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“There is no future in this country”: Notes from a Research in Progress on Slow Violence, Mental Health and Resilience in Gaza

By Haim Yacobi, on 11 May 2023

By Haim Yacobi, Michelle Pace, Ziad Abu Mustafa, Yasser Abu Jami

“The idea of continuing to search for opportunities and not finding them, then seeking and working hard to strengthen yourself to find an opportunity and then things do not work out, or to reach the interview stage in a very great institution and then not succeed? All of this takes you way back. The idea of seeking is related to finding something, so when you seek and do not find something, it causes you many problems. I cried often and experienced depression, poor appetite and anxiety. Even my face and skin have psychological problems and my hair is falling out because I keep trying in vain”.

The above quotation is taken from an interview with D, a student in Gaza, who expressed her efforts at finding a job, and how the ongoing failure, due to the current situation in Gaza, damages her mental well-being. Crucially, we argue, this is not an anecdote or a unique case. Rather, the deterioration in Gazans’ mental health conditions in general and among young people in particular, could be defined as an epidemic. According to Dr Yasser Abu-Jamei (March, 25 2023), the director general of the Gaza Community Mental Health Programme, research carried out in 2017 among university students showed that 60% felt sad, 60% felt hopeless about their future and 35% had experienced suicidal thoughts sometimes or often. The Gaza Community Mental Health Programme conducted research on this same issue once again in 2019 that confirmed (amongst another group of university students) that living under the ongoing siege compromised participants’ resilience, increased their sense of hopelessness, and exposed them to anxiety, stress and depression. Similarly, an International Committee of the Red Cross 2022 survey found that 9 out of 10 young people from Gaza believe that their lives are abnormal, suspended and their life opportunities fading.

Indeed, years of living under violence, as well as the constant fear of violence, poverty and lack of hope shape Gaza’s generations’ vision and attitude towards their uncertain future. Moreover, while the scope of mental health issues is widespread, throughout our fieldwork we have encountered interviewees who felt uncomfortable discussing this topic; this was not always directly communicated but all interviewees’ comments revolved around these issues.

Consequently, in our current research “Making the Invisible Visible: Slow Violence, Mental Health and Resilience in Gaza”, supported by The MENASP Network and the UCL Global Engagement Office, we focus on this urgent humanitarian case. In this project, we aim to make the invisible and long-term effects of violence visible, i.e., to examine how violence affects Gaza’s young generation in terms of their increasing vulnerability to mental health challenges, and how existing resilience networks could serve as a vehicle for better strategic intervention in mental health. In more detail, the main question we investigate in this project is how slow violence, implemented by Israel over Gaza, affects the mental health of Gazan young people.

A central theme at the core of our findings is the lack of possibility even to imagine a future amongst Gazan youth, which, according to Ratcliff et al (2014), is a symptom of trauma that can lead to a loss of “trust” or “confidence” in the world. This is illustrated, for instance, in an interview with M. from Khan Younis, south of Gaza city. M. did not complete his bachelor’s degree due to the tuition fees predicament. M.’s frustration was clearly voiced when he stated that:

“… because of the circumstances and conditions in Gaza and the high costs of studying, I was only able to study for one year, then I stopped. I still have one year, and a semester left. This happened because of costs and transportation, as I needed 12 shekels daily, in addition to university fees, which ranged from 250 to 300 dinars each semester. This made me stop studying”. (Interview with M, 25 years old, Khan Yunes, March, 2023)

Significantly, M. further stated:

“There is no future in this country and the situation is very difficult. If we are unable to complete our education, will we find a future in this country?… I am depressed, approaching the age of 26 and there is no life or future, not even hope for the future in four or five years’ time …”.

Indeed, as indicated by existing research, exposure to ongoing violence is associated with mental and physical health deterioration. Individuals with regular exposure to violence, such as in Gaza, are at a much higher risk of depression and lack of consideration of a positive

future. Yet, while most research focuses on individual circumstances, we argue that there are some structural foundations where violence targets a collective. As we elaborated in a previous article Israel’s ongoing settler colonialism in occupied Palestinian territory impacts Palestinians’ everyday life in all its aspects. In more detail we suggest that settler colonial violence and strategies of carceration, exploitation and elimination of the existing population is not only inherent in the production of a new reality and geography, but also at the core of the transformation of Gazans’ life into non-life.

The political topographies in Gaza are affected by Israel’s almost non-existing moral obligations over Gaza’s population, at the same time it creates the possibility of manipulating destructive power and violent practices. With a specific focus on Israel’s interventions in the field of mental health, we suggest that military power, ongoing violence and mental health are entangled in the creation of an intentional and conscious strategy that aims to instil in Gazans a sense of despair and the need to leave Gaza or, in other words, a slow form of violence as a weaponized strategy for diminishing the future of Gazan society in general and of young people, comprising one-fifth of the Gaza population (ICRC 2022), in particular. It is this Gazan youth segment – aged between 18 and 29 years old that forms the core focus of our ongoing research.

As learned from a survey we conducted among 225 students in Gaza, slow violence, indeed, increases perceived stress and impacts related future orientation. 42.8% of our respondents stated that they feel nervous, anxious, tense, or ‘about to explode’ several days over the past two weeks, 27.0% felt like this almost every day, 15.8% felt like this more than half a day, while 14.4% did not feel like this at all. This survey further indicates that 30.2% of respondents were unable to stop or control anxiety for more than half a day in the past two weeks, 29.3% had it several days, 17.7% had this inability several days, and 22.8% had no experience of feeling incapable to control these emotions at all. Indeed, symptoms of depression amongst Gazan youth – resulting from Israel’s slow violence – are clear: 35.3% of respondents answered that they had a lack of desire, interest, or pleasure in doing things several days in the past two weeks, 25.1% had it several days, 20.5% had a lack of desire for more than half a day, while 19.1% had no desire at all. These results are well echoed in the interview already mentioned above with Dr Yasser Abu Jamei who reiterates:

“Mental health is the feeling of psychological wellness and your ability to overcome circumstances, challenges and difficulties, to be productive for yourself and for society, and to feel your ability to change in your society.” Interview with Dr. Yasser Abu Jamei, March 25th, Gaza

Our survey highlights how our interviewees’ challenged state (in terms of mental health) results mainly from the dire economic and living conditions that Gazan families find themselves in. Dr B., a university lecturer, links the lack of work and economic crisis that Gaza´s youth are going through directly with stress and mental health issues. He refers to the level of stress that university students are suffering: “We find that the biggest issues are the economic pressures and basic needs that the student cannot fulfil. Of course, these issues cast a great shadow on their psyche.” Similarly, Rawia Hamam, Director of the Training and Scientific Research Department at the Gaza Community Mental Health Programme, also correlates poverty, unemployment, and Israeli aggression with Gazan youth´s deteriorating mental health condition:

“We may have said before that Palestinian youth are trapped between unemployment, poverty, lack of a horizon, frustration, and loss of hope. This applies to most young people here in Gaza. If we ask a young man how he imagines the future or what he dreams of? A young man can sometimes answer this question that he does not expect what may happen today or tomorrow, let alone the future. The continuous expectation of Israeli aggressions and continuous wars makes many young people unable to plan or form a specific picture of the future”. (March, 2024)

Importantly, despite the unpredictable future in Gaza, some voices have expressed resilience. Resilience (by which we mean the ability of Gazan youth to manage and recover from slow violence perpetuated daily by the Israeli settler colonial regime) is present among Gazan youth in the way they divulge their faith in Allah (God) and the existing social fabric (a strong sense of family and community in Gaza persists). Furthermore, some respondents indicated that, if they do not get a job after graduation, they aim to initiate some private project, continue looking for work, work with parents or neighbours, or look for online work, as well as take training courses and complete postgraduate studies:

“I was affected, but one of our advantages as Palestinians is that we make miracles out of our inhibitions, as we struggle and make something… In terms of individual salvation, I can say that I am now working on an online platform… and I am getting income” (A, North Gaza, March, 2023)

To sum up, our report concludes that the serious and permanent slow violence that Gazan youth find themselves experiencing daily is a clear reflection of the gross violations of the IHL, Geneva Conventions, the political repression, the economic strangulation, the blatant racism, apartheid and creeping genocide that the Israeli settler colonial enterprise subjects them and their fellow Gazans to on a regular, daily basis. The dire situation and status of Gazan youth mental health is what we expose here and call upon policymakers across the globe to address this situation – as an urgent, humanitarian crisis – honestly, fairly and deeply. This is a subject which involves 25% of all refugees in the world and the longest-running injustice of the 20th (-21st) century. Because Gazan youth’s every day is decided by Israel’s colonial rule it is in effect more than a humanitarian crisis: it is politically, economically, and consciously driven, the permanent occupation of Palestinian territories lead by the principal vehicle of the blockade in Gaza, continual Israeli aggressions, with Gazan youth suffering the brunt of all this slow violence, alongside domestic political divisions. In most policy circles, fear and censorship – both internal and external – are concurrent with economic imperialism, rule the discussions. Despite the routine suffering of Gazan youth’s mental health, institutionalized power enforces silence. As academics we still have an open space through which we can shed light on these important issues: But these windows are also being closed off. The ongoing brutal and inhumane reality of so many young lives in Gaza sheds light on the tools and mechanisms of slow violence that Israel’s oppression involves. In this project, we seek to give the front stage to the victims of this violence with the hope that those in power step forward and take the required ethical and moral action to bring an end to this inhumane treatment of so many young lives and to offer some rays of hope for their future.

Epilogue

While writing this blog, Israel struck Gaza once again, with 40 warplanes and helicopters hitting homes, causing fear among residents. The Gaza health ministry reports that at least

21 were killed including 6 children, 3 women, and 2 elderly people. . This current intentional Israeli aggression adds yet another layer of fear, despair and hopelessness amongst Gazan society, which is already, as we discussed above, a target of slow violence attempting to erase Gazans’ sense of the future. When will the powers take action?

The Israeli Shikun Story

By Matan Flum, on 23 June 2022

Upon Israel’s establishment in 1948, a public and national housing block(s) programme, referred to in Hebrew as shikun or shikunim (plural), was established to provide dwellings to Jewish refugees and immigrants. The shikunim, the most common dwelling form in Israel, became increasingly controversial, leading to political strife, as well as turning into a symbol of the nation’s birth and of the Israeli government’s discriminating treatment of Mizrahi Jews,[1] most of who became the shikunim residents.

In this housing story, I choose to make a genealogical research and write about the life journey of Ilana Nouriely, my grandmother, and its socio-political meaning, during three time periods between 1928-2021. In order to do so, I made interviews with my close family – mother, and four aunts and uncles. I searched for news articles and governmental and organisational reports regarding the Israeli housing blocks’ conditions as well. I aim to echo the feminist statement that the personal is the geopolitical, as well as to illustrate the fascinating interlinks between geopolitics and various housing and land policies in Israel.

My story will begin with presenting shortly Ilana’s undocumented life story in Tehran, Iran. I will move on to focus on her first years in the Israeli shikun, and then to depict the time period in her second shikun apartment, after the loss of her husband. Finally, I will conclude the story by describing her last few years in her third shikun apartment, where she had to move because of an urban renewal project.

 

“One of the apartment houses for new immigrants from Georgia at Shikun Harakevet in Lod”. Photographer: Moshe Milner. From: Government Press Office (GPO).

Introduction

Our story begins in 1928 at the city of Kashan, the Imperial State of Iran. Iran Nour-Mahmoodi, named after the country, was born in an undocumented address and date. We have no details about her childhood, not even some kind of a family story. Iran was married or forced to be married with Eliyahu at the age of 14. In an unknown date they moved to the Imperial State’s capital, Tehran – but we do not know exactly where to. By 1965 the couple extended the family and had 9 children. In 1968, a year after the Israeli-Arab Six-Day War, and after one of their children had immigrated before to Israel, the Persian-Jewish couple decided to follow him and continue their life in a new environment.

The Shikun as a Frontier

As they arrived to Israel’s airport, they encountered for the first time with one of the government’s main policies – the population dispersal policy. The officials in the airport told Iran that the family must move to Israel’s capital, Jerusalem. However, and unlike many other new immigrants, Iran already had a brother who lived in Qiryat Ono, a small town and a suburb of Tel-Aviv city, in the centre of country. The brother who immigrated to Israel in the 1950s and knew how the government treats the Mizrahi immigrants, told Iran to refuse to move to Jerusalem, thus she and her family could live next to him. After putting some pressure, Iran agreed to go alone to Jerusalem and see where the officials wanted to settle them. In Jerusalem, the authorities wanted the family to settle in the shikunim of the frontier neighborhood of Katamonim. When Iran got back to the airport the decision was clear – the family refused to evacuate. In a very unique behaviour, the family waited until 12am, when the officials blinked first and agreed to settle them in two shikun apartments – door to door – in the 4th floor of building in Qiryat Ono, Avraham Yair Stern Street 2. The family went up the stairs at night in the dark, because the electricity was not connected, and got some used beds from the Jewish Agency. Each apartment had two bedrooms, and the older and younger children splitted into each.

Ilana’s old Israeli I.D.

 

Israel’s population dispersal policy, by settling Mizrahi immigrants in shikunim, aimed to fulfill at least three formal Zionist ideological wishes (Kipnis, 1988). First, securing control over the new national land and its essential resources, thus strengthening the national security. Second, securing Jewish demographic majority in each of the areas of the national territory. Third, securing that the territorial space will be used only for the Jewish nationality. Nevertheless, it appears that this policy had three other concealed objectives (Yiftachel and Meir, 1998). First, using Jewish settlement to constitute an Ashkenazi[2] narrative of nation-building by implementing collective values of “desert conquest” and “land redemption”. Second, the policy assists the dominant Ashkenazi population in taking control of the lands where Palestinians had settled before. Third, the policy’s implementation distanced the Mizrahi Jews from the power and capital centres by turning them into a settler force. However, simultaneously, they allegedly become partners to the nation building project. Thereby, they were included within the new Israeli-Jewish nation, but in an inferior standpoint that reveals us the racialised power relations.

Dispersing Mizrahi Jews in neighborhoods such as the Katamonim is just one example of the constitution of the Israeli frontier and of Israel’s frontier settler society, especially since the 1967 Six-Day War, when Israel occupied many new territories such as Gaza Strip and the West Bank. Kemp (1999, p. 82) defines frontier as “the spread of settlers into new areas, mostly in stateless societies but during state expansion as well”. She suggests that the frontier cultural discourse in Israel after 1967 War became a border-blurring mechanism that prevented, at the same time, the annexation of and the withdrawal from the Palestinian occupied territories. Following Yiftachel (1996), since 1967 War, neighborhoods such as the Katamonim can be seen as an “internal frontier”, which is “zones (physical or mental) within the spatial boundaries of existing states or cultures, into which the expansion of the core society is sought” (p. 494). Yiftachel (1996) argues that the hegemonic group uses the ethos of frontier development and the power of the state to take control of marginalised group’s territories. In the Israeli case, this mechanism was not operated only to limit the Palestinian minority’s living space, but also justified the population dispersal policy, the poor socio-economic conditions of Mizrahi Jews in Israel’s periphery and the state’s political, cultural and economic control over them.

The Shikun During the Neo-Liberal Shift

While settling in, Iran’s name was changed by the government officials to Ilana Nouriely, in order it to be “Israeli”. Eliyahu started to work in one of the most known government’s factories (“Ossem”) and Ilana started to baby-sit other families’ children, in order them to pay the monthly rent to the governmental company owning the apartments, “Amidar”. In 1977, the right-wing “Herut” party won for the first time the elections and started slowly to promote a new housing policy – the privatisation of the public housing stock. A significant discount was made and the couple was able to buy the two shikun apartments for 18,000 Israeli Liras (pounds) each, while taking loans from family relatives and friends. However, many other shikun residents in the neighbourhood did not have this privilege or decided they prefer to continue and pay the low rent.

From that point on, things started to deteriorate. In 1985, Eliyahu passed away from a brutal cancer disease and Ilana was left suddenly alone, only with her youngest child living in the apartment. She decided to sell one of the apartments, rent the other, and to buy her second shikun apartment in the first floor of the same building. But one way or the other, the “outside” began to reflect her feelings “inside”. The shikun itself has been neglected as the Israeli neo-liberal capitalist regime has become more and more dominant. The staircase started to crack, the common yard has become empty of playful children and its grass went dry, the building entrance’s pavement started to have some bumps, and more and more abandoned and sick cats were seen around. It was if the time stopped. Nobody – from the municipal or governmental authorities nor any dwellers committee – took responsibility over the deteriorated conditions, and wealthier population moved away while the poor entered the shikunim (the residualisation process). It appeared the communities and the sense of community disappeared.

At first sight the privatisation policy appears completely different from the quasi-socialist public housing policy. However, reexamining the two policies shows us they are both subjected to the same spatial racialised logic. Unlike the recent critical literature, Yacobi and Tzfadia (2019) argue the neo-liberal policy of selective privatisation of space should be understood through Israel’s neo-setter-colonial politics that allow us expose new mechanism of colonial control. In fact, this new process in that time was only an adaption of Israel’s ethno-national model to the “free market” logic. I.e., the “free” market, which usually is presented as colour blind and neutral, just deepened the marginalisation of Palestinians and Mizrahi Jews (Tzfadia, 2010). As for Mizrahi Jews, it could be explained that after 1977 elections when an imagined “threat” has been created that their socio-economic class will be elevated, the privatisation was used as an answer to oppress them and transfer material capital to the hands of the Ashkenazi hegemony’s hands. As for Palestinians, the privatisation enabled to use new Western economic and militaristic tools, forces and industries to deepen the control over the Palestinian occupied territories and demonstrate its profitability.

“Renovated tenements in Or-Yehuda opposite a pre-renovated building”. Photographer: Marcus Yuval. From: Government Press Office (GPO).

 

The Shikun Demolition: “Evacuation-Construction” Project

In 1998, the Israeli Urban Renewal Project, “Evacuation-Construction” (“Pinuy-Binuy” as referred to in Hebrew), was declared as an official policy by the Housing and Labour Ministry. The new national project takes place by several steps. First, the Construction and Housing Ministry declares an urban plot as an “Evacuation-Construction” site. Second, the majority of the dwellers in the site must agree to sign a contract with the project promoters, that promises the dwellers’ right to new apartments in the same size in the new building after the renewal. The dwellers also get funding for them to rent other houses until the project will be finished. Third, the project itself starts with an often-celebrated demolition of the shikunim, and eventually the dwellers get their new apartments and the promoter sales the remain apartments.

The awaited advantages of the Renewal Project are as follow (Hasson, 2014): First, condensing the cities without harming open spaces, upgrading the public space, and restraining suburbanisation; Second, strengthening from economic and security aspects the inhabitants of poor neighbourhoods by returning them more expensive new apartments with residential secure spaces against rockets and earthquakes (“Mamad” as referred in Hebrew); And third, the enlargement of the housing stock in order to increase the housing supply.

During 2010-2020 an estimated 5% of the housing construction starts were an “Evacuation-Construction” projects, almost all of them in the Israel’s centre or Jerusalem (State Comptroller of Israel, 2016). As a result of the establishment of the Urban Renewal Authority as a branch in the Housing Ministry, this number is expected to continue to grow. The first plan was launched in 2001 in Qiryat Ono, right next to where Ilana lived her entire life. It was clearly chosen because of the high housing prices in what that became a prestigious suburb in the country’s centre. In 2014 the plan was declared as successful by the companies and authorities. 11 first new high buildings were built and 517 apartments were occupied by the residents – 270 of them by former residents Jerusalem (State Comptroller of Israel, 2016).  In 2017 the second plan in the city was completed.

At the same year, the third plan was set to start. This time the target was Ilana’s and her neighbours’ shikunim. Ilana had to rent a new shikun apartment and to move unwillingly in the age of 89. Until her apartment was ready, she already passed away.

The Renewal Project policy continues to operate within Israel’s spatial and racialised logic, but unlike the “usual” privatisation processes, it adds to the equation the demolition of the shikunim and their symbolic cargo. Cohen and Yacobi (2020) argue that the entrepreneurial projects are focused on maximising entrepreneurs’ private profits, and are expressing the idea that the shikunim are a “defective product” that is not reparable and must be destroyed. This is despite the fact that the shikunim are almost the last location, especially in Israel’s centre, that provides affordable housing for immigrants, migrant workers, seniors and the poor.

In light of the above, many of the disadvantages of these projects are quite clear (Bimkom, 2016; Zandberg, 2016). First, the construction of dense towers exceeds the carrying capacity of the public infrastructure. Second, the maintenance of the towers is highly expensive, an issue that will contribute eventually to the displacement of the former residents from the old city centres and to the destruction of the communities. Furthermore, renters in these city areas will not be able to afford the new high rent prices and will have to leave. Third, the high towers are detached from the surroundings, a problem that could result in the negligence of public space and a rise in violence levels.

Instead of forcing the shikunim residents to bear the burden of the housing crisis in Israel, Cohen and Yacobi (2020) suggest to repair the existing shikunim, and even to add a much lower number of new apartments, so the state will provide the budgets and take the planning responsibility in order to save the urban fabric of the cities and protect marginalised groups.

As Cohen and Yacobi (2020) maintain, the shikun’s cultural representations link it to the Mizrahi culture and it became part of the Mizrahi identity, thus it is seen nowadays as a Mizrahi location. Following that, I argue that the demolition process should be understood as part of Israel’s continuous settler-colonial mechanisms. The demolition is not used only for economic profit. It falls as well into Israel’s spatial and racialised logic, that is held by Israel’s hegemonic forces who wish to erase Israel’s Mizrahi identity, and thus reinforce Israel’s self-perception as “Western” state (Shohat, 1988). Moreover, the usage of demolition as a very drastic planning tool, may indicate that the privatisation policy is not sufficient anymore in order to shift material capital to upper racial-classes who managed to enjoy the neo-liberal regime.

Shikun’s demolition in Qiryat-Ono. Photographer: Doron Saar Photography. From: https://ononews.co.il/

Epilogue

While closing this personal-geopolitical housing story of Iran-Ilana, I am thinking about storytelling in our family, about family inter-generational trauma and my grandmother’s undocumented history. It saddens me how little her life and many other shikunim residents were told, and at the same time, surprises me how much power she had to lead her big family into better future. In my mind, I remember her sitting alone in her shikun home almost all day long, listening obsessively to Iranian and Israeli news channels and radio, while the photo of my late grandfather placed on the white wall in front of her, and his eyes stare at her and vice versa. I wonder what she told him and what she felt.

 

Eliyahu’s photo on the wall in Ilana’s home.

 

[1] Jewish immigrants from Muslim states.

[2] Jewish immigrants from Europe and North America.

 

Bibliography

“Bimkom” – Planners for Planning Rights (2016). Appendix to Bimkom’s response to the chapter of the State Comptroller of Israel – “Government’s actions to promote Urban Renewal as a national requirement”.

Cohen, S. & Yacobi, H. (2020). Repair, do not demolish! In Y. Israel (Ed.), South West Jerusalem Newspaper (pp. 72-75). Black Box.

Hasson, N. (22.12.2014). The building program in south Jerusalem: Lifeline or urban disaster. Ha’aretz. Retrieved from https://www.haaretz.co.il/news/local/.premium-1.2517944

Kemp, A. (1999). The frontier idiom on borders and territorial politics in post-1967 Israel. Geography Research Forum, 19, 78–97.

Kipnis, B. (1988). Geopolitical ideologies and regional strategies in Israel. Horizons in Geography, 23/24, 35-54 [Hebrew].

Shohat, E. (1988). Sephardim in Israel: Zionism from the Standpoint of its Jewish Victims. Social Text19/20, 1-35.

State Comptroller of Israel (2016). Government’s actions to promote Urban Renewal as a national requirement. In State Comptroller of Israel report 66(3), pp. 1243-1304.

Tzfadia, E. (2010). Militarism and space in Israel. Israeli Sociology, 11 (2), 337-361 [Hebrew].

Yacobi, H., & Tzfadia, E. (2018). Neo‐settler colonialism and the re‐formation of territory: Privatization and nationalization in Israel. Mediterranean Politics, 24(1), 1-19. doi.org/10.1080/13629395.2017.1371900

Yiftachel, O. (1996). The internal frontier: Territorial control and ethnic relations in Israel. Regional Studies, 30(5), 493-508.

Yiftachel, O. & Meir, A. (1998). Frontiers, peripheries, and ethnic relations in Israel: An introduction. In O. Yiftachel & A. Meir (Eds.). Ethnic frontiers and peripheries: Landscapes of development and inequality in Israel (pp. 1-11). Westview Press.

Zandberg, E. (1.6.2016). The State Comptroller ignores the dramatic social consequences of the “Evacuation-Construction” method. Ha’aretz. Retrieved from https://www.haaretz.co.il/gallery/architecture/.premium-1.2963093

 

This housing story is part of a mini-series revealing the complex ways in which personal and political aspects of shelter provision interweave over time, and impact on multiple aspects of people’s lives. Space for strategic choice is nearly always available to some degree, but the parameters of that choice can be dramatically restricted or enhanced by context. The wide range of experience presented in this collection shines a light on the wealth of knowledge and insights about housing that our students regularly bring to the DPU’s learning processes.

Gaza: Cage Politics, Violence and Health

By Haim Yacobi, on 4 December 2018

This blog is the second of the health in urban development blog series. View also:
Health in secondary urban centres: Insights from Karonga, Malawi

If you are interested in DPU’s new MSc in Health in Urban Development, more information can be found on our website.

“I’m like a bird in a cage”, told Shaheen in an interview to Al Jazeera as she lay in bed at Al-Rantisi hospital. “Outside of my cage I can see water and food, but I can’t reach it. This is my condition right now.” Shaheen suffers from breast cancer, her condition has been deteriorating ever since she was denied exit from Gaza for treatment. The Gaza Strip does not have adequate resources to provide her with appropriate treatment, yet she cannot leave, as Israeli authorities rejected her permit three times in a row without explanation. But this is not an anecdote – current data indicates that 54 Palestinians, including 46 cancer patients, died in 2017 after their requests for permits were delayed or refused.

Gaza, drawings by Gazan children, Photograph: Mohammed Baroud, Screen Photograph: Yoram Kuperminz

The case of Shaheen illustrates the ways in which health, death, life and space are entangled. It is not just about the crossing of the border between the Gaza strip and Israel, but also about being in a “cage”, an urban territory where electricity, clean water, sewage system and adequate housing which are basic conditions for ensuring a health – are absent. As already noted,  in 2017 more than 96 percent of groundwater is unfit for human consumption, and the forecast is that the damage would become irreversible by 2020; Due to chronic shortage in electricity operating pumps, there is a constant threat of raw sewage flooding residential areas. The beach areas of Gaza strip are polluted by more than a hundred million litres of raw sewage flowing into the sea every day. This matter was recently defined by Zeid Ra’ad al-Hussein, the UN’s High Commissioner for Human Rights as a “TOXIC SLUM”, claiming that Gazans “…are… caged in a toxic slum from birth to death”, a ghetto of 1.9 million residents (50% under the age of 18) living in one of the most densely-populated places on earth.

The spatio-politics of health, death and life goes beyond the notion of necropolitics; it is not just about the use of social and political power to dictate how some people may live and how some must die as Achile Mbembe suggests; rather it is also about the spatial dimension of “cage politics”. Within this context I argue that spatial organisation determines the right to kill as defined by Foucault; blocking Gaza, isolating its habitants, controlling the goods that can enter the strip (such as food, construction materials etc). Yet the question is not whether the organisation of space and health are linked, but why is space organised, controlled and destructed in certain cases so as to protect the right to health; What are the ideological forces and the political processes that promote or hinder the organisation of space?

Gaza, Photograph: Khalil Hamra, Screen Photograph: Yoram Kuperminz

The conditions in Gaza are not the result of any natural disaster, neither the outcome of the last few months events along the border. Rather, I would suggest to see it within the context of settler colonial political history, which prioritises territorial and demographic control over basic rights. As already noted the establishment of settler colonialism is based on “the will of erasure”, or at least the “systematic containment” of the original inhabitants. First of all, the refugees: close to 70% of the Palestinians living in the Gaza Strip are refugees. Most of them ran away, or were expelled from villages, towns and cities that are part of the State of Israel today.

Since then, Israeli political discourse focuses on the idea that this problem would disappear by itself. Yet, as the last few months demonstrate this is not the case: Young Palestinians who are demonstrating at the border are the third and fourth generations of the original refugees, and they are willing to die for the right to return, reminding us that 1948 is still with us, waiting for a political (rather than military) answer. Indeed, links between health, death, life and cage politics should be understood within a wider context, where freedom of movement, access to public services and infrastructure, as well as freedom from pollution and environmental hazards, are obvious rights linked to space.

Gaza murals, Photograph: Mustafa Hassona, Screen Photograph: Yoram Kuperminz

Indeed, the case of Gaza illustrates the ways in which people who have been displaced experience “root shock” – the traumatic stress reaction to the loss of some or all of one’s emotional ecosystem. As the case of Gaza demonstrates, the very historical foundations of the root shock are the expelled of Palestinians after the 1948 war from Israel, the creation of the “refugees crisis” and the ongoing violence in the last few decades. Root shock is both personal and collective: on the individual level emotional trauma affect a person experiences when his or her environment is destroyed. It causes the risk for stress-related diseases like depression and diminishes social, emotional, and financial resources. Here, several reports point on the growing number of mental illness in Gaza, including a growing number of suicides.

Importantly this has also an effect on the community level; root shock is expressed by the loss of interpersonal ties that is vested in the collective connections and affect negatively a community resilience. A telling example is the aspect of the high rates of sexual assaults in Gaza resulted of the common addiction to Tramadol which is available in Gaza, and popularly traded as an illegal street-drug. According to Mansour, the Tramadol side-effects have an immense impact on the frequency of sexual assaults and other un-healthy sexual behaviours. In general, Mansour describes Gaza as a society in “a tremendous and accelerated disintegration” in which “people are losing their humanity”. Another aspect is gender-based violence. In 2016, more than 148,000 women were subjected to psychological and physical abuse. Studies show a link between violence against women and the worsening of living conditions. According to the UNFPA, ‘The structural, cyclical and hierarchal nature of violence… means women often become “shock-absorbers” of the crisis’ in Gaza.

To sum up, cage politics violence has two dimensions that affect health conditions in Gaza. Active violence stemming from direct military actions and explicit policy. This affects water supply, electricity, nutrition. It also causes a severe shortage of equipment, medicines (including antibiotics and morphium), and medical expertise. This, for example, means injured people with gunshot wounds to the legs are not always treated quickly, leading to amputation. But cage politics is also discursive, symbolic and implicit; this is expressed in the very de-humansing and demonising public discourse in Israel, that in turn justifies active state violence. A current example is the building of an underwater sea barrier that according to the Israelis aims to prevent Palestinian infiltrators from entering Israel by sea. The barrier will consist of three layers. The first will be below the water; the second will be made of stone; the third will be made of barbed wire. An additional fence will surround the sea fence. The effect of this project on Gaza is clear: fishing, mobility, health and economy is one side of it, but this also takes us back to the very argument presented today: cage politics of health, life and death are highly political and that access to water, electricity and services, or proximity to environmental hazards, are not neutral facts but rather the results of policy and violence.

 

Haim Yacobi is a Prof of Development Planning and the Programme Leader of the Health in Urban Development MSc Programme at the DPU. In his current research he focuses on the ways in which ideology, planning and health are entangled in conflict zones.