set of questions

focused on how different family members support and protect each other in the context of various

places (e.g., home, school, neighborhood community). The interview concluded with an opportunity

for all family members to add anything to the interview and to ask me any questions that they

wanted to know. An outline of the interview guide can be found in Appendix C.

Overall, collaborative family interviews built a more detailed understanding of children and

family’s experiences. Interviewing the whole family also allowed for me to observe how families

interacted and co-constructed experiences. However, as with all types of group interviews

(MacDougall & Baum, 1997), there was also the potential for groupthink, the impact of censoring

and conforming among individuals. For example, it was difficult for me to know whether the

children were saying what they wanted to say, or whether they were saying what they thought that

their parents or I wanted to hear.

Drawing and mapmaking

Within the new sociology of childhood, many call for innovative and adapted research techniques

with children while emphasizing children’s competence. Furthermore, according to Dennis,

37 Some interviews went back and forth between Arabic and English, depending on which family member was speaking and what language they preferred to speak.

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Gaulocher, Carpiano, and Brown (2009), collecting data from the widest variety of sources and using

the widest variety of methods produces the most complete picture of lived experience:

We contend that everyday knowledge of social places is a nexus of locational, visual, and narrative forms of knowledge. In other words, people’s lived experiences consist of cognition of location, remembered images, and storied accounts of events (pp. 467-468).

Participants can indicate where experiences occurred (through maps), what experiences looked like

through drawings), and how experiences unfolded (through narrative). Combining maps, narratives,

and drawings ensures that participants’ lived experiences were not reduced to one aspect, and

contributes to an understanding of how they interpret, understand, and navigate their environments.

Pulling together these dimensions of lived experiences, provided me with a more holistic

understanding of children and family and their relation to place in the context of political violence.

My idea to include mapmaking as an element of the research came from DeLay’s (2003)

report on mobility mapping, which has been used as a tool for family tracing and social reintegration

work with children separated from their families after the 1994 Rwandan genocide. A mobility map

is completed by asking a child to draw a simple picture showing people and places visited before

separation. The map becomes the basis for a discussion between the child and the worker. Mobility

maps can be used to describe the child and family’s everyday activities, detect threats to the child’s

well-being, and identify resources available to resist those threats.

Mapmaking allows for an understanding of the world and one’s location within it. Research

indicates that children have a geographical understanding of the world based on developmental and

formative relationships with familiar and valued places (Hutchison, 2007). The integration of

mapmaking into the field of social work is new, and it has not yet been used in research with

children and families. Yet from the evidence presented in DeLay’s (2003) report, this technique is

promising as a practice and research methodology.

Whereas typical methods of information-gathering for research focus on narrative

interviews, younger children, children who have experienced distressing events, and children who

are disabled may not be able to engage in this manner. Therefore, drawing and mapmaking are ways

to gain participation of these children in an effective and meaningful way. Furthermore, these tools

create an environment where children may be more at ease, where they feel more able to express

themselves freely, and where they don’t feel as much of a risk of giving a “wrong” answer.

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Study participants—both child and adult—were encouraged to draw during the interview in

order to illustrate a point or tell a story and to better elucidate how they negotiated and understood

the places that they encountered on a daily basis.38 I asked children to produce at least three

drawings: (1) a free drawing, or a drawing of their choice, (2) a map, showing the important places in

their neighborhood community, and (3) a dream place, where they would like to go one day. My

methodological decision to request these three drawings did not come from the scholarship, but

rather served a practical purpose. In addition to producing valuable data, the free drawing helped

build trust between myself and the child, as well as the larger family. The child’s choice of drawing in

the free draw revealed much about the places that had meaning to them. And overall, all drawings

and maps illuminated participants’ observations, perceptions, and views related to place.

Neighborhood walks

Upon completion of the family interview, all children were invited to participate in GPS-tracked

neighborhood walks around their neighborhood communities (with parental permission).39

Neighborhood walks have been used as a method with children in order to explore their relationship

with the immediate environment (Bryant, 1985; Christensen, Mikkelsen, Nielsen, & Harder, 2011;

Hart, 1997; Langsted, 1994). I chose this method because it is best suited to children’s natural ways

of communicating, using a physical and mobile approach far more active than the traditional

interview setting, as a means for gathering additional data. This study represents the first time that

GPS technology has been used with children in settings of political violence.

The neighborhood walk, lasting between a few minutes to 45 minutes, consisted of one or

more children leading me on a tour of his or her neighborhood community, for example, beyond the

home, past the school, and through the playground. They were invited to show me places they are

allowed to visit, places where their favorite activities occur, and places where their favorite people

were. Conversation about the places experienced in the neighborhood walk allowed for dialogue

38 Even though both children and adults were invited to draw, children overwhelmingly engaged in this activity. In one family (EJ2), 13-year-old Rachid did not want to draw even though he was encouraged by his father. His father explained that Rachid didn’t want other neighborhood children seeing him draw, because they would think he was a child. 39 Depending on the context and level of violence, some parents accompanied their children on the neighborhood walk or sent an older relative to accompany the children. This allowed me to observe which children parents allowed to explore their neighborhood communities.

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between me and the child to develop as the walk develops, prompted by the people and places

encountered along the way. A sample neighborhood walk is included in Appendix D.

Neighborhood walks were recorded by global positioning system (GPS) technology, which I

carried during the walk in the form of a small wristwatch. The GPS technology recorded the length

of the neighborhood walk in both distance and time. The aim of integrating GPS technology was to

produce a visual record of the walk to correspond with any detailed and annotated commentary

aligned with the qualitative approach. I took a digital photograph of the aspect of places and

landmarks that children wanted to share with me. These photos were combined with the GPS map

of the neighborhood walk.

GPS combined with photographs and conversation created a sensory map of sights, sounds,

and their corresponding feelings. This is another way to understand the multiple meanings of the

built environment through children’s eyes. Furthermore, GPS data were objectively recorded,

because the technology producing them ascribes no meaning to the data. However, this does not

necessarily mean that the data material will produce an objective representation of the neighborhood

walk. Overall, this methodological tool capitalized on the relationship between physical movement,

the rhythms of walking, and the telling of stories, which helps to recount memories and trace a

neighborhood community’s history (Spencer, 2011). A sample of the GPS-coded neighborhood

walk is included in Appendix E.

Interview feedback forms (IFFs)

Lofland, Snow, Anderson, and Lofland (2005) recommend attaching an interview feedback form

(IFF) (also known as facesheets or interview reaction sheets) to the interview guide. The IFF is a

standardized document for recording the date, time, and location of the interview as well as the

demographic characteristics (age, gender, level of education) of the participants. The IFF was a place

to log observations about the participants and about the setting. I used the interview feedback forms

to map the family’s home and community as an assessment of their physical environment.

Through the IFF, I aimed to capture both the social and the physical space. I noted multiple

aspects of the participants’ mannerisms (e.g., sarcasm, sadness, light-heartedness), facial expressions

(grimaces, winks, smiles), body language, and the ambiance of the setting (noise, clutter,

interruptions). On many IFF forms, I drew a rough sketch of the home, noting location of nearby

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settlers, parks, roads, etc. Details gathered from the IFF provide a feeling for the context that is

missing from the transcript if not otherwise noted (Padgett, 2008). Family descriptions in Appendix

A were drawn from the IFFs. A copy of the IFF is included in Appendix F.

Key informant interviews

Halfway through the data collection process, based on my feeling that there was another perspective

that was needed to better understand the experiences of children and families, I decided to conduct

key informant interviews with international non-governmental organizations’ (INGOs) personnel,

local non-governmental organizations’ (NGOs) personnel, other researchers, and Palestinian

Authority officials. Developed by ethnographers to help researchers better understand other

cultures, a key informant interview is a loosely structured conversation with people who have

specialized knowledge about the research topic (Education Development Center (EDC), 2004). Key

informant interviews have been used in qualitative research to examine specialized systems or

processes, identify target populations or issues for further investigation, refine data collection

efforts, assess progress, and generate recommendations (Education Development Center (EDC),

2004).

Interviews were conducted with ten key community informants who work with children and

families in Palestine. Key informants were selected through a combination of convenience and

snowball sampling. These interviews resulted in the discovery of new information that was not

revealed through the family interviews. (In the following chapters, data from key informants are

identified with the prefix KI.)

Methods of Analysis Data collection resulted in a large data load including: over 100 pages of typed field notes,

approximately 300 typed transcript pages from 18 collaborate family interviews, 150 typed transcript

pages from 10 key informant interviews, 180 drawings and maps, 17 GPS maps, and 500 photos and

videos. The following section describes the methods used to analyze this large amount of data.

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Translation and transcription

Two research assistants translated and transcribed all Arabic interview data that were audio

recorded. I transcribed all English interviews. Upon completion of the first interview transcript, I

listened to the audio recording in order to check for errors and ask additional questions of my

research assistant. I sent the amended version of the transcript to my research assistant who listened

to the recording again and made additional changes and comments. Translation and transcription

posed multiple challenges for me as a non-Arabic speaking researcher. For example, there may have

been times when the translator selectively failed to relay participants’ responses that are believed by

the interpreter to reflect negatively upon their ethno-cultural group (Murray & Wynne, 2001).

Grounded theory analysis

I chose grounded theory for data analysis because of its systematic, yet flexible guidelines, which

suited the volatile research setting that I was working in. As suggested by Charmaz (2006), I began

to study my early data in the field by separating, sorting, and synthesizing through qualitative coding.

During this time, I wrote preliminary analytic memos about my codes and comparisons and any

other ideas about the data that came up. These memos helped me to elaborate categories, specify

their properties, define relationships between categories, and identify gaps (Glaser & Strauss, 1967;

Glaser, 1978; Strauss, 1987). Ultimately, the memos greatly informed the overall analysis. Though

the majority of memos were written in the field simultaneous to data collection, the majority of data

analysis was conducted upon completion of fieldwork.

I used Dedoose—a web-based platform for qualitative data analysis—to facilitate coding and

analysis of family interviews. Using a grounded theory approach (Charmaz, 2006), analysis of the

data involved careful reading and annotation of the collated information so as to ascertain the

meaning and significance of concepts that participants attributed to their experiences. The following

data analysis steps were followed: (1) As soon as a transcript was finalized, I read through the

transcripts to gain a general sense of the interview. I often consulted my field notes, memos, and

interview feedback forms to remind myself of the salient themes that I identified following the

interview. (2) Natural meaning units—or portions of the text that I felt related to an identifiable

theme—were highlighted and coded in Dedoose. (3) Using constant comparative method (Glaser &

Strauss, 1967; Maykut & Morehouse, 1994), these lists were further combined and categorized by

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merging any overlapping ideas. (4) Final themes were grouped around important places that children

and families interacted with in Palestine: home (Chapter 5), school (Chapter 6), neighborhood

community (Chapter 7), and nation-state (Chapter 8).

Analyzing visual data

Visual data has little meaning in and of itself. Rather, as Psathas (1979) indicates, it is the

interpretation and explanation from the image’s creator that is important. In the case of using visual

methods with children and families, the participants’ own explanations of why they generated the

details on their drawings and maps is what I considered to be important for the research process. In

fact, Boyden & Ennew (1997) recommend not conducting visual methods with children if there is

no opportunity for children to explain or interpret the images they have produced or if the

researchers are not familiar with the children’s cultural “ways of seeing” (p. 116). The authors claim

that visual research that fails to follow these basic procedures cannot be called participatory, will not

likely be considered scientifically valid, and may in fact be unethical. Interpretation of visual data is

not a way to unearth one true meaning, but rather to provide children and families with multiple

opportunities to express their views and experiences (A. Clark, 2004a). Tolfree and Woodhead

(1999) describe this process:

It’s not so much a matter of eliciting children’s preformed ideas and opinions. It’s much more a question of enabling them to explore the ways in which they perceive the world and communicate their ideas in a way that is meaningful to them (p. 21).

Based on the above recommendations, I always asked participants to describe their maps and

drawings, so as to understand their own interpretations and avoid imposing my own assumptions.

Furthermore, I included a reflexive component to the analysis of visual materials, considering both

my role and assumptions as an adult researcher (Davis, 1998), as well as my choice of methods and

their application (Punch, 2002). Data gathered during the family interview and the neighborhood

walk were analyzed along with observations from daily analytic memos and interview feedback

forms to identify natural meaning units related to children and families’ experiences with place.

Additionally, in the following chapters, I have used the participants’ own words in all descriptions of

drawings and maps. Overall the main goal was not interpretation, but rather a process of bringing

children and families’ knowledge to bear upon the visual representation of place.

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Research Strengths and Challenges Research with children, their families, and communities affected by political violence is incredibly

challenging. Despite these challenges, research in these settings should still strive for quality. This

study was no exception. Based upon personal reflection of my experience conducting this study, this

section notes the study’s strengths and limitations affecting quality in the research. It draws upon the

strategies for rigor suggested by Cresswell (1998), Padgett (2012), and Tracy (2010).

Crystallization of theory, methods, and data

Rigorous research makes use of multiple and different sources and methods to provide

corroborating evidence and shed light on a theme or perspective (Cresswell, 1998). This process has

been identified by Tracy (2010) as the process of crystallization, which encourages several theoretical

frameworks to gather multiple types of data using a variety of methods. This study gathered data

from multiple sources such as children of different ages, parents, relatives, neighbors, and

community members. In addition to data triangulation, this study used methodological triangulation,

or multiple methods to suit the research questions and the age and stage of different family

members (e.g., narrative interviews, drawing, mapmaking, observation). Not only did this increase

the reliability of the data and allow for flexibility in an unstable research setting, but it also provided

a rich course of data from multiple perspectives.

The study demonstrates the usefulness of combining narrative interviewing with image

elicitation as an approach for enhancing understanding of children and families’ experiences in place.

By integrating visual methods into the family interviews, the image became a prompt for further

questioning or the basis for discussion in the interview. In combination with narrative, the images

had multiple uses: describing daily life under occupation, threats to well-being, and mechanisms

available to resist and challenge those threats. The process of drawing and mapmaking is versatile,

easy to integrate into existing research methods, and adaptable for use with children and families in

contexts of adversity. A methodology that focuses on the place-related aspects of children and

families’ experiences is important for the study of place, because it allows for a richer understanding

of the world and children and families’ location within it.

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Researching families in their homes

All but two of the family interviews were conducted in families’ homes. By entering the family

home, I became embedded in the personal worlds of the families that I was researching. This

investment of time and self can lead to what Gabb (2010) and Mauthner et al. (2002) have identified

as a “vested interest”, when “a commitment to participants can come into conflict with the academic

need for a critical analytical mind” (Gabb, 2010, p. 461). I was aware of this potential bias

throughout the research process, acknowledging that I would always bring my own subjectivities—

based on my own Western perspective—into the study participants’ homes.

Interviewing the whole family—both children and adults together—has the potential to

create a context of unequal power relations within the interview process. Indeed, at times children’s

voices were obscured by the voices of their older family members. At other times, the whole

interview seemed to devolve into chaos, as individual family members used raised voices and

competed with each other to convey their particular opinion. Though these scenes raised process-

related difficulties (for example, it was challenge for translation and transcription), they also

provided me with the valuable opportunity to observe the family in action and the child’s role within

the family system.

I was constantly trying to balance methodological rigor with sensitivity in order to not

disrupt the flow of the interview process and stop the flow of rich narrative data. I had to make

quick decisions about whether to allow the family to proceed on what may have been a tangential

point with the potential that it would turn into a valuable piece of data or redirect the family and

potentially derail a potentially valuable point.

The methodology made attempts to address the potential eclipsing of children’s voices

within the family system by including activities—drawing, mapmaking, and neighborhood walk—

that would emphasize children’s participation. In fact, parents often commented that the inclusion

of their children was an important part of the research process that they supported and encouraged.

Overall, the inclusion of the whole family in the research process uncovered valuable data in

regards to the importance (and messiness) of family interactions and differences in perceptions

based on generation. The inherent limitations were avoided through the use of a combination of

research methods and resulted in rich data from a variety of sources.

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Validity

The question of validity is an important one when doing research with children and families,

especially those from a different culture than the researcher. How do we know if material we gather

is “true”? And what is “truth” in this context? I was aware of the particular danger of participants

telling me what they thought I wanted to know rather than sharing their “true” feelings and

experiences. In the end, I cannot know whether what my participants told me was “truth”, as I was

unable to corroborate and evaluate everything they said as factually accurate. For, as Fujii (2009)

notes: “people’s beliefs about how the world works…cannot be subject to a truth test” (p. 151).

Warren (1998) adds that “strategic ambiguities” always arise in narratives about war and violence.

One way I addressed this in the research process was by inviting participants to ask me questions

about the research, which illuminated their own reasons for agreeing to participate and their ongoing

concerns as a participant.

I also addressed issues of validity in the research by using multiple methods and gathering

data from multiple perspectives. Validity was also gained by prolonged engagement in the field, as

described earlier in this chapter. Plus, I made attempts to share my ideas and findings with others

familiar with the topic or context in order to ensure cogency in the research process. Through my

field notes and reflections on the data after data collection, I included my own perceptions and

thoughts and noted any biases and limitations that may have come up during the research process.

Safety and security

Conducting research in places affected by political violence can pose challenges to safety and

security for both the researcher and the study participants. In Palestine, the level of violence and

state surveillance were the main factors affecting my methodological and ethical decisions. Going

through human subjects approval with the McGill University Research Ethics Board ensured that I

thought through how I would ensure that no harm came to my participants as a result of

participating in my research.

My initial field visit to Palestine in 2010 helped me determine ways that I could protect

myself and the information provided to me by my participants. I decided to enter and depart the

region through Amman, Jordan as opposed to Tel Aviv, Israel to avoid the intense security presence

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that exists at Ben Gurion Airport. I went through checkpoints to better understand the security

procedures that I might be subjected to and to determine the best way to protect the identity of my

research participants and organizations assisting me, as well as the research data. I made every effort

to delete any identifying information about people I spoke to in case my phone, notes, or other

materials were confiscated by authorities.

During the 2012 fieldwork, I relied upon the organizations that were helping me find

research participants and the local knowledge of my research assistants to help guide my day-to-day

decisions about which field site to visit and how to conduct the research in a sensitive, culturally-

appropriate, and professional manner, while ensuring the safety of my research participants, my

research assistants, and myself. My connection with local organizations not only paved a way of trust

between myself and the communities I was working with, but also added a layer of protection for

me, my research assistants, and my research participants. Upon exiting the field, I again carefully

went through all my notes, both handwritten and typed, and erased any identifying information

about participants. Furthermore, I password-protected all data on my computer.

The neighborhood walk had the potential for risk, especially since these walks were tracked

by GPS. My fear was that Israeli soldiers or those aligned with Fatah or Hamas might be suspicious

of me walking through the neighborhood with a device that maps location. In other research that

uses GPS technology (Christensen et al., 2011; Mikkelsen & Christensen, 2009), the children use the

GPS device, so that the data comes from their own experiences in their environments. However, I

made the decision to carry the GPS device so as not to put the children in danger. I also made sure

that the children and parents were informed about the process of the GPS device so that they could

express any reservations about participating in this part of the research.

Member checking

Member checking involves taking the data, analyses, interpretations, and conclusions back to the

participants so that they can judge the accuracy and credibility of the account. A limitation of this

study is that I was unable to revisit families for follow-up questions or to member check the data.

Therefore, the data is grounded in the experiences of children and families at one point in time. I

acknowledge that conducting follow-up interviews with families would have allowed me to explore

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issues that families brought up during the initial interview. It would have also contributed to building

additional trust between myself and my research participants, which may have revealed more details

about their experiences.

Conclusion The following four chapters are the results of the data gathered during this research process

described above. Using field notes, family narratives, drawings and maps, and GPS-tracked

neighborhood walks, these chapters explore the concept and meaning of place in children’s micro-

level spaces (e.g., the family and home), meso-level spaces (e.g., school and neighborhood

community), and macro-level spaces (e.g., nation-state) in a wide array of contexts ranging from

small villages, refugee camps, and cities.

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5 HOME AS CASTLE AND CAGE

As described in the previous chapters, many children in Palestine live in an environment

characterized by the threat of violence. It is within this context that it is important to study the

meaning of home. For home can represent a beloved and “safe” place for children in families in the

context of political violence. Yet, as this chapter illustrates, the meaning of home is much more

complicated, and can be both positive and negative. This chapter will first consider home as a

positive physical space, or a castle, for families affected by occupation and political violence. As a

castle, home serves as (1) a site of family practices, (2) a center for children and families where

identity is developed and maintained, and (3) a place of protection. Secondly, this paper will

conceptualize home as a cage for many of these same families, exploring (1) the unhealthy conditions

that families live in, (2) the lack of privacy that characterizes many families’ homes, and (3) the

feeling that one is a prisoner within the home. I end this paper with a discussion of the impact of

loss of home—either through intentional home demolition or forced displacement—on children

and families. Finally, I suggest that intentional destruction of or displacement from home is a

violation of both children’s and families’ fundamental human rights.

The Multiple Meanings of Home Several scholars have offered a distinction between the terms “house” and “home” (Blunt &

Dowling, 2006; Easthope, 2004; Harker, 2009a). House implies a built structure, whereas home

implies something deeper and more meaningful. In other words, “a house only becomes a home as

meanings and feelings—in other words, a certain symbolic value—are attributed to it. This implies

that the material world in itself has no real ‘home value’; for this it needs meanings and feelings to be

attached” (Duyvendak, 2011, p. 37). Furthermore, use of the term “home” remains consistent with

the concept of place as a location with meaning.

For over the past decade, there has been much research devoted to home that not only

investigates the current state of research but also proposes a future research agenda (see for

example, Blunt & Dowling, 2006; Bozkurt, 2009; Després, 1991; Gieryn, 2000; Holloway, 2008;

hooks, 2008; Mack, 1993; Massey & Jess, 2003; Porteous & Smith, 2001; Rybczynski, 1986; Saunders

& Williams, 1988; Saunders, 1989; Somerville, 1997; Tuan, 1975, 1977, 1980). Yet, not all research

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conceptualizes home in a reflective way (Duyvendak, 2011; Morley, 2001). Like place, the problem

with home is that it is a familiar concept for most people. People speak in terms of home all the

time. This can be both an advantage and disadvantage for a sociological understanding of place.

Everyone can participate in discussions about the meaning of home, while at the same time,

everyone may claim to know the meaning of home and how it feels based on their own personal

understandings. In this situation, Duyvendak notes, “Curiosity becomes rare” (pp. 27).40

Porteous and Smith (2001) dedicate a chapter in their book to discussing the multiple

classification systems that scholars have used when struggling with the multiple meanings of home.

Drawing upon Porteous and Smith’s work, Duyvendak (2011) created the following “rudimentary

typology” (p. 38) of meanings of home in the present literature: (1) familiarity, (2) haven, and (3)

heaven. This typology has much in common with Relph’s (1976) three elements of place discussed

in Chapter 3. The first aspect of familiarity consists of knowing a place, a precondition for the next

two features. Home as haven implies feelings of physical and material safety, security, predictability,

and privacy relating to the micro-level of the home as a structure. Home as heaven is more outward-

oriented and symbolic, helping individuals to develop a collective identity and to connect with others

through shared history and the creation of intentional communities. Duyvendak (2011) concludes by

explaining:

…whether experienced as haven or heaven, feeling at home is a highly selective emotion: we don’t feel at home everywhere, or with everybody. Feeling at home seems to entail including some and excluding many (pp. 38-39).

This is especially true in Palestine where both Palestinians and Israelis are constantly striving to

create a home often at the expense of others not having a home, which presents yet another

contradiction in place.

Like any meaningful place, home can have diverse and contradictory meanings. The typology

outlined by Duyvendak (2011) above indicates a positive understanding of home. But I suggest that

there is another—albeit contradictory—element of place. On the one hand, Low (2004) speaks of

home as a fort and a castle providing protection for the family. But, how stable is the home as a place?

40 This was reflected in my own understanding of what home was and how it has evolved. At the beginning of the research project, I gave home a positive connotation, which was most likely based on my own positive experiences of growing up. However, through this research, I understood that home can also be a negative place for some children and families.

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This is a serious question, not just in light of the Israeli occupation and its related violence, but also

in light of the long-term changes in the meaning of home for Palestinian families who are reacting to

everyday challenges such as poverty. Therefore, in this chapter, I suggest that home can also be

considered a cage due to the occupation and its related challenges. This contradiction of home as a

castle and a cage is not unique to Palestine. Indeed, studies of families in many other contexts would

also conceptualize home as both a castle and a cage. For example, in contexts of family violence,

home may provide comfort at some times and violence at other times. There is a temporal nature of

the conceptualization of home. However, what is unique about the Palestinian context is the

protracted nature of political violence and how this tempers one’s relationship with the home

environment.

This chapter aims to better understand the concept and meaning of home in the lives of

children and families living in the occupied Palestinian territories. The research specifically addressed

the concept and meaning of home by asking family members questions such as “What does the

word home mean to you?” and “What would happen if your home was destroyed or you were forced

to leave it?”41 In doing so, I uncovered the inherent contradiction that home symbolizes for

Palestinians, namely home as a castle and a cage. This contradiction aligns itself with both Brenner

(2004) and Morley (2001) who suggest that home is a multi-scalar phenomenon. Duyvendak (2011)

adds that home includes significant links between the micro-, meso-, and macro-levels. Therefore, I

will first consider home as a positive physical space, or a castle, for families. As a castle, home serves

as a site of family practices, a center for identity formation, and a place of protection in the context

of political violence. Then, turning to the primary contradiction in place, I will conceptualize home

as a cage, exploring the unhealthy conditions that some families live in and the feeling that some

family members are prisoners in their own homes. I end the chapter with the impact of home

destructions on children and families.

41 When I asked these questions, some family members repeated other family members’ answers, whereas some responded independently. This was valuable in terms of observing family dynamics. For example, I was able to observe which family members hold what kind of influence within the family. However, I am unable to determine the extent to which the family holds a collective view of the role of the home in their lives versus the knowledge and attitudes of individual family members.

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Home as Castle Similar to Duyvendak’s (2011) typology of home as haven and heaven, home can be conceptualized as

a castle. Therefore, the concept and meaning of home is often optimistic. Porteous and Smith (2001)

conceptualize home as “a positive factor in people’s lives” (p. 20). Home can be a symbol of the

family and its related practices. According to Nowicka (2007), home is also regarded as “a stable,

unmoving center from which the world around can be perceived, conceived and experienced, and

thanks to which ethnic and national identities can develop” (p. 72). In the context of violence, home

can also offer an element of physical protection from surrounding violence in the surrounding

community. Drawing from these conceptualizations, this section will explore home as (1) family, (2)

center of identity, and (3) protection.

“Home is my father and my mother”: Home as family

Home is the quintessential family space. Family and home are closely intertwined, and Palestinians

routinely speak about their families in relation to home spaces and even equate home with family.

This implies that home may be more socially than territorially defined. Therefore, the meaning of

home is established around particular familiar people and includes the people one interacts with

(Duyvendak, 2011; Nowicka, 2007). Home then becomes an inclusive and distinct place where

people have strong social, psychological, and emotional attachments (Duyvendak, 2011; Easthope,

2004).

The connection between people and place is not new. According to Mumford (1961),

“People are as attached to places as they are attached to families and friends. When these loyalties

come together, one then has the most tenacious cement possible for human society” (p. 287). If, as

Relph (1993) asserts, place is “a territory of meanings” (p. 36), then people are an important vehicle

for this meaning-making process. Therefore, it was not surprising that many family members

equated home with family. This was especially true within this context of Palestinian family life.

When speaking about her home, 26-year-old Sanaa explained: “Like any human being, when he

comes home, he finds his father and his mother and his children. It’s the family. It’s something that

you cannot trade for anything” (EJ3). For Sanaa, home felt like family, with familiarity being an

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element of belonging to this place. Another example comes from Abu-Karim,42 who explained,

“The home, as a land, is my father and my mother, my parents, both” (BE2). Abu-Karim indicates

that not only does home represent a physical place, but also the family.

Twenty-four-year-old Amina moved from her childhood home in East Jerusalem to al-Adib

(in the West Bank) when she married her husband. When she arrived at her childhood home in East

Jerusalem, she expected to find familiar and important people, such as her parents and siblings:

Amina: And even now, I live in al-Adib and my family in [East Jerusalem]. But I don’t feel like my home is in al-Adib, because my family is not there. The mother of my husband is dead, and the brother of my husband left al-Adib, so I and my husband live alone there. Interviewer: So where do you see home if home is not al-Adib? Amina: Here, the house of my parents (EJ3).

Amina’s quote indicates that home is formed out of numerous social relationships stretched over

time and space, changing in relation to the movements of the family. It also emphasizes the value of

the hamula in contributing to a sense of familiarity and comfort.

“My home is my life”: Home as center of identity

Organized by Lloyd, Patton, & Cammack (1996), place can be structured by a hierarchy of home,

neighborhood, city, region, and country. Yet home often remains at the center of the hierarchy. The

home is a central physical and spatial location for people’s social and emotional lives (Christensen &

O’Brien, 2003b) and a place where one’s individual and collective identity develops. It is the key

context for the family, where children are centered within the family, often nested in bonds of love

and care, with parents serving as gatekeepers for children’s well-being. Like the concept of home as

family, home as identity creates opportunities for maintaining social ties and relationships and

maintains elements of one’s identity as represented by connection to place.

The centrality of home in the lives of Palestinians can be visualized through children’s

drawings where home was frequently depicted (see Figure 5.1). Often the home was situated in the

center of the paper—a starting point for the drawing in general—with other elements of place

surrounding the home, such as flowers (top left, H23), water cisterns (top right, H22), and cars

42 In Arabic culture, after the birth of the first child, parents are given the honorary title of abu (father of) and umm (mother of), followed by the name of the first-born son. I have used the identifiers throughout this paper to indicate fathers and mothers from the index families.

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(bottom right, VI1). Even children who had never drawn before started their drawings with the

square outline of the home (bottom left, BE1). This indicates that the home is something they are

familiar with and a central place in their lives.

Figure 5.1: Children’s Depictions of Home

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For some children, their current home was positively depicted as a dream place. For

example, when asked to draw her dream place, nine-year-old Nafissa drew her current home, a tent

in the middle of a Bedouin encampment (see Figure 5.2).

Figure 5.2: Nafissa’s Home Dream Place as Home

Using the drawing as a departure point for discussion, Nafissa carefully described all of the familiar

elements that made it a special place for her:

Nafissa: …this our house. Interviewer: This is the place you want to stay in? Nafissa: Oh, yes. Interviewer: Oh, OK. Tell me about the picture. Nafissa: Here is a drawer, a carburetor [generator] and a TV and a heart.

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Interviewer: It’s the tent [here]? Nafissa: Yes. Interviewer: And what is this? Nafissa: Heart. Interviewer A heart, yes. It’s beautiful, and what does this say? Nafissa: The home of Abu-Karim (Nafissa’s father) (BE2).

Therefore, it is not just the foundation, four walls and roof of the home, but all it contains: a drawer,

where the family keeps precious items, a generator, which provides electricity to the family, and the

TV, where the family gathers in the evening. These familiar objects symbolize the practices that the

family engages in and which contribute to children’s well-being. Douglas (1991) argues that homes

structure time and memory through their capacity to order family practices spatially, for example,

through such activities as communal eating, chores, religious observances, and the distribution of

resources. These family practices take place within the physical space of the house, which is, in time,

transformed into a home, the place where individual and collective identities are worked on

(Birdwell-Pheasant & Lawrence-Zun iga, 1999). Therefore, as a place of family centeredness, home

confers a sense of identity upon those living within it.

In addition to being a central and physical place, some participants described home as having

an emotional role. For example, Umm-Omar, a 30-year-old mother of three, explained what the

word home meant to her: “My life. As a physical structure, it’s my life. As a word, home is the blood

that goes through my body” (VI2). Fatima, a 25-year-old mother of one from the same village said

that home is “the most precious thing to us” (VI1). Abu-Karim explained the difference between

the physical home and the emotional home: “The house, even if it’s built from wood or stones or …

gold, it is home. It is this home” (BE2). Abu-Rachid from East Jerusalem elaborated upon this idea

of home as more than just a physical structure:

The house is not stone. It is not like a rented house. The house is a memory. It is a thing I don’t know, I can’t explain it, but I feel very related to this house. Even if I had a villa in any place else, I will stay here. I am much happier than anyplace else in the world. I am so close to this house and this neighborhood (EJ2).

Even though his home is located in a violent neighborhood within East Jerusalem, Abu-Rachid still

feels emotionally connected to this place, illustrating the strong connection that Palestinians have to

their homes and neighborhood communities.

In addition to being a vital component of one’s life on both a physical and emotional level,

some participants connected the home to their individual futures and the future of the family. For

many families, home is as a place where the family’s children grow up and then start their own

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family, indicating that the home is important for the continuation of generations. Abu-Rachid

explained:

I was born in that house. My children were born in that house. And I hope they will born, or have their children in this house. That is at least what I am trying to do. (EJ2).

Thirteen-year-old Basma explained:

[Home is] my life. I love the gathering of the whole family. Yes, the gathering. And we live a good life. I hope to raise my dreams here, my future dreams (VI2).

Basma’s quote touches upon home as “everything”, as well as an important place for her future. She

also alludes to home as a place where one can gather with the family. The importance of gathering

together—in times of both peace and insecurity—was reflected in participants’ conceptualizations of

home as a gathering place. According to Brannen and O’Brien (1996), home is a key site for

establishing a sense of belonging. The home and family are sites where children learn the concept of

togetherness regardless of material, ideological, and emotional conditions (Douglas, 1991). Umm-

Imed, explained: “Being in my home means stability for me and being with my children, gathering,

living with my family” (VI3). The act of gathering has direct implications for protecting children.

And, as the next section describes, in times of high violence, children and families noted that

gathering was one of the most important ways to stay safe.

“There is a safety feeling”: Home as protective

In many societies, including Palestinian, the family has primary responsibility for their children on

behalf of the wider community structure (Parton, 2006). In fact, the family’s influence on Palestinian

life can be seen in its housing patterns, through which they seek some form of collective security

(Ghabra, 1988). In areas affected by political violence, one way of protecting children is to ensure

that they stay within the home or within their local neighborhood. In this way, home can serve as a

place of refuge, shelter, and security (Allan & Crow, 1989; Porteous & Smith, 2001).

Many families indicated that the purpose of the home is to keep family members—especially

the younger children—safe. Umm-Ayoub, from East Jerusalem, described her home as “The place

that I feel independent and safe” (EJ3). Her 26-year-old daughter reiterated Umm-Ayoub’s feelings

about home, stating that for her, home also represented safety (EJ3). In particular, families noted

that home provides safety for children. Umm-Mourad, also from East Jerusalam, elaborated on how

the home protects children:

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It’s your home. You can close the door whenever you want. You can sit with the children. You can take care of them. There is a safety feeling (EJ1).

This “safety feeling” was reiterated throughout many of the family interviews, as parents and

children both expressed that home was usually a physically safe place, especially in the context of

political violence.

The home also serves as a haven where the family can ensure their children’s growth and

development. Caregivers can ensure that children are safe and protected, provided with comfort and

care, and safeguarded in their health and well-being. When I asked Umm-Mourad in East Jerusalem

about how she protects her children, she replied, “The home is the safest place. If I have home, then

I can protect my children, I can educate them…even if we don’t own it” (EJ1). Like Umm-Mourad,

some families distinguished between living in a home that they owned and renting a home.

However, for them, the role of home was the same whether or not they owned the home. For

others, home had a feeling of impermanence and instability if they were renting the home. But the

home—whether permanent or not—overwhelmingly represented a means of protection.

As the above examples show, home operates as a metaphor for (1) family, (2) centeredness,

and (3) protection. Home does not just represent the place where one lives, but it symbolizes the

care, support, and commonalities that a Palestinian family living close to each other share in the

same geographically defined space. Nevertheless, as much as home can be a castle, it can also serve as

a contradiction. In this case, home can become a virtual cage, which is discussed in the following

section.

Home as Cage The phenomenology of home tends to emphasize positive elements such as familiarity, order,

permanency, comfort, and culture (Duyvendak, 2011). From this perspective, home is fixed, rooted,

and impervious to change. However, while home is emphasized as a safe haven, it can also be an

unstable and overburdened place. An example of the contradictory role of home comes from the

migration research of Ahmed (1999), who views home as both familiar and/or strange. Ahmed’s idea

can be extended to describe home as both castle and cage.

These competing conceptualizations of home are the result of violence permeating the

boundaries of homes in a number of ways. DCI (2012) reported that a majority of children arrested

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between January 2008 and January 2012 were arrested in their homes between midnight and 5AM.

In addition to forcibly entering homes to arrest children, families reported that, in the past, the

Israeli army violently entered homes during large-scale incursions.

Yet, violence in the home is not always the result of the occupation. In some cases, risk from

the home may be revealed as the primary context for neglect, abuse, and/or violence against

children. For example, in their study of the effects of political violence on Palestinian children,

Garbarino and Kostelny (1996) reported significant risk to Palestinian children living in abusive

families. Likewise, in her study of family functioning in Palestine, Khamis (2000) found that 16% of

Palestinian households showed rates of maltreatment indicative of psychological abuse. In war-

affected Afghanistan, following the Taliban’s defeat, research indicated that significant numbers of

poor families arranged marriages for their daughters as young as 11-years-old, often to men in their

fifties (M. Wessells & Kostelny, 2004). And more recent research in Afghanistan found that violence

in the home was more of a critical predictor of children’s negative mental health than the

extraordinary levels of violence outside of the home (Panter-Brick, Goodman, Tol, & Eggerman,

2011). These findings reflect the family-level violence, often related to both structural and collective

violence, that children may face on a daily basis. In these cases, the home can be considered as more

of a “cage” than a “castle”. This section will further explore the harmful elements of home,

specifically home as (1) unhealthy, (2) not private, and (3) a prison.

“Here you cannot see the sun”: Home as Unhealthy

As discussed in the previous section, the built structure of the home is often conceptualized as a safe

shelter for children and family providing protection from outside elements. However, for many

families, their homes posed a range of environmental risk factors—both related and unrelated to the

occupation—that directly affect the health of family members. This idea was suggested by several

families who, in the following three quotes, explained that their homes were not healthy places for

their children.

As you can see, it’s really hot, and there is no electricity. From one side, jeish (army) are bothering us, and from that side, we’re facing al Yehud (the Jews). As you can see, we don’t have an oven. We work on fire. There are no washing machines either or a refrigerator, and I don’t have a bathroom. I have an external one, so I need to go outside. I go to my brother-in-law to use his bathroom. Everything is difficult here. They asked me to make a hole for the bathroom, rather than a bathroom, but it’s really difficult, so I go to my brother-in-law’s to his bathroom. Imagine during the summer, you don’t have

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a refrigerator, a fan or a washing machine. And even if we enter inside, we feel that the sun is with us. Our life is really tiring and difficult (BE3).43 My children [are] always sick [from] the moisture that gets into our home here. We just have two rooms (points to them). The reservoir room (where they keep the house supplies, such as flour, legumes, sugar and salt), my children sleep there. Inside it is the flour and oven. There is no space here. See here how we close the roof because of rain (shows how they cover the roof with a piece of steel or wood). Rain comes over here. It’s not healthy at all (BA3). Houses are close to each other. See the wall, it is common between us and our neighbors. And, in this room there is no window. So two rooms without ventilation. See, one door for those rooms and one window…. If I go outside, my eyes will hurt me, because I’m not used to sun and healthy air. I don’t see sun everyday. If I want to hang laundry, I should go to the sixth floor just to find the sun (BA3).

Children expressed similar feelings about their homes being unhealthy places, as in this exchange

between siblings—14-year-old Anissa, 12-year-old Mahfoud, and 10-year-old Anise—and their

mother, Umm-Mahfoud in Balata:

Anissa: It is not nice. There is no sun getting through. Mahfoud: There is no place to play inside. Umm-Mahfoud: They are stressed out in this home. Anise: There is no place to play around (BA3).

The theme that there are no places to play was also reiterated when children spoke about their

neighborhood communities (which will be discussed in Chapter 7).

Seven-year-old Nadir from Hebron drew a picture of his home (see Figure 5.3) and

described the important elements of home as “sun, stairs, home, and light” (H12). After Nadir drew

this, his father, Abu-Ali showed me the bullet holes in the home’s roof where rainwater dripped in

and made the home damp and cold in the winter and explained:

When it rained this year, there was leaking. We weren’t able to control the leaking. We were trying to put bottles to protect our house, trying our best to remove the big amount of water. It is not like, healthy, this home (H12). Sunlight, windows, air were named as elements of a healthy living environment by both children and adults. Drawings of dream places served as catalysts for many children to compare their dreams to the reality of their unhealthy homes.

43 Al Isra’iliyin is the Arabic word for “Israelis”, yet it is cumbersome in colloquial speech. Therefore many Palestinians, especially those from smaller villages, often refer to Israelis as al Yehud (“the Jews”) although they tend to translate it to English as “the Jewish”) or simply jeish (“army”).

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Figure 5.3: Nadir’s Home

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Figure 5.4: Samira’s Dream Place

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And in Figure 5.4, 12-year-old Samira drew her dream place and explained:

Samira: You see, this house (indicating her current home), it is not a healthy house, not in the winter and not in the summer. So this house (showing her drawing) is my dream place, because it is a healthy place to live. Interviewer: What is healthy about it? Samira: Because the sun is coming in. Interviewer: I can see the sun [in the drawing]. And here (indicating Samira’s current home), you cannot see the sun? Samira: In this section, yes (pointing outside), but inside, no (EJ3).

Another element that makes a home feel more like a cage than a castle is the fact that many

Palestinian families are unable to repair, develop, or expand their homes. Obtaining permits to build

on their own land is nearly impossible as 94% of building permit requests submitted by Palestinians

are denied by Israeli authorities (Epshtain, 2012). The Wadi Hilweh Information Center (2013)

recently described a family in East Jerusalem who was ordered by an Israeli court to remove tin

plates from their home’s roof or else they would be forcibly evacuated. The family installed the tin

plates about twenty years ago to protect their home from rain. By removing the tin plates from their

roof, the home becomes exposed to potentially dangerous and corrosive environmental elements

(e.g., sun, rain, wind) and the family loses the protection that a roof offers.

Perhaps most damaging is a feeling of not being able to develop their own home in a way

that corresponds with the family’s changing needs. For example, many families expressed frustration

at not being able to develop their homes therefore leading to a crowded and cramped living situation

for family members. Umm-Malik, her 26-year-old son, Malik, and his 25-year-old wife Fatima,

explained the difficulty in expanding the home to accommodate their growing family:

Umm-Malik: There is no space. We have no other places to go. Fatima: And she has another [child] who is getting married too, but there is no space. All people need to be building, but, you know, under Israeli occupation, you can’t do anything. Malik: See, we can’t do anything. Umm-Malik: And al Yehud (the Jews) took our lands, so we can’t build (VI1).

When expansion is not allowed yet the family continues to grow, there is not enough space to live

well in place. The family’s growth is stunted, forcing some family members to move away from the

a’ila and hamula, thereby breaking up strong family ties that can protect children and families.

Furthermore, research has shown that the effects of the physical environment—noise level,

overcrowding, and housing and neighborhood quality—are as significant for children’s development

as psychosocial characteristics such as relationships with parents and peers (Evans & Hygge, 2007;

Evans & Lepore, 1993; Evans, 2006). Developmental outcomes as a result of crowded home

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environments include children’s withdrawal behavior as a means of coping, parental

unresponsiveness, strains on parent-child relationships, higher levels of psychological distress, higher

levels of behavior difficulties in school, declines in motivational behavior, and a level of learned

helplessness. The implications of this are relevant to the Palestinian context, especially when

considering the added impact of war-related violence. For example, some children expressed that

their crowded homes made focusing on schoolwork difficult, and as a consequence, their grades

suffered.

Even if families were lucky enough to obtain a permit, poverty posed an additional obstacle.

I conducted family interviews in many poorly constructed homes or homes that had been damaged

in the course of the occupation that did not provide this environmental protection for children and

their families. When I inquired about the condition of the home, families often stated that they were

too poor to make improvements on deteriorating homes. Nevertheless, while families noted the

home’s shortcomings and dangerous environmental conditions, children and families continued to

acknowledge the importance of home, thus reaffirming home as a castle and thus a contradiction in

place.

Lack of privacy

According to Lang (1987), when people’s social needs are balanced by the individual autonomy that

comes with privacy, social interactions occur more easily. Ambiguous space—such as those that are

neither public nor private—tends to prohibit positive social exchanges, because the individual is less

able to control the interaction on his or her terms. Therefore, privacy is important for one to engage

in positive social interactions with others and, as an extension, it is essential for well-being.

For children, privacy is fundamental for positive psychological well-being. In her description

of ideal spaces for infants and toddlers, Olds (1987) notes that spaces that provide privacy are

essential for younger children’s development of self-concept and personal identity. Clark’s (2004b)

research exploring experiences of place with children 3-4-years-old found that they valued places

with a degree of privacy where they had the ability to regulate social interaction. Clark’s research

finding is in alignment with the assertion that children’s physical spaces balance both social contact

and the possibility of privacy (Altman, 1975; David & Weinstein, 1987; Wolfe, 1978). According to

Lang (1987), the development of privacy is part of a socialization process. As children grow, they

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need more privacy (Guardo, 1969; Meisels & Guardo, 1969), correlating with the child’s growth and

maturity. But what happens when the occupation encroaches upon one’s sense of privacy?

In her research in Palestinian refugee camps, Peteet (2005) describes them as liminal spaces,

vacillating between private and public spheres. This description provides an opening within which to

explore privacy as a socio-spatial issue for children and their families. Today’s Palestinian refugee

families live on the original tiny spaces of land that were provided to them by United Nations Relief

and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA) when Palestinians were first

displaced in 1948. Yet, as the family grows, the domestic space can only grow vertically in a

haphazardly and piece-meal fashion, taking the form of a multi-storied structure, with extended

family living on additional floors. Figure 5.5 illustrates a home at the edge of the Balata refugee

camp, where layers and layers of housing have been added through the generations.

Figure 5.5: Palestinian Home at the Edge of Balata Refugee Camp

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Harker (2011) observes: “This shift from horizontal to vertical living offers a cheaper means of

construction, since residents can build on land that is already owned without the need to buy more”

(p. 5). These vertical family places annex each other, with very little space in between. Therefore,

one family’s window oftentimes looks directly into another family’s home.

Families noted how the layout of space challenged access to privacy within the home. Umm-

Mourad explained her living situation when displaced from a home eviction in East Jerusalem and

forced to move her family into her mother’s home in the West Bank: “So, it is not my house, and

the children don’t live free. They don’t have their own rooms. They can’t study well. They can’t

play” (EJ1). Privacy was a concern for children as well as parents. In Figure 5.6, 16-year-old Wided

drew her dream place, a room of her own. Explaining the drawing, Wided said, “I dream about a

room…just for me. It has a window in it, and it is just for me” (EJ3).

Figure 5.6: Wided’s Dream Place

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Indeed, privacy needs are very much a part of culture (Altman & Chemers, 1980; Lang,

1987). The organization of a family home—how rooms are designated a function, where items are

kept—reflects family members culturally-based attitudes towards privacy (Brolin, 1976; Lang, 1987;

Porteous, 1976; Rapoport, 1969). How the built environment is laid out depends on how individuals

relate to each other in space, thereby varying considerably by culture. There are major cultural

differences in the types of privacy sought by individuals (Rapoport, 1969), reflected in both the

internal and external organization of the home. Therefore, Wided’s description of her dream place

challenges ideas that collectivist societies don’t want, need, or value privacy.

The ongoing tactics of the Israeli army exemplifies an involuntary concession of the privacy of

Palestinian families. “Walking through walls” is a military tactic first implemented during the 2002

invasion of Nablus, during which soldiers punched holes through the walls of Palestinian homes in

order to avoid the streets, roads, alleys, and courtyards, where they feared being attacked by

Palestinian fighters (Bleibleh, 2010; Weizman, 2007). The “penetration of war into the private

domain of the home” is described by Weizman (2007) as “ the most profound form of trauma and

humiliation” (p. 194) for Palestinian families. Families in the Balata Refugee Camp spoke about the

tactic of “walking through walls”. Umm-Mahfoud’s home was on the first floor of a small building

on the western edge of the refugee camp. When I entered the home, I noticed that it was sparsely

decorated: there was nothing on the walls and just a few pieces of plastic furniture. We sat on small

plastic chairs surrounding a small, low table in the corner of the living room. In the corner of the

room, sleeping on a mat on the floor was six-year-old Halim. Umm-Mahfoud explained that Halim

had been become incontinent after seeing the Israeli army walk through Balata a few days ago; he

has since not been able to attend school, and spends most of the day at home sleeping. Despite his

noisy siblings trying to rouse him several times, Halim slept during the whole interview. Halfway

through the interview, Umm-Mahfoud and her 14-year-old daughter Anissa showed me a small

room off the side of the living room (see Figure 5.7). The small room was filled with hanging

laundry and sleeping mats stacked on top of one another, where the children slept. On the eastern

wall of this room was a large square-shaped area that was plastered over with cement. Umm-

Mahfoud explained to me that several years ago, the Israeli army entered her home, then cut through

this wall to get to her neighbor’s home, where they were searching for a wanted man.

Umm-Mahfoud: It was as if they knew everything about our house before they came. They had dogs and other equipment to enter. They asked my husband to help them [cut through the wall]. [But], he was sick with back pain, so he couldn’t. [So,] they were mad and brutal. … Four of my children were

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sleeping here. We were awake, because it wasn’t in the middle of the night. …they entered and they knew that we have one wall between us and our neighbor. They know there is something here, and it’s the only way to go through the neighbor (BA3).

A survey conducted after the 2002 invasion of Nablus showed more than half of the buildings had

routes forced through them, with between one to eight openings in their walls, floors, and ceilings

(Abujidi, 2005). Israeli soldiers reported that they spent the entire time during the invasion inside

Palestinian families’ homes, which they transformed into sleeping quarters, prisons, and even

parking garages (Weizman, 2007). Families were often locked in one room, where they were forced

to remain—sometimes for several days—until the military operation concluded, often without

water, food, or sanitation (Baltzer, 2007). By “walking through walls”, private homes became spaces

of warfare and occupation, in stark contrast to the safe domestic spaces of the home for children

and their families. Conversely, these private spaces became safe spaces for soldiers, who avoided

what they perceived as dangerous and deadly public spaces (Bleibleh, 2010).

Figure 5.7: “Walking Through Walls” in Umm-Mahfoud’s Home

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The privacy of Palestinian communities continues to be compromised in today’s post-

second intifada era. According to Weizman (2007) the IDF completed three-dimensional models of

the entire West Bank and Gaza Strip, providing intricate details of family homes including locations

of doors and windows and layouts of rooms. In this discussion about the importance of privacy in

the lives of children, the home is not just a physical demarcation between inside and outside, but it

becomes an important metaphor in the construction of the private and the public.

“Staying in home is the same as staying in jail”: Home as prison

As the previous section shows, the home cannot be thought of in static terms. Much like Morgan’s

(1996, 1999) notion of family practices, Christensen, James, and Jenks (2000) suggest that home

must be viewed through its relation to family movements. Children use home as a center of activity,

from which all other activity springs from. These movements are consistently moderated by

caregivers, as well as the context of violence within which children may be living in. Families engage

in multiple place-related practices revolving around the home in order to protect their children

including forcing children to stay at home, gathering together in the home when there is an upsurge

in violence, and restricting children from accessing certain places outside of the home. Although

intended as a means of protection, restricting children’s access to places beyond the home can lead

to the feeling that the home is a prison, a comment from many of the participants, especially those

living in more violent places.

The feeling of the home as a prison was especially strong during the second intifada, when

the Israeli military imposed long curfews upon most of the Palestinian population. Families were

forced to spend hours, days, or weeks trapped inside their homes. If anyone left their home, they

risked being shot by the Israeli military. One key informant explained: “…it was really like a boring

time, because of the curfew we weren’t able to go outside home, weren’t able also to go to our

neighbors” (KI6). During the second intifada, the combination of the curfews with violence outside

the home creating an atmosphere of boredom and the feeling of being trapped inside their homes.

Boredom due to restriction can cause additional stress to families lives. For example, Save the

Children (2003) reported that boredom can cause aggression and violence against younger children

in families and neighborhoods.

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Even though formal curfews are rare in the post-second intifada era, violence outside the

home, especially as a result of settlers, kept families inside their homes. In fact, settler harassment

was widespread throughout all six research sites, creating an atmosphere where many Palestinian

families did not feel safe to leave their homes, thereby trapping them within. Families described

instances of settlers entering their homes without permission, throwing stones at windows, and

attacking Palestinian children and adults on the streets. During my fieldwork in 2012, while walking

through the streets of Hebron, I was yelled at by an Israeli settler, who was identified as the director

of the nearby settlement school. A few minutes later, I watched the same woman with a group of

older settler children throw water and hit another international visitor. According to the European

Union (as cited in Hider, 2012), settler violence has more than tripled in the three years leading up to

2011. Because of this violence, children and parents do not want to leave their homes. Abu-Majd

from Hebron explained, “Our children are used to living like anyone who is in prison. You see our

house is covered with these bars?” He asked his seven-year-old niece, Wafa, to pull back the curtains

covering the bars on the windows. “Because al Yehud (the Jews) attack us and harass us,” Abu-Majd

said while pointing to the settlements across the street (H21). Families in more volatile places, such

as East Jerusalem and Hebron, explained how they did not want to leave their homes—even to go

on a brief errand to the corner store—because they were afraid settlers would take over their home

when they were gone. Even if settlers do not physically occupy one’s home, they can use the Israeli

courts to evict Palestinians from their homes. 23-year-old Sanaa explained how her family appealed

to the Israeli courts so as not to be evicted from their home by settlers:

They sent for us another document saying you have to empty the houses, you have to leave. The house is for Israeli and not for Palestinian. And for sure, we refused. They say, if you refuse, every day that you are sitting in your house, you will pay taxes. And if you don’t pay taxes, in the end, we will arrest the whole family. And actually, my uncle and my dad, we were sitting together and say, OK, if they don’t want to let us live like a family outside jail, we are living like a family in jail. And we go to the court, and say, “OK, we don’t care. If you want to give us for us taxes, if you want to like, arrest us, we will like, it doesn’t matter for us.” Actually, [staying home] is the same [as staying in jail]. The situation in Palestine, we have Palestine, we have land. But everyone is living in jail. But outside, like…We say we don’t want to leave our houses. If you want, arrest all the family. We don’t care (EJ1).

Sanaa’s words indicate that home can be represented in contradictory ways. Even though Sanaa

acknowledged that living in home is like a prison, she equates this as better than losing her home.

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Domicide and Loss of Home Home as a physical place was obviously very important to the study participants. For several

families, home was “everything”. Because of this emphasis on the importance of home, children

learn about the value of home from an early age. This sentiment was particularly acute when families

were asked what would happen if they no longer had their home.

Scholars have explored a certain state of homelessness as a condition of the increased

mobility and globalization of modernity. For example, Berger, Berger, and Kellner (1973) referred to

“the spreading condition of homelessness” (p. 138) and Heidegger (1977) said, “Homelessness is

coming to be the destiny of the world” (p. 219). Drawing from his experience as a displaced

Palestinian, Said (1979) also described “a generalized condition of homelessness”, but he specifically

refered to those who have been forced to leave their places of origin, thereby being left homeless.

Therefore, there are two elements of homelessness: the first is when one is forced to leave one’s

home, as described by Said above, whereas the second is when one’s home is intentionally

destroyed. Porteous & Smith (2001) coined the term domicide to describe the intentional destruction

of one’s home by another human, which causes distress to the former inhabitants. As a means

resulting in homelessness, the act of domicide can be a unique form of trauma, mainly because the

victims are not killed, but rather they experience their home being destroyed after being physically

and oftentimes violently removed from it.

The history of domicide in Palestine has been documented in studies ranging from loss of

homeland (Falah, 1996; Graham, 2004b) to the destruction of home (Gordon, 2008; Pappe, 2006;

Save the Children UK et al., 2009). Most prominently featured in the scholarship is the 1948 Nakba,

resulting in the widespread loss of home and community (Bronstein, 2005; Caplan, 2010; Farsoun &

Aruri, 2006; Issa, 2005; Kimmerling & Migdal, 2003; Pappe, 2006, 2007). The Palestinian refugees

who lost their homes in 1948 still hang on to those places in various ways. Some carry on an oral

tradition, sharing experiences of these places with the next generations. Others still hold the key to

their homes that they were displaced from, a tangible and metaphorical representation of their

attachment to their homes. To further illustrate this point, Figure 5.8 depicts a large key at the

entrance to the Aida refugee camp in Bethlehem and represents Palestinian attachment to the

beloved homes that they were displaced from.

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Figure 5.8: Entrance to Aida Refugee Camp, Bethlehem

Since the beginning of the occupation in 1967, Israel has demolished approximately 27,000

Palestinian structures in Palestine (Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions (ICAHD), 2013),

primarily in East Jerusalem and Area C. The rate of home demolitions rose significantly during the

second intifada. In the six years preceding the second intifada, 740 Palestinian homes were

demolished in Israeli military operations. By comparison, in the first four years of the second intifada,

5,000 homes were demolished during military operations. The rate of home demolitions has not

slowed. In the first half of 2013, UNRWA and ICAHD both reported a record number of over 300

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home demolitions in the West Bank and East Jerusalem, displacing almost 600 children and adults

(UNRWA, 2013). Since the renewal of the Israeli-Palestinian peace negotiations in August 2013,

Israel has destroyed approximately 25 Palestinian homes, leaving 200 people homeless (ICAHD,

2013). Since July 2010, one Bedouin village in the Negev desert in southern Israel has been

destroyed 49 times by the Israeli military (Kestler-D’Amours, 2013). These home demolitions have

been strongly condemned by Human Rights Watch (2013) and the United Nations High

Commissioner for Human Rights (2013).

Israel’s policy of home demolitions poses another contradiction in place. The Israeli

government claims that demolitions are ordered when a homeowner does not acquire planning,

zoning, and administrative permits. However, as mentioned earlier, obtaining permits is virtually

impossible, especially in East Jerusalem and Area C. According to ICAHD (2013), demolitions are

ordered for two reasons: to make life so miserable for Palestinians that they leave the country and to

drive Palestinians off their land in Areas C into Areas A and B. There can be wide variation in the

time taken to enact a demolition order. Overwhelmingly, families are given little time to lodge an

appeal with the courts once an order has been issued. However, time can vary from 24 hours to

months to a couple of years, leaving families in a constant state of limbo. Even when there is no

eviction or demolition order, many Palestinian families live with the fear that an order will come. As

Jewish settlements grow to accommodate an increasing settler population, Palestinian homes are

being demolished even though the Palestinian population has quadrupled since 1967.

Resisting loss of home through sumud

Israel’s push to take over Palestinian homes is not a new phenomenon. However, the tactics have

become more violent. Abu-Majd explained his family’s history of being pressured to leave their

home in Hebron:

In this house, we’re under stress, pressure since 1980…. In 1980, they gave us 14 days to leave, and they were encouraging us, saying, “We will pay you.” And they offered us a big amount of money, starting with my father—may he rest in peace. They offered us $1,000,000 to leave, and they ended the negotiation by giving us an open check. They said, “Put in the number you want.” And they offered to send us to America then, and offered a job and a passport, an American nationality, all the comforts, and educational means would be available to us, just so we would leave our home…. You see how they are encouraging people to sell their property and live outside (H21).

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Abu-Majd’s refusal to accept compensation from Israel for his family’s land also represents a

collective sumud (steadfastness) by Palestinians. Despite the extreme economic hardships facing most

Palestinians, they believe that the compensation offered by Israel is nowhere near the value of what

would be lost. Plus, Palestinians who do accept compensation for their property from Israelis are

often labeled as traitors to the Palestinian cause and shunned by their communities (Ayyoub, 2013).

Umm-Ayoub explained the emotional impact of the threat of the settlers wanting to take her

family’s home in East Jerusalem: “The situation will never be better here, because the [settlers] want

to take the houses. And each one has his own house, and they want to take it from everyone else.

And it is like taking your soul out of you” (EJ3). Many families displayed sumud in never leaving their

home even if threatened with coercion or violence or even when they had been physically removed

from their home. These families struggle to wage legal battles in order to acknowledge their land

rights. Other families, such as EJ1, responded with sumud by continuing to live in their place, even

homeless on the street, if their home was taken away from them. Abu-Rachid’s family has had a

court order to leave their home since 2003, but he has remained sumud. He described lengthy

harassment from the Israeli authorities, who wanted to evict the family from their home:

It started in 1990—I was in jail then. And we filed—me and my parents—with the court against the settlers. And we understood later that there is an Israeli institute—Israeli Custodian of Absentee Property. Have you heard about this? The Israeli Custodian of Absentee Property. And the owner of the house died at eighty-five, so he did not have sons here. My parents had the house in 1964, so before the occupation. And in spite of that, they had an eviction order from the court, since 2003. But I am still here (EJ2).

When I asked Umm-Imed what she would do if she was forced to leave her home, she replied: “I’ll

go in the street, build a tent, and stay there” (VI3). This was a common refrain from families who

were so connected to their homes that they insisted they would never leave. Similarly, Abu-Ali and

his brother, Amir, said:

Amir: We are living in the home. Actually, we’ll not leave it Abu-Ali: Yes, we’ll not leave it (H12).

72-year-old Abu-Kaddour explained his connection to home: “I have lived here my whole life, and I

will stay here forever. This is my home” (VI2). Abu-Younes from H1 explained:

I decided to live here. You know, we have land and houses here and the whole family is living here, my mother and all my brothers, but I'll stay here until death (H11).

Abu-Majd from Hebron explained,

…this is our place. Here is our home. Here is our land. We may go, but this is my home, and this is my land. …to leave this home, means that we confirmed that this is their neighborhood, and this is

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their land, and they will enter our house, and we give them Israel's legitimacy. So the meaning is not to leave this house. For every person, his home and land is his entire life, everything, his honor, and his dignity. This is our land. These are our lands. Our parents and grandparents save it and maintain it, so we keep it as they left it. This is Hebron, and these are Hebron’s people, and as the Israelis knew them, they will stay the same (H21).

Abu-Majd’s words illustrate sumud, the determination to stay so that Israel will not take the home or

destroy it. Staying in place is therefore a means of resistance, which becomes a family practice. Some

parents spoke about the importance of teaching their children the importance of staying in their

homes, despite the potential for violence. Children reflected their parents’ sumud. Abu-Younes’ 9-

year-old daughter, Dalila, explained her commitment to the family home:

Dalila: (encouraged by Abu-Younes) I love it. Interviewer: What do you love about it? Dalila: To stay. I will stay in my country. I don’t want to leave my country. Here is my home (H11).

Unfortunately, many families are forced to leave their homes. Despite sumud, the act of

domicide is often followed by the challenge of having to relocate and build a new life. Research has

found that home demolitions are followed by a protracted period of displacement for Palestinian

families, with over half of families taking more than two years to find their next permanent residence

(SCUK et al., 2009). Similarly, Umm-Mourad described what happened after her and her family were

forcibly removed from their home:

…we live for six months in the street. We were lost.… After the evacuation, we spent six months in the street. We decided to stay for six months in the street, rather than go find another place (EJ1).

Families who had lost their homes told stories about trying to reclaim a sense of normalcy for their

families. Sanaa told a story about how the younger children in the family sought to purchase a new

home rather than holiday presents:

When we evacuated, imagine!… I say for my cousin and for my brother (Mourad), that we go to the toy shop, so we buy some games, so we have fun for Eid. You know what they answer me? ‘No, we don’t want to buy games. We want to save this money to buy a new house’ (EJ1).

Sanaa’s 10-year-old brother, Mourad reflected upon his older sister’s story:

[Children] want to be something in the future. And there, [outside Palestine], the children think to buy a toy, and it’s a normal thing. But we, the people of Palestine, all we think about is that when we grow up, we want to set Palestine free, and we want to bring our homes back. This is all we think about (EJ1).

There have been few attempts to generalize about the effects of loss of place on children

and families, whether by means of deliberate destruction of home or displacement from place. Some

examples include Abrams (1971) study on the negative effects of relocation and urban renewal upon

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the poor, research on the aftereffects of the Buffalo Creek disaster (Erikson, 1976a, 1976b; Gleser,

Green, & Winget, 1981), Fullilove’s (1996) findings that disruptions to place compound negative

physical and mental health effects, and Duyvendak’s (2011) conclusions that being without a home

is akin to feeling permanently out of place. Though these studies contribute to a growing

understanding of the effects of loss of place, they do not focus on places affected by political

violence and are still generally only viewed through the lens of adults, who may be perceived as

better able to communicate their loss of place. One exception is a recent study by Save the Children

(2009) that looked at the effects of home demolitions on Palestinian children. Compared to children

of similar demographics living in the same location, children who had their homes intentionally

destroyed fared significantly worse on a range of mental health indicators.44 Not surprisingly, the

study found that children’s mental health was closely tied to their caregivers’ mental and physical

health. Demolishing a home not only destroys a meaningful physical place, but also negatively

impacts family structure, increases poverty and vulnerability, and ultimately displaces a family from

an environment that typically provides cohesion, support, protection, and identity.

Certainly, loss of home causes significant psychological effects; nevertheless, we only know

generally what these effects are and we know even less about the effects on children and families as

a system. Also, the research tends to compartmentalize children’s experience as a diagnosable

disorder (e.g., PTSD) rather then exploring their relationship to place in a more nuanced fashion.

Building upon the above research and addressing the gap in the scholarship on the effects of

home demolition on children and families, I asked every family member what would happen if he or

she was forced to leave home or if he or she returned to find home gone. Needless to say, every

participant responded with strong emotion. 34-year-old Umm-Nacer replied, “Personally, I would

collapse” (BE3). Thirteen-year-old Rachid asked, “Where would we go? I will be sad” (EJ2). And

24-year-old Amina said, “I would feel lost” (EJ3). Though sumud is sometimes more active, Porteous

and Smith (2001) note that when home is threatened, inhabitants are often roused to defend it.

When I asked Abu-Rachid what he would do if he was forced to leave his home, he replied,

44 Mental health indicators from this study included: withdrawal, somatic complaints, depression/anxiety, social difficulties, higher rates of delusional, obsessive compulsive and psychotic thoughts, attention difficulties, delinquency, violent behavior. Families also reported deterioration in children’s educational achievement and ability to study.

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Well, this question has always been hard question to ask…. Usually, I don’t think about it. But I told once to my wife, that I am going to get out … only with a gas bomb. And she went crazy…. I can’t imagine not going to that house. I was born there. I can’t imagine myself just not going to that house. I can’t. I just can’t. I hope it won’t come to it, but…I won’t get out walking…. (speaking slowly) I won’t get out of my house walking with my feet…. That’s for sure. If they will carry, I will be carried (EJ2).

Abu-Rachid implies that he would rather die than be forced from his home. This is aligned with

Sack’s (1983, 1986) assertion that to enforce or control a territory, it needs to be defended.

Amina’s expression of “feeling lost” did not just represent the physical location of not

knowing where one is, but it also influenced how participants identified with a place. This feeling of

being lost connects with the effects on one’s sense of identity. The willful destruction of a home can

be one of the deepest wounds to one’s sense of self (Porteous & Smith, 2001). Tuan (1974b) notes:

“To be forcibly evicted from one’s home and neighborhood is to be stripped of a sheathing which is

in its familiarity protects the human being from the outside world” (p. 99). Khalidi (1997) has

acknowledged a positive reaction to the threat of loss of place, acknowledging the “powerful local

attachment to place” (p. 153) as a critical element in the formation of Palestinian identity and

modern national consciousness. This phenomenon is seen most clearly among residents of

Palestinian refugee camps, where both adults and children identify with their villages and towns of

origin even if they have lived in exile for two or three generations (Khalidi, 1997; Sayigh, 1979,

1994). Children become acutely aware of how they are perceived differently from their friends and

peers at school after a home demolition. Some children have reported that they feel as if they stand

out and that people look at them with pity, which makes them feel like outsiders (Pellicano, 2013).

Conclusion This chapter shows that place is full of meaning, and the place called home—whether a castle or a

cage—is a place laden with meaning. This chapter illustrates that home can have deeply conflicting

meanings to participants depending on their age, gender, living situation, and experiences with

political violence. This multiplicity is itself meaningful. To feel at home is not an individual feeling,

but a plural and layered sentiment that travels from the individual household to the neighborhood to

the nation (Duyvendak, 2011).

Home can be a castle representing positive elements in children and families’ lives, providing

elements of family centeredness and protection. At the same time, home can also be cage, an unstable

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and unhealthy place due to poverty, violence, and/or the overarching occupation. Many parents

explained that they force their children to stay inside the home as a means of protection. Indeed,

children are often constrained within the frames set by their caregivers. The dual (and often

conflicting) needs for connection and independence are a central theme in children’s developmental

histories. Throughout their early development, children struggle to find a delicate balance between a

profound dependence on primary caregivers and the need for independence. I do not wish to

emphasize that children’s lives are controlled by their parents, but rather how children experience

these constraints and the impact on their well-being. The description of the home can be looked

upon as a way to explore the distinction between the inside safety of home and the outside danger

associated with the violence of conflict and well the conceptualization of home as a cage or a castle.

Furthermore, Israel’s spatial control and management of family life in Palestine consistently blurs the

distinction between public and private spaces, thus compromising children’s social interactions.

Despite family members’ range of feelings about home being a castle or a cage, attachment to

home was still strong. For example, there were conflicting views of the home as a place of

imprisonment, yet the same participant would later wholly defend their home as being extremely

important. Participant reactions to questions about home demolitions or loss of home highlighted

that this is a highly sensitive subject for Palestinians, as home demolitions have played a central role

in Israel’s attempts to dispossess the indigenous, non-Jewish population of Israel and Palestine since

the creation of the state in 1948 (Halper, 2010).

Even the thought of destruction or loss of home was viewed as being devastating for all

families. When a home is destroyed, the physical structure is lost in addition to the entire emotional

essence of home, including aspects of centeredness and self-identity. How can social work practice

and policy mitigate the loss feeling at home and reinforce the positive aspects of home that make

children and families feel safe and secure in the midst of instability? The scholarship has a set idea

about what home is and where it belongs. It indicates that it does not expect people to feel at home

outside of their houses. For future research, I suggest, like Duyvendak (2011), that instead of starting

from the framework of determining what home should be, people should be asked where and when

they feel at home, and what feeling home means to them.

The place of family and home weave in and out of the everyday lives of children, impacting

one another in diverse ways. Focusing on the home creates more intimate knowledge of family

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practices and the social environment that the child lives in. Belonging to a place—and by extension,

belonging to a family and community—is part of the process of creating a sense of security and well-

being for children. Yet, when that place is threatened or destroyed, well-being may be compromised.

Perhaps home is not the most important element to examine when looking at how to best

protect children and families in contexts of political violence. Rather, it may be the qualities of

ontological security—often found in home—that children and families seek: constancy, day-to-day

routine, control, and a secure base. How does political violence complicate these elements? How can

these elements be supported and nurtured to create a positive place for children and families to live?

Continuing to explore the layers of the social ecological system, the next chapter will uncover the

contradictions in place posed by education and schooling for Palestinian children and families.

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6 SCHOOL AS PROTECTIVE AND RISKY

Education poses several contradictions for children and families in Palestine. School is often

conceptualized as a safe physical place with education representing hope for the future. In the

context of political violence, education can offer protection and structure to children in times of

instability, helping them to maintain a stable routine to build the best foundation for a positive

future despite adversity. Yet school can also be a place of violence and risk for some children. Even

if efforts are made to make accessing and attending school safe, schools may still be attacked or

taken over by violence or there may be violence within schools, thereby denying children the most

basic right to education. This leads to an examination of how the simple act of accessing education

can be a form of resistance and hope for some Palestinian children. This chapter weighs school as

place of both protection and a place of risk, thus uncovering contradictions in place for Palestinian

children and their families.

Education in Palestine Prior to the first intifada, the education system in Palestine generally suffered from deterioration in

quality (Affouneh, 2007) with the Israeli military government (the Civil Administration) having full

control over all education in Palestine. Palestinian schools were staffed by uniformed military

personnel and little to no funding was provided for school expansion and improvement (Nicolai,

2006a). Refugee camp schools were established by the Red Cross in 1949, and in 1950 UNRWA

took over and expanded these schools, offering grades 1 to 10 (Rosenfeld, 2004). Education

provided by UNRWA is generally considered to have greatly contributed to progress in Palestinian

education (Nicolai, 2006b).

The first intifada had an extremely damaging effect on Palestinian education (Abu-Duhou,

1996). Many students were expelled, arrested, and prevented from traveling. Some schools were

closed repeatedly for extended periods of time and others were converted into make-shift prisons

(Nicolai, 2006a). In the first four years of the first intifada, approximately one-third of school days

were lost (N. J. Brown, 2003). These challenges propelled Palestinians to develop a system of

“popular education” characterized by home-based education (Altinok, 2010). However, the Israeli

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Civil Administration countered popular education activities by criminalizing home education, and

imposing heavy fines and jail sentences (Nicolai, 2006a).

Palestinians took over responsibility for the educational system in 1994 after the Oslo

Accords under the Ministry of Education and Higher Education (MOEHE). The whole system of

education, including curriculum, teacher qualifications, and facilities, were in need of reform (Dyke

& Randall, 2002). But during the second intifada, schooling was again seriously disrupted. Teachers

and student were unable to reach their schools because of strict curfews, roadblocks, and

checkpoints. Most universities were closed. School infrastructure was also damaged. According to

the MOEHE and UNESCO (2005), damage to infrastructure alone totaled more than $5 million.

Education suffered as a result. A study by Altinok (2010) compared students’ school performance

before the second intifada to after and found a significant decrease within that timeframe.

Currently, schools in Palestine are administered by either the MOEHE, UNRWA, or

private/religious institutions. There are three types of schools: boys’ schools (37%), girls’ schools

(35%) and co-educational schools (29%) (Mustafa & Bisharat, 2008). Compulsory basic education

includes grades 1 through 10, while secondary education covers grades 11 and 12. Within Palestine,

there are 11 universities, 11 technical colleges, and an additional 19 community colleges (The World

Bank, 2006). Compared to other education systems in the region and the world, school enrolment is

relatively high, with gross enrollment rates above 90% for both male and female students. Education

remains a priority for most Palestinians (UNOCHA, 2013). In a 2003 survey, 60% of Palestinian

youth (ages 10-24) indicated that education was their first priority, and the literacy rate for

Palestinians is generally high for the region at over 90% (The World Bank and the Bisan Center for

Research and Development, 2006).

In post-second intifada Palestine, harsh economic and social conditions challenge the

Palestinian educational system, children’s access to education, and ultimately contribute to high

school dropout rates (UNOCHA, 2013). Many school-age children are out of school and in the job

market in order to seek employment to support themselves and their families (Altinok, 2010).

Violence within schools is a problem for Palestinian children contributing to dropout rates and

psychosocial distress among Palestinian children. During the first six months of 2012, there were 14

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documented incidents which resulted in damage to schools or interruption of education, and in

some cases, in direct injury to children (UNOCHA, 2013).45 Children, especially those in Area C,

face severe difficulties in accessing schooling. Focus groups and interviews with parents and

community leaders conducted by UNICEF (2011) found that Bedouin children living in Area C

suffer from psychological hardship that contributes to high rates of school dropout (UNOCHA,

2013). Demolition of schools remains a serious problem for Palestinian children and families.

Several of the schools for Bedouin children face demolition orders from Israeli military or

protection threats from Israeli settlers (UNOCHA, 2013). In 2010, a school in Khirbet Tana, near

Nablus, was demolished twice, and in 2011, part of a school was demolished in South Hebron

(UNICEF, 2011a). The conditions of schools are also deteriorating. The MOEHE recently reported

that there is a deteriorating level of hygiene in a large number of government schools (UNOCHA,

2013). Teachers also face challenges in Palestine. At the time of this research, Palestinian teachers

were on strike to demand a pay increase from the MOEHE, reflecting the tense financial situation

faced by the PA in Palestine and ultimately affecting over one million Palestinian students in the

West Bank (Kuttab, 2013b).

Corporal punishment in UNRWA schools was banned as of 1993. Similarly, schools in East

Jerusalem fall under Israeli law, which prohibits corporal punishment. However, despite MOEHE

directives advising against the use of corporal punishment in government schools in the West Bank,

there is no explicit prohibition under law. A study of violence in schools by UNICEF and Birzeit

University (2004) found that 44% of teachers used physical punishment on students and 77% used

verbal punishment. Another study found that of 2,332 students (ages 14-17) surveyed in the West

Bank, over 50% reported having been beaten by a school teacher; only 0.06% of students surveyed

said that teachers are never violent towards students (Sehwail et al., 2005).

Framed by the above challenges facing the educational system in Palestine today, this

chapter seeks to explore education and school as a contradiction in place. The first section describes

the place of school and the role of education in the context of Palestine, aiming to better understand

their importance for Palestinian families living under occupation. The second section will look at the

multiple risks—including violence inside and outside of school and physical barriers that prevent 45 Eight cases were reported in the West Bank, five cases in Gaza, and one case in Israel. Eleven incidents were perpetrated by the Israeli military, two by Israeli settlers, and one by Palestinian armed groups.

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children from accessing school—that Palestinian children face. Finally, the third section will explore

how, despite the multiple challenges that Palestinians encounter in the face of occupation, education

represents a means by which both children and their families are able to resist against the multiple

barriers they face living under occupation. In describing how Palestinian children and families

experience education, this chapter presents several contradictions in place: school as a place of both

protection and risk; children not wanting to attend school, whereas others attend at all costs; and

parents’ desire for their children’s success, but also wanting them to fight for freedom against

occupation.

School as a Place of Protection Protection: The value of education

Despite continued political and economic instability in Palestine, interviews with Palestinian families

unsurprisingly revealed the importance of education. Ten-year-old Mourad and his family were

evicted from their home in East Jerusalem two years ago and have since lived in two other

neighborhoods. When I asked him what place he liked more, he answered that his favorite place was

his original neighborhood, because it is where he could easily access school. His explanation

revolved around the importance of school: “The schools are closer. My whole friends are there. And

even if it takes me more time in the school, I can go home early. And I also used to finish my

homework early [there]” (EJ1). In addition to being able to access school, Mourad values education

as a personal priority and an important part of his young world.

For many families, school was not only about learning. One of the values of education lies in

the protection that it gives children in providing them with an economically secure future. For

Umm-Imed, “The most important thing for [my children] is education. If they study, they will have

a future” (VI3). Parents recognized that school gives their children opportunities that they

themselves cannot provide, such as field trips to broaden children’s experiences. Yet during times of

conflict, schools may not be able to provide such positive experiences. Activities such as field trips,

sporting events, and other extra-curricular activities—which reinforce children’s normal

development and cooperative relationships—are often discontinued. Yet teachers and parents

continue to make efforts to educate their children. Key informant, Naïma, the mother of six-year-

old Hani, told me the following story: Hani’s nursery school teachers informed the class that they

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were taking a field trip to Jerusalem, an important cultural and religious site for Palestinians, and a

mere 60 kilometers away. However, because of the military barriers and travel restrictions imposed

by the Israeli military, the teachers instead organized a virtual field trip, showing photos and telling

stories about the sights and sounds of Jerusalem. School can be a place where children experience

new and exciting things as a means of educating them about the world. Yet, Naïma’s story illustrates

how Israel’s matrix of control contains and constrains children’s experience and education of the

world around them.

Perhaps most importantly in situations of instability, regular education provides children and

families with a sense of routine, which can be protective. Mufid elaborated upon the importance of

the people in the school environment, commending the teachers for their efforts in maintaining a

sense of routine for the students, despite the atypical circumstances of occupation and violence:

I can say our teachers are very brave people. They wouldn’t tell us go hide or anything. It would be like, if something happened, go under the desk, go protect yourself. But let’s say something like grenade happened, “No, you stay and you study” (PI1).

Mufid expresses an immense amount of resilience in describing the insistence of his teachers.

Students were conscious of the tremendous pressures that teachers faced, as well as the difficulty of

serving as a constant role model for students. Tired and fearful themselves, teachers often take on

the roles of counselors and comforters to students. Yet they face the same challenges as their

students. These teachers struggle to provide an education to their students, while also tending to

their own individual and family needs (Halstead & Affouneh, 2006). Furthermore, teachers face the

challenge of explaining the conflict to their students, which is difficult when some teachers do not

understand the violence themselves. Nevertheless, as Mufid’s quote explains, teachers still continue

to encourage perseverance and resistance in the face of oppression.

For other children, school was of paramount importance, because it was the one place that

their parents would let them travel to and from due to safety. When I asked what places she allows

her five-year-old daughter go, Umm-Imed explained: “From school to her kindergarten…. because

these places are safe. I can’t let … my daughter go [anywhere else]” (VI3). For the most part, parents

believed school to be a place of protection, away from the occupation-related violence. However, as

the next section explores, there were an overwhelming number of instances where school was also a

site of violence, thereby turning school into a contradiction in place.

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School as a Place of Risk Violence inside and outside of schools

While most children and families viewed education as a very important element in their lives, they

also described the everyday violence in both accessing and attending school. Interviews revealed that

all forms of violence are interconnected in some way. For example, some families described schools

as flashpoints of violence directly related to the occupation, as well as from the normalization of

violence within Palestinian society. This poses a contradiction in place, for there are instances when

violence is directly related to the occupation (e.g., the Israeli military arresting a Palestinian child on

his way to or from school) and other instances where it is indirectly related (e.g., when there is

fighting between Palestinian children who are generally frustrated with the occupation). Families did

not distinguish between violence directly related to the occupation and that occurring within

schools. Rather they wove together examples of occupation-related violence and its direct

connection with interpersonal violence within the schools. This section aims to explore this

contradiction by describing and drawing connections between these different forms of violence.

Exemplifying violence directly related to the occupation, children described school as an

unsafe place because of harassment or violence from the Israeli military. When I asked key

informant Adam, and NGO worker in Hebron, whether school was generally a safe place for

children, he replied, “Unfortunately not. No, you can’t say that. …Soldiers actually come into the

schools here, elementary schools too, especially the boys’ schools. And they can come into the

classrooms and harass children” (KI1). Some have suggested that schools should be considered as

“zones of peace”, where children are protected from conflict (Skovdal, Emmott, & Maranto, in

press; UNICEF, 2010). International humanitarian law guarantees school protection from military

attacks and classifies a school attack as a grave violation against children in political violence. Yet the

contradiction lies in the reality of schools as a place of protection, for schools can be attacked,

damaged, closed, and/or destabilized as a result of the occupation.

Compounding violence within schools, demolition orders can threaten schools deemed

illegal by the Israeli authorities. Yet, despite potentially being destroyed, these schools still represent

a place of protection and hope for children and families. Abu-Karim and his family live in the

Bedouin encampment of Al-Jazari in Area C outside Jerusalem. The village children used to walk or

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hitchhike 14 kilometers to the closest school. Key informant Sami, the director of a local Bedouin

charity, explained the specific environmental challenges facing Bedouin children in accessing school:

Around the Bedouin, there are no schools where the Bedouin [are]. So they send them to [other] villages by bus, by car, and they come back. It’s difficult in times of summer, in times of winter. It’s difficult for the children…. They have to go ten kilometers to school, by bus, by car, by riding donkeys like this sometimes, by horses, for them to go to school. And then they stay in the house here to study, and they have to go back to their house by horse, and come back (KI2).

Restrictions of movement from the occupation further complicate children’s journeys to school.

When a group of young children was accidentally killed while walking along the highway to get to

school, Abu-Karim’s community decided to build a school in Al-Jazari, so the children would not

have to travel so far. They cobbled together used car tires and dried mud into a modest one-room

schoolhouse, as described by Abu-Karim:

The most beautiful thing was when we started building the school with the tires of the car. Our children were really motivated to build and help more than us. They stayed from the early morning until the evening helping us. There were groups of children helping us, and they were really motivated more than the parents themselves. Sometimes, I used to go beside them, so I could hear what they were whispering between each other. They used to say, ‘Yella, come on quickly. We want to build our school this year, and study in it.’ (BE2).

Because it was not built with the proper permits, the school was quickly slated for demolition by the

Israeli Civil Administration (UNICEF, 2011). And since two nearby settlements planned to expand

into the village, demolition orders were also issued for the Bedouin homes in the area. Though the

Israeli authorities have not yet acted on the demolition order, Abu-Karim explained that Al-Jazari’s

children live in fear that their beloved school will one day be destroyed. Despite this anxiety, school

remains a very important part of their lives. In Figure 6.1, Abu-Karim’s seven-year-old daughter,

Ilhem, drew her school, explaining, “This is a girl, and she is going to school” (BE2). Herein lies the

contradiction: Ilhem loves her school and it is very important to her. Yet, she lives in constant state

of fear that her school may one day be destroyed. For Ilhem, school represents a place of both

protection and hope, while at the same time, it represents a place of potential violence.

Families expressed an ever-increasing sense of insecurity, growing resentment, and anger at

the ongoing occupation. When children and teachers are surrounded by violence, it is difficult for

them to avoid it. Violence thereby became normalized within Palestinian society as children were

exposed to violence both directly and indirectly related to the occupation. Through daily exposure,

children viewed violence as a way to solve problems.

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Figure 6.1: Ilhem’s School

Boyden (2003) suggests that when exposed to violence regularly, children may gradually lose their

ability to attach moral meanings to violence and start to accept it as normal. Indeed, violence in

schools—between teachers and students and between students themselves—has become normalized

within Palestinian society. Key informant Marwan, a social worker and father of three, explained:

“The violence … it’s existed with the children and the school. You go to school, just to see, when

they open the door of the school, the entrance, they are going like, to gather and fighting. They …

punish each other” (KI5). Marwan explained that violence in schools was not only between children;

teachers themselves sometimes became more violent as a result of stress. Many families described

the violent attitudes of children who reflect their anger at the surrounding situation as a new

phenomenon, reflective of the post-second intifada period.

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Accordingly, the systemic violence children experience from the occupation permeates other

elements of the social ecological systems such as homes and schools. Marwan explained: “This

generation tomorrow, they will be fathers, they will have family. So, they are victims, but we don’t

want them to treat their children in a bad way” (KI5). Therefore, in Palestine, children learn violence

and hatred from being exposed to violence and hatred and from the associated feelings of fear,

anger, and hopelessness. Thirty-year-old Uncle Amir explained, “They fight with their teachers,

[because] they are nervous” (H12). Unfortunately, this violence leads to some children not wanting

to attend school at all:

Marwan: The children, they have the thought that school is something, a punishment for them. It’s not like, something you should go to learn, to educate yourself. … what is [the student’s] responsibility? It is to study, to educate himself and become something. But actually, the situation is something in the opposite side (KI5).

Marwan went on to describe how violence in the home can also impact children, compounding the

effects of violence at school: “I am with my wife. There is some fighting. [Then] … my children will

be affected from the situation that is going on” (KI5). Marwan’s words highlight the violence that

makes school an unsafe place for children, despite children and families strong belief in the

importance of education. In this way, school represents both a place of hope and violence. The

following section turns to how children experience accessing education, and the inherent

contradictions.

Barriers to accessing school: Another element of risk

Multiple and interrelated physical and psychological barriers related to Israel’s matrix of control

impede children’s access to school in Palestine, and children respond by either attending despite

these challenges or not attending at all. Even if a school has not been destroyed, a large number of

school days are lost to movement restrictions. Perhaps most significant in restricting children’s

access to school are physical barriers, such as the wall and checkpoints.

As described in Chapter 2, the wall currently isolates at least 35,000 Palestinians and 50

communities in the areas between the wall and the Green Line, the internationally recognized border

between Israel and the West Bank. Some child-participants explained being forced to pass through

gates and checkpoints in the wall in order to reach their school. Checkpoints pose another challenge

for children who must journey to and from school. Not only located on major roads and near the

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wall, some checkpoints are set up right in front of schools. Due to these movement restrictions,

Palestinian families experience difficulty accessing education (Giacaman et al., 2009; UNOCHA,

2009). Adam described a recent checkpoint that was set up inside a Hebron school:

…the [school] was full of soldiers, just a few weeks ago, they set up the checkpoint, what is called a flying checkpoint … just in front of the school door. So, just for the kids they set up the checkpoint, and said, ‘Check all the kids.’ I think they are from six years upwards (KI1).

Upon entering school—a place that is supposed to offer children protection—children in Hebron

were forced to go through this makeshift checkpoint. As Adam described it, the safe space of school

is suddenly transformed into a space of warfare and occupation.

Furthermore, continual delays at checkpoints force children to take lengthy detours to reach

their schools, and they are sometimes not even able to reach their schools at all. Eighteen-year-old

Mansur reflected upon how he used to travel to and from school, describing the circuitous routes he

and his friends would take to bypass the multiple physical barriers imposed by the Israeli military.

He drew Figure 6.2 to illustrate his route from home to school and back.

Figure 6.2: Mansur’s Journey to School

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According to Mansur:

I came to a checkpoint…and we had finals. And so we have to go to the school for finals. This is the school (drawing a small circle to the left of the school). This is a lot of sand, so it’s a sand barrier (drawing another small circle to the left of the school). That’s just in the middle of the road, in the middle of the city. … You have to take a taxi, and then we go this way, into the mountains, because we have to get around the Israeli snipers on the top of the mountain. …And we continue to go this way, because … the Israelis are here. And we stay here and wait for the Israelis to go back. Then we can come here. Then we walk [to school]… And when we finish the school, and when we finish the exam, we have to go back [again] (PI1).

Mansur illustrates a West Bank landscape refashioned by barriers designed to complicate or prevent

the movement of Palestinians, divide communities, and increase territorial control over Palestinian

lives. Adding to the fear that the presence of an occupying force brings upon schoolchildren,

physical barriers to everyday movement add stress and struggle to these children’s daily lives.

One of the biggest threats in the post-second intifada era are Israeli settlers, who pose both a

physical and psychological barrier to Palestinian children’s school access. In Hebron, families spoke

about settlers regularly harassing children and teachers in order to force them to leave school. Settler

harassment was reported throughout all six of my research sites. In the Bedouin encampment of Al-

Jazari, Umm-Nacer described the persistent harassment from a nearby settlement:

One time, they entered, and they started throwing stones to the schools and broke the window. And the settlement leader’s name is S___. He is the one responsible. He comes with a car and starts shouting at us or breaking everything and beating the sheep here (BE3).

Abu-Ali also explained how the settlers block his young children’s access to school in Hebron:

When my children go to school, sometimes they face settlers. They are coming to attack children in their ways. Sometimes, on Saturday’s, they come when the school is closed, sometimes by throwing gas. They immediately escape from them after school (H12).

Parents from Hebron described how settlers target children by verbally harassing and sometimes

physically assaulting them in their journey to and from school. While visiting a Bedouin

encampment, Israeli NGO worker, Amanda, described how settlers blocked children’s access to

school by closing a road:

Once the settlers closed the road, the children were really afraid. They didn’t know what was happening. They could feel it. They were scared for the school to be demolished. The army was there, and there were 30 or 40 soldiers closing off the road (BE2).

Settlers do not just restrict children’s access to school by physically blocking children; they also

create a culture of fear. Palestinian schoolchildren are regularly harassed, chased, and stoned by

settler children, most of whom are also their neighbors (DCI, 2010). Settler adults encourage their

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children’s violent behavior, blocking school entrances with their cars so that Palestinian children

cannot pass or setting their dogs loose to chase young children (DCI, 2008). Abu-Majd described

how threats from the settlers affected his children’s access to school:

This school is targeted. They can’t go to school alone. Never a day passes without internationals helping them just to go to school with those internationals. They go and come back with them (H21).

The situation has deteriorated to a point that international organizations, such as the Christian

Peacemakers Team (CPT) and the Ecumenical Accompaniment Program in Palestine and Israel

(EAPPI), accompany children to and from school in order to protect them from settler aggression.46

When observing one such organization in Hebron, I wrote the following field notes:

I waited at the bottom of some stairs where the children would pass by on their way from school to home. The schoolchildren were friendly though still cautious, especially with the presence of so many settlers, who had gathered at the settlement just across the street from the stairs. (I was told that the number of settlers increased dramatically at this time of year, because of the Jewish Passover holiday. Even when one of the Israeli settlers came up and yelled for us to leave, the children did not flinch; they just continued on their way, jostling and joking with one another, along the Street and home. At one point they happily squealed when they spotted a lizard. An older female settler with a taut and weathered face approached us. I was told that she lives with her family in a settlement in the middle of H2. In addition to being the head of education for the settler children in H2, she is known for encouraging settler violence against Palestinians. She has also been known to be violent with internationals who monitor human rights abuses. She yelled at us in Hebrew, and she was also shouting at the nearby Israeli soldiers to arrest us, though there was no legal reason for this. About five minutes later, I saw her (along with some female settler children) throw water at an international from Germany and then kick another international from the US. The human rights observer I was with asked the Israeli police to file a report about this settler’s violent behavior towards internationals. But instead, we were all thrown out of H2 by the Israeli soldiers and police (9 April 2012).

Despite the daily atmosphere of violence that surrounds children in Hebron, they still show

remarkable resilience when walking to school, facing unknown violence and harassment. In the face

of violence, school is often the only place that parents will allow their children to go. In fact, for

many families, the only time that children in highly violent areas are outside is when they are walking

to and from school.

46 In November 2004, the Israeli District Coordinating Office (DCO), a branch of the Israeli military that administers civilian affairs, issued a verbal order for daily escort of school children in the West Bank. The Israeli Knesset Committee for Children’s Rights later confirmed this order. But the Israel military’s implementation of this order has been spotty at best. Multiple reports charge that Israel has not followed through on these obligations, and therefore, international organizations have filled this gap by escorting children to and from school in areas, which experience high levels of violence against school children.

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In addition to confrontations with settlers, families also described encounters with Israeli

police or soldiers who harass children on their way to or from school. While showing me her

drawing (see Figure 6.3), ten-year-old Farida explained: “[The drawing is] me on my way to

school…. There are jeish (army) jeeps and they throw tear gas (H13).

Figure 6.3: Farida’s Journey to School

Nine-year-old Mabrouka and her eight-year-old brother, Ismail, similarly described how they were

harassed by the military on the way to school in Hebron:

Mabrouka: My school is on the road. They come to focus something like the sun at us, so we cannot see. Ismail: They took pictures and put mirror in sun far away to hurt our eyes, and they focused on us with their guns. They have 500 focusing guns…. I don’t feel scared at all (H12).

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Mabrouka and Ismail conveyed a matter-of-factness of the violence they experience when traveling

to school. And like Ismail, several children expressed courage, in addition to fear, in the face of this

violence.

In addition to these physical barriers, children and families experienced psychological

barriers impeding their access to school, such as fear associated with the Israeli military, physical

barriers, and violence from settlers. Adel, a volunteer at a local community organization in East

Jerusalem noted how fear poses a challenge to children’s school attendance:

Some children hate to go to school, because most of the cases [of violence] are going when they are going or coming back from school. And we have cases that children do not like to go to school, because they are afraid. Some of their friends were arrested during their way to school. They should be protected, but what to do (KI8)?

Parents and children spoke about how this fear disrupted their school routines and overall learning.

They described the decline in levels of achievement as a result of poor school conditions, the

distractions posed by military activity, unstable teaching routines, and an inability to concentrate on

their studies because of the occupation. For example, Abu-Karim explained: “… the children are

suffering from the settlers, and when they go to school, they are not able to completely focus on

their lessons” (BE2). Similarly, Abu-Rachid explained how his son is affected:

Children are distracted by the conflict, so they have a difficult time focusing on getting an education. I want him to learn something, to do something with his life. I don't want him to be like me. I spent most of my time in jail. I didn’t have the opportunity to learn to have status and education…. I am trying to make this chance to my children. I am trying, but it is difficult. It is very difficult. Most of the time, they are talking about soldiers and jail and this war… (EJ2).

Children have difficulty succeeding in school when distracted by the violence that is occurring

outside the school environment. They are unable to focus on school and effectively learn more

about tear gas, violence, and checkpoints than reading, writing, and arithmetic. Disruptions and

restrictions to schooling causes, among other things, deterioration in the quality of education and an

increase in drop-out rates. With less opportunity for employment as a result of the occupation, many

children do not see the need for education, and it therefore loses its protective effect. The

occupation has indeed affected children’s desire to even attend school.

A well-validated fear for children traveling to and from school is fear of being arrested.

Thirteen-year-old Rachid from East Jerusalem explained: “Sometimes, the police, when they are

driving in the morning, sometimes they come down from the car…and one policeman will tell the

other one, ‘Take this kid and let’s take him with us.’ So we get afraid” (EJ2). Arrests and detentions

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adversely affect children’s educational development. When detained or imprisoned, children do not

receive any textbooks, formal education, or remedial classes. Once released many are put under full

house arrest during which they are forbidden from attending school (DCI, 2012). After house arrest,

these children often have difficulties reintegrating into school (DCI, 2013). Adel and Riad, who

work for a community organization in East Jerusalem, explained why the Israeli police arrest

children:

Adel: …it’s a policy. It’s not something that is just happening…. Riad: You know, they punish us, and they punish our children. Adel: Our children, they are the core of our future! Riad: You know, these children, they get bigger… Adel: So, they target them. Riad: …after ten years, [the children] want to go to learn, to study in the university, [but] the security forces, they check their files, and if they found that this boy was arrested one time in his life… Adel: He won’t be able to study. Riad: He cannot continue his future. So they damage their future from now. They are planning to damage their life from now (KI8).

Adel and Riad’s understanding of restricted access for children reflects a common Palestinian refrain

that Israel intentionally undermines the educational achievement of Palestinian children. Amanda,

explained: “…people living [here] have to go through a checkpoint. And the soldiers keep them

waiting deliberately, and tell them, ‘We don’t want you studying. We want you to stay dumb’” (EJ2).

Similarly, Umm-Hafid from Balata told me:

… at the beginning of this intifada and occupation, al Yehud (the Jews) wanted us to be ignorant and not to learn. They targeted schools, throwing gas, shooting guns, at the University especially…. They closed it, damaging everything. They don’t want us to be educated (BA1).

Restriction of education negatively impacts children’s futures and collectively discourages any

positive societal development. This indicates widespread violations of children’s rights, particularly

those rights preserved in international law (i.e., the Fourth Geneva Convention and its related protocols)

and in the Convention on the Rights of the Child (United Nations, 1989). With all the inherent physical

and psychological challenges to accessing education, it is no wonder that children and families make

a decision to not attend school.

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“Fighting the Occupation with our Minds”: Education as Resistance and Hope Rather than physical resistance against the occupation, I witnessed parents encouraging their

children to resist through education, by becoming professionals such as doctors or lawyers and then

returning to help their community. Ten-year-old Mourad noted:

And we as people…know that the real guns are … here with our minds. If we use our minds, we can struggle [against the Israelis]. The coward one is the one who use the guns, not the strong (EJ1).

Children such as Mourad responded to fear and violence with courage and strength. The hope that

these children see is through collective resistance and solidarity. Therefore, it was common for

parents to tell their children that they can resist the occupation by getting a good education, or by

“fighting the occupation with our minds”. In this way, education was highlighted as a form of hope

for many families who had all but lost hope in a peaceful future. In fact, for many families,

education was the only form of hope:

You know, when the police, like, big man using guns for one kid. It is meaning that he is feeling afraid of these kids. And when they refuse to go for me my book, it is meaning that they want to finish my life and to make me without studying and without any hope. Because of that, when they do that for us, we don’t feel like, we don’t give up. We have more power to like, to fight, and to be, and to continue… (EJ1).

Families described the importance of resisting the occupation by encouraging their children to use

education to become something that will help the Palestinian community. Marwan described the

responsibility he feels as a father:

We are trying, as fathers, as a culture, … to encourage children in other ways. …you should serve our community in other ways. We shouldn’t be like, all having guns, or fighters. Maybe you should be a doctor just to treat these fighters. Or a teacher to teach the children how to protect their countries…or a scientist, to help your country in other ways (KI5).

However, with this emphasis on education as a means to resist and fight the occupation, there is also

the tension that education is a “ticket out” of Palestine, representing the hope of a better life for

Palestinian children beyond the borders of Palestine. This contradicts the concept of sumud, which

encourages Palestinians to stay in Palestine. More and more families in post-second intifada

Palestine are struggling with this tension of whether to stay and fight or leave and start a new life,

using education as a means by which to stay or go.

The struggle against occupation is not only limited to armed struggle, but also includes a

struggle to merely attend school. For many families, navigating the physical and psychological

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barriers of occupation to attend school was a symbol of resistance. Reflecting on her own education,

23-year-old Sanaa tells the story of insisting on attending a school exam on the day that she and her

family were forcibly evicted from their home in East Jerusalem:

There is a lot of police…. I go inside the neighborhood. I say [to] him, “I want to go [to] my house.” You know, I don’t know from where I have this power. I am fighting. I want to go. I am saying, “I want to go. I want to go…. I need to take my bag. I need to take my books. I want to make my exam.” I am feeling like, crazy. I want to make my exam today! I say, “I will go inside my house, and I will bring my books.” [The soldier] said to me, “Are you crazy? We evacuated you now. …you lose everything. What are you saying? Like, people in your situation have to feel sad, have to feel like it’s the end of your life, and you want to make your exam? Are you crazy?” I say, “OK, you stole my house, but someday I will come back, and come back to my house and…I will take it back.” And he is just looking for me and saying for me, “You are crazy.” I say, “I want to go and take my books.” And many of the police catch me and say, “No. You can’t go inside your house.” He say [to] me, “The only thing we like, hated in the Palestinian people, is like, they have strong minds. Like, for example, you lose everything, and we are thinking it’s your end of the life. And you are thinking about studying. We hate this thing in Palestinians, that they are always smart, and never give up. And because of that, I will not give you your book[s], and I want you to [be] unsuccessful in your exam.” I say, “OK, you do not want to give me my book. I will buy a new book, and I will go today.” And actually, after five hours, I leave the neighborhood, and I go to make my exam and come back. And in this year, I am the first one in my class (EJ1).

Sanaa’s story contrasted with the experiences of some Palestinian children who were not attending

school due to factors such as fear and hopelessness. Despite the physical and psychological barriers

she faced, Sanaa exhibited perseverance to attend and be successful in school. Her insistence upon

attending school demonstrates a value that she placed on education, as well as the means by which

she struggled to take control of her future. For Sanaa, it was not just about making it to school to

take her exam. In defying the soldier, she also resisted the occupation.

Conclusion For those who face the everyday uncertainty of political violence, education can be a means of

adaptation and a survival strategy (Alzaroo & Hunt, 2003). Schooling can serve as a routine in this

midst of chaos from daily violence and oppression. The boundaries separating school as a safe place

from the violent context outside school have become blurred in the current post-second intifada era.

Accessing school can be a dangerous activity for children, with an increased number of students

being arrested and detained on their way to or from school. Children in certain high conflict areas

face harassment from both soldiers and settlers during their school journey. Even within school,

children face threats such as flying checkpoints, demolition orders, as well as student-student

violence and teacher-student violence. In fact, my analysis indicated the systemic and personal

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violence that Palestinian children experience in school is a major barrier for some children’s

attendance. Some children do not want to attend school for reasons such as fear, hopelessness,

whereas other children will attend at all costs. In these ways, school represents a place of both

protection and risk for Palestinian children.

This chapter also explored the potential for education to serve as a site of resistance for

children. Despite the multiple challenges posed by the occupation, children still make great efforts to

attend school, such as taking routes to school that may expose them to violence. In this way,

education creates a means through which children and families can resist the occupation in their

everyday lives. Whereas common images of resistance include children as suicide attackers and stone

throwers, for many families, education counters those images, providing a means for children to

resist oppression and gain control over their futures. This highlights a potential contradiction that

parents, teachers, and community members face when dealing with raising and educating their

children to fight. Adults want their children to have a “normal” childhood by going to school and

playing with other children. But at the same time, they want them to defend Palestine and resist

occupation. Obviously, no parent wishes their child to risk being injured or arrested by

demonstrating in the streets or throwing stones. However, parents do want them to love their land

and defend their identity. As Affouneh (2007) states, “Palestinians want freedom, but they want the

safety of their children at the same time” (p. 352). A major question then is, how can Palestinian

families reconcile this contradiction?

Educational policies, such as schools as “zones of peace” in Afghanistan (Skovdal et al., in

press) or Nepal (UNICEF, 2010), may encourage schools to go beyond academics and be protective

environments for children living in the midst of violence. Yet, in Palestine, this is a contradiction to

what Palestinian children are facing in the reality of their daily lives, where they face many risks in

accessing school and education. Therefore, there is a need to recognize how educational policies’

expectations of schools are challenged by the realities, contradictions, and complexities on the

ground. Schools do not exist in isolation of the world around them. They are, in fact, a product of

the context within which they are located. For example, teachers may be under pressure to offer

support and comfort to their students, who are trying to make sense of the violent context within

which they live. Yet, the teachers are also grappling with their own understandings of violence. Like

schools themselves, teachers—who are tasked with the education, as well as daily care and

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protection of children—are products of the same contextual challenges that they are trying to

protect their students from.

To echo Adel’s words from above: “[Children] should be protected, but what to do?” Adel’s

question about how to protect children in the post-intifada era is an important one. For the families

in this study, education is an obvious answer. Yet, education is not protective in and of itself. The

above contradictions in place point to the need to recognize the complexities of providing education

to children affected by political violence. Educational policies should recognize the importance of

education as a protective element for children, providing them with skills for the future. At the same

time, it should be acknowledged that schools are not always protective and can pose additional

physical risks to children inside and outside the classroom.

The concept of school should also be broadened to include children’s access to school. In

educational policies for children affected by political violence, efforts must be made to address

barriers to access; for Palestinian children these barriers include physical barriers (e.g., checkpoints,

roadblocks, the separation wall) and psychological barriers (e.g., fear of violence from the Israeli

army and/or settlers, hopelessness). UNOCHA (2013) recently reported advances towards ensuring

safe transport for students in Palestine. Through the UN Consolidated Appeal process, eight new

school buses and four 4x4 vehicles were purchased to ensure protected physical access to education

for students in 12 communities, while the MOEHE received financial support for operation costs of

an additional 13 buses serving 13 communities.

Perhaps cheaper and more community-based methods of protecting children’s access to

school could be employed to ensure children’s safe access to schools. Several international

organizations in Palestine continue to escort children to and from school, thus providing an element

of protection. This concept could be expanded to include the wider community (e.g., parents,

neighbors, teachers, community leaders) tasked with protecting their children on their walks to

school, modeled after the “walking school bus” developed in the UK and US (see

http://www.walkingschoolbus.org). By utilizing existing resources within the community, this model

could not only save money, but also include the community in the protection of their children.

The next chapter moves to the next meso-level of the ecological system to explore the role

of neighborhood community for children and families living in Palestine. Just as the current chapter

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illustrates the contradictory elements of school as both a place of protection and risk, the next

chapter will look at the positive and negative aspects of neighborhood community.

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7 NEIGHBORHOOD COMMUNITY AS A POSITIVE AND NEGATIVE PLACE

Neighborhood communities are often thought of as being positive places that are protective for

children. Yet there may also be elements of the neighborhood community that are negative. By

exploring the role of children and families in neighborhood communities affected by occupation and

violence, this chapter will examine the relationship between neighborhood communities and

children and families affected by political violence. Then, turning to the data, this chapter will first

explore neighborhood communities as a positive place for children and families resulting in a sense

of closeness and safety. Yet here is where one contradiction lies. For neighborhood communities

can also be physically and socially unhealthy, which can lead to elements affecting children’s well-

being such as restricted mobility. Finally, I will use examples from neighborhood walk data to

illustrate how children’s mobility is restricted within neighborhood communities and explore the

consequences of restricted place access on children’s well-being.

What is a Neighborhood Community? The terms neighborhood and community are often used interchangeably, yet they have their

distinctions. Ward (2010) describes neighborhood as a geographically small, bounded, and

symbolically influenced space, meaningful to its residents, and relatively stable over time. For Hillery

(1955), community “consists of persons in social interaction within a geographic area and having

one or more additional common ties” (p. 111). In comparing these two definitions, neighborhood

represents a locally defined physical space, while community is a social construct defining a group of

people, which can be broadly defined, as in the case of the Palestinian people. While community can

also be defined by location, it is not a necessary element. The concepts of neighborhood and

community provide examples of the socially and culturally constructed nature of place. For the

purposes of this chapter, I use the term “neighborhood community” to define a socially-located

group of people who live in the same geographic location.47 Drawing from a social ecological

47 Another term for neighborhood community is local community, which indicates that the social aspect of community is geographically defined.

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framework, the concept of neighborhood community was used by Sinha (2006) to more accurately

describe neighborhoods populated primarily by residents who shared a common racial, ethnic, or

class identity: “In this conception, shared locality gives rise to strong sentimental bonds between

residents who are linked through neighborhood-based systems of activity and organization” (p. 14-

15). By combining both the social and the physical—both people and place—the concept of

neighborhood community becomes an important social ecological unit by which to understand

children and family’s experiences.

This conceptualization of neighborhood communities is especially applicable to places in

Palestine, where place-bounded physical neighborhoods are inhabited by two distinct and opposing

social groups (Palestinians and Israeli settlers) who violently oppose one another. In this way,

neighborhood communities represent what Thomson (2005) has identified as “territories within

territories” (p. 69). In his work on human territoriality, Sack (1986) explains that over time, large

swaths of space become “increasingly subdivided and fragmented into varied territorial sub units”

(p. 53). With boundary lines ranging from the visible to the invisible, these small territories are not

mutually exclusive, but rather overlap with other small territories in their spatial aims and objectives.

Children and families in neighborhood communities

Research indicates that children’s development is affected by neighborhood characteristics (Elliott,

Wilson, Huizinga, & Sampson, 1996; Leventhal & Brooks-Gunn, 2000; Parente & Mahoney, 2009;

Sampson, Morenoff, & Raudenbush, 2005; Shinn & Toohey, 2003). The neighborhood’s impact is

even more important for those who are vulnerable, such as children and families affected by political

violence (Ward, 2010). Feelings of security, stability, and safety about a community are significant at

different social ecological levels, including the individual child, family, neighborhood (Bar-Tal &

Jacobson, 1998; Cummings, Taylor, et al., 2013; Waters & Cummings, 2000). For example, research

in Palestine shows that children who feel that their neighborhood communities are safe can utilize

neighbors to provide security and protection (Qouta, Punamäki, & Sarraj, 2008). When a child is

secure about his or her neighborhood community, it serves as a secure base, supporting his or her

relationships with people and place. Generally, neighborhood communities can greatly influence the

quality of life for children and families.

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On the other hand, the impact of oppression and violence on neighborhood communities’

social, economic, political, and cultural fabric can erodes a child’s sense of security, stability and

safety (Bar-Tal & Jacobson, 1998; Batniji et al., 2009; Belsky, 2008; Cummings, Taylor, et al., 2013;

Jordans et al., 2010; McAloney, McCrystal, Percy, & McCartan, 2009). Political violence challenges

children’s assumptions of the world as a safe place, and threaten their sense of security about family,

neighborhood, and community (Laor & Wolmer, 2003). In these contexts, feeling secure about one’s

neighborhood community is related to children’s sense of safety and protection in regards to the

wider social network outside of the family. The importance of neighborhood community is

underscored by Betancourt et al.’s (2010) prospective study of former child soldiers in Sierra Leone,

where children who experienced local community acceptance showed less depression and improved

confidence regardless of level of exposure to violence.

Children’s emotional security related to their neighborhood community may be especially

threatened by political violence, because community is so closely associated with identity

(Cummings, Taylor, et al., 2013). Since most violence within Palestine is directed at Palestinians,

Palestinian children identify with the targeted community and therefore their worry, fear, and safety

concerns are elevated. This feeling of being insecure in place may be a short-term adaptive response

to feeling threatened by violence (Belsky, 2008). This state of short-term heightened awareness may

serve a protective role for children. For example, they may be less likely to put themselves in risky

situations such as traveling near settlements or engaging in stone-throwing. However, in the long

term, researchers have found that heightened insecurity can contribute to maladaptive regulatory

responses including negativity, hostility, or elevated expenditures of physical and psychological

resources over prolonged periods of time, undermining children’s capacities for adaptive

psychological functioning (Cummings, Taylor, et al., 2013).

Neighborhood communities can be important sites for children’s and parents’ meaning-

making processes. They are one of the many social systems that shape ideologies and beliefs within

the larger macrosystem (Garbarino et al., 1992). Therefore, belonging to a neighborhood community

is also a mechanism for identity formation (Streeter, Gamble, & Weil, 2008). According to Halldén

(2003), “Community is constituted by the people living there and the many ways in which they are

interconnected with each other” (p. 32). Scholars in children’s geographies refer to Appadurai’s

(1995) “production of the locality”, where locality is not merely a place-related idea, but also a place

where one develops a sense of solidarity (Halldén, 2003). When living under stressful circumstances,

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neighborhood communities still have structures and capacities for coping, which are aligned with

their ideals, values, and relationships. Although coping mechanisms may be undermined due to

political violence, the neighborhood community does not lose its capacity to develop solutions and

rebuild community life. This resonates within the context of Palestine where neighborhood

communities often work together in solidarity and action against the violence and oppression of

occupation (Norman, 2010). Neighborhood communities can rally to support and organize the

collective social and political affairs, especially in the absence of more formal structures of

governance (Rosenfeld, 2004). In this way, the neighborhood community can be a place for

solidarity and action (Valentine, 2001), and therefore a place where children and families find a

common identity with others who struggle against the occupation.

In continuing to examine the role of place in the lives of children, this chapter will focus on

the role of the neighborhood community in children and families’ wellbeing. Continuing to draw

from family interviews, children’s drawings, and neighborhood walks, this chapter will explore the

contradictions of neighborhood communities as both positive and negative.

The Positive Aspects of Neighborhood Community The concepts of neighborhood and community are common units of analysis in social sciences. Like

the previously explored dyads of home/family and school/education (discussed in Chapters 5 and 6,

respectively), neighborhood community is usually defined positively, with protective factors for

children and families. For example, Williams (1985) wrote:

Community can be the warmly persuasive word to describe an existing set of relationships, or the warmly persuasive word to describe an alternative set of relationships. What is most important, perhaps, is that unlike all other terms of social organization (state, nation, society, etc.) it seems never to be used unfavorably, and never to be given any possible opposing or distinguishing term (p. 76).

Similarly, Bauman (2001) explores how the construct of community is associated with positive

experiences. For Bauman, community is a place of warmth, comfort, and safety. People are not

strangers in a community, and they understand one another. If there is a disagreement, it is a friendly

interaction, because the members trust in each other’s good will.

Stereotypical understandings of neighborhood communities can be problematic for multiple

reasons. Opportunities and challenges within neighborhood communities, as well as the internal

logic or social fabric of daily practices, may be overlooked. On the other hand, neighborhood

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communities may be idealized, whereas practices of a dominant group may be normalized and

counter-practices, disruptions, and contradictions are overlooked, dismissed or pathologized

(Gutiérrez & Arzubiaga, 2012). In these cases, neighborhood communities are presented as

monolithic and static depiction of people and their practices. Considering both the similarities and

differences within neighborhood communities reveals that their members do not necessarily share

the same social attitudes, practices, or beliefs (Gutiérrez & Arzubiaga, 2012).

“The best thing is how people love each other”: The importance of hamula

Returning to the idea of family as based on a’ila and hamula (see Chapter 3), Palestinians tend to

maintain very strong ties with their extended families (Harker, 2009a). As a result, Palestinian

neighborhood communities are often made up of several related hamula (Harker, 2011). This was

reflected in my interviews with Palestinian families. Sanaa described what her hamula looks like in

East Jerusalem:

We are twenty-eight families. …before it was one house, [our] house. After that, of course, we make three apartments. One for me, for my family, and my uncles and my other uncles. And the same thing with the other family. Before, it [was] the [individual] family’s house, and then they [divide] it [for the whole family] (EJ1).

Similarly, Sami explained how all Bedouin families are considered hamula and thereby form a

community in a particular locale: “They are related between the Bedouin, every father and mother

and cousin like this. There are many families beside each other, but they are a small group” (KI2).

Regardless of whether their neighbors were hamula, many families described the positive

elements of their neighborhood communities:

Abu-Younes: The neighbors are nice. They care about each other. If there is any problem or anything—wedding, sorrows—you will find them close to you. There is correlation between each other. This is the best thing here in Hebron, how people love each other (H11). Umm-Imed: People are so kind. They love, and they help each other.… For example, if they saw you sick or ill, they will come to ask about you.… Yes, there is communication between each other (VI3).

Likewise, Umm-Ali described her neighborhood community as being “connected” (H12) and

without any problems.

The care of children is a responsibility that is often taken up by the neighborhood

community, which contributes to the protective environment of children. Neighborhood

communities are often in a good position to identify the needs of children, as they are familiar with

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the context and setting and can easily identify available resources and impending threats. These

positive elements were emphasized when families spoke about the ways they raise their children and

keep them safe. Umm-Nacer described the positive aspects of having neighbors that her children

can go to and she can trust: “If my children were lost, we know that they are at [my neighbor’s]

family (BE3). Similarly, Umm-Omar and her sister-in-law, Ghania, explained:

Umm-Omar: [The neighbors] are kind. I am not frightened for the children to play here. None of them will hurt one another. Ghania: They cooperate with each other (VI2).

For these families, hamula contributed to children’s positive neighborhood community experiences.

Mourad, who has lived in three different communities in just a few years, drew Figure 7.1 of the

neighborhood community that he most identified with and liked the best.

Figure 7.1: Mourad’s Neighborhood Community

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His map references his home, his school, and places where he plays with his friends and cousins, all

important places for Mourad. In the upper right corner of the map, Mourad labeled his home and

his cousins’ home. In front of his home, Mourad drew himself and his friends playing on the street.

On the bottom right hand corner, Mourad drew his school. Mourad’s drawing reflects a sense of

familiarity with place that contributes to his sense of self-identity, as well as a sense of safety and

well-being. These aspects contribute to Mourad feeling that this is his favorite neighborhood

community and his true home, even though he no longer lives there.

When speaking about their neighborhood communities, families often described them as

resilient communities. Resilient communities are capable of bouncing back from adverse situations

by actively influencing and preparing for economic, social, and environmental change. For example,

when I asked how the neighborhood community actually supports families, Umm-Imed and her two

daughters explained:

Umm-Imed: Material[ly] or financially they can’t. But just being with them and supporting them, they stand with each other. Latifa: With money, no, they can’t help. Fadila: But they support each other mentally. Like, coming to each other, visiting them, but again, financially, no. Interviewer: I think the financial is difficult, because other families don’t have the money either, so. Fadila: Exactly. This is what I told you. But feeling with them is really good sometimes (VI3).

When times are bad, communities can call upon the myriad of resources that make them a resilient

community. A high level of social capital means that they have access to good information and

communication networks in times of difficulty, and can call upon a wide range of resources. By

supporting and sustaining a network of support, resilient communities can contribute to child well-

being in contexts of violence by collectively looking out for children’s well-being. The idea of

members of the neighborhood community being close to one another was often referred to in terms

of the hardships that the neighborhood community faces. Similar to Umm-Imed and her daughters,

Umm-Ali said, “The neighborhood here, people are connected to each other, loveable. We suffer

together” (H12). Umm-Ali indicates that the families within her neighborhood “suffer together”,

which actually connects the families together. As a response, families can draw upon their collective

social capital to persevere through hardships, thereby making them resilient communities.

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The Miasma of Neighborhood Communities Prior to the development of germ theory in the late 19th century, miasma theory was used to explain

diseases that were thought to be the result of “bad air”. Although this theory has since been made

obsolete by advances in public health, social science continues to use the concept of miasma to

describe unhealthy physical living conditions. A New York Times article by Helen Epstein (2003)

coined the term ghetto miasma to describe disadvantaged neighborhoods with high morbidity and

mortality rates in New York City. People in these neighborhood communities experienced stress

from simply walking outside their homes and in their neighborhood communities:

Poor parents, terrified that their kids will be killed on the street, tend to keep them inside, with the windows shut and the TV on, where they are constantly exposed to contaminants in indoor air, which some researchers believe can be as damaging as industrial pollution. … Mothers trying to protect their kids from crime may not realize they are putting their future health at risk (p. 6).

For the families in Epstein’s report, the negative neighborhood community created feelings of

oppression and depression, especially because they felt as if they could not do anything to change

their situation in the neighborhood community. Furthermore, the constant strain of us-versus-them

affected their sense of self-worth and dignity. With this thesis, Epstein suggests that constant stress

and material deprivation are inseparable parts of the contemporary miasma of poverty. By

concentrating the poor, these neighborhoods concentrate mysterious and poorly understood factors

that make them sick. Even though Epstein is describing spaces within New York City, her article

provides strong parallels to neighborhood communities in Palestine.

The impact of unhealthy living environments in Palestine has been under-researched. Even

though community conditions are caused, to some extent, by violence, the priority has always been

the effects of violence. However, studies of the poor and their living conditions indicate that there is a

strong correlation between quality of neighborhood community and well-being for families and

children. Elements of neighborhood communities that have been investigated in regards to

children’s development include residential instability, housing quality, noise, crowding, toxic

exposure, quality of municipal services, recreational opportunities, and the quality of educational and

health facilities (Kopko, n.d.). Studies in the United States show that people who live in

disadvantaged neighborhoods are more likely to have poor physical health than people who live in

middle-class neighborhoods, even when controlling for poverty (Cohen, Farley, & Mason, 2003;

Cohen, Mason, et al., 2003; Diez-Roux, 2001). Furthermore, studies have found an association

between chaotic environments and levels of psychological distress in children (Kopko, n.d.).

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Neighborhood communities as physically and socially unhealthy

In almost all the field sites that I visited, families described the everyday violence from their Israeli

settler neighbors. In Hebron, Abu-Jabar and his neighbor, Alia, explained how they “don’t get along

with” (H22) their settler neighbors, painting a picture of increased isolation as more Palestinians

move away and more settlers move in. They told stories of their settler neighbors throwing soiled

diapers and other trash into their yards. The nearby Abu-Majd family told a chilling story of when

six-year-old Mohamed was arrested by Israeli settlers while playing on a wall dividing his home and a

settler home.48 According to Abu-Majd, after spending several hours with the settlers, Mohamed’s

family found him unconscious. Mohamed spent an additional five hours in the hospital being treated

for shock. Abu-Majd reported the incident to the police, who refused to press charges because there

were no photos or videos proving the incident took place.49

Because of this violence, families described notable changes in their neighborhood

communities, notably the shrinking of Palestinian space. Abu-Ali described the emptying of his

neighborhood community: “Most of the neighborhoods are empty. People are leaving from this

area,” and “The majority is not here. It’s almost empty. Most of the people left the neighborhood”

(H12). This violence contributing to the shrinking neighborhood communities was not only

attributed to Israeli settlers and the military. Many families noted that the violence was becoming

ubiquitous within their neighborhood communities, leading to the question of whether violence

breeds further violence. The violence within this small neighborhood community played out on

multiple levels, such as children acting these activities out. When I was walking to Abu-Ahmed’s

home in Hebron, a few Palestinian children on the nearby rooftops threw plastic pen caps at my

head. I would feel an object hit my head and look up at the rooftops to see children laughing and

trying to hide. The throwing escalated when the children began to throw metal spoons at me, after

which we quickly moved inside the sanctuary of my host’s home. In a recent article exploring the

changing nature of play for Palestinian children in the West Bank, Rudoren (2013a) reports that

some children living in violent neighborhood communities participate in role-playing games

constructed around being arrested for throwing stones, which she named the “West Bank culture of 48 Palestinians tend to use the term “kidnapped” to describe when one is arrested. 49 At the time of the interview, Abu-Majd did want to speak about the incident in front of Mohamed for fear of “retraumatizing” him. Therefore, I did not get additional details about the incident, such as what the settlers did to Mohamed when they arrested him.

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conflict”.50 It is easy to understand how the guns of Israeli soldiers literally rule these children’s lives.

Therefore, it must be empowering to feel as if one is holding that powerful weapon, even if it is

make-believe. Families were aware of this “culture of conflict” within their neighborhood

communities with parents noting the bad influence of other children in the neighborhood

community potentially influencing their own children, thereby creating a negative environment:

Abu-Ahmed: There are good people and others are not. I don’t mean bad people in ethics or morals. But maybe, as I told you, their children speak vulgar and bad words. Actually, I don’t like my children to hang outside (H13). Abu-Rachid: To be in the street is, um, doing nothing but bad things of course. What they will learn in the streets are bad things. Um, sometimes, the kids find that it is like play that they throw stones on soldiers. Imagine kids—seven, six years old, nine years old. And the Israelis, in that period of time, they find it, according to them, it is a dangerous thing to do. So, they started to arrest the children (EJ2).

It is not just the bad behavior of the children in the neighborhood community, but also the potential

consequences of this bad behavior, such as arrest or retaliatory violence. This negativity and violence

within the neighborhood community led some parents to not allow their children to play outside,

further limiting their place access.

Conflict did not only exist between Palestinians and Israel settlers. Some families noted

tensions between Palestinian neighbors. There were multiple reasons for this rooted in feelings of

jealousy and a contrived criteria for who belongs to which place. For example, Umm-Omar noted

that her neighbors are nice, but sometimes she does not get along with them, “because I am not

originally from this village, and so I don’t get the same respect that I would if I were from here”

(VI2). Umm-Ayoub faced similar judgment:

Umm-Ayoub: I don’t like it here. I don’t like this house. And any time that I have a chance to go outside of the house, I will. The house we had in Hebron is very good, the house itself, but I don’t like Hebron. And the extended family, you know, the wives of the brothers of my husband are so mean. And, you know, family problems… They feel jealous. Amina: …because she works and has a salary (EJ3).

In these examples, discrimination that adults may face trickles down and affects children. As a result,

children may themselves be discriminated against by the neighborhood community.

Abu-Jabar and Alia continued to explain how their Palestinian neighbors have become more

opportunistic rather than helpful: 50 For a video showing Palestinian children playing “Army and Arabs”, see http://www.nytimes.com/video/2013/08/04/world/100000002373055/playing-army-and-arabs-.html

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Abu-Jabar: Sometimes, if you want to say good morning to your neighbor, it will cost you money or something else. Communication sometimes will cause you problems, so that’s why we are not friendly with each other. Interviewer: Why would somebody want money or why would it cause problems? Alia: Their minds, their mentality, their thinking. Abu-Jabar: People[‘s] psyches and minds differ from one person to another person. Everybody thinks of himself. There is a proverb that says, choose your friends before your road. Maybe because with these neighbors (indicating Alia), our mentality and thought is the same, so we deal and talk together. Maybe, if I talk to somebody else, he will understand it wrong. Maybe he’s opportunistic and abusive (H22).

In contrast to a common conceptualization of neighborhood communities as positive environments,

these examples indicate that they are actually polarized and politicized.

The history of the Oslo Accords epitomizes the politicization of neighborhood

communities. As described in Chapter 2, at the end of five years, the temporary Accords were

supposed to deliver a permanent agreement. Yet Palestinians continue to wait in what has

paradoxically become a permanent temporary agreement. The Accords have become “an empty shell”,

a typical example of a failed approach to reach a permanent solution (Hitti, 2013). But more

importantly, families noted that the Accords were damaging to Palestinian communities. Asking

Zaki, the director of a community-based organization that works with families in Bethlehem, about

the effects of Oslo, he replied: “I am not [for Oslo], because it kills our souls. It kills everything in

our life” (KI). Zaki explained that before Oslo, there was solidarity among Palestinians, who worked

to improve their lives of their children, families, and society. After Oslo, there was an influx of

international organizations who brought in their own frameworks for assisting the Palestinian

people. Zaki explained:

Now, if I want to clean in front of my house, how much are you going to pay me? If I am going to participate in a demonstration, how much money am I going to receive? This is the problem after Oslo. Where is the youth? Where is the solidarity between people? (KI4).

Zaki’s comments are important when considering the significant role that international aid and

development agencies play in shaping the lives and places of Palestinian children. Zaki explained

that because of Oslo, Palestinians are more concerned with whether or not they will receive money

from international organizations rather than fighting oppression, thereby leaving Palestinians

powerless:

We are waiting for the end of the month, whether there will be money for the salaries or not. This is what we care about. This is the thing we dream to reach, that when the end of the month is coming, I should have my salary. This is the result of Oslo. We are clients. We are clients waiting for the goods to come in order to eat it. That’s it. There is no power for the society (KI4).

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From Zaki’s perspective, the culture of international aid as a result of the Oslo Accords created a

dependent people rather than a Palestinian community based on solidarity and collective resistance.

Similarly, Abu-Jabar explains that the neighborhood has changed as a result of the economic

situation and the occupation and “there is zero trust” (H22). Families noted the prevalence of

mistrust in the community because of potential spies,51 and therefore families avoid interacting with

one another.

For many families, their negative experiences with neighborhood community were related to

their own psychosocial issues. In Hebron, Abu-Ahmed emotionally described his own personal

struggles, which affected his role as a husband, father, and member of the neighborhood

community:

Actually, I don’t get along with people, because I’m really depressed from everything. I can’t buy food. As I told you, I have to buy this medication [for my wife]. This makes problems with the money for home rent. Hamdollah (My God)! I just want somebody to understand the situation.… (shouting) I can’t sleep thinking of what to do! I can’t work! I’m tired of this life! (H13).

In East Jerusalem, Umm-Ayoub also expressed how she does not have time to even think about her

neighborhood community, because she only has time to deal with survival:

I can’t talk about [East Jerusalem]. I go daily to the school, to my work. This is my life. I come back to home. I, sometimes I cook. Then I sleep, because I am very tired. This is my life. I don’t know anything about [East Jerusalem] (EJ3).

Umm-Ayoub expressed a common refrain from parents who were forced to prioritize their family’s

needs over the needs of their neighborhood community.

Nevertheless, the negative conceptualization of one’s neighborhood community was often

not enough to make the families I interviewed want to leave. In fact, the families in my sample were

those who, despite the violent challenges they faced, remained in place. In some cases, families noted

that the neighborhood was “not good”, yet they still like it because they feel “comfortable”. In fact,

many of these same participants state that they would steadfastly defend their neighborhoods. Like

the concept of home—which may serve as both a cage and castle for children and families—

neighborhood can also be both positive and negative. Herein lies the contradiction in place.

51 Israel has been known to offer some Palestinians money or favor in exchange for their collaboration. Palestinians caught collaborating with Israel are often shunned or killed. Families of Palestinians who have been caught spying for Israel suffer discrimination and isolation in their communities (Ayyoub, 2013).

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Children’s Mobility in Neighborhood Communities Places are fluid and constantly changing. A child’s world expands and gets larger as he or she grows

older, encompassing a greater number of places that he or she can explore and increasing their range

beyond the boundaries of the home (Moore, 1986). According to Hutchison (2007), children value,

find meaning in, and make sense of their immediate environments most commonly through their

homes, schools, and play spaces.52

Based on a study of children in a suburban neighborhood in Norway, Lidén’s (2003)

research reveals how children move around and use their communities. Lidén notes that these

differences are linked to a complex set of factors such as age, gender, ethnicity, family relations, and

varying cultural values, which result in different patterns of mobility among children in the

neighborhood community. Children also interpret the neighborhood community in accordance with

social relations, cultural values, and perceptions of belonging, which they learn through their family’s

system of intergenerational relations and their community’s norms. Lidén’s (2003) research illustrates

the interdependence of family and community and how it influences children’s experience.

In addition to caregivers regulating places for children, children’s place access is

continuously moderated by the circumstances of the conflict. The physical neighborhood functions

as a meeting place for children to roam around and play when not in school or doing chores at

home (Karsten, 2005; Mikkelsen & Christensen, 2009; Opie & Opie, 1969). But in situations of

political violence, children’s places move from the outdoor space of the neighborhood community

to the private sphere of the home. Children’s access to spaces and places is not only controlled by

their caregivers who are tasked with their protection and well-being, but also by the structural

violence of the matrix of control which constrains or facilitates children’s experiences. This section

will take a closer look at how children’s mobility within the neighborhood community is affected by

the occupation and its everyday violence.

52 Nieuwenhuys (2003) argues that this narrow designation has led researchers to investigate only places seemingly defined for children even though such places may only exist in Western contexts. According to Nieuwenhuys, this focus on child-specific places reflects an ethnocentric idea of children and childhood. For children can be embedded in society without being explicitly located in traditional places of childhood, such as homes, schools and playgrounds. This is especially applicable in contexts of political violence, where children may not have access to play areas or schools.

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Play spaces

In order to understand children’s mobility, the importance of children’s play must be underscored.

Children’s preferred medium of interaction is play (Fearn & Howard, 2011; Landreth, 2002). In the

context of Palestine, play spaces can be defined as both a space where children can interact with one

another within a set perimeter that conveys a sense of safety (Thomson, 2005), as well as an

informally delineated space created by and for children’s play (for example, an empty field or parking

lot). Whether formal or informal, play spaces are important for normal child development, as

children’s ability to access and use these spaces helps them to meet intellectual and emotional

challenges (Fearn & Howard, 2011).

Research stresses the specific importance of play for children affected by adversity (Brown &

Webb, 2005; Fearn & Howard, 2011; G. Gordon & Esbjorn-Hargens, 2007; Lester & Russell, 2010;

Russell & Lester, 2009; Sutton-Smith, 2003; Webb & Brown, 2003). Children interact with and

influence their environments through play, which provides children with the resources to meet the

challenges posed by political violence (Fearn & Howard, 2011). Play provides children with the

opportunity to develop innate skills that can support their independence (Fearn & Howard, 2011).

During play, children can experience and test out behaviors and emotions, such as attention, arousal,

and acting out, without losing control (Sutton-Smith, 2003). An environment that supports

children’s play contributes to their positive development and well-being and connects them to their

neighborhood communities:

Play is a healing experience for children affected by war and conflict. Moreover, this assertion is not just about play in isolation, as a process in which the individual child takes part. It is also about play as part of the social fabric of a community and as a dynamic exchange between the child and their world (Hyder, 2005, p. 4).

Yet, how does political violence specifically affect children’s access to and use of play spaces?

Within Palestine, most children are publicly visible on the streets of their neighborhoods.

However, the places that children are able to access depends on many factors including context,

setting, age, and gender. The literature based on Western examples of childhood states that in

contemporary contexts, unaccompanied movement outside of the home starts from ages eight or

nine (often later for girls), and is greatest when children are in the company of other children

(Matthews, 1992). In Palestine, there are both formal and informal play spaces for children. In the

Palestinian city of Nablus, I observed two large playgrounds for children, complete with slides,

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swings, and other play furniture. Despite the presence of these formal play spaces, I rarely saw

children playing there. Rather, most play spaces developed informally in the streets, alleyways, and

abandoned lots. In Balata, which was experiencing a period of fragile calm, Palestinian children—

both boys and girls of all ages—played in the narrow streets and alleyways of their neighborhood.

There was often no visible adult supervising, and older children (often girls) were responsible for the

care of younger children. There was a constant ebb and flow of children within both empty and

occupied areas; I would walk by an empty lot full of boys playing football, and one hour later, when

walking past the same space, I would find it empty.

In stark contrast to the busy streets of Balata was the West Bank city of Hebron, which was

experiencing daily violence between Palestinians and Israeli ideological settlers. As a result there was

little sign of children’s play. Figure 7.2 shows the abandoned main street, with boarded up

businesses due to everyday settler violence and army-imposed movement restrictions.

Figure 7.2: Hebron’s Main Street

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Instead of playing on the streets, young children and girls peered out from the barred windows of

their homes. If children were on the streets, they were usually older boys or settler children, who,

because of gender, age, or position of power were granted access to these neighborhood places. One

surprising exception came when I was invited to observe an international volunteer organization

tasked with providing protective presence to vulnerable communities and monitoring and reporting

human rights abuses. I accompanied Adam as he monitored settler activity in Hebron, where

hundreds of Israel settlers and tourists were taking a historic tour of the area. Every Saturday

afternoon, Israeli settlers from the Avrahim Avinu and Beit Romano settlements host a tour through

the Palestinian sections of Hebron. The tour is aimed at tourists from Israel and abroad, especially

Americans and Canadians who want to better understand their Jewish heritage. The settlers organize

tours to show their visitors the locations that are important to Judaism and that they will retain once

the Palestinians leave. The weekly tour disturbs the daily lives of Palestinians in the busy souq

(market) of Hebron, which has seen an extreme decrease in trade since the Israeli army closed

Hebron’s busiest souq. This is a clear example of how contested the places within Palestine are. Both

Israelis and Palestinians truly believe that this is their place.

Children continue to act within these contested places. While walking through the streets, I

watched Palestinian children retreat into their homes and became invisible, closing their doors and

windows and hiding behind corners as the large group accompanied by heavily armed Israeli soldiers

walked through the narrow streets of the Old City. That is why I was startled when I turned a corner

and saw about ten young Palestinian boys engaged in a soccer skirmish while the tour passed by, all

while overseen by Israeli soldiers, who trained their guns on the children at both the street level and

from the nearby rooftops of Palestinian homes (see Figure 7.3). For this group of Palestinian boys, it

was just another day. In fact, they seemed eager for the settlers and soldiers to leave, so they could

finish their football match. Yet, there was also an acknowledgement that this was a contested place,

vulnerable to violence between the two sides who claim it as their own.

Even though many children took opportunities to play in informal settings such as on the

street or in school yards (outside of school hours), families often noted the importance of their

children having an organized and contained place to play. This was especially important because

parents felt like a good way to protect their children was to give them a “normal childhood”, which

families defined as being able to go to school and play outdoors. Nevertheless, parents faced

extreme barriers when trying to create this “normal childhood” for their children.

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Figure 7.3: Palestinian Children Playing While Israeli Soldiers Look On

Abu-Rachid told how he tried to build a playground for the children in his neighborhood

community in East Jerusalem:

Well, as you can see, [this] is maybe the smallest place in the world with a lot [of] population, more than 60,000 people here. And unfortunately, we don’t have anything to offer to our children. The only thing that we did for them, the last year, we built a playground on a land that had a demolition order. In spite of that, they gave us a demolition order for this playground. So, most of the time, the children spend their time in the streets (EJ2).

Abu-Rachid continued to explain how the occupation impacted children’s access of playspaces in the

neighborhood community:

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They need to play, you know. They need good place to play without harassment from the soldiers or the settlers or the drug dealers.53 I think that is the most [important] thing that they need. And not only that, you know, we don’t have anything to offer to these children. We don’t have a way to remove them from the wrong way to the right way. We don’t have libraries, for example. We don’t have places that they can play chess, or to teach them good things. We don’t have. We tried, but the Israelis won’t let us have. As I told you, the only thing we did here is to build the first playground [here]. The first one! We don’t have anything except that. But, of course, after a month, we had a demolish order for the playground. Imagine! There is no walls, there is no nothing, just a playground. But they gave us a demolition order (EJ2).

In addition to the presence of drug dealers, and harassment from Israeli soldiers, Amanda explained

how settlers impacted the same playground:

There is one, there is a playground up on the top of the hill, a wadi (valley) there. But it’s one of very few, maybe there are only two or three playgrounds for children in the whole of East Jerusalem. There is one up there, but the settlement, it took half of the basketball court (waves hands in the air), like, so they can’t play basketball anymore (shrugging) (EJ2).

Like examples illustrating children and families’ perceptions of home as a cage, aspects of Israel’s

matrix of control greatly contributed to children feeling as if they were in an open-air prison. Umm-

Imed explained that the wall creates a feeling that she is imprisoned within their own community:

“…we hardly move. Always, we’re forced to stay home. We can’t go whenever we want” (VI2).

Eight-year-old Moncef drew Figure 7.4 of his neighborhood community and explained his drawing:

“These are the eyes of Gaza…and they are crying. And I wrote here, ‘[Jerusalem]. We won’t go

away. We will never leave you.’ [And the lines over the eyes] is a prison” (EJ3). Moncef’s drawing

and words illustrate how, on the one hand, neighborhood community can be a beloved place. But

on the other hand, neighborhood community can also have negative aspects, such as the feeling that

one is in prison.

53 Drugs have become a serious challenge for Palestinian communities in East Jerusalem. In fact, drug use in East Jerusalem is one of the highest in the world, with 2.5% of the population considered to be addicts (Ramahi, 2011). With an unemployment rate of 75 percent, young people under the age of 24 are especially at risk for becoming involved with drugs (Monks, 2011); from 2001 to 2004, the number of drug users in that age group increased from 70 to 780 (Ramahi, 2011). Ramahi (2011) notes several reasons for the increase in drug use in East Jerusalem including a stress response to the occupation and boredom especially among unemployed youth, as well as disregard by Israeli and Palestinian authorities. Some participants expressed a belief that Israel is trying to destroy Palestinians and their communities by encouraging addiction or turning a blind eye to drug enforcement among Palestinians. No matter what the cause of the increase in drug use in Palestinian East Jerusalem is, its prevalence poses a serious challenge to families as they struggle to meet the needs of their children, especially when experienced in combination with other challenges such as Israeli army and settler harassment.

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Figure 7.4: Moncef’s Neighborhood Community

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Prevention as protection: Impact of violence on children’s mobility54

The dangerous conditions surrounding their home environments have impacts on the places that

Palestinian children are allowed to go. Violence creates an atmosphere where children may be unable

to safely explore the world around them. When asked about safe and unsafe places, parents and

children often noted that the street was an unsafe place for children, a place that parents do not

allow their children to go unaccompanied, thereby containing them within their homes or

neighborhood communities. Abu-Majd and his twelve-year-old niece, Yamina, explained how the

Israeli settlers make the streets in Hebron dangerous for children:

Yamina: [Our parents] are not allowing us to go to the dangerous places like streets. Abu-Majd: Like today, Saturday, settlers are everywhere. We are frightened just to go and put the trash in the garbage. We are frightened to send our children (H21).

Abu-Majd then described an incident confirming his understanding of the street as a dangerous

place for children:

It happened on Friday, my daughter went to throw the garbage away and was walking on the sidewalk of the street. A settler was coming, riding a jeep. He hit her by the car mirror, beat her, and was holding her by her hairs. She stayed in the hospital for three days (H21).

Soldiers also pose a risk for children on the street, providing another reason for parents to restrict

their children’s access to places beyond the home. Abu-Ahmed explained:

Another thing I’m scared about is to let my children go out. I’m also frightened to send them alone to the market, honestly. Honestly, they are not allowed to go out to the street…. Most of the time, jeish (army) come around and arrest children. Yesterday they took three [Palestinian] children from [near the] Tel Rumeida [settlement] (H13).

Because of this unrelenting violence, parents restricted their children’s access to places, containing

and preventing them from playing outdoors, getting enough physical exercise, and traveling

independently. As Abu-Rachid noted, this is the case in East Jerusalem as well: “And in the nights, I

used to send them to the supermarket to buy some things up there. But, I don’t anymore. It’s a very

dangerous situation, you know” (EJ2). Children’s mobility is obviously controlled by their caregivers

and fear drives this control, as eight-year-old Hafid described:

Interviewer: Are there places your mom doesn’t want you to go?

54 About halfway through the data collection, I found that my research assistant was interchanging the terms “protection” and “prevention”. I asked my research assistance about the meanings of these two terms in Arabic, and she told me that they were the same. Though there is a clear difference between the two terms in English, I believe that this was a relevant interchange of words, and concluded that prevention can be a means of protection.

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Hafid: (16-year-old Maha and Umm-Hafid repeat the question and encourage Hafid to answer) Inside the camp and the neighborhoods, the main street. Alone without [my mom]… Interviewer: Why are you not allowed to go there? Hafid: She’s scared there will be an accident on the main street [outside of Balata], and [inside the camp] children are bad in their behaviors (BA1).

When I asked seven year-old Rawda where she is allowed to go, she replied, “To the school” (H22).

Her father, Abu-Jabar added:

Alone, no. Going to school, yes. Going to the market, yes. Two of my sons—the oldest—I can count on them. And they usually play nearby the field, but sometimes problems happen when going to the store or negotiating with settlers. So, sometimes it’s not safe (H22).

For many parents, protecting their children meant containing them and preventing them from going

to certain places. As Abu-Majd stated, “Telling them to not go into the street is protection” (H21).

However, this desire to protect children by restricting their access delivers a dilemma for parents

who still want to give their children a “normal childhood”. As Abu-Ahmed explained:

So, I am worried I can’t let them go out. I’m scared, but at the same time, I wish for them to live in a good life: beautiful, safe, and secure. Nothing more! (H13).

Parents were aware of this dilemma, acknowledging the ways that they try to provide for their

children, despite restricting them from experiencing play outside the home and within the often

volatile neighborhood community.

Abu-Majd: Trying to offer them the simple requirements of living like television, a simple computer with games, toys, bicycle and educational games. This is what I can offer my children—in my point of view—this is a means of protection for my kids. Actually, I can’t promise them to go to Ramallah to play at an amusement park. It’s too expensive, because it will cost me 100 shekels [$28] minimum. If I want to take them to the sea, there is nowhere to go. We are not allowed to go there. Or, if I want to take them to Jordan, it will cost me 150 Jordanian dinar [$211] minimum…. So this is our situation. This is the situation for our kids, our children in Palestine. (H21).

Above, Abu-Majd described how he offers his children material objects—television, computer, toys,

bicycle—symbols of a “normal” childhood. Yet, he acknowledges the restrictions he and his family

face due to poverty and Israel’s matrix of control, which controls movement of Palestinians to visit

places outside the West Bank. Research in both high- and low-income countries has shown the

negative effects to children’s well-being and health posed by the combination of poverty and

conditions in children’s neighborhood communities (Bartlett, Hart, Satterthwaithe, de la Barra, &

Missair, 1999; Brooks-Gunn, Duncan, & Aber, 1997a, 1997b; Fauth, 2004). Additionally, for all

families, money was a major barrier for providing their children with opportunities to play in places

beyond the home. Umm-Omar explained:

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I wish we could take the children to a place outside, like to the park, but we don’t have the money. … There are no parks here. There is no way for the children to have a vacation. If we want a vacation, we have to go far away and pay a lot of money. [Children] play in the rocks with the mud and the sand. It’s very dangerous near the factory, because there are lots of machines there (VI2).

Children’s age is another factor influencing their children’s access to places beyond the

home. During my field visit, I noticed that most young children were kept inside the home, where

their parents and older siblings could watch over them. Children who were on the streets were

oftentimes older. Age was related to parents being able to protect them from potential harm. Parents

tended to worry more about their older children, because they were unable to “control” them and

thereby protect them. For example, Umm-Nacer explained:

…when they are children, you can control them as you like, shaping their frame as you like. But, as soon as they are getting older, they want to go wherever they want. Sometimes you call them, but they never reply (BE3).

Umm-Nacer said that she worried more about her older children because she is unable to control

them. Similarly, Umm-Imed described how she worries differently for her younger and older

children, but that they have distinct characteristics that allow them to protect themselves. She

explained how her 13-year-old son, Khaled, is able to “fight easily” and can defend himself if

attacked by the settlers or army. Whereas her younger child, nine-year-old Rayan, might be able to

physically escape from the Israeli army more easily, because he is small and agile. Parents had

varying views of the strengths and vulnerabilities of their differently aged children, which ultimately

affected these children’s access to places beyond the home and in the neighborhood community.

Research findings indicate that children’s place restrictions are highly dependent upon

location. Building upon the hypothesis that children in high-violence settings were more likely to be

contained within a small home-based locale and restricted from accessing places beyond, I used the

GPS-tracked neighborhood walk data to conduct exploratory research. Figure 7.5 shows two

neighborhood walks led by child-participants within their respective neighborhood communities of

Hebron (H1-1 on the left and H2-3 on the right). These two sites were located approximately 100

meters from one another, yet they were divided by several checkpoints and ultimately divided by

violence. At the time, H2-3 was experiencing high levels of violence, whereas H1-1 was experiencing

tentative calm.

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Figure 7.5: Comparison of Two Neighborhood Walks

In H1-1, nine-year-old Dalia, eight-year-old Younes, and five-year-old Lotfi—accompanied by their

older cousin, 22-year-old Hichem—took me on a lengthy tour of their neighborhood community in

Hebron, covering a distance of 2.48 kilometers in over 45 minutes. The children pointed out the

places where they buy groceries with their parents and their favorite bakery. As we walked, Dalia

held her younger brothers’ hands as she walked between then and navigated the busy downtown

streets. In contrast, the neighborhood walk in H2-3, was short and restricted. At first, seven-year-old

Assia was hesitant to even leave the home through the front door for fear of being seen by the

neighboring settlers, whose front door was only about 20 meters from her home. She was eventually

gently coaxed outside when her mother and older cousins agreed to accompany us. She briefly

walked down a narrow passage to a field where two older boys were passing a soccer ball back and

forth. Then, she immediately turned around and returned home.

This experience with Dalia, Younes, Lotfi, Hichem, and Assia encouraged me to further test

the theory that level of neighborhood community violence is related to children’s access to places

H1-1Scale: 150mDistance: 2.48kmTime: 46:23

H2-3Scale: 150mDistance: 0.09kmTime: 03:14

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beyond the home, I ranked 16 research sites according to level of violence based on three elements:

(1) my own observations of violence in the neighborhood community, (2) family reports, and (3)

recent media accounts.55 Combined with the data on distance and time of neighborhood walk, this

ranking can be found in Table 7.6.

Table 7.6: Violence Rankings

Location Code Violence Rank* NW Distance NW Time (in seconds)

VI3 1 0.12 04:07 (247)

VI2 2 0.04 02:02 (122)

VI1 3 0.79 17:03 (1023)

EJ1 4 0.71 15:23 (923)

BA2 5 0.65 14:11 (851)

BE1 6 0.08 03:42 (222)

H12 7 0.42 09:15 (555)

H11 8 2.48 46:23 (2783)

BA1 9 1.09 23:14 (1394)

BA3 10 0.56 12:22 (742)

BE3 11 0.17 10:20 (620)

EJ3 12 0.04 02:07 (127)

H13 13 0.27 07:10 (430)

BE2 14 0.21 06:45 (405)

EJ2 15 0.12 04:55 (295)

H22 16 0.09 04:34 (274)

H23 17 0.09 03:14 (194)

H21 18 0.00 00:00 (0)

* The lower the violence ranking, the lower the level of violence.

From this exploratory analysis, I determined that children who live in contexts of high violence do

not travel far from home, due to multiple factors such as their own fear and/or parental restrictions.

In many cases, children are often not permitted to leave home at all. The data indicate that children

55 Two neighborhood walks were cancelled due to sandstorms. They have been excluded from the analysis.

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who live in low-violence settings are able to more feely explore places outside of the home. Figures

7.7 and 7.8 show the relationship between level of violence in the neighborhood community and the

length (both distance and time) of the neighborhood walk.

Figure 7.7: Level of Violence and Neighborhood Walk Distance

Figure 7.8: Level of Violence and Neighborhood Walk Time

Level of Violence & NW Distance (n=16)*

0

1

2

3

0 4 8 12 16 20

NW

Dis

tanc

e (k

m)

Level of Violence* Two NWs excluded due to sandstorms.

Level of Violence & NW Time (n=16)*

0

600

1200

1800

2400

3000

0 4 8 12 16 20

NW

Tim

e (s

econ

ds)

Level of Violence* Two NWs excluded due to sandstorms.

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In both figures, the independent variable of level of violence is on the x-axis, and the dependent

variable of distance and time of the neighborhood walk is on the y-axis. These preliminary results

indicate that future research should be conducted to better understand the relationship between

violence in the neighborhood community and children’s access to places beyond the home.

Conclusion This chapter explored two aspects of neighborhood communities that represent the

contradictions in place facing Palestinian children and families today. First, families viewed

neighborhood communities as both positive and negative. Second, children in high violence settings

do not travel as far from their homes to explore the surrounding neighborhood community as in

low violence settings. This is due to parents’ restrictions, or what I have identified as prevention as

protection. Parents ultimately delimit access to and activities within the neighborhood community.

Through their control of children in this space, they explicitly and implicitly use the space to mold

children’s behavior, to teach them how to protect themselves in the midst of conflict.

Children are not the only ones to suffer when their freedom of movement is restricted.

Parents struggle with knowledge about the positive value of their children being able to play outside.

Yet they are not comfortable letting their children do so, because of the violence that surrounds

them. This relates to the concept of territorialization, which is “fundamentally about having the

power to control the movement of others and the areas that they occupy. …those in control of an

area have the power to banish occupants from a space or confine others to a space” (Thomson, 2005,

p. 73). In other words, while Israel is controlling Palestinian space through the matrix of control,

Palestinian parents are, in turn, controlling their children’s space in order to protect their children.

Research has shown the benefits of children’s ability to play outdoors and move freely

around their neighborhood communities (Christensen & O’Brien, 2003a; Van Vliet, 1983). These

experiences facilitate development of their physical, social and cognitive competencies (Karsten &

Van Vliet, 2006). An environment that supports children’s play needs ensures their well-being and

development by providing opportunities to hone innate skills (Russell & Lester, 2009), which are

“vital resources that can support children’s self-determination by preparing them for what life

delivers, as well as helping them to come to terms with what has happened” (Fearn & Howard,

2011, p. 466). But what are the impacts of a child not being allowed to explore his or her

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neighborhood community? The multiple restrictions that keep children from exploring their

neighborhood communities beyond the home and thereby understanding the nature of conflict has

broader implications for peace and reconciliation. Gilliam’s (2003) work in northern Ireland found

that children’s restriction to the local area severely limits their agency until they gradually internalize

the conflict and have negative and violent experience of the other group that they are theoretically in

conflict with. Like children in Palestine who are not granted free access to many places, Gilliam

(2003) notes:

The children therefore only hear about the other group in the discourse of their own community, and only meet members of the other group in the violent clashes that take place on the borders between their own area and the neighboring areas of the other group (p. 46).

Gilliam’s research details the consequences of restricting children to specific places during times of

conflict, as well as the significance of place access for children experiences and understandings.

The current chapter explored the positive and negative aspects of neighborhood

communities, thus providing another example of contradictions in place. Moving to the macro-level

of the ecological system, the next chapter explores the concept and meaning of Palestine (as a place

and as a nation-state) for children and families.

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8 ANGER AND HOPE IN THE CONTEXT OF THE PALESTINIAN NATION-STATE

The continuing circumstances of the occupation and its related elements of oppression contributed

to a growing sense of anger and hopelessness for Palestinians. When Palestinians experience

bulldozers destroying their homes, schools closed for security reasons, and neighborhood

communities where violence is so prevalent that they cannot leave their homes, they know that

Israel has no intention of ending the violence and occupation and that the PA has no ability, power,

or will to protect its own people.

While anger and hopelessness permeated many of my conversations with families, there were

also moments of hope. In fact, many participants expressed sentiments of anger and hope in the

same sentence. For example, parents and children both identified strongly with a place—for

example, home and/or nation-state—and expressed a commitment to defend it at all costs. But at

the same time, some resented that place due to feelings of anger and hopelessness.

This chapter explores the experiences of anger and hope in relation to place for Palestinian

families. Anger results from the incessant occupation. Yet, hope is also present, taking on diverse

forms of resilience and resistance. Ultimately, this chapter will explore how, on the narrow edge

between hope and hopelessness, individual and national identity is formed.

“It is too much”: Experiences of Anger The matrix of control operates on both a physical and emotional level, with emotional oppression

being one of its cruelest consequences. Riad provided the following example:

Now, it is like the new generation. There is no fear. Now, there is hate. Honestly, what are they doing—the government, the settlers, the municipalities, all these organizations? Now I feel the kids in this generation right now, they are not just children. They became men before their time. It’s like what they have experienced now. I will give you a small example, and maybe you can realize what I mean. Once, there was a child about 12 years, he said, “Wow, it is too much. I cannot handle the situation no more like this.” I told him, “Listen my son, I am over 40. What can I say? If you are 12-years-old and you are saying like this, so what can I say?” Just imagine 12 years, and he can’t stand the situation. Yeah, so it’s like a big oppression, they are stressed too much here, and they feel like, no child should live this time of their life, their childhood, like this (KI8).

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Children and families still expressed negative psychological effects as a result of that occupation.

Adam, a volunteer with an international NGO, reflected on the psychological toll that checkpoints

have on children:

So, of course, going through the checkpoint every day, twice a day, seeing all these soldiers every day is a part of their daily life, having their schoolbags checked, and um, this must have a psychological effect (KI1).

Adam went on to describe the multiple psychological effects children experience as a result of fear

and oppression due to Israel’s matrix of control:

I have heard stories of kids wetting their beds until ages when they are not supposed to wet their beds anymore, because of all of this stuff happening. It’s hard to imagine (KI1).

Research confirms Palestinian children’s psychological distress as a result of the occupation, ranging

from nightmares and bedwetting, to increased aggressiveness and hyperactivity, as well as decreased

attention span and concentration capacity (Arafat & Boothby, 2003; Espié et al., 2009; Srour &

Srour, 2006). Twenty-one-year-old Fadila explained how this affects her 16-year-old brother:

This is suffering, suffering. This is all because of the occupation. When we see our brother angry, we think that his anger is a result of occupation. He’s stressed out of everything and trying to shout at us all the time, because he never has a normal life. He always makes my mom angry. He destroyed my mom. He make it so she cannot stand living in this situation anymore (VI3).

Children face specific psychosocial effects as a result of occupation and violence. They face

overwhelming threats to their physical safety and mental health, which vary from child to child.

Protective support systems—family, home, school, neighborhood community—are compromised,

thereby increasing risk of unhealthy development, and exacerbation of pre-existing problems (IASC,

2007).

Being confronted with and confined within one’s home, neighborhood community, or

nation-state on a daily basis can be a dehumanizing experience contributing to a feeling of anger and

hopelessness. Even if Israel grants one a permit to cross over the wall or to go through checkpoints,

Palestinians still undergo a process of humiliation to first get the permit and then to cross these

borders. And sometimes, even with a permit, they find they are not allowed to cross. Abu-Majd in

Hebron, who had experienced settler and army harassment for over 30 years, described his feeling of

going through the nearby checkpoint each day:

No one could ever feel the difference, except the one who is living inside this place. You enter through the checkpoint, and you feel the suffering that the inhabitants of this area are suffering through daily. Because they are entering the electronic gates on each visit or going out. Even to the market, he is checked. Security is checking, showing them everything. You are holding the ID,

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opening your arms and raising your hands on the walls. During the overall inspection, they are attacking you with bad vulgar words or with their hands, kicking you, beating. In all means, they are trying to insult you, making you feel that you are not human, making you feel that they are not dealing with humans, but that they are dealing with animals (H2-1).

This feeling of dehumanization was common throughout the family interviews, with both children

and adults sharing similar experiences. Umm-Mourad and her daughter, Sanaa, both compared the

checkpoint experience to being treated like animals:

Umm-Mourad: It’s, like, how we take our chicken to kill at the market, to get them for eating. Sanaa: You know, in the garden, they put something for the cow to walk in it. They put the same thing in the checkpoint. You feel that you are like a cow (EJ1).

Dehumanization is a symptom of the overall matrix of control and can lead to feelings of anger.

Those who live on the other side of a border are treated in dehumanizing ways, because they are

perceived to be evil, and therefore not deserving of modern human rights. For instance, during the

course of my interview with Abu-Rachid and his son, an Israeli police jeep drove after which Abu-

Rachid said:

Abu-Rachid: (sarcastically) [I am] in my own country, [and] there is terrorism, and I am a terrorist. I am enemy number one. Amanda: (sarcastically) [You are a] scary monster. Abu-Rachid: (laughing) So be it.

Abu-Rachid’s words reflect that the simple fact of being Palestinian, coupled with the dehumanizing

nature of the international “war on terror” allows Israel to treat Palestinian children and adults in

inhumane ways, to humiliate them at checkpoints, and to contain them within spaces where they are

unable to live freely and grow.

“There is no place”: Children arrested in place

Throughout the interviews, children and parents often described their home, school, and

neighborhood community places as being “empty”, with nothing to offer them. In Balata refugee

camp, there was an overwhelming response from children that there is nothing in the camp. Some

older children expressed feelings that it didn’t matter if their home was destroyed, because “there is

nothing here” or there are no places to go”. Describing her map of the neighborhood community

(see Figure 8.1), 14-year-old Anissa explained:

I drew the school and the camp to show you there are no places to go. There is nothing to go to. Just the school. That’s why I drew this (BA3).

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Figure 8.1: Anissa’s School

Later, when I asked if there were places that she doesn’t like to go, Anissa appeared irritated and

quickly replied, “I told you there is nothing in Balata. There are no places to go” (BA3). This was a

common refrain in Balata, where a population of 25,000 people live in an area of one-square-

kilometer. Palestinians believe that Balata is one of the most crowded spaces on earth, and they

express a sense of anger and frustration that they are forced to live in this environment. When I

asked a 21-year-old Safia if she would ever be afraid to be forced to leave her home and community,

she laughed and said, “No, because we are in a [refugee] camp. Where do you think we could go that

is worse than this?” (BA2).

Again, a lack of children’s playspaces was a major concern for parents. Families frequently

described the lack of places for children to play. When I asked Fatima from Al-Makkah what places

the children like to go in the village, they replied: “No, there is no places. We don’t have parks here

to go, and we don’t have gardens or even play yards for children” (VI1). Some children had

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difficulty answering the question, “What is your favorite memory of living in your neighborhood?”

For example, ten-year-old Rachid answered:

Rachid: At my age, there is nothing nice to remember. Interviewer: Ah, but there must be something good that you can remember. Maybe there is something you like here? What do you like about [East Jerusalem]? Rachid: Nothing (EJ2).

These examples emphasize the lack of places for children to go and their difficulty in identifying

anything positive about the place where they live, which both point to a sense of hopelessness. The

children observed that there were few opportunities for children where they are and expressed an

understanding that there are serious challenges if they ever wanted to move beyond their current

place.

“I am dreaming about going outside”: Children and families’ dream places

Participants’ depictions of dream places represented both hope and hopelessness. Dream places

were diverse and broad: foreign countries (BA1, BA2, BA3, BE1, EJ1, H11, H22, VI1), the sea

(BA1, BA2, BA3, BE3), Jerusalem (BA2, BA3, H11, H12, H13, VI2, VI3), and a garden or park

(EJ3, H11, H22, VI1, VI2) to name a few. Despite their range, all dream places had a common

theme; they represented a place that participants have yet been unable to access due to Israeli-

imposed restrictions to Palestinian mobility. Dream places were often extremely close; some place—

the Ibrihimi mosque, the Mediterranean Sea, al-Quds—could be seen from participants’ homes. Yet,

these dream places were impossible to get to because of the multiple barriers—visible and

invisible—shaped by the matrix of control. Palestinians are barred from places such as the Jordan

Valley, Jerusalem, and the enclaves trapped between the wall and the Green Line unless they are able

to acquire often unattainable permits. Sixteen-year-old Maha from Balata explained that her dream

was to visit the sea. When I asked her why she has never been there, she said, “Palestine is occupied,

so there are checkpoints and the wall… (shrugging) It’s like a dream” (BA1). Similarly, seven-year-old

Wafa from Hebron said that she dreamed to go to al-Ibrahimi mosque, a distance of less than one

kilometer from her home. She was restricted from accessing her dream place because of the

checkpoints and other physical barriers that prevent Palestinian movement and “protect” Israeli

settlers. When I asked Wafa if she could draw a map of how she would get to the mosque from her

home, her uncle, Abu-Majd explained that she did not know the way, because she had never gone

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that way before. Wafa and her uncle’s exchange reflected the severely restricted mobility that many

children and families face in Hebron specifically and Palestine generally (H21). If, as Casey (1996)

and Ingold (2008) assert, place is constituted through human activity and movement, then

Palestinian children’s depictions of their dream places represent a contradiction: they are familiar

with these places through stories from their parents, grandparents, or teachers, but they are places

that they have never traveled to or visited before.

Experiences in post-second intifada Palestine with the matrix of control became more

profound when some participants answered that their dream place was to simply go outside of their

homes or neighborhoods, which was more common in families living in high violence areas, such as

Hebron. Even if violence was not contributing to restrictions of movement, the stagnancy of daily

life and feelings of living in a place where there is “nothing” influenced some participant’s dreams to

travel outside of Palestine. For example, 17-year-old Mabrouk from Balata, said, “I am dreaming

about going outside, traveling. We are living here, but we don’t know what is going on outside. So

it’s my dream” (BA2). However, the matrix of control greatly restricted participants’ hopes to travel

outside of Palestine. One of the most poignant examples came from the father of 13-year-old

Rachid, Abu-Rachid, who explained how his son is a member of a successful youth sports team in

Jerusalem, keeping his son busy and “out of trouble”. Abu-Rachid proudly explained that in a few

months, his son’s team was invited to compete in a tournament in Europe, Rachid’s first

opportunity to traverse the boundaries containing him within East Jerusalem. Abu-Rachid then

explained (in English, because he did not want young Rachid to understand) that this trip would be

impossible because of Israeli’s restrictive permit system:

…it’s hard for me to get him a passport, a Jordanian passport. He should have before two months ago, gone to Kuwait…. I couldn’t send him, because he doesn’t have a passport. I don’t have one. It’s very hard to leave. It costs a lot of money to do it. Even me, I might have to go, but I cannot go out of Israel. I am not allowed to go out of Israel (EJ2).

Abu-Rachid’s revelation sums up the multiple restrictions that disallow him or his son to leave East

Jerusalem and arrest Palestinians—both children and adults—in place. In order to move from one

place to another, Palestinians must apply for over a dozen different travel permits, each delineating

which type of person can travel to which type of place. In this way, the matrix of control creates a

prison for individual and collective dreams: dreams to leave a current stagnant place, dreams to visit

other places, and most importantly, dreams of freedom. In this way, Palestinian children and families

are arrested in place, trapped in a stagnant and oftentimes hopeless reality.

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Engaging in Resilience and Resistance In general, interviews reinforced the view that families in Palestine were fatigued from the

occupation, scared of more violence, angry at Israel and its tactics, and sad that the occupation was

becoming normalized. Yet, there was also an enormous amount of diversity of wants, desires, and

perspectives on how to resist, fight back, and move forward. This section will further explore the

hopeful side of the post-second intifada era, that of resilience and resistance.

“There will be time for the sun to rise”: Acts of resilience

Despite the multiple examples of anger, frustration, and hopelessness expressed by the families,

there were also expressions of hope and resilience. Thirteen-year-old Basma, whose father was

arrested ten years ago and remains in prison, drew Figure 8.2. A tree is at the center of Basma’s

drawing. Surrounding the tree are images of sunshine, clouds, flowers, and several figures holding

Palestinian flags. Basma described her drawing as:

It’s trees, flowers, and children holding the Palestinian flag. And here is written script. It says we are waiting for our father in prison, and there will be a time when he is released. It’s a saying for Palestinian[s], there will be time for [the] sun to rise” (VI3).

Basma’s drawing and words expresses an optimism that things will eventually improve for her family

and her country. The multiple, trans-generational experiences under occupation call for further

questioning of how children and families cope and survive. Despite the challenges in their daily lives

and the restrictions of their future dreams, participants like Basma were also searching for a better

future, revealing new ways to overcome and adapt to these challenges.

Encounters with the occupation encouraged participants to invent new coping methods.

Families reflected a wide range of coping strategies, such as gathering together, talking, and listening

to one another. Many families expressed that they would never lose hope, even if they were

displaced from their homes or if their homes were destroyed. It is through this form of hope that

participants negotiated the presence of the occupation.

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Figure 8.2: Basma’s Dream Place

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Families also expressed a sense of that they could endure these struggles, showing a high

level of flexibility in resisting daily hardships and thereby increasing their resilience. Participants

tended to present these experiences as everyday occurrences, representing ta’wwudna (“we are used to

it”). In Figure 8.3, 12-year-old Mehdi from Hebron drew a map of the nearby checkpoint, which

stands about 50 meters from his home.

Figure 8.3: The Checkpoint Near Mehdi’s Home

Mehdi explained:

Mehdi: This is the checkpoint, and a tree near the checkpoint. Interviewer: And what happens when you go through the checkpoint? Mehdi: They force us to stay and wait for checking. Interviewer: How do they do that? Mehdi: Taking our jackets off, asking us to hold our hands. Interviewer: How do you feel when you have to wait at the checkpoint? Mehdi: We are used [to it] (H21).

Ta’wwudna reflects what Allen (2008) has termed as “getting by the occupation”, describing how the

violence and oppression of occupation has become normalized in Palestinian lives as a means of

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coping. This especially holds true for children, who have lived their whole lives under the

occupation. The everydayness and ubiquitous of the occupation in these children’s lives is not novel

to them. They sometimes expressed outrage, especially when reflecting upon the history of their

parents’ and grandparents’ experiences with occupation. Yet, they express stoicism in their

expression of ta’wwudna. Because daily lives are interrupted so regularly by the occupation,

Palestinians are forced to find creative ways to continue to live amidst such restrictions.

“Here is where we demonstrate”: Acts of resistance

Both children and parents reflected a deep and painful political understanding of the world around

them, which began at an early age:

Here, when you go and speak to children two-years-old, you find them speaking politics, speaking about settlers, speaking about police, speaking about Israelis (EJ1). Here, every Palestinian has the politics born in his blood. … It is not like speaking about politics. It is the life (EJ1).

They acknowledged how the media can exacerbate tensions between Palestinians and Israelis. They

recognized how the continuing violence contributes to a wounded people and nation. They

discussed how these wounds—physical, psychological, individual, familial, and collective—were

perpetuated through the ongoing harassment and displacement of the Palestinian people, actions

that had become a part of daily life, an expression of ta’wwudna.

Participants also often referred to sumud, or daily resistance, expressing a determination to

never leave their homes and suggesting a tenacious rootedness to place. Israeli NGO worker,

Amanda, explained how Abu-Rachid and his family not only resisted the occupation by participating

in demonstrations and by remaining in their homes despite the multiple challenges they face: “They

are sumud anyways…by staying” (EJ2). Children’s examples of sumud ranged from the non-

confrontational—attending school, doing homework, drawing the Palestinian flag—to actively

challenging the status quo—writing graffiti on walls, arguing with Israeli soldiers at checkpoints. In

their own individual ways, they believed in their own power to make a difference and resist the

occupation. According to Malone (2007b), children negotiate and reconstruct spaces through

resistance. Therefore, sumud, combined with a sense of hope, represented ways that families turned

their homes and neighborhood communities into places of resistance and liberation. Although

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children often wield very little control or influence over the structures that oversee their lives, they

can still exert a form of indirect agency by making and remaking spaces at the micro level.

Scholars have suggested that Israel’s methods to isolate and fragment Palestinian society

through the matrix of control have created stronger anti-occupation sentiments and resistance

among younger generations of Palestinians (Jones, 2012; Peteet, 2005; Yiftachel, 2003), ultimately

exacerbating Palestinian children’s involvement in both non-violent (e.g., demonstrations) and

violent (e.g., suicide attacks) resistance. Abu-Majd explained how the occupation creates a cycle of

oppression for children:

At these ages, jeish (army) insult and harass them at the checkpoint. After two times or three times of jeish attacking, … they are trying to call our generation criminals, and they are arresting them. By calling this generation criminals, they are trying to show us that we shouldn’t say that our youth is suffering. They don’t know that our youth is criminal just because of the occupation, just because we are suffering (H21, emphasis in original).

The multiple restrictions arresting Palestinians in place do not necessarily encourage children to

respond with violence. This is too simple of a conclusion. In contrast to what Peteet (2009) and

Yiftachel (2003) have suggested, Hammad’s (2011) research argues that the “incremental

colonization process” and “strategic socio-spatial tools” that Israel uses against Palestinians does not

necessarily create stronger anti-occupation sentiments and greater resentment among the younger

generation over the long-term. Rather, the multiple layers of restriction contribute to Palestinians’

growing sense of loss—loss of land, loss of freedom, loss of nation—which have led to additional

suffering for families that have struggled physically and emotionally with Israeli-imposed oppression

for multiple generations. They respond to this loss with resistance.

Children’s experiences of and reactions to the layered restrictions imposed upon them

illustrated that the more aware they are of the oppression, the easier it was for them to participate in

some kind of meaningful resistance, in all of its multiple forms. When some children were asked to

draw a map of their communities, they drew scenes of protest. Through their drawings,

neighborhood communities were transformed from sites of oppression and violence to places of

resistance. In Figure 8.4, 13-year-old Hakim drew a map of his neighborhood community, which is

protesting against the wall. In the background, Hakim drew himself holding a Palestinian flag and

standing next to his family members. In the foreground and on the other side of a barbed wire

barrier, Hakim drew an Israeli tank and soldiers holding guns. Hakim explained: “Here is where we

demonstrate against the wall…. (reading what he wrote) ‘Israel is demolishing houses without mercy’”

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(VI3). Hakim’s neighborhood community is known for non-violent resistance generally against the

occupation and specifically against the wall, which is reflected in this drawing of his experience living

here.

Figure 8.4: Hakim’s Neighborhood Community

Commenting upon her drawing of her neighborhood community (see Figure 8.5), 14-year-

old Rahma from Hebron explained: “This is the separation wall..., and here are the Palestinians

demonstrating, because they don't want the separating wall that separates their houses and mosques

and families” (H23). Rahma’s drawing depicted her relationship with the contested wall. Her

position on one side of the wall (in the foreground), illustrated how she is restricted from accessing

her dream place, al-Quds (Jerusalem), which she drew behind the wall. She revealed political insight

into the divisive and invasive nature of the wall to her neighborhood community and homeland. Her

voice reflected an awareness that the wall separates and divides families and communities. Her

depiction of self in the foreground illustrated a political consciousness of herself as a part of a larger

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political struggle. This leads to the conclusion that children can be agents of change, active in

defining their own allegiances during conflict.

Figure 8.5: Rahma’s Neighborhood Community

As Allen (2013) notes: “…there are times, our troubled history teaches us, when the only

thing left to do is fight and fight hard, when endurance of suffering is no longer noble but a form of

complicity” (p. xi). This turn away from ta’wwudna and towards resistance is a response to

generations of suffering under occupation. Yet, my sample of family interviews revealed that no

parent wants his or her child to die as a martyr. As one mother (from a key informant interveiew)

explained,

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Do you think that there is a mother who would want to lose her child? And by throwing this stone, there will be freedom and liberation? But what happens is when someone dies, to make her feel better, everyone says that he is a hero, and so I am not sad.

The rituals of comfort after a death provide fodder for the assumption that martyrdom is

encouraged. Like violence in general, Allen (2002) indicates that martyrdom in Palestine has become

normalized because of its sheer repetition. Indeed, a large body of research indicates multiple and

interconnected individual and group-level factors contributing to one’s involvement in voluntary

martyrdom (Azam, 2005; Berrebi, 2007; Fink & Hearne, 2008; Horgan, 2003; Krueger & Maleckova,

2002; Noricks, 2009; Pape, 2005; Silke, 2003; M. Wessells, 2006). My interviews with parents

textured this argument and presented an alternative view of the stereotypes of all martyrs as young,

impressionable youth coaxed into violent resistance. Children do resist. But this takes on diverse and

unexpected forms—continuing to attend school despite barriers to access, playing in the streets

despite the threat of settler violence, engaging in protests against the separation barrier—in contrast

to the images highlighted in sensationalist media coverage.

Individual and Collective Identity Based on Place Upon the fine line separating hope and hopelessness, identity is formed. The loss of a beloved place,

or denial of access to certain meaningful places, may contribute to blurring of identity on one hand

to development of a strong ethno-national identity on the other hand. Considering this connection

to self-identity, a strong sense of territoriality becomes a means of establishing and maintaining one’s

sense of identity (Ittelson, Proshansky, Rivlin, Winkel, & Dempsey, 1974). This is also aligned with

Porteous’s (1976) and Lang’s (1987) theories that territoriality confers identity. This section

highlights how Palestinian identity is shaped by place and the implications of place identity on

children’s well-being.

“I am living in a heaven, but I can’t see anything”: Place identity and nationalism

The concept of place identity involves the process of understanding oneself based on place (Proshansky,

Fabian, & Kaminoff, 1983). It is a bidirectional process by which the place confers identity upon

one who inhabits, visits, and uses it, as well as the process by which one attributes identity to a place.

In the words of Feld and Basso (1996), “…as people fashion places, so, too, do they fashion

themselves” (p. 11). According to Bhabha (1994), identity is produced in spaces and places,

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becoming “the terrain for elaborating strategies of selfhood—singular or communal—that initiate

new signs of identity, and innovative sites of collaboration, and contestation” (p. 1). As Relph (1976)

explains, a sense of place can be viewed as “a profound association with places as cornerstones of

existence and individual identity” (p.63). Just as places shift, identities may be constantly shifting, but

they remain connected to particular meaningful places that may also be in motion (Peteet, 2005).

As discussed in previous chapters, places such as home, school, and neighborhood

communities all contribute to children’ sense of belonging in the world. Children are not only in

place, but they are of place. Studies confirm a strong relationship between place, identity and child

well-being. Olwig (2003a) conducted research with children from immigrant families in relation to

the development of their cultural identity. She found that younger children function believing that a

variety of places are important, indicating that they are in a culturally complex position in society

struggling to determine who they are and where they belong. Olwig’s research builds upon Ackroyd

and Pilkington’s (1999) study on the development of identity among children from immigrant

families living in Canada, which found that “children do not have one essential identity, but switch

identities in different contexts and, subject to diverse cultural influences, often produce new

identities” (p. 445). However, children’s sense of identity may vary for children living in their home

country versus those whose families have been forcibly displaced or those who are at risk of being

forcibly displaced, as is the case in Palestine. Similarly, Malone’s (2007a) research using a

comparative analysis of children living in two different Pacific island settings, argues for an

interpretation of place identity that includes the notion that children construct multiple and hybrid

identities in order to exist in highly complex local-global worlds. Nonetheless, as Olwig (2003a)

points out, in all cases, “Children draw on a variety of local, national and global sources of belonging

to create a social place of relevance in their context of life” (p. 232). For children’s identity is always

spatialized and place remains critical. Obviously, place is an important site and vehicle for children’s

construction of identity.

Palestinian identity is profoundly shaped by place. As Khalidi (1997) explains, the Palestinian

experience,

…takes place at a border, an airport, a checkpoint: in short, at any one of those many modern barriers where identities are checked and verified….For Palestinians, arrival at such barriers generates shared sources of profound anxiety….Borders are a problem for Palestinians since their identity…not only is subject to question by the powers that be; but also is in many contexts suspect almost by definition (p. 1-2).

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These identities are not connected to just singular places, but are rather “embedded in trajectories of

exile” (Peteet, 2005, p. 26), or the variety of places where Palestinians have lived and have been

displaced from over the course of history. Palestinian identity is still strongly connected to original

home villages, where families were displaced. Many families equated the home with a sense of family

history. For example, for 33-year-old Umm-Salim home was “the memory of our ancestors” (BA2).

The home represents a site where generations live, and identification with home is often passed

down through the generations beginning with young children. An example of this comes from a visit

to Balata refugee camp in 2010 when I asked some children where they were from. They said that

they were from Yaffa, a former Palestinian city that is now located in Israel. This would not be

unusual, except for the fact that these children had been born in Balata and had never been to Yaffa.

Nevertheless, the connection to Yaffa—a place where their grandparents identify as home—was a

part of their Palestinian identity. This finding echoes the literature on Palestinian’s place-making

experiences passed down from one generation to the next (Hammad, 2011; J. Hart, 2002; Peteet,

2005). In his study of Palestinian families, Ghabra (1988) has noted, “It is meaningless…to identify a

Palestinian family in isolation from its village or city of origin” (pp.79-80). Ghabra’s analysis also

indicates how Palestinian children are influenced by generational connections to place, as children

who have never even seen their ancestral homes still identify with these places, because memory of

this experience is passed down through the generations.

Palestinian identity is also tied to non-Palestinian spaces and places, symbols of more than

fifty years of occupation. There us a strong connection between identity and place in contexts of

political violence, which is a part of a Palestinian identity ethos that is passed down through the

generations through narrative and symbols, both which are heavily laden with meaning. The kûfîya is

the celebrated Palestinian headscarf used to once differentiate people by rank, region, sect, age,

gender, and (perhaps most significantly) which place they were from. It has now become a unifying

symbol of Palestinian resistance (Swedenburg, 2003). The mythical icon of the key, representing the

Palestinians’ lost homes and the right to return to the land of their ancestors is another place-related

symbol passed down from generation to generation (Zertal & Eldar, 2007).

Pride of place—represented in the large number of children’s drawings of the Palestinian

flag—coursed through the data. The children conveyed strong sense of national and cultural

identity, especially when drawing the Palestinian flag (see Figure 8.6).

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Figure 8.6: Children’s Depictions of the Palestinian Flag

Thirteen-year-old Khaled, who drew the flag on the bottom left, wrote: “My country flag is my life,

and I hope to be raised high” (VI3). Khaled’s words reflect both a pride of place and a hope for the

future. Even in their maps of their homes or neighborhood communities, Palestinian flags were

ubiquitous, such as in Figure 8.7 from eight-year-old Younes, whose drawing depicts two flags near

a line separating his home (at the top of the page) and neighborhood community (at the bottom of

the page). Figure 8.7 is unique in that Younes’ 22-year-old cousin, Hichem, helped him draw it.

While Younes was drawing, Hichem leaned over and drew a small Palestinian flag on the right side

of the drawing. Shortly after, Younes, followed Hichem’s lead and drew his own Palestinian flag.

This collaborative process exhibited one way in which Palestinian nationalism is passed down

through the generations.

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Figure 8.7: Younes’ and Hichem’s Map of Their Neighborhood Community

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The importance of affiliation with place was reaffirmed by the parents, who exert a great

deal of influence on their children. Palestinian children do not just learn about the history of

Palestine in school, but—and perhaps more importantly—they learn about this from their families. I

witnessed this during family interviews, when parents encouraged their children to explain the

family’s history. Palestinian history—from the Nakba to the present-day occupation—becomes a

part of the younger generation’s narrative of national identity. As Massey (1995a) notes, “The

identity of places is very much bound up with the histories which are told of them, how these

histories are told, and which history turns out to be dominant” (p. 186). Despite (or because of) the

push towards nationalism by older family members, the imagined image of nation was sacred for

these children.

Participants framing of the nation itself as home was also a notable characteristic. Home was

not only understood as the physical structure that the family lives in, but rather the broader nation-

state by which one connects one’s national identity. Like definitions of home, metaphors of nation-as-

home carried an air of naturalness for participants, representing birthplace, family, and community. In

this way, nation-as-home became a place to which one is naturally connected or tied to (Malkki,

1997). But, there are also contradictions of the nation-as-home ideal.

Starting from an early age, the core of Palestinian identity is questioned on a daily basis

especially at contentious areas such as checkpoints and the wall. Throughout the research, families

are caught in a pendulum-like process between negotiating the oppression related to being

Palestinian and searching for power in Palestine’s legacy and history. Abu-Majd from Hebron

eloquently explained how his home is connected to the broader nation-state:

Home means to me, the whole of Palestine. It’s Jerusalem, it’s my home, street, and it’s Hebron. And it’s Palestine. And Palestine is Jerusalem, Haifa, Akka, Tel-Al Rabi (Tel Aviv). Palestine is the most treasured place in the whole world: sea and rivers and hills and desert. There is no place that is the same. Intellectuals and poets describe Palestine as heaven, heaven on land. I’m living in a heaven, but I can’t see anything. I just see the injustice and oppression and attacking and harassment (H21).

Abu-Majd’s final two sentences represent the anomaly of nationalism, where affiliation with a

nation-state brings both protection and risk. He loves Palestine, but his commitment to it beings

hardship and suffering. In a different way, Figure 8.8 was created by 15-year-old Hosni, who had

recently been arrested and detained for three days by the Israeli military. His drawing depicts this

tension between nation-state as a site of both protection and risk.

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Figure 8.8: Hosni’s Drawing

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Hosni explained: “[This is] the Palestinian flag under siege, with barbed wire… [I drew it] to express

the restriction” (VI1). By including the Palestinian flag, Hosni expressed pride of place. He also

overlayed this with barbed wire, showing an awareness of the impact of occupation on the place of

the nation-state.

Conflict identity

In northern Ireland, Gilliam (2003) notes the link between identity and place amidst political

violence, where the direction that one enters and exits the city center as well as the bus that one

takes identifies if one lives in a certain place and is therefore Protestant or Catholic. Similarly, in

Palestine, identification with place—as a means to determine if one is Israeli or Palestinian—is also

common practice. American anthropologist Ted Swedenburg (2003) reflected on his experience

conducting fieldwork in the West Bank, when he was targeted by rock-throwing Palestinian youth

because of his yellow license plate (indicating his vehicle was registered in Israel) and Western

appearance, both of which identified him as a potential Israeli settler. Like Swedenburg, I was also

targeted during my fieldwork. I was insulted by an elderly Palestinian woman in the Nablus souk and

intentionally hit with a soccer ball by boys playing in the streets of East Jerusalem. I was told by one

Palestinian friend that when I wore my hair in a certain way, that I looked like a settler or when I

carried my khaki-colored luggage, I could be mistaken for an Israeli soldier. These reactions from

Palestinians were related to place, for I was treated differently in East Jerusalem than I was in

Nablus. In general, physical places—and by extension their related objects—are laden with meaning.

And in Palestine, place has a specific identity (i.e., belonging to one group or another), and its

designation and symbolism is of vital significance.

Place identity is intertwined with a dichotomous identification of who is good or evil, who is

a friend or an enemy, who is on our side and who is on their side. When Palestinians encounter

occupied spaces, they are inundated with symbols—Israeli soldiers, Israeli flags, identification

cards—that remind Palestinians that their land is occupied by the other. In this way, the

territorialization of Palestine creates markers of identity, separating us from them (Donnan & Wilson,

2001; Donnan, 2010; Wilson & Donnan, 1998).

Eight-year-old Moncef drew Figure 8.10 of his neighborhood community. In the center of

Moncef’s drawing is a wavy line separating Palestinians on the left from Israelis on the right.

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Figure 8.10: Moncef’s Neighborhood Community Map

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On the Palestinian side (from top to bottom) is a truck with a Palestinian flag, a trio of Palestinians

also holding a Palestinian flag, and a Palestinian figure wearing a red fez (traditional Arabic hat) and

holding onto misbaha (prayer beads). At the top of the “Israeli side” Moncef drew a settlement with

an Israeli flag flying above it and four Israeli soldiers on top, one holding a machine gun, then a

checkpoint surrounded by the words “no, no”. Moncef described the drawing as follows:

This is the police. There are the Arabs, the Palestinians. Like this is a checkpoint, and these are Palestinian young boys. They are not allowing them to move to here. … If you see this, this is the flag of Palestine (EJ3).

Moncef’s drawing depicts his encounters with symbols of the occupation, which represent the

protracted division between Israelis and Palestinians. The presence of the military reminds children

that Israel is in control of their land, their lives, and ultimately, their futures. The experience at a

checkpoint may be the only encounter with the other, who they have primarily heard about from

parents and other adults. Christou and Spyrou (2012) have called this experience “a direct and

symbolically powerful encounter with alterity” (p. 308). This may be children’s only exposure to

Israelis, and, unfortunately, the experience is rarely positive.56 Therefore, as children such as Moncef

develop, they become highly politicized, internalize the us-versus-them dichotomy, and thereby carry

with them particular understandings of Israel and Israelis.

Gilliam’s (2003) notion of conflict identity—participation in violence based on an identity

attributed to affiliation with place—fits well with this example. In Gilliam’s research with children in

northern Ireland, conflict identities are considered inherited and have serious implications for

children’s involvement in political violence. Because these children are in subordinate positions in

regards to their knowledge about the conflict, they accept the identity ascribed to them by their

caregivers or other adults. A conflict identity makes children automatic participants in the conflict

and gives them predetermined groups of allies and enemies. Gilliam builds upon Lave and Wenger’s

(1991) research by describing these children’s roles as that of “legitimate peripheral participants” (p.

32) in the violence. Place-related identity gives these children the motivation to remain involved in

resistance until they are fully engaged as active and competent adult participants.

56 I asked all families to tell me about a positive experience with an Israeli, but none were able to. In a related example, my research assistant in the West Bank had never met an Israeli before participating in my research project. In fact, meeting with an Israeli was a source of anxiety for her throughout the research project.

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Within the context of Palestine, conflict identity is best illustrated by describing the violence

between the Palestinians and the Israeli settlers in the beleaguered city of Hebron. Settler children,

who attend school along the same street as Palestinian schoolchildren regularly harass, chase, hit and

throw stones at Palestinian schoolchildren. Their parents and other caregivers encourage this

behavior, blocking school entrances with their cars so that Palestinian students cannot pass or

setting their dogs loose to chase young children (DCI, 2008). Within the small and violent space of

Hebron, settler children and Palestinian children quickly learn which side of the conflict they belong

to based on their conflict identity. Hebron has become a place where parents’ participation in or

condoning of violent activities ensures that these children are legitimate peripheral participants now

and will become fully engaged participants in the future. These instances confirm that identification

with place is intensely intertwined with potential participation in political violence, even for young

children.

Conclusions Analysis of the data uncovered multiple themes and illustrated how participants negotiated place in

the context of extreme adversity. The families indicated much suffering from the layers of Israel’s

matrix of control. However, children and families also coped with and resisted the limitations posed

by the complex and ever-present system of borders. As Boyden and De Berry (2004b) note in their

anthology of children and youth affected by war, war does not inevitably destroy all that it touches.

Rather, there were ways in which these children and families resist oppression in their everyday

experiences.

Interviews revealed a tension between hope and hopelessness that pervaded many of the

children’s drawings. For these children, oppression, violence, and hopelessness are a prominent part

of their daily lives, and therefore very real and tangible concepts. Between the opposing forces of

hope and hopelessness stands Palestine—home, community, nation, identity, everything.

Kuttab (2013a) has noted that a major ingredient for another popular uprising in Palestine is

a sense of hopelessness.57 Combined with increased settler activity—indicating that Israel has no

57 Though there have been recent calls by the Palestinian Uprising Youth Coalition and various Gaza-based resistance factions for a third intifada against the longstanding occupation, it should be noted that many Palestinian political

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intention of ceding Palestinian land—these elements produce high levels of helplessness and

desperation, “key ingredients for an angry outburst” (para. 11). Paradoxically, the potential for an

uprising also represents a form of hope: hope that Palestinians can change their situation by rising

up and resisting. The bigger question is what role children will take in future resistance, and what the

potential effects will be on their well-being.

Ackroyd and Pilkington (1999) suggest that we should view children as having a right to

construct their own cultural identities. By being located in space and time, physical locales became

“lived spaces” (Soja, 1997), or sites for the cultural production of identity (Matthews, Limb, &

Taylor, 2000). Palestinian children’s strong connection to their nation-state helped to ground them

by contributing to their sense of identity related to place. For the children in my study, Palestine was

the source of their nationality and citizenship, but also the source of their sense of belonging and

sense of place in this world. The children’s drawings also highlighted how at an early age, Palestinian

children are highly politicized and have internalized the us-versus-them dichotomy. This may

contribute to the process of enemy imaging, a process of surpassing realistic images and

constructing an opponent as brutal and inhuman and therefore likely to do harm (Rieber, 1991).

Using dehumanized language strips away the human qualities of the enemy and creates a sense of

polarization. Enemy imaging includes an aspect of moral exclusion, further romanticizing the us-

versus-them dichotomy.

Christou and Spyrou (2012) suggest that children are sometimes able to transcend an us-

versus-them dichotomy and “offer understandings which suggest the possibility of mutual

understanding and a sense of common humanity” (pp. 310-311). They continue to explain how

children can “embody nationalist discourses of fear, mistrust and prejudice towards the other while

occasionally also adopting alternative, more empathetic, understandings of this same other which are

rooted in their experiences of inter-ethnic encounters” (p. 305). I found this in examples from family

interviews, when parents insisted that they did not hate Israelis, but hated Israeli policies.

analysts have rules out this possibility on the basis that Palestine does not have a strong political leadership needed for an organized revolt.

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9 IMPLICATIONS AND RECOMMENDATIONS FOR SOCIAL WORK PRACTICE, POLICY, AND RESEARCH

This dissertation explored the concept and meaning of place for Palestinian children and families

living under occupation and experiencing political violence in post-second intifada Palestine. By

exploring this concept, I also addressed how and to what extent the occupation and political

violence affects Palestinian children and families’ relationships with place and how different kinds of

places—home, school, neighborhood communities, and nation-state—protect or do not protect

children and families. In exploring these areas, the previous chapters highlighted violence from the

occupation and its normalization within the lives of Palestinian children and families. Ultimately, I

explored the tensions posed by the many contradictions of place that Palestinians face as they

navigate and negotiate spaces and places in the face of political violence, which I have included in

Figure 9.1 below.

Figure 9.1: Contradictions in place

Contradiction in Place

Social / Physical Place Positive Element

AND

Negative Element

Family / Home Castle Cage

Education / School Protective Risky

Neighborhood Community Positive Negative

Nation-State Hope Anger

The first column indicates the levels of the ecological system that were explored in the research, and

include both the social and physical elements (or people and place). The second column indicates

both the positive and negative elements that form the contradiction in place. However, the

contradiction does not include one element or the other, but rather both, indicated by “AND” in

the figure. This chapter will revisit and summarize these contradictions, outline the major

implications, and make suggestions for social work practice, policy and research.

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Participants expressed a tension between home as a castle and a cage. It is a castle in that it

represents a place for the family, is a center for individual and collective identity, and offers a layer

of protection for children and families. Yet, families noted that the home was unhealthy, unsafe, and

like a prison. However, the home can serve as a virtual cage or prison for family members who are

not allowed or choose not to go outside the home for fear of being exposed to the violence in the

surrounding environment. To borrow an analogy from Allen (2013), for these children and families,

their homes may be as restrictive as the sealed and divisive borders that continue to trap Palestinians

in a geopolitical cage. Yet, the same families stated that they would defend their home at all costs. If

families were forced to leave their homes, there would be dramatic psychosocial effects on the

individual and the family.

The place of schools poses several risks for children in Palestine including the potential for

violence perpetrated by Israeli settlers and/or military when traveling to and from school, as well as

violence within the school itself. Paradoxically, despite these multiple risks, the one glimmer of hope

for many of the participants was protection offered by education. On this, many will not give up, for

giving up on education would be giving up on hope.

Neighborhood communities are often conceptualized as positive places for children’s

development and well-being. They can provide a safe and secure context from which children can

explore their world beyond the home, with neighbors and other community members sharing in the

responsibility of helping to raise children. Even when neighborhood communities face challenges

such as the occupation and its related violence, some families noted that the act of “suffering

together” brought families together, creating more resilient neighborhood communities. However,

the data also showed that neighborhood communities can also be negative due to violence, distrust,

and corruption, which all have an impact on children’s well-being. Exploratory analysis of children’s

neighborhood maps showed that children who live in neighborhood communities categorized as

being highly violent are afforded neither access nor opportunity to explore places beyond the home.

This potentially leads to children living in a restrictive place where they are unable to learn about the

world around them and their place within this world.

Palestinian families in the post-second intifada era face multiple challenges to their well-being,

identity, and future. As Palestinians and Israelis engage in yet another round of peace talks, hope for

peace is in short supply. Palestinian families have reached a state of unrelenting weariness,

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hopelessness, and anger when dealing with the everyday violence related to the occupation. Yet

there is also a sense of hope, which plays out in everyday resilience and resistance. In the small space

separating anger and hope, lies one’s sense of self and identification with place. The place of the

nation-state generates and reinforces deep feelings linked to one’s sense of self. Yet, herein rests a

contradiction in place. For Palestinian children and families maintain a sense of self that vacillates

between Palestine as a source of pride, which can often lead to practices that contribute to the us-

versus-them dichotomy. At the same time, their identification with Palestine also contributes to an

anger and hopelessness that they are stuck in a stagnant reality with no hope of change.

Implications of Research Place

In this study, place represented both a material and an emotional need, conferring a sense of

physical and social well-being. Place provides physical well-being by providing a healthy and safe

living environment conducive for children and families to grow and thrive. Place contributed to

psychosocial well-being by developing a sense of feeling at home in a place that inspires, uplifts, and

stimulates and which deserves loyalty and commitment. For children, the environments of home,

school, community, and nation-state can be places of safety conducive for children’s well-being.

However, as this study showed, within the context of political violence, a place’s positive aspect may

be compromised and therefore well-being may be compromised.

The research findings point to the distinct intersection between children and families’

engagement with places, the impact of this engagement on their understandings of place, and the

political uses of space (e.g., territoriality). This resonates with the human and political geography

literature, which has delved into the strong reciprocal entanglements among people, place and

behavior (Anderson, 2004; Casey, 2009; Pile & Keith, 1997; Sharp, Routledge, Philo, & Paddison,

2000). As Morley (2001) notes:

If the home, the neighborhood and the nation are all potential spaces of belonging, this is no simple matter of disconnected, parallel processes. Each of these spaces conditions the others… (p. 433).

The nature of children’s and families’ interactions and discourses conveyed a deep understanding of

experience, raised issues, and unraveled rich contradictions within contested places.

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The research has also revealed the contradictory ways that place is experienced by families in

different settings. Indeed, no one place is the same, and the data certainly indicated as much. For

example, children and families living in refugee camps experienced crowded living conditions within

their homes, schools, and neighborhood communities, which made them dislike these physical

places. Families living in these settings, especially the children, conveyed a sense of resentment for

their environment and the desire to live in a better place. In contrast, families living in spacious

villages expressed a sense of attachment to their home places and neighborhood communities,

stating that they would defend these places at all costs. The comparison between places could also

be divided along lines of Area A, B, and C, as well as East Jerusalem. For example, families living in

Area C (60% of the West Bank) face distinct challenges in their environments, which was reflected

in their relationship with place. Being in close proximity to settlers is perhaps the most obvious

challenge to families living in Area C. Families in Area C face violence from settlers and the potential

demolition of their homes, schools, and neighborhood communities if these places interfere with the

settler’s plans to expand their communities.

Place in social work

Place has yet to be conceptualized as a concept in and of itself within the discipline of social work.

Based on this research, I suggest that the concept of place must be considered a vital element in

understanding issues relevant to social work. Grange (1985) suggests that considering the concept of

place is one means to examine the person-in-environment model—a central tenet of social work

research and practice—thereby solidifying the importance of a study of place within the discipline of

social work. But as this research indicates, place must be viewed as broader than the person-in-

environment model. In Figure 9.2, Gamble (2013) suggests that social work revise the traditional

person-in-environment model, which focuses primarily on how the social environment affects

individual problems and how individuals can adapt to social pressures and examines how the

nurturing environment (e.g., family, classmates, community) can be changed to ameliorate individual

problems. She suggests a twenty-first-century revision of this model that understands the dynamic,

reciprocal and interactive relationships that exist between persons and their social, economic,

political, and natural environments.

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Figure 9.2: Suggested revision of traditional person-in-environment model

Source: (Gamble, 2013)

My research addresses this gap in social work and reflects Gamble’s (2013) suggestion by

acknowledging both people and place as important environmental elements that dynamically

influence children’s lives in the challenging context of political violence.

A theoretical focus on the concept and meaning of place is aligned with social work’s

commitment to,

recognize the complexity of interactions between human beings and their environment, and the capacity of people both to be affected by and to alter the multiple influences upon them including bio-psychosocial factors (IFSW, 2000).

Findings suggest that social work must consider place as an important element of social work

practice, research, and policy. For example, social work practitioners should include the physical

environment in assessments of individuals, families, groups, and organizations.

An increased focus on place within the ecological perspective of social work does not

represent a shift from primary focus on the person to a primary focus on the environment (Strom-

Gottfried, 2002). These two elements are not separate, and therefore the dynamic, reciprocal and

interactive relationships between person and place must be considered. In doing so, social workers

can gear their problem-solving efforts towards helping people to adapt to their environments,

altering environments to meet the needs of the individual, or a combination of these. As one

example within the context of Palestine, social workers who address place with children and families

can assist a family in improving the home environment so it is safe and healthy for children.

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Family

This research emphasizes people and place as important environmental elements for children and

families. Indeed, families are a vital component of children’s protective environment, especially in

the context of political violence. The family’s contribution to the safety of children is two-fold. First

the family contributes members to children’s protective social environment. Secondly, family

members create the physical home environment, conducive to physical protection.

However, the family may not always support a child’s well-being. Building upon Ager’s

(2006) definition of family, family is not always positive for children. Though this research did not

specifically address instances of family violence, it may still exist (even in the families that I

interviewed) and can negatively impact children and their relationship with their environment. For

example, children who experience family violence may feel that their home is a cage as opposed to a

castle.

Resilience

Research examining the effects of political violence on children has traditionally centered on the

negative outcomes associated with trauma exposure (Barber & Schluterman, 2008). A focus on

negative outcomes follows the traditional focus on a Western, deficits-based medical mode, where

the pattern is a reliance upon negative psychopathology, such as posttraumatic stress disorder. This

leads to conceptualizations of children affected by political violence as “a lost generation” (see, for

example, UNICEF's recent report (2013) on Syrian children).

Although my research addressed an abundance of difficulties facing Palestinian children and

families today, the findings also indicate that there is “another side of the coin” (Almedom, 2005),

and children still possess the ability to grow, survive, and thrive in the face of adversity. Yes,

children are still susceptible to the multiple threats of living in political violence, and unfortunately,

there are those that are adversely affected in multiple ways and to differing extents. Yet, there must

be due attention paid to the power of the human spirit to rise above trauma. Focusing on pathology

and traumatology ratifies and completes a world without beauty, transcendence, or mercy. The

children and families in this study reveal the reality that individuals can persevere when faced with

the challenges of living with violence. One way to do this is to focus on how children and families

negotiate their social and physical environments in order to overcome and adapt to adversity and

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create a better future. We can also understand resilience better if we can understand how children

and families interact together in places and collectively engage in resilience.

Human rights and social justice

Through the embodiment of several social work tenets, this research illustrates the diversity of social

work, expanding our thinking about what populations we work with and where we can work. A

focus on Palestinian children and families affected by political violence relates to social work’s

mandate to address the needs of extremely marginalized populations. This has implications for

human rights and social justice, which are fundamental themes in social work (Reichert, 2003). A

major concern in social work is that over time it has moved away from its human rights and social

justice mission (Chambon, Irving, & Epstein, 1999). I believe that this research returns social work

to its core commitment to provide a voice to those who are marginalized and face extreme inequity.

Social work can also address issues such as human rights violations and social justice issues

at the interface where the “us” and the “them” meet. One example of this came near the end of my

fieldwork in 2012. I had arranged to meet with an Israeli NGO worker, Amanda, and I asked my

Palestinian research assistant, Nawel, to accompany me. Nawel expressed anxiety at the prospect of

meeting Amanda, for she would be the first Israeli that Nawel had ever met. I was cognizant of

Nawel’s trepidation, and she explained:

[I am] a little bit worried, because it’s the first time [to meet an Israeli]…. [I] don’t know how to say it, but there is space, there is space between us. Like we don’t want to interact, but if I saw [an] Israeli, I would treat him as like he’s a human. Like, he’s a human. But I don’t want to. But personally I don’t want to deal with that. Something inside [me], I don’t (KI6).

I checked in with Nawel often throughout the journey to meet with Amanda. After the interview,

Nawel and I discussed her feelings about meeting Amanda, and she explained how she was

pleasantly surprised how nice Amanda was. Even though it was a difficult process for her, Nawel

acknowledged how she had a changed view of Israelis, albeit slightly.

Nawel’s experience illustrates how she entered the gray interface, between Israelis and

Palestinians and was transformed as a result of the process. Through trying to address human rights

and social justice at this interface, there will inevitably be some kind of change. I myself have been

changed by this research, and I hope that others are as well.

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The importance of multidisciplinary research

The field of social work has historically benefited from the development of what Chambon and

colleagues (1999) have identified as “differentiated knowledge” (p. xv). The trend toward integrating

multidisciplinary theories, approaches, and practices is a key tradition in social work. Yet social work

has yet to learn from other disciplines’ understanding of place and the physical environment.

Drawing from fields such as education, environmental psychology, human geography, and political

science, social work can begin to address the social issues of today. By drawing from multiple

disciplines, the complexity of the experiences of children in families in Palestine can be better

illuminated. Solutions can therefore be developed at the intersection of disciplines, where different

knowledge meets. Today’s problems are extremely complex, and therefore our only hope of

resolving them is cross-academic cooperation.

Innovative methodologies

My use of innovative methodologies shows how social work can creatively try to understand and

address important social issues. Using a rapid ethnographic approach (Mignone et al., 2009), the

research explored and used local and indigenous knowledge, rather than imposing outsider

approaches. A combination of methods—narrative, drawing, and mapmaking—helped to better

understand children and families’ experiences and open up new avenues to discover how children’s

lives are shaped by place within the context of adversity. Finally, through grounded theory analysis

(Charmaz, 2006; Glaser & Strauss, 1967), my research pondered place from the ground up—or to

borrow the social work phrase “starting where children and families are at”—from the site of the

family unit to explore where the experience of place intersects with political violence.

Recommendations Research must be linked to practice and policy. Examining the way that children and families

experience place in the context of occupation informs the way that practice and policy—ranging

from the micro-level to the macro-level—can be developed and improved. Based on the above

research, this section details several recommendations for social work practice and policy.

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Include adults when researching children’s lives

In scholarship on research with children, it has been argued that adults have a dominant role in

children’s lives (Kitzinger, 1997) and can therefore adversely impact the research. There has been a

movement to address this form of “adultism” by encouraging child participation. This has resulted

in an emphasis on individual models of childhood, with a focus on the experiences of the individual

child and children becoming the sole interpreters of their own standpoints. Fielding (2007) has

criticized this approach, noting the “too sharp and too exclusive a focus on the standpoints of young

people” (p, 304). Ironically, the shift towards children participation, as a means to contest adultism,

has resulted in an eclipsing of adult voices and marginalization of adult voices (Franklin, 1997;

Wyness, 2012).

Children’s participation and adults participation is seen as being incompatible. For example,

Franklin’s (1997) typology of child participation illustrates a shift in power with more children’s

participation giving way to less involvement by adults. In other words, children’s participation is

inversely proportional to adults’ participation.

But it isn’t either/or, as this research shows. Children’s participation is not a means by which

to challenge adults’ power. Rather, if it is to be genuine, it must also include adults as a part of

children’s social environment. Children’s participation in research doesn’t have to be—and, based

on my research, I would argue should not be—independent of their families. Children’s experiences

are constantly shaped and influenced by those around them. Understanding children from an

ecological perspective demands that siblings, caregivers, and other members of a child’s social

environment contribute to the research as well. As this research illustrates, research with children

should take into account the form and nature of children’s relationships with adults, better

addressing the interdependent relationship between children and adults in a range of diverse settings

(Wyness, 2012).

Therefore a strength of this research is that it included adults as partners, contributors,

actors, and co-creators of children’s and family’s narrative. This relocates children’s participation in

research within an ecological framework, offering the possibility of understanding the complexity of

children’s lives as they negotiate their worlds.

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Focus on the family for child protection and well-being

Children and families in this study confronted multiple challenges ranging from poverty to everyday

violence. In contexts of political violence, the research indicates that it is important to address

individual and families’ multiple layers of need such as the material need for shelter, as well as the

psychosocial need for safety, connection with others, and hope. This research points to the

importance of multiple systems contributing (or not contributing) to the protection of children.

Framed by the ecological framework, child protection can be viewed through these nested systems

of family, school, neighborhood community, and nation-state. Organizations working with children

can capitalize on the ways that these systems already protect children, rather than creating new

programs that replace these systems.

Emphasis on family relationships is a critical aspect of any programs or policies for children

in political violence. Families are considered to be responsible for their children’s health, nutrition,

living environment, development and protection. Places that are considered to be safe for children

integrate this ecosystemic approach to supporting children of all ages, involving the whole family,

especially caregivers. Ecological approaches stress the importance of social influences at multiple

levels—individual, family, school, community, and society—on children’s development.

Yet in contexts of instability, parents are often so preoccupied with the basic tasks of

survival or reestablishing their lives that they are unable to provide their children with the support

necessary for healthy development. For younger children, the presence of a caring and competent

adult is one of the most important factors for a child’s protection and well-being. More specifically,

the well-being of children is strongly correlated with the well-being of their caregivers, who are

typically responsible for their children’s care and protection. This relationship is cultivated from

pregnancy on, as mother and child respond to each other in terms of physical healthy, nutrition, and

mental health. Once the child is born, the relationship continues through breastfeeding, language,

play, interaction, and love. In these contexts, sibling caregivers also play an important role in the

development of their young siblings.

Future programs for children should attempt to directly engage with all members of the

child’s household. Families can help guide and shape programs for their children. They also benefit

from becoming involved with program development because they can make suggestions that can be

integrated into their existing routines and which will therefore be more successful and sustainable. In

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most cultures, including the family is a sign of respect, giving families a sense of purpose during a

time when they are overworked and overburdened by unstable circumstances. In addition, families

should receive consistent support and information. It is important to recognize that violence might

not be the most pressing concern for families, who face additional challenges such as poverty and

unemployment.

Understand the value of listening to children and families

This research began by critically examining the restrictive impact that the Israeli occupation has on

children and families’ everyday geographies, with particular attention to how they experience the

places of home, school, neighborhood community, and nation-state. But it ends, I hope, with the

need to take a moment to listen to the powerful narratives of children and families. A valuable

finding from this study is the importance of listening to children and families reflecting upon their

experiences living with and navigating occupation and violence. Through their voices and the

production of visual materials, Palestinian children and families eloquently conveyed their

perceptions, beliefs, and attitudes towards living in a highly contested and violent place. They

expressed both current struggles, while also conveying a sense of tempered hope. While conveying

an awareness of the potential that retelling stories may in fact re-traumatize, children and families’

expressions can be viewed as a therapeutic means of healing by having their story officially

recognized. Encouraging families to talk about their homes, schools, neighborhood communities,

and nation-state recognizes their everyday circumstances and provides comfort that someone is

listening. Perhaps, for my sample of families, the process of sharing their experiences made them

feel as if they were participating in an alternative making of the story of the conflict.

Use family narratives to challenge human rights violations

Family narratives tend to include heavy reference to place. For example, in this research, there was a

strong emphasis on the importance of the home as well as the nation-state. Therefore, family

narratives can provide a valuable record of places that have been destroyed and are now only

contained in the family’s memory. These histories can prevent against what Porteous and Smith

(2001) identify as memoricide or “the loss of individual feelings about a place that could otherwise

disappear forever” (p. 223).

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Documenting the experiences of children and families can help to provide examples through

which to challenge human rights violations. Family narratives can contribute to the evidence by

which to prosecute those who violate human rights. Porteous and Smith (2001) suggest that the use

of family histories “is now leading to victim-offender mediation based on a tradition of restorative

justice, which believes that relationships must be mended” (p. 221). This has implications for peace

building, which social workers are well-placed to address.

Engage neighborhood communities to protect children and families

Important places, such as home, school, neighborhood community, and nation-state should be

considered as vital components when assessing well-being, understanding the complicated

association between the family and place in contributing to children’s protective environment, and

considering places of power(lessness) as sites where children are learning who they are and what

they will become in relation to their families, communities, and greater society.

Even when living in stressful circumstances, communities still have structures and capacities

with which to cope and that are aligned with their ideals, values, and relationships. Although coping

mechanisms may be undermined during times of crisis, the community does not lose its capacity for

developing solutions and rebuilding community life. However, when working with communities, it

should also be acknowledged that not everyone in the community has the community’s collective

interests at heart. As this research indicates there were several instances when neighbors did not

trust their neighbors, and there were feelings of jealousy and animosity. Political violence tears apart

the social fabric of communities. Therefore, efforts should be made to support communities in

order to protect children and families.

Community mobilization around children’s needs has always been key to the development

and sustainability of child protection. Programs should be organized and maintained by community

members, who the greater community views as being trustworthy, motivated, and who others turn

to in regards to children’s needs. Engaging communities to identify the needs of children from the

start of program development helps protect and support children and mobilize communities.

Community leaders, parents, and women’s and youth groups should be engaged in the process of

establishing safe spaces through discussions about what would help support children. These

discussions encourage collective planning for the development of safe spaces, while also placing

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emphasis on the importance of children within the community and promoting protection of its

children. Collective planning facilitates the empowerment of adults and creates a sense of self-

control in uncertain and disempowering circumstances.

Recognize place as a human right and destruction of place as a human rights violation

When people lose control of where they live—due to violence inside or outside the home or by the

complete loss of home—they have lost fundamental human rights (Bales, 1999). Yet most of the

international human rights frameworks do not specifically address access to home or neighborhood

communities as a human right, and therefore the loss of these important places does not constitute a

human rights violation. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) (1948) does not

provide specific principles to protect those whose homes have been destroyed. The right to a home

is vaguely referred to in Articles 9 (“No one shall be subjected to arbitrary … exile”), 12 (“No one

shall be subjected to arbitrary interference with his … home”), and 17 (“No one shall be arbitrarily

deprived of his property”). The meaning of the word arbitrary impacts the way that articles are

interpreted especially in the context of Palestine, where Israeli authorities argue that their actions are

legal under Israeli law and have followed due process.

Like the UDHR, the United Nations Conferences on Human Settlements also does not

explicitly address loss of home. It does, however, call for

…recognition that a human settlement is more than a grouping of people, shelter, and workplaces; the basic human right of people to participate in shaping the policies that affect their lives; and for high priority to be given to the rehabilitation of expelled and homeless people who have been displaced by natural and human-induced catastrophes.

According to the UN’s Convention on the Rights of the Child (1989), children have a right to good

housing. Therefore, an unsafe home environment as a result of political violence should also be

reframed as a violation of children’s rights. Additionally, considering the above research, restricted

place access—which turns a child’s home into a cage as opposed to a castle—should also be

considered a violation to children’s well-being in the context of political violence.

The United Nations (2009) has identified six grave violations against children in situations of

conflict, which are classified as war crimes. These grave violations include: (1) killing or maiming of

children; (2) recruitment or use of children as soldiers; (3) attacks against schools or hospitals; (4)

denial of humanitarian access for children; (5) abduction of children; and (6) rape and other grave

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sexual abuse of children. The listing and enforcement of these violations creates a mechanism to

punish offenders for war crimes. Yet, the exclusion of destruction of home within this listing is a

major lapse in the protection of children, especially young children whose well-being is centered

around the home. In addition, home demolitions of families within the context of political violence

violates the Fourth Geneva Convention (Articles 33 and 53) and various clauses on the Convention

on the Rights of the Child, which guarantees that children have the right to an adequate standard of

living. Advocacy around inclusion of intentional destruction of home as a serious violation against

children is one step towards consideration of place as vitally linked to children’s well-being.

Furthermore, consideration of home demolitions as a violation of the family’s rights—in addition to

children’s right—broadens the scope of the impact on the social ecological system.

Suggestions for a Future Research Agenda As cursory exploration, this dissertation represents one layer of a more extensive inquiry of the

impact of place in the lives of children and families affected by political violence. There are certainly

more layers to investigate. For example, this same research could be carried out in different contexts

of political violence around the globe to increase the relevance of the results in multiple cross-

cultural contexts. Though this research is only applicable to the context of Palestine, there are

broader implications of this topic in other contexts outside of Palestine, such as in Syria, Democratic

Republic of Congo, Burma, and other settings where children and families are being displaced from

their homes and neighborhood communities. I believe that place-based research can be conducted

with a variety of populations such as unaccompanied refugee minors, children and families in

refugee camps in protracted conflict settings, homeless street children, and child-headed households

to name a few.

From a methodological perspective, future research should expand upon the use of the

innovative methodologies used in this research project. This research used family interviews, which

are a new method of data collection. Future research should continue to explore this method of data

collection. In order to avoid potential groupthink that may result from a family interview, I suggest

that this method be combined with individual interviews with family members at the conclusion of

the family interview or on a subsequent day. In this way, the family interview can be used as a means

to develop trust, observe family interactions, and provide a sense of the areas to explore in

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individual interviews. Individual interviews would allow the researcher to explore issues in more

detail than a family interview allows.

I also recommend that future research integrate GPS as a method to explore people’s

relationship with their environment. Although GPS in this study was used as an exploratory method,

the data is promising. Future research could expand the use of GPS to a larger sample size and

include methodological elements such as comparison groups. Children could be provided with GPS

units, which would record their everyday mobilities—the places children visit and avoid—

independent of the researcher, providing a more full picture of children’s experience with place. For

children in war-affected settings, GPS monitoring poses particular ethical and philosophical issues,

which I discussed in Chapter 4; there is the potential danger of recording locations in an

environment that is constantly under surveillance, as well as the potential to contribute to children’s

feelings of restricted freedom as a result of being under constant surveillance. Despite these

concerns, GPS still represents a promising research method that can contribute to our

understanding of the lives of children in settings such as Palestine.

This research showed that there were differences between the place experiences for children

living in different settings such as Balata refugee camp versus the old city of Hebron. Future

research should specifically focus on differences between different kinds of places in Palestine—

village, city, refugee camp, as well as Areas A, B, and C—and how children access and use these

places. Future research could also explore the detrimental effects of loss of place for children and

families. Perhaps most useful to support claims of human rights violations would be a research that

both quantifies the prevalence of home demolitions and qualifies the effects on children and

families. Indeed, there is much to be done to explore new concepts, critique the scholarly field, and

engage more fully with the concept and meaning of place and its relationship to children and

families affected by political violence.

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10 EPILOGUE

Palestinian artist Naji Al-Ali is famous for his cartoon drawing of the iconic Handala,58 a simple and

tough ten-year-old. The fact that Handala is depicted as a child is no coincidence. Al-Ali drew him as

a symbolic representation of himself as a child frozen in time. Ali-Ali wanted Handala to represent

the oppression that the Palestinians face and the high price that Palestinian children pay as a result

of this oppression. Handala depicts the struggles that children face from an early age into adulthood,

with helpless adults looking on with little power to alleviate their burdens. Al-Ali drew Handala with

bare feet, to represent the children in the Palestinian refugee camps, and with hedgehog-like hair,

because the hedgehog uses its thorny hair like a weapon. And he always has his hands clasped

behind his back while observing some scene of Israeli cruelty or Arab hypocrisy. In this way,

Handala represents both witness and participant. He not only watches what is happening, but he

actively defies these events. Al-Ali proves that being a child does not prohibit one from thinking

about the cause of oppression and ways to overcome it.

Even though Al-Ali was assassinated in 1987,59 the image of Handala survives first as the

image of the universal Palestinian child, but also as a national and global symbol. Handala images are

everywhere in Palestine: in graffiti on walls, on key chains and T-shirts, and scribbled on the covers

of student notebooks. Figure 10.1 shows a photo I took in 2010 of the Handala figure on the wall of

a middle school in Balata refugee camp. The universalism of Handala is due to Al-Ali’s simple, clear

and easy to understand drawings. He noted that “the greatest struggle is continuity in spite of all

contradictions” (Al-Ali, 1984), and his cartoons addressed this by representing life in stark black and

white, with characters playing the contradictions between good/evil, beautiful/ugly, poor/rich,

justice/injustice, and strong/weak. He explained that Handala’s face would be revealed when

Palestinians eventually regained dignity, freedom, and humanity.

58 Handala means bitterness in Arabic. 59 At the age of 50, Naji Al-Ali was shot in the right temple outside the London office of the Kuwaiti newspaper Al Qabas. His murderer has never been apprehended.

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Figure 10.1: Handala figure on wall of school in Balata refugee camp

Since I began this research four years ago, the conflict in the region is still unresolved and

very resistant to a solution. The wider conflict involving Syria, Lebanon, Iran, and Iraq threatens to

redraw the modern map of the region. It is no wonder that both Palestinians and Israelis are fighting

to keep their homes, land, and nation-state. In Palestine, settlement and military activities continue

unabated. Palestinians are divided and exhausted, with current rates of violence comparatively high.

Israel has been described as “embracing a castle mentality” (Rudoren, 2014), building a nation-state

protected by layers of walls, fences, and policies. In this way, Israel itself is both a castle and a cage,

protected by these layers, but also trapping those within and eliminating all interaction with those on

the outside. The very means by which Palestinians and Israelis make their places castles, they also

make these places cages.

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Within the West Bank over the last few months, the Israeli military has killed several

Palestinians in overnight raids in refugee camps in the West Bank (Rudoren, 2013b), heightening

tensions around nascent United States-brokered peace talks. Overall, Palestinians have very little

faith in these negotiations, especially since Israel continues to build settlements in Palestinian land.

Israel has said that they are willing to negotiate—though not about the potential borders of a

Palestinian state—as long as no agreements compromise Israeli security. But when demolishing

homes and denying freedom of movement is packaged as being in the name of Israel’s security,

where is the room for negotiation and, more importantly, human rights?

Amidst all of this, children seem like a small pebble in a huge conflict, easily trampled and

forgotten. Yet, this research showed that they and their families also represent hope and

perseverance through everyday practices, such as going to school, getting married, and having

children. This is a perfect example of sumud in the face of generations of struggle.

After completing the first stage of my fieldwork in 2010, I left my hotel in East Jerusalem to

find a taxi to take me to the Jordanian border. While waiting at the taxi stand, I saw a large gathering

outside Damascus Gate, one of the largest entrances to the Old City. I asked a bystander what was

happening, and he said that the Israeli military had closed the Al-Aqsa Mosque—one of the holiest

sites for Muslims—after rumors that there was going to be a protest. For some Palestinians who

come to pray at the Al-Aqsa Mosque, they must wait months, or even years, to get a permit from the

Israeli government to visit Jerusalem. There were men—grandfathers and fathers, accompanied by

their teenage and young sons—pleading with Israeli officers to let them enter to Old City to pray.

But the military was steadfast. My initial thought was that a denial of people's right to pray might

cause more protests, and defeat Israel's intent to quell a protest, yet another example of a Israeli

policy that exacerbates the opposite of its stated intent. When the call to prayer started, they got as

close to the walls of the Old City as possible, and started praying, some kneeling in the dirt without

prayer mats. Calm overcame the area, as they bowed down in unison, praying. When the imam

began his sermon, all the Palestinians listened intently. Some expected the sermon to address the

injustice of not being able to visit their most religious site on the holiest day of the week. But instead

the imam spoke about compassion and asked that their prayers be accepted even though they could

not be inside the walls of the mosque. He said, "Someday, we will live in a place where it doesn't

matter what color your skin is, or where you're from." And the group answered a collective "Amen."

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APPENDIX A: FAMILY BIOGRAPHIES

The following are biographies for each family interviewed during fieldwork in 2012, summarized from my field notes. Page numbers following each biography indicate where in the text the family or individual family members are mentioned.

BA1 Forty-year-old Umm-Hafid and her family live in an apartment located on the second floor of a newly constructed building on the western edge of Balata refugee camp. Umm-Hafid and her children—16-year-old Maha, 12-year-old Meriem, eight-year-old Hafid, and four-year-old Usama—were warm and friendly. Umm-Hafid’s husband, who was working as a butcher in the nearby market, was not present for the interview. We conducted the interview in the living room, which was clean, neat, and orderly with no decorations or photos in the walls. Umm-Hafid was the center of family activity and adored by her children, which was confirmed when Maha exclaimed, “My mother is the best mother!” The children were shy at first, but quickly became more outgoing during the interview, especially four-year-old Usama who was so proud of his drawings that he would frequently interrupt the conversation to show them to everyone. During the course of the interview, Usama created a game where he would run over to his older brother and push him off his chair. Everyone laughed when he did this about three times. Umm-Hafid had a lot to say about the situation in Balata telling long detailed stories about the hardships that her family has faced including family members injured or imprisoned and the Israeli army forcing itself into her home. As she spoke, 16-year-old Maha would attend to her younger brothers and sister by keeping her arm around Hafid’s waist to keep him still or acknowledging Usama’s drawings. At the end of the interview, Umm-Hafid was slightly hesitant to let her children go on the neighborhood walk, because she wanted them to study.

BA2 Thirty-three-year-old Umm-Salim and her family live in a small two-story apartment whose front door opens onto a narrow and dark alleyway in the eastern part of Balata refugee camp. Umm-Salim’s parents came to Balata in 1967 when they were displaced from their village of Yaffa on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea. Umm-Salim and her husband (who was not present during the interview, because he was working) have eight children: 15-year-old Salim, 14-year-old Hamid, 13-year-old Saloua, 12-year-old Amel, 11-year-old Nabil, nine-year-old Wahiba, four-year-old Rajah, and one-year-old Ramzi. Umm-Salim and her family share the apartment with her husband’s brother’s family, which includes 21-year-old Safia, 17-year-old Mabrouk, and 11-year-old Rochdi. We conducted the interview in the family’s living room on the second floor, which was illuminated by a single florescent light on the ceiling above. In the corner of the room was a poster mounted high on the wall depicting a young man in a serious pose, who I later found out was had been imprisoned “for no reason” at the age of 19 and will remain in prison for five years. Safia’s fiancée is also in prison. The two families seemed to get along well with each other even within the small confines of the apartment. All of the children were excited to participate in the interview, but were even more

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excited to draw and map. Umm-Salim and Safia answered my questions at length, while all of the children sat on the floor drawing elaborate maps and pictures. When the children finished drawing, Safia would gather all the drawings together and hand them to me. When asked about the occupation and how it affects their lives, Safia responded, “The occupation has destroyed our feeling.” Even though the children expressed that they were affected by the occupation, it was not their biggest concern. According to Umm-Salim, the biggest problem in Balata is overcrowding in houses, on the streets, and in the schools. The children accept this situation and don’t want to leave Balata because “it is all we know.”

BA3 Umm-Mahfoud’s family lives on the first floor of a small apartment building, buttressed by several other apartments near the western edge of Balata Refugee Camp. Thirty-five year old Umm-Mahfoud moved from her small village to Balata 16 years ago when she married her husband, Abu-Mahfoud, who was born in Balata. (Abu-Mahfoud was not present at the interview, because he was working.) The home was sparsely decorated. In fact, there was noting on the walls and only a few plastic chairs and a small plastic table, where we sat in the living room during the interview. Sleeping soundly on a mat on the side of the room was six-year-old Halim. Umm-Mahfoud explained that Halim had been become incontinent after seeing the Israeli army walk through Balata a few days ago; he has since not been able to attend school, and spends most of the day at home sleeping. Halim slept during the whole interview, despite his noisy siblings trying to rouse him several times. Umm-Mahfoud was welcoming and willing to answer my questions. Umm-Mahfoud spent most of the interview comforting her youngest child, three-year-old Khadija, who was crying and clinging to her mother. Umm-Mahfoud’s three sons—12-year-old Mahfoud, ten-year-old Anise, and eight-year-old Bachir stood around the small plastic table excitedly interjecting and making comments. When they were asked to draw, they became excited and put much effort into each drawing (despite their mother telling me that they do not like to draw). Umm-Mahfoud’s oldest child, 14-year-old Anissa sat shyly next to her mother during the interview and sometimes contributed to the conversation. Umm-Mahfoud noted that when she was living in her home village, she didn’t feel the effects of the occupation, but in Balata, she feels everything. The family is currently building a home in a nearby village, where they hope to move this year. Though the family does not like Balata because it is overcrowded, the homes are “not nice”, and “there is nothing here”, Umm-Mahfoud noted that moving out of Balata will be “strange”, because “There is not a lot there either”.

BE1 Forty-five-year-old Abu-Hilal lives with his two wives, 43-year-old Umm-Hilal and 34-year-old Umm-Anas, and their nine children: 16-year-old Ikram, 15-year-old Hilal, 14-year-old Saliha, 11-year-old Aya, nine-year-old Anas, eight-year-old Rahal, three-year-old Soraya, two-year-old Badr, and two-month-old Azziz. They live on a Bedouin encampment located on the side of a highway. The highway was busy, and therefore there was a constant sound of cars speeding past. When I first arrived, Abu-Hilal invited me to sit on some pillows placed upon a rug inside a large tent. He requested that the interview not be tape-recorded. Abu-Hilal explained that the women and children were in a separate tent from the one that Abu-Hilal occupied, and so I would have to go there to interview them. Umm-Anas and the children were waiting for me in the other tent. I sat on a couch

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on one side of the tent, and Umm-Anas sat on her knees on the floor in the middle of the tent with the children surrounding her. The tent was clean, neat, and sparsely decorated. All the children were present for the interview except for Ikram, who was helping Umm-Hilal tend to household tasks, Hilal, who was tending the sheep and goats in the center of the encampment, and Azziz, who was sleeping in another part of the encampment. Hilal eventually joined us in the tent. Hilal and Saliha spent most of the interview standing behind Umm-Anas, holding on to a pole that held the center of the tent up., and would describe their drawings with one-word answers. Umm-Anas openly answered questions. The younger children were very interested in drawing but the children were so shy that they only responded with one-word answers. Umm-Anas explained that the family is from the Bedouin tribe that originated in the Negev desert. According to Abu-Hilal, the most important way to protect his children is through education, which he identified as teaching his children “the Bedouin way of life”. Both Abu-Hilal and Umm-Anas completed some primary schooling, yet none of their children have ever attended school. When the children were drawing, Umm-Anas explained that this is the first time they have ever used paper and pens. The male children spend their days tending the sheep and goat herd, which is the family’s most prized possession. The female children spend their days helping Umm-Hilal and Umm-Anas with household tasks. Both Abu-Hilal and Umm-Anas expressed that the Israeli army and the settlers threaten their way of life. They physically intimidate the family to leave the area, and attack the children when they graze the livestock. Hilal showed me his bandaged left hand, which he said was injured when the Israeli army threw something at him to get him to move. Once encouraged, Hilal created an elaborate drawing of when his hand was injured. The family’s livelihood is also threatened by the expansion of the nearby Israeli settlement—the largest settlement in the West Bank. Despite these challenges, the whole family has no desire to leave this place. According to Abu-Hilal and Umm-Anas, the children have known no other place. After about thirty minutes, Abu-Hilal stood at the edge of the tent asking me to finish. When I explained that I had a few more questions, Abu-Hilal stood there and answered the questions instead of Umm-Anas and the children.

BE2 Forty-eight-year-old Abu-Karim, lives with his wife and five younger children: 17-year-old Nadjib, 15-year-old Nazim, nine-year-old Nafissa, and seven-year-old Ilhem. Abu-Karim has two more older children; 21-year-old Karim was in prison for the second time, and 19-year-old Salah was not home. The interview was conducted in the family’s tent near the center of the Bedouin encampment, Al-Jazari. The tent was very comfortable, covered with Arabic carpets. There was a small TV in one corner of the tent. The two entrances to the tent were covered with fabric. I could easily see the encampment activity—children crying, goats bleating—through these openings. I sat on a pad and propped my back up with pillows leaning against one of the exterior walls. Abu-Karim was relaxed and conversational throughout the interview, making a joke every now and then. He smiled throughout the interview, even though he was speaking about difficulties facing him and his family. The two younger girls, Nafissa and Ilhem, participated in the whole interview, busying themselves with drawing. Ilhem sat close to me, and would ask me questions when there was a lull in the conversation. Nafissa was more reserved than her younger sister, but became more outgoing as a the interview progressed. Halfway through the interview, Nadjib entered offering tea and coffee. The family has lived in Al-Jazari their whole lives. According to Abu-Karim, a respected member of his community, the main concern for him and his family is poverty. He explained that because of the occupation and the settlers, the family’s livelihoods are compromised. They are unable to graze their

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sheep freely or go to the market to sell their animal products. Generally, their freedom of movement is limited. As Abu-Karim explained: “Every person likes to live with freedom, even animals.”

BE3 Umm-Nacer lives in a small house in the middle of the Al-Jazari encampment with her five children: 12-year-old Najet, 11-year-old Nacer, 10-year-old Sofiane, nine-year-old Rayan, and four-year-old Säida. Umm-Nacer’s children were joined by their two cousins—seven-year-old Sedik and five-year-old Nassim—as well as their nine-year-old neighbor Nafissa (from BE2). The children were boisterous and rambunctious, running around the yard in their bare feet. Säida has a neurodevelopmental disability, and so she spent the interview crawling around in an enclosed area with plastic covering the ground near the entrance to the home. We sat outside of her home in the front yard. The home was made of strips of plywood, and burlap covered the roof. Umm-Nacer set up plastic chairs and a small wooden stool where Najet dutifully placed cups of tea with fresh sage from the garden. The yard was filled with sharp pebbles and debris. At one end of the yard was a small plastic black water tank, where Najet carried her younger sister Säida to get a drink of water. Umm-Nacer was distracted throughout the interview by the rambunctious children running around, and she asked Najet to tend to the children while she answered my questions. Najet has a serious about her that was unusual for a 12-year-old; she shouted commands at the younger children, which they mostly ignored. Every now and then, Najet would smack one of the boys in the head. Even though I started the interview by asking about general family well-being then to the effects of the occupation, Umm-Nacer’s most pressing concern was that of her husband recently leaving her. Umm-Nacer explained that her husband left her and their children and moved in next door with his second wife, twenty-year-old Amana, who recently had a baby, Amine. Umm-Nacer explained that this was the most difficult thing for her at this time, and there were several times when she stopped the interview and cried. She described the hardship of being alone to raise her children and having no income. At one point in the interview, Amana joined the interview, after which Umm-Nacer did not mention her feelings regarding her husband leaving. Umm-Nacel explained that her children are hyperactive and difficult to control. She said that other children like to play at her home, because she does not beat them like other parents. Umm-Nacer said that the best way to raise children is to not beat them and talk to them instead. She also explained how she protects her children by gathering them around her when there is danger.

EJ1 Umm-Mourad and her husband, Abu-Mourad have three sons and a daughter. For this interview, only Umm-Mourad, her 23-year-old daughter, Sanaa, and ten-year-old son, Mourad, participated. Umm-Mourad was very hospitable and happy to share her family’s experience with me. She would alternate speaking with me and working in the kitchen to bring some snacks for the table: chocolate, soda, juice, fruit. Sanaa recently graduated university and is now doing advocacy work. She was extremely passionate when telling her family’s story, which she did at length and in English. She would speak about specific incidents that she and her family experienced, but also relate them to broader themes such as politics and identity. Sanaa said that she has had the opportunity to travel internationally to speak about the situation of Palestinians, and so she is well versed in speaking to media. Sanaa told me that Mourad was shy, but he ended up being very expressive and talkative, in

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both Arabic and English. Sometimes he would become shy again when he couldn’t remember what to say in English. Mourad was very respectful when his mother or older sister were speaking. The family has always lived in East Jerusalem, but only in this particular neighbourhood for one week. Prior to living here, they were staying with Umm-Mourad’s mother in the West Bank. But the place that they are most attached to is their original home, from which the Israeli police violently evicted them about two years ago and settlers moved into their home. Umm-Mourad, Sanaa, and Mourad each spoke about this incident in detail and with much emotion. It was clearly a defining moment for the family, an incident at which they spoke at length about. For example, Mourad described how one day, he and his family were happy and at peace because they had received a watermelon and Swiss chocolate. Then he vividly recalled how that same evening the police forced their way into his home and focused laser guns into his eyes. He joked about how he was more upset that he saw the settlers eating the watermelon and Swiss chocolates than he was about being evicted. To protest the eviction order, Umm-Mourad and her family lived on the street outside of their home for six months. During that time Sanaa and Mourad continued to go to school. Now, the family is not happy to be living in their current neighbourhood, and all they can think about is returning to the neighbourhood where they were evicted.

EJ2 I met with 40-year-old Abu-Rachid and his 13-year-old son, Rachid, on the sidewalk outside a small store in the middle of a busy East Jerusalem neighborhood, where Abu-Rachid would greet passers-by and watch other activity on the street. The Israeli police drove by us three times during he course of the interview. Abu-Rachid spoke in English for the whole interview, whereas Rachid spoke in Arabic. Abu-Rachid explained that Rachid did not understand English, which may have made Rachid feel left out of the conversation. Rachid sat close to his father, and Abu-Rachid had his arm around him for the whole interview. Rachid was quiet for most of the interview, and he did not want to draw anything, even when his father encouraged him to try. Abu-Rachid said it was because we were on the street, and Rachid didn’t want his friends to see him drawing. Abu-Rachid joked that he would draw something for me if I wanted. Abu-Rachid and his family have lived in this neighbourhood for his whole life. Prior to the second intifada, he spent ten years in prison for being a political activist, which is where he learned skills such as English. But he also believes that Israel targets him more because he is a former prisoner. He was never granted an identity card, therefore, he is not allowed to leave Jerusalem or go to the West Bank. He is unable to work, and has not had a job for over a year and a half. Abu-Rachid became emotional when he explained that Rachid would not be able to play in an important international soccer tournament in Sweden, because the Israeli authorities are unwilling to grant him a permit to leave. Abu-Rachid believes that his son is not being granted permission because of Abu-Rachid’s history of political activism. Abu-Rachid told me this in English, saying that he didn’t want his son to understand, because “it would dash his dreams”. I got the sense that Abu-Rachid was trying to protect Rachid in this way. I asked Abu-Rachid if he had any hope for his situation in East Jerusalem, and he said that he did not.

EJ3 Fifty-year-old Umm-Ayoub lives with her husband and six of her children: 26-year-old Moufida, 16-year-old Wided, 13-year-old Ayoub, 12-year-old Samira, nine-year-old Moktar, and eight-year-old

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Moncef. They have six other daughters who are married and live elsewhere, but visit when they can. Twenty-four year-old twins Amina and Afifa were both visiting and participated in the interview. All of the school-aged children were in-school except for the family’s oldest male, 13-year-old Ayoub, who doesn’t go to school and currently works to help his family; Ayoub was not present for the interview. Moufida stays at home all day with the children, while her mother works. She said that she only leaves the house if she has a doctor’s appointment. Throughout the interview, she shouted commands at the younger children and tried to clean up the house. Nevertheless, she maintained a pleasant and smiling disposition throughout the interview. The interview was conducted in Umm-Ayoub’s home, which was located at the end of a narrow alleyway about 200 meters from Israeli settlers. Umm-Ayoub arrived at the interview after a full day of work as a cleaner at a nearby school. Even though she appeared exhausted, she graciously answered questions about her and her family’s experience in East Jerusalem. The children were calmer when their mother was in the room, and deferred to her as a sign of respect. Umm-Ayoub spoke about what it is like to raise her children in East Jerusalem. Umm-Ayoub explained that her biggest challenge is poverty, and the challenges of living in a rented home. Most of the children—both young and adult—noted that their dream place was to have a safe and secure place of their own. There was a sense that the family does not feel secure, because the home is rented and not permanent. Most of the family members stay close to home, and didn’t seem to experience much beyond the borders of the home. Samira really wanted to go with us on the neighbourhood walk, but her mom refused to let her go outside. Umm-Ayoub told Moncef to go outside with me, but he didn’t want to, perhaps because he was embarrassed.

H11 Abu-Younes and his wife and four children live in a small apartment in the heart of the Old City of Hebron. The apartment is located at the top of about ten steep, stone stairs, where a large cloth curtain held together with clothespins served as a front door. The sparse living room, where the interview was conducted, was an open space connecting the kitchen to the bedrooms. The ceiling of the living room was made of tin and plastic tarp, through which I could see the blue sky above. 35-year-old Abu-Younes is originally from Hebron, but spent 26 years in Jordan. Abu-Younes sat in a chair directly across from me and answered all my questions. His wife, 28-year-old Umm-Younes sat on a step behind him, listening, but not participating. When I tried to ask her questions, she shyly responded with one word. Abu-Younes was gentle and encouraging with his children, whereas Umm-Younes was busy taking care of the house and disciplining the children. Three times during the interview, she would smack five-year-old Lotfi upside the head for disobeying her, but he did not cry. Later in the interview, Umm-Younes helped Djamila balance herself using a plastic stool. Dalila and Younes busied themselves drawing pictures and maps. Their older cousin, 22-year-old Hichem, watched over them, and sometimes added to the children’s drawings. Abu-Younes identified his family’s biggest challenge as poverty, which was a theme of the interview. At the end of the interview, Abu-Younes, who has not completed secondary school, asked about the possibility of getting a scholarship in Canada.

H12 Abu-Ali and his wife, Umm-Ali, (both 38-years-old) have lived in Hebron all their lives, but only eight years in their current home, where they live with their seven children: 13-year-old Maissa, ten-

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year-old Ali, 9-year-old Mabrouka, eight-year-old Ismail, seven-year-old Nadir, and one-year old twins, Abida and Adiba. The entrance to their current home was in a dark tunnel in the middle of the Old City. We entered and walked up very narrow and slippery stone steps. The home was extremely small for a family of nine, with corrugated aluminum siding covering the ceiling and walls of the hallway, which was only a shoulder-width wide. Abu-Ali pointed out some holes in the ceiling, the result of gunfire from Israeli settlers and the army. He said that when it rains, water pours into the house through the holes. Abu-Ali explained that there are many repairs that need to be done on the house, but the family does not have enough money. We conducted the family interview in their sunny living room, which was crowded with couches. The centerpiece of the room was a large wooded cabinet filled with dishes. On top of the cabinet was an artificial flower bouquet that nine-year-old Mabrouka had recently given to Umm-Ali on Mothers’ Day. Abu-Ali and Umm-Ali were extremely friendly and positive, both smiling throughout the interview. They seemed to genuinely enjoy all the commotion caused by their children, and I often saw them laughing and joking with them. Both parents responded equally to the interview questions, and Umm-Ali answered some of my interview questions before they were even translated. Umm-Ali sat near the living room’s entrance trying to manage the boisterous children walking in and out. When the children would climb onto the furniture to grab something or interrupt their father, Umm-Ali would tsk-tsk and laugh. At one point, Umm-Ali jokingly offered to give me seven-year-old Nadir, as he was wriggling to free himself form her embrace. The children were eager to draw and then show me their creations. Abu-Ali and Umm-Ali explained that they do not suffer much from the settlers, but their biggest challenge is economic hardship as a result of the occupation. Even though their home is in disrepair, they explained that it is very important to them.

H13 Thirty-seven-year-old Abu-Ahmed, his wife, 35-year-old Umm-Ahmed, and five children have always lived in Hebron. They have lived in their current home for the past 11 years, which was located at the top of a narrow stone staircase. Upon entering the home, I was surprised to see an old desktop computer, which Abu-Ahmed explained he purchased for his children, “to keep them at home” instead of playing on the streets. The interview was conducted in the living room, which was large and nicely decorated. A large cabinet filled with colorful dishes stood in one corner of the room. Abu-Ahmed’s family consists of 15-year-old Ahmed, 12-year-old Fahim, ten-year-old Farida, eight-year-old Djamel, and seven-year-old Billal. Ahmed was not present at the interview, because he was working. Both Ahmed and Fahim left school in order work and help support their family. Farida, Abu-Ahmed’s only daughter had a visible eye condition, which, according to Abu-Ahmed, was the result of Umm-Ahmed being exposed to tear gas when pregnant with Farida. During the interview, it was clear that Abu-Ahmed commanded great respect from his family. When he spoke no one else spoke, and he remained the main speaker throughout the interview. Umm-Ahmed, seven months pregnant with her sixth child, sat still and quiet in one corner of the room just listening to her husband speak. According to Abu-Ahmed, her doctors have told her that she and her baby are at risk unless she takes a certain medication for a blood disorder, which the family cannot afford. She also has a leg condition that has left her physically disabled. To the right of Umm-Ahmed was Fahim, who also sat quietly and did not speak unless I specifically directed a question at him, despite his father’s encouragement to contribute to the interview. The three younger children sat around a small wooden table busying themselves with drawing. Abu-Ahmed said that they had a difficult time drawing, because they never get a chance to practice drawing. Abu-

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Ahmed explained that he is religious, but he made a point to note that he is not conservative. He included religious stories and proverbs throughout this interview, and it was clear that he used his faith to help guide his life and parenting decisions. At first, I thought that Abu-Ahmed was angry, because he spoke in an elevated tone; but I realized that he was just extremely frustrated with “the situation”. Abu-Ahmed identified poverty as being the greatest challenge to his family. Abu-Ahmed currently makes about 64 NIS (17 USD) each day, but his expenses to support his large and growing family far exceed what he earns. He explained that he is unable to even purchase food for his family. He is unhappy with his neighborhood community, because of “bad people” from the occupation, the Israeli settlers, as well as some neighborhood children behaving badly. Abu-Ahmed was apologetic, though not surprised when he heard that some neighborhood children threw plastic pen caps and a metal spoon at us when we were walking to his home. Some of Abu-Ahmed’s children yelled at the offending neighborhood children as we entered the home. When we left, Abu-Ahmed’s brother and his new bride entered the home for a visit.

H21 Forty-seven-year-old Abu-Majd and his family—including his wife, 35-year-old Umm-Majd, and their children, 14-year-old Souad, 13-year-old Sihème, seven-year-old Mohamed, and three-year-old Fehat—shared a home with his brother, Abu-Yamina, and his family—including 12-year-old Yamina and seven-year-old Wafa. The house has been in their family for over 70 years, and all of their family were born in Hebron. The entrance to their home faced a large settlement. Furthermore, the home sat on the edge of a line painted on the ground, delineating the area where Palestinains are not allowed to go. We conducted the interview in the family’s sparse living room; the only decorations were some lace curtains that hung loosely in front of a barred window facing the settlement across the street. In the center of the room, a full ashtray sat on top of one of three short wooden stools. A wheelchair was sitting at the other end of the living room, which Abu-Majd said was for his elderly mother. Abu-Majd told the children to draw in another room, and do the children would frequently exit the room to go draw and then reutnr to show me their drawings. Once they were finished drawing, the children sat in the living room and listeedn intently to Abu-majd who sat hunched in his chair, holding a cigarette in his right hand and gesticulating with his left ahnd. Several times during the interview, three-year-old Ferhat would run around the room, fling himself int his father’s arms, and squeal with delight. Abu-Majd explained that his family’s home was very important to him, and he would never consider leaving. In 1980, Abu-Majd explained, the Israeli settlers offered him one million NIS (280,883 USD) and visas to live in the United States, but he refused. Abu-Majd told many stories of fear and violence because of the nearby Israeli settlers. Four years ago, Israeli settlers threw glass at his daughter, Sihème (then nine-years-old), and injured her eye. Fearing for his children’s safety, Abu-Majd moved his family to the H1 section of Hebron for a period of two years, the only time that they have been away from their home. During that time, Abu-Majd checked on his home in H2 every day to make sure that the settlers did not take it. More recently, Israeli settlers arrested seven-year-old, Mohamed, and kept him for a few hours. Because of this violence, the children rarely leave the home, and if they do, Abu-Majd makes sure that one of them carries a cell phone to call him if something happens. If they go outside the home, they are only allowed to go to school or to the nearby store to buy bread.

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H22 Thirty-year-old Abu-Jabar’s home was located off a dirt path that winds up onto the slopes looking down upon Hebron. He lives there with his two wives, Rachida and Khalida who are both 30-years-old, and their five young children: eight-year-old Jabar, seven-year-old Rawda, four-year-old Nouh, one-year-old Nabila, and Malika, who was born the previous day. The older children were proud of their new baby sister, vying to hold and touch her. The house was small, especially for the number of family members living there. We conducted the interview in a small, undecorated living room that formed the entrance to the home. In the middle of the living room was an iron wood-burning stove. There was a small kitchen next to two bedrooms. Abu-Jabar primarily spoke during the interview. Every few minutes, Rachida or Khalida would alternate coming into the room to listen and contribute to the conversation, then return to the bedroom where they were caring for Malika. Abu-Jabar controlled the children’s paper supply, giving them one white sheet at a time. The children drew in the second bedroom, and they made a game out of entering the living room to show me their drawings and then running back into the bedroom to draw some more. There were several times when Jabar and Rawda would ask me questions in Arabic and then become frustrated when I was unable to answer. Abu-Jabar’s parents are originally from Hebron, and after growing up in Jordan, he returned to Hebron 19 years ago. According to Abu-Jabar, the biggest challenge that he and his family faces are the Israeli soldiers, the Israeli settlements, and “the 24-hour stone throwing”. He explained that he would like to go to the courts to file a complaint, but feels frustrated knowing that the courts will not help. There are very few places that the children can go outside of the home, because the area around their home in unsafe due to the settlers. Abu-Jabar felt like the Palestinians in his neighborhood are distrustful, do not help one another, and “everyone is just looking out for their own family”. Near the end of the interview, Abu-Jabar asked me to turn off the audio recorder, because he was afraid that he would be arrested for something that he said. At the end of the interview, Abu-Jabar asked about the results of my study and if he could get a copy. I asked if he had email, and he did not know what email was.

H23 This interview was conducted with 40-year-old Umm-Yacoub, and her three children—14-year-old Rahma, nine-year-old Yacoub, and three-year-old Kamel—as well as her sister-in-law, Alia, and Alia’s seven-year-old daughter Assia. Umm-Yacoub’s husband, 45-year-old Abu-Yacoub, arrived at the end of the interview. Even though Umm-Yacoub and her family were the index family, the interview was conducted at Alia’s home, which was adjacent to Umm-Yacoub’s home. Alia’s home was located several meters from a cluster of Israeli settlements, where, according to Abu-Yacoub, a prominent leader of the Israeli settlement movement lives. When I arrived at their home, Assia was afraid to open the door, because she could see settlers on the other side of the fence. We sat in Alia’s large living room, which had comfortable couches and was decorated with several framed Arabic proverbs. Umm-Yacoub and Alia were very welcoming and spoke openly and freely about their experiences. Umm-Yacoub gesticulated a lot while speaking, and the more reserved Alia would sometimes interrupt her to add to the conversation. The children would move in and out of the room, politely showing me their drawings. Rahma took a long time to create her neighborhood map, and once she explained it to me, she sat quietly listening to the interview, only answering questions when I directed them at her. At one point, Yacoub did not want to draw anymore, and even though I said that he did not have to if he did not want to, his Umm-Yacoub gently encouraged him. Upon

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getting married about nine years ago, Alia moved to Hebron with her husband. Her parents were refugees from 1948, living in a village near Bethlehem. Alia joked that she is such a part of Hebron that she already has an accent. Alia noted that the biggest challenges to her and her family are the Israeli soldiers and the settlers, who present equal threats. Both Umm-Yacoub and Alia gave examples of being humiliated by soldiers and attacked by settlers. Alia spoke about her children being attacked on their way to school. Both Umm-Yacoub and Alia expressed that they feel cut off from the rest of Palestine, and stated that Palestinian neighbors do not get along. Palestinians outside of H2 don’t come to visit them, and there is no communication between them. The children do not travel far from the home to play. They only go to a small field a few meters away from the house, but even that play space is not safe because of the neighborhood boys who play there. Nevertheless, both families are committed to staying in Hebron. They explained that they refuse to leave and cannot leave because if they do, the settlers will take their home, which means everything to them. After the interview at Alia’s home, we went to Umm-Yacoub’s home, where she wanted to show me some of her artwork depicting Palestine and the occupation. On the short walk between the two homes, Abu-Yacoub showed me the water pipe that the settlers had destroyed, the fruit trees that they had cut down, and the washing machine that they had thrown into their yard. On the wall above the entrance to the home were bullet holes from the Israeli soldiers. When we entered the home, Abu-Yacoub showed me a video of the settlers attacking his home, which he had filmed with the help of a local human rights organization.

VI1 Thirty-nine-year-old Umm-Malik is married to 42-year-old Abu-Malik (not present for the interview), and they have seven children, four of whom were present for the interview: 26-year-old Malik, 15-year-old Hosni, six-year-old Selma, and four-year-old Douha. Also present for the interview were Malik’s wife, Fatima, and her newborn baby, Aissa, Abu-Malik’s sister, and her two children, 13-year-old Amine and three-year-old Badra. The interview was conducted in Umm-Malik’s living room, which was crowded with furniture. There was a decorative vase in one corner of the room, and colorful rugs covered the floor. The younger children—especially Selma and Douha—huddled around the tables in the middle of the living room, busying themselves with drawing. Hosni sat alone on one couch observing his younger siblings, and only spoke when I directly asked him a question. Umm-Malik brought me fruit juice and then coffee during the course of the interview. Umm-Malik moved to this village of Al-Makkah over 25 years ago, when she married Abu-Malik, whose family is from Al-Makkah. She initially stated that there were no problems in Al-Makkah and answered “good” whenever I asked her about her family’s living conditions here. But the rest of the family was interested in telling me about 15-year-old Hosni, who was recently arrested during a demonstration in Al-Makkah after being accused of throwing stones. Hosni was detained for three days while his family struggled to raise the money for his release. Hosni said that he will no longer attend demonstrations for fear of being arrested again. Malik was the most outspoken member of the family, speaking in an elevated voice to interrupt his mother and expressing negative statements (for example, “we live under death”). Malik primarily spoke in a sarcastic tone, for example, mocking his mother’s dream place. When he would speak, he would smile and laugh, and so everyone else would smile and laugh with him, even though he was speaking about uncomfortable topics. When asked how the family keeps their children safe, the family answered with a range of responses ranging from keeping children inside to faith in God. The

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family’s other major concern was for Malik and Fatima’s newborn son, Aissa, who doctors said needed an MRI that the family cannot afford.

VI2 Thirty-year-old Umm-Omar lives with her three children, 13-year-old Basma, 11-year-old Omar, and four-year-old Anouar in the village of Al-Makkah. Umm-Omar’s husband, Abu-Omar is currently in prison. Also present for the interview was Abu-Omar’s 72-year-old father, Abu-Kaddour, and his two sisters, 39-year-old Faiza, 29-year-old Ghania, and her 12-year-old son, Gibril. The family requested that I not record the interview. The biggest challenge for the family revolved around Abu-Omar’s imprisonment, which affects the immediate and extended family. Umm-Omar presented as depressed about her husband’s situation, answering all questions with a flat affect. She dreams of a day when he will be released and she will see him again. The children are also affected by their father’s imprisonment, and made statements about longing for the family to be “whole” again. For example, Omar dreamed that his whole family will one day go on a trip together. The family also noted that the wall poses a challenge to them, because it prevents them from going places.

VI3 Thirty-nine-year-old Umm-Imed lives in Al-Makkah with six of her children: 17-year-old Imed, 16-year-old Larbi, 13-year-old Khaled, 10-year-old Hafida, nine-year-old Rabah, and five-year-old Hanane. Umm-Imed’s two older daughters, 21-year-old Fadila, and 19-year-old Latifa live in other villages with their husbands, but they were present for the interview. Fadila brought her two young children and Latifa also brought her nine-month-old baby. Umm-Imed’s home was large and comfortable. The living room was located on the first floor, and there was a large window that overlooked the village. Above one of the bedroom doors was a framed photo of her brother-in-law, Umm-Omar (form VI2) who is currently in prison. The same framed photo was also nailed high on the wall near the staircase. Across from the couch where I was sitting was an embroidered picture of Mecca. Umm-Imed was very focused on the interview, answering questions at-length and leaning towards me when I asked questions. She tended to smile throughout the interview, even when speaking about difficult topics. Fadila and Latifa were busy with their young children, but made efforts to contribute to the conversation. Imed mostly listened to the conversation, while reading a textbook for school, and interjected comments every now and then. Hanane initially seemed fearful of me, but then became curious and moved closer and closer to where I was sitting. Hafida was also curious, and would frequently pick up and inspect the audio recorder. Umm-Imed moved to Al-Makkah 22-years-ago when she married Abu-Imed, who is originally from this village. Abu-Imed was not present for the interview. At one point during the interview, Umm-Imed pointed out the nearby house where Abu-Imed moved in with his new second wife. Umm-Imed explained that life is difficult for her and her family, mainly because there is nothing to keep her children occupied. In addition, the family is unable to travel, because of the wall, something that Umm-Imed identified as being the main problem in Al-Makkah. Umm-Imed also said that the Israeli soldiers pose a problem for her and her family; she told a story of how Khaled was recently beaten by soldiers, a story which was picked up by the local media.

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APPENDIX B: CONSENT FORM

School of Social Work 3506 University Street Wilson Hall, Montreal, QC, H3A 2A7 Canada

PALESTINIAN FAMILIES’ EXPERIENCES LIVING IN THE WEST BANK

Research conducted by: Bree Akesson, Licensed Master Social Worker, Master Public Health, PhD Candidate

(Supervised by Dr. Myriam Denov, PhD) MCGILL UNIVERSITY

bree.akesson@mail.mcgill.ca 514-758-8022

WHY ARE YOU BEING INVITED TO TAKE PART IN THIS RESEARCH? You and your family are being invited to take part in a research project to better understand the experiences of Palestinian families (with young children) who are living in the West Bank. WHO IS DOING THE STUDY? Bree Akesson (Licensed Master Social Worker, Master in Public Health) is conducting the research. She is supervised by Dr. Myriam Denov (Professor of Social Work) of the McGill School of Social Work. WHAT IS THE PURPOSE OF THE STUDY? The project can help us understand how young children and their families persevere in the face of adversity. DO YOU HAVE TO TAKE PART IN THIS STUDY? Being in this study is your choice. If you decide not to take part, you have the right to stop being a part of the study at any time. WHERE IS THE STUDY GOING TO TAKE PLACE AND HOW LONG IT WILL LAST? We will interview your family in this interview for a total of one hour. We would prefer to interview you in your home, however, we are willing to conduct the interview any place that is convenient for you. WHAT WILL YOU BE ASKED TO DO? We will interview you and your family members. We will ask you questions about your family’s experience in the West Bank during the Israeli-Palestine conflict. After the interview, we will ask your child to take us on a walk of the neighborhood to show us some of the places we discussed in the interview. None of this information will be shared with anyone. You and your family members will not be identified as participating in the study.

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IS YOUR INTERVIEW GOING TO BE RECORDED? We would like to audio-record the interview. This is to make sure that we accurately capture all of your responses. The recording is important because it also gives us a chance to learn different things from your comments. You will be asked to check a box if you agree to be audio-recorded. You can choose not to be audio-recorded. Your choice will not affect your participation. Audio-recordings will be stored and password protected on the research study’s computer. WHAT ARE THE POSSIBLE RISKS OF BEING IN THIS STUDY? There are no physical or medical risks from your taking part in this study. However, in speaking about your family’s experiences in Palestine, some personal issues may come up that may have been upsetting. If this happens, you can choose not to answer any or all questions. ARE THERE ANY BENEFITS TO YOU BEING IN THIS STUDY? We hope that this study will teach us more about the experiences of children and their families living in the West Bank. However, this study will not directly benefit your family. No treatment is available through this study. WILL YOU RECEIVE ANY COMPENSATION FOR TAKING PART IN THIS STUDY? No, there is no compensation for participating in this study. WILL INFORMATION ABOUT YOU BE CONFIDENTIAL? Information from the interviews will be shared with others. However, you identity will remain anonymous. In other words, no one will know that you were the one who provided us with particular information. Also, all interviews are kept confidential from anyone who is not on the research team. This means that no one outside the research team will know that you or your family members gave us information, or what that information is. All records will be stored in a locked file cabinet. Audio-recordings and transcripts will be safely stored for five years, after which it will be destroyed. WHAT SHOULD YOU DO IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS? Questions are always welcome. If you have questions about the study, you can contact Bree Akesson at 0597-037-793 (in Palestine). If you have any questions or concerns about your rights or welfare as a participant in this research study, please contact the McGill Research Ethics Officer at +1-514-398-6831 (in Canada). I voluntarily agree to be in the study described above. I was present when the study was explained to my child. In my opinion, my child is willing to take part. I understand that our taking part is our choice, and that I and/or my child can withdraw from the study or any part of the study without prejudice. Adult #1 Name of Parent/Guardian:________________________________________________________ Signature:_____________________________________________________________________ ☐ I agree for this interview to be audio-recorded.

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Today, I would like to talk to you and your family about what it is like to grow up in the West Bank. We will talk for about one hour, during which I will ask you to answer some questions and draw some pictures. After, I will invite you to go for a walk with me to show me some of the places that we talked about today. Talking to me is your choice. If you don’t want to talk to me, you can say so, and it is OK. Also, you can decide to stop at any time. I will share what you tell me with other people, but no one will know that you were the one who said it. I would like to audiotape the interview, which will help me to make sure that I remember everything that you tell me. But if you don’t want to be taped, that is OK too. If you have any questions, you can ask me now, or I will let you know how to get in touch with me later. ☐ Child #1 agrees to participate in this study. ☐ Child #2 agrees to participate in this study. My children are willing to participate: Name of Child #1:_______________________________________________________________ Name of Parent/Guardian Signing Consent:___________________________________________ Parent’s/Guardian’s Signature:_______________________________Date:_________________ Name of Child #2:_______________________________________________________________ Name of Parent/Guardian Signing Consent: __________________________________________ Parent’s/Guardian’s Signature: _________________________________Date:_______________ I have discussed the proposed research and audio-taping procedures with this participant, and in my opinion, this participant understands the benefits, risks and alternatives (including non-participation) and is capable of freely consenting to participate in this research, as well as the audio-taping of this project. Name of person obtaining consent: _________________________________________________ Signature: __________________________________________________Date: ______________

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APPENDIX C: DRAFT INTERVIEW GUIDE

The research aims to interview approximately 15 Palestinian families with young children to better understand their experiences under Israeli occupation. Visual methodologies will be integrated into the interview process. The researcher will encourage both adults and children to create maps of their environment and to draw certain events during the course of the interview. These visual tools become vehicles for further discussion, and the respondents are invited to speak about them as a part of the narrative process. Because family interviews makes it a challenge to elicit personal stories and hear the individual voices of younger family members (such as young children, who are a population of interest for this research), efforts will be made to give plenty of time for all of the members of the family to speak about their experiences. Consent Form Initial Questions For both adults and children: Names? Ages? Levels of education completed? Marital status? Employment? Total number of children? Total annual household income? Who else lives in the home? For adults: How long have you lived here? [If not from here:] Where did you live before? What does it look like? When did you arrive here? Tell me the story of how you got here. Have you ever considered going back? How do you teach your children about the place your family comes from? Have you ever considered leaving this place? Intermediate Questions For adults: When, if at all did you first experience________? If so, what was it like? What did you think then? Could you tell me about the events that led to_____?

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Tell me about your thoughts and feelings about_________. Tell me about how you learned to handle__________. Tell me how you go about protecting your family. What do you do? Tell me about what happened________. For adults and children: Describe your neighborhood for me? What is your typical day like? Where do you go? Who do you see? What is your favorite memory of living here? For children: How do you get to _____________? Where do you play with friends? Where do you go with your parents? Where do you go without your parents? Are there places where you do not like to go? Why? To elicit mapping and drawings from both adults and children: Can you draw me a picture of your community? Can you draw the places you visit on a regular day? Draw your ideal place. What are the qualities of the ideal place? [If ideal place is here:] What are the differences between your drawing and the current situation here? Closing Questions For adults: What do you think re the most important ways to protect children in _____? How did you learn this? For adults and children: Is there anything that you might not have thought about before that occurred to you during this interview? Is there anything else you think I should know to understand the situation for families and children here? Is there anything you would like to ask me?

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APPENDIX D: SAMPLE NEIGHBORHOOD WALK

30 MARCH 2012 – HEBRON-H1-2 NEIGHBORHOOD WALK

!

1!

TRANSLATOR: NH 1!INTERVIEWER: BA 2!PARTICIPANT(S): Neighbor22M, Child10M 3!LOCATION: Hebron H1 4!TIME: 9:15 5!DISTANCE: 0.42 K 6! 7! “Can you show us around the neighborhood, maybe tell us some 8!stories about what happened and where?” 9! 10!“Every corner, you will find a story.” 11! 12! 13!(0:00) “This is the market.” 14! 15!

16! 17! 18! 19! 20! 21! 22! 23! 24! 25! 26! 27! 28!

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30 MARCH 2012 – HEBRON-H1-2 NEIGHBORHOOD WALK

!

2!

(2:10) “This is the place where some kids threw rocks and got arrested.” 29! 30!

31! 32! 33!(2:20) “That is Shuhada Street.” 34! 35!

36! 37!

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30 MARCH 2012 – HEBRON-H1-2 NEIGHBORHOOD WALK

!

3!

38! 39!(4:00) “This is our school.” 40! 41!

42! 43! 44! 45! 46! 47! 48! 49!

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30 MARCH 2012 – HEBRON-H1-2 NEIGHBORHOOD WALK

!

4!

(4:39) “Here, we threw rocks and they kept shooting with guns.” 50! 51!

52! 53! 54!“Sometimes the army surprises us from this entrance…” 55! 56!

57! 58!

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30 MARCH 2012 – HEBRON-H1-2 NEIGHBORHOOD WALK

!

5!

“…or they shoot us from up high.” 59! 60!

61! 62!(6:10) “Israeli soldiers shoot from up there.” 63! 64!

65! 66!

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30 MARCH 2012 – HEBRON-H1-2 NEIGHBORHOOD WALK

!

6!

(6:40) “This is where a jeep came.” 67! 68! 69!

70! 71!(7:15) “Israelis came through here. And anyone who was here threw 72!stones.” 73! 74!

75!

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APPENDIX E: SAMPLE OF GPS-CODED NEIGHBORHOOD WALK

3.#the#tex(le#factory#where#they#make#clothes#

233

APPENDIX F: INTERVIEW FEEDBACK FORM (IFF)

Mapping Children’s Personal Geographies in the oPt—Akesson—2012

INTERVIEW FEEDBACK FORM

Note: This form should be filled out as soon as possible after the interview. Family ID (Place + # interview): ___________________________ Date of Interview_____________ Site of Interview______________ Interviewer__________________ Translator___________________ Time Begun_________________ Time Ended_________________ Participant Age Gender Level of

education completed

Employment

Adult Caregiver

Older Child

Younger Child

1. Note study participants’ demeanor and mood during interview (anxious, impatient, relaxed, angry, etc.).

234

1

2. Note observations of SP’s posture or nonverbal behavior. (Remember to include gestures, expressions, and utterances such as laughter or crying in transcript!)

3. Note physical setting, orderliness, personal artifacts such as photos, and so on.

4. Briefly summarize SP’s history.

235

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