October is around the corner, which means the olive harvest in Palestine will soon be in full swing.
The Olive Harvest is a sacred season in Palestine, almost equivalent to an extended religious holiday. Something is in the air – there’s a period of excitement, families, friends, and neighbors gather together, people renew their ties to their land, and at the end of it all, sustenance for the next year comes in the form of thick, luscious oil in golden and green hues.
For journalists and reporters in Palestine, the olive harvest is a staple of the calendar year. With every season come countless stories. Unfortunately, however, most of the stories aren’t the feel-good ones you think would come with such a beautiful season. Since I began reporting in Palestine, a main feature of my reports on the olive harvest has been Israeli settler violence.
During the harvest, Israeli settlers across the West Bank embark on campaigns of violence, targeting Palestinian farmers and families while they are in their olive groves, harvesting their trees. The attacks aren’t just physical attacks on people’s bodies but violent attacks on people’s land. I’ve witnessed settlers burn down acres of land and olive trees just before the harvest. I’ve seen elderly Palestinians brought to tears when they see the trees that their fathers planted wilted and black after being injected with poison by settlers. I’ve seen families lose thousands of dollars after settlers came in the middle of the night and stole their harvest just as it was ripening, leaving them without their primary source of income for the next year.
And while I personally look forward to the Olive Harvest for all the beauty and joy that it brings, I know this year will be no different than the past. Along with the joy will inevitably come the cruelty and pain of settler violence.
A few days ago, I spoke to some Palestinian activists who spend every olive harvest out in the most vulnerable villages in the West Bank, accompanying farmers to their land as a form of protection in case settlers attack. Of course, when faced up against settlers armed with bats, guns, other weapons, and the force of the Israeli army, the only means of defense these activists have are their bodies.
As I was planning out my coverage for the harvest, I contacted the activists to ask what their schedule was looking like and if I could accompany them as a reporter on some of their activities. One of the activists, who frequently comes head to head with both settlers and soldiers, said something I never expected to come from this particular person: “I’m scared,” he told me.
Naturally, I thought. Who wouldn’t be scared? But this is someone who has looked down the barrel of too many Israeli guns to count, someone who’s been imprisoned for his activism and has lost friends and comrades along the way. Despite it all, he’s always maintained a positive spirit and the motivation to continue practicing sumud, or steadfastness, on the land.
So when he said he was scared for his life and the lives of the farmers this season, it set in for me that this year wasn’t going to be the same as years past. It was going to be much, much worse. Journalists on the ground have been anticipating as much. After all, this year has seen some of the worst settler attacks on Palestinians in the West Bank in years, with settler pogroms setting entire Palestinian towns ablaze happening more frequently and becoming more deadly every time.
As settler violence in the West Bank worsens every day, and some of the most ideological and violent settlers solidify their control within Israel’s government, the reality is one where, rather than preparing for a time of joy, celebration, and community, Palestinians are gearing up to once again fight for their lives and their land.
