West Bank students fear for their future
Bethlehem: As Israeli incursions disrupt classes, girls at one school say they could lose any chance to build better lives for themselves and their people.
By Peter Hermann
Sun Foreign Staff
Originally published June 4, 2002
BETHLEHEM, West Bank - With the end of the semester looming, the seniors at Bethlehem's Secondary Girls' School were beginning the grueling spring ritual of preparing for exams that would help determine their academic future.
It was the first day of April, and the student body of Muslims and Christians, the poor and the middle-class, the daughters of merchants and militants, was bursting with pride. Nearly every one of last year's 150 graduates had gone on to college, and this year's seniors hoped for the same.
Soha Doraghmeh, an aspiring chemist, was memorizing reactions of organic compounds. Mai Mahajeneh concentrated on a chemistry book as a hoped-for step toward medical school. Rowaida Asaf was brushing up on history and math.
Manal Awad, their teacher, was busy too, frantically working on lessons to review long-forgotten subjects and cover new topics. "We need well-educated and professional people to build a state," she said.
But that evening, the semester was interrupted.
The Israeli army arrived in Bethlehem, disrupting and perhaps permanently altering the students' lofty plans.
Gunbattles erupted, and soldiers were soon inside the mayor's office, and armored personnel carriers were parked outside the Church of the Nativity. For the next 39 days, the city's residents were confined to their homes under a round-the-clock curfew.
There would be no classes. There would be no homework and no exams. The youngsters worried there also would be no future.
"We were frustrated," Soha, 17, said a few days after returning to school after the forced break. She had spent the time under curfew confined to a few rooms of her family's house, watching television and telephoning friends to make sure they were safe.
"We have exams, and we were not able to study or do research," she said. "It was too dangerous to leave our houses, or even to look out the windows."
Hidden motive alleged
Her classmates had similar experiences. Strong-willed and eager to voice their opinions, each said they felt strongly that Israel had launched a campaign to stifle their futures and that school was a ticket to better times. Mai, the aspiring physician, said the conviction has practical implications: "When we get more educated, if the Israelis kill one doctor, we will replace him with five doctors."
Rowaida, who is still unsure of her aspirations, endorsed her friend's theory. "We cannot face Israel's tanks, planes and guns. We have to confront them with education."
It seems a race against time, as Israeli troops returned here May 27 and left Thursday. Classes, once again, were suspended. Routines and education again had to surrender to curfews.
If left to the girls at this school, in the heart of a city virtually run by gunmen and engulfed in a guerrilla war, violence would be replaced by an army of learned citizens who could bypass their politicians and engage in thoughtful debate.
Blaming both sides
The violence has taken the lives of some of their friends and family members and left others without a home. But the students said the Israeli occupation also exposed flaws in Palestinian society. The students asked not only why their cities had not been better defended but also why their leaders had taken a course that led to the invasion.
They talked about replacing unresponsive and corrupt politicians, one student going so far as to raise the nearly unmentionable - replacing Yasser Arafat as the Palestinian leader.
But most of all, they talked of resolving the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Because few of the students had ever met an Israeli, their only way to judge them was through the actions of the soldiers.
"I would like to meet an Israeli civilian," said Eyman Za'atary, 16, a shy, patient student. "No people want to live in fear, destruction and war. I think that Israeli civilians must be like we are. They want to live with us in peace. Maybe if we could just talk with each other, peace might be possible."
Elham Hamad, the principal, smiled as she listened. She knew that the girls' views might never be heard beyond the confines of home or school, given women's subservient role in Palestinian society. Most of the girls will marry and begin having children before the end of their teens; some of her students already have a spouse.
Those with a real chance of fulfilling dreams of becoming a doctor or a chemist are the lucky few with a foreign passport or family wealth - young women who will be able to leave the West Bank.
"We keep them dreaming," Hamad said. "We do not allow them to lose hope. If you lose hope, you die."
The Bethlehem Secondary Girl's School is different from most other public schools run by the Palestinian Authority: It is clean, almost spotless; the 4-year-old building would hardly look out of place in suburban America. Its hallways are painted a cheerful, bright blue. Bethlehem's dust and grit are noticeably absent.
Educators seek the brightest students for this school, a rare endeavor in a society in which status is based on class and family ties. Every student wears a green-and-white-striped uniform, but the girls manage to show their individuality by slightly altering the clothes.
A different outlook
Unlike at other schools, students here did not rush to rename their school after a suicide bomber. Pictures of flowers and laughing families outnumber those of fighters 5-to-1. Nida'a Aleaza, a 16-year-old student killed by Israeli gunfire in October, is memorialized by a single silver-framed photo in the trophy case in Hamad's office.
The emphasis is on learning for the future instead of dwelling on the past.
"It is hard," Hamad said. "There are a lot of sad stories here. Students' homes were destroyed. Their fathers were arrested and jailed.
"For the first three days after we got back, we had no lessons. We just let the students talk and focus on what had happened. There was no way anyone could concentrate on anything else."
Making up for lost time
Then students had to resume preparing for the 12-hour general exam, a test administered by the Palestinian Authority over two days on subjects ranging from Arabic to geography, history, biology and mathematics.
The exam had been scheduled for early this month but has been delayed for several weeks to give students throughout the West Bank more time to prepare. Even before the soldiers' return, teachers said the time wasn't sufficient.
They were rushing to make up for lost time, rushing through lesson plans, covering only the subjects that might be on the tests and skipping other material.
For the students who do well and are lucky enough to attend college, the next problem will be to put their education to use. Opportunities are limited, shaped in part by violence and military checkpoints.
Soha knows, for example, there is little demand for chemists in the West Bank. "I will probably become a teacher," she said. It is a noble profession, but even her instructors acknowledge that teaching and social work are the traditional fallback jobs for Palestinian women.
As the conversation turned back to the war between Palestinians and Israelis, the students looked for an alternative to violence.
"Maybe it's time to find another way to resolve the conflict," said Rowaida, the 17-year-old who is not yet sure what she wants to do. "We have fought with guns for a long time, and nothing has worked."