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Robinson believed that if he looked at it hard enough, he could cause the surface of the city to reveal to him the molecular basis of historical events, and in this way he hoped to see into the future.¹

Patrick Keiller (London)

The duality of intelligence and stupidity has been part of the Zionist project from the beginning.²

Mourid Barghouti

‘Nu’a nu’a sof.’³

Yeshayahu Gavish

(‘Move, move, out’ – the order for the beginning of the assault of the 1967 war.)

A frontier scenario

In the years following the 1993 signing of the first Oslo Accord, which was intended to mark the beginning of the end of the conflict over Palestine, it became increasingly difficult for Israeli settlers to obtain official permits to establish new settlements in the West Bank. As a result, settlers resorted to increasingly sophisticated methods of piracy to help the government – which, unofficially, was keen to see settlements established but could not be seen to be helping in their foundation – bypass its own laws and international commitments.

In 1999 several settlers complained to the military of bad reception on their cellphones as they drove round a bend on the main highway, Road 60, leading from Jerusalem to the settlements in the northern West Bank. In response, the cellphone provider, Orange, agreed to erect an antenna in the area. The settlers pointed to an elevated hilltop overlooking the bend as a potential site for the mast. The same hilltop had been the site of previous – unsuccessful – settlement attempts: three years earlier settlers claimed that the summit was an archaeological mound under which the biblical town of Migron was buried. Sample excavations unearthed the remains of nothing older than a small Byzantine village, but the hilltop was named ‘Migron’ regardless. Two young settlers occupied the hill, living in converted shipping containers, but, with no prospect of being able to develop the site, left after a short time.

The hilltop, its slopes cultivated with figs and olives, was owned by Palestinian farmers from the villages of Ein Yabrud and Burka who were shepherds there. According to the emergency powers invested in the Israeli military, however, the construction of a cellphone antenna could be considered a security issue, and could therefore be undertaken on private lands without obtaining the owners’ consent. Following a request by Orange, the Israel Electric Corporation connected the hilltop to the electricity grid and the national water provider connected the hilltop to the water system, purportedly to enable the construction work.

Because of delays in the mast’s construction, in May 2001 settlers erected a fake antenna and received military permission to hire a 24-hour on-site private security guard to watch over it. The guard moved into a trailer at the foot of the mast, and fenced off the surrounding hilltop; soon afterwards, his wife and children moved in and connected their home to the water and electricity supplies already there. On 3 March 2002, five additional families joined them, and the outpost of Migron formally came into being. The outpost grew steadily. Since families were already living onsite, the Israeli Ministry for Construction and Housing built a nursery, while some donations from abroad paid for the construction of a synagogue.⁴ Migron is currently the biggest of the 103 outposts scattered throughout the West Bank. By mid-2006 it comprised around 60 trailers and containers housing more than 42 families: approximately 150 people perched on the hilltop around a cellular antenna.⁵

The antenna became a focus of territorial intensity in the surrounding landscape. The infrastructure built for it allowed the outpost to emerge. The energy field of the antenna was not only electromagnetic, but also political, serving as a centre for the mobilizing, channelling, coalescing and organizing of political forces and processes of various kinds. Migron is not the only outpost established around a cellphone antenna. The logic of cellular communication seems oddly compatible with that of the civilian occupation of the West Bank: both expand into territories by establishing networks that triangulate base stations located on high ground along radiation- or sight-lines. Moreover, the cellular networks serve a military function. Using them for its own field communications, the military was able to replace its bulky military radios with smaller devices capable of transmitting field imagery and GPS locations between soldiers and units.

The outpost of Antenna Hill. Note antenna at centre of the outpost. Milutin Labudovic for Peace Now, 2002.

An upsurge in the establishment of outposts has always been an indication of what settlers suspected to be ‘impending territorial compromises’. Such activity is intended to sabotage prospects of political progress, and secure as much land as possible for the Israeli settlers in the Occupied Territories, in case partial withdrawals are to be carried out. After returning from negotiations with the Palestinian Authority and the Clinton administration at the Wye Plantation in Maryland in October 1998, Ariel Sharon, then Foreign Minister, rushed settlers ‘to move, run and grab as many hilltops as they can … because everything we take now will stay ours. Everything we don’t grab will go to them.’⁶ In recent years, many outposts have been constructed in an attempt to influence the path of Israel’s Separation Wall that, at the time of writing in 2006, is carving a circuitous route through the West Bank, the logic being that by seeding the terrain with ‘anchor points’ in strategic places, state planners would reroute the Wall around them in order to include them on the ‘Israeli’ side. Outposts thus mark some of the most contested frontiers of the Israel–Palestine conflict. Often, rarely beyond their teens, the so-called ‘youth of the hill’ reject their parents’ settler–suburban culture for a sense of the wild frontier, one equally influenced by the myth of rough and rugged Western heroes as with the Israeli myth of the pioneering Zionist settlers of the early twentieth century. The armed outpost settlers often clash with local Palestinian farmers, violently drive them off their fields and steal their produce. In retaliation, armed Palestinian militants often attack outposts. Other outposts are then established as ‘punitive measures’ near locations where settlers have been killed.

Outposts have thus become the focus for political and diplomatic squabbles. Local and international peace organizations engage in direct actions against outpost expansion. In 2004 several Israeli peace activists managed to steal five trailers from Migron, provocatively placing them in front of the Ministry of Defence building in Tel Aviv, demonstrating that evacuation could be carried out if the will to do it exists.⁷ Human rights lawyers petitioned the Israeli High Court of Justice with a string of legal challenges against the outposts, the most recent of which, against Migron, is still pending.⁸ As international pressure mounts, Israeli governments announce (usually with great fanfare) their decision to enforce Israeli law and evacuate a number of outposts. Occasionally, clashes occur between government and settler forces: thousands of policemen battle with thousands of settlers, who travel for the televised fight from across the frontier. Often, however, a compromise is reached: the trailers are reattached to trucks, and relocated to another Palestinian hilltop.

Against the geography of stable, static places, and the balance across linear and fixed sovereign borders, frontiers are deep, shifting, fragmented and elastic territories. Temporary lines of engagement, marked by makeshift boundaries, are not limited to the edges of political space but exist throughout its depth. Distinctions between the ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ cannot be clearly marked. In fact, the straighter, more geometrical and more abstract official colonial borders across the ‘New Worlds’ tended to be, the more the territories of effective control were fragmented and dynamic and thus unchartable by any conventional mapping technique.⁹ The Occupied Palestinian Territories could be seen as such a frontier zone. However, in relation to the dimensions of ancient empires – ‘optimal’, by several accounts, at forty days’ horse travel from one end to the other – within the 5,655 square kilometres of the West Bank, the 2.5 million Palestinians and 500,000 Jewish settlers seem to inhabit the head of a pin. On it, as Sharon Rotbard mentioned, ‘the most explosive ingredients of our time, all modern utopias and all ancient beliefs [are contained] simultaneously and instantaneously, bubbling side by side with no precautions’.¹⁰ These territories have become the battlefield on which various agents of state power and independent actors confront each other, meeting local and international resistance. The mundane elements of planning and architecture have become tactical tools and the means of dispossession. Under Israel’s regime of ‘erratic occupation’, Palestinian life, property and political rights are constantly violated not only by the frequent actions of the Israeli military, but by a process in which their environment is unpredictably and continuously refashioned, tightening around them like a noose.

Accounts of colonialism tend to concentrate on the way systems of governance and control are translated into the organization of space, according to underlying principles of rational organization, classification, procedure and rules of administration. What the above scenario demonstrates, however, is that in the Occupied Palestinian Territories, the organization of geographical space cannot simply be understood as the preserve of the Israeli government executive power alone, but rather one diffused among a multiplicity of – often non-state – actors. The spatial organization of the Occupied Territories is a reflection not only of an ordered process of planning and implementation, but, and increasingly so, of ‘structured chaos’, in which the – often deliberate – selective absence of government intervention promotes an unregulated process of violent dispossession. The actors operating within this frontier – young settlers, the Israeli military, the cellular network provider and other capitalist corporations, human rights and political activists, armed resistance, humanitarian and legal experts, government ministries, foreign governments, ‘supportive’ communities overseas, state planners, the media, the Israeli High Court of Justice – with the differences and contradictions of their aims, all play their part in the diffused and anarchic, albeit collective authorship of its spaces. Because elastic geographies respond to a multiple and diffused rather than a single source of power, their architecture cannot be understood as the material embodiment of a unified political will or as the product of a single ideology. Rather, the organization of the Occupied Territories should be seen as a kind of ‘political plastic’, or as a diagram of the relation between all the forces that shaped it.¹¹

The architecture of the frontier could not be said to be simply ‘political’ but rather ‘politics in matter’.

This book is an investigation of the transformation of the Occupied Palestinian Territories since 1967. It looks at the ways in which the different forms of Israeli rule inscribed themselves in space, analysing the geographical, territorial, urban and architectural conceptions and the interrelated practices that form and sustain them. In doing so, it provides an image of the very essence of Israeli occupation, its origin, evolution and the various ways by which it functions.

It does so not by offering a comprehensive history of the four decades of Israeli domination, nor by drawing a detailed portrait of its present spatiality, but by probing the various structures of territorial occupation. The following chapters form an ‘archival probe’,¹² investigating the history and modus operandi of the various spatial mechanisms that have sustained – and continue to sustain – the occupation’s regime and practices of control. This forensic study of the spaces of occupation reveals how overt instruments of control, as well as seemingly mundane structures, are pregnant with intense historical, political meaning. Cladding and roofing details, stone quarries, street and highway illumination schemes, the ambiguous architecture of housing, the form of settlements, the construction of fortifications and means of enclosure, the spatial mechanisms of circulation control and flow management, mapping techniques and methods of observations, legal tactics for land annexation, the physical organization of crisis and disaster zones, highly developed weapons technologies and complex theories of military manoeuvres – all are invariably described as indexes for the political rationalities, institutional conflicts and range of expertise that formed them.

Architecture is employed in this book in two distinct ways. On the one hand, the book deals with the architecture of the structures that sustain the occupation and the complicity of architects in designing them. It seeks to read the politics of Israeli architecture in the way social, economic, national and strategic forces solidify into the organization, form and ornamentation of homes, infrastructure and settlements. On the other hand, architecture is employed as a conceptual way of understanding political issues as constructed realities. As the subtitle of this book – Israel’s Architecture of Occupation – implies, the occupation is seen to have architectural properties, in that its territories are understood as an architectural ‘construction’, which outline the ways in which it is conceived, understood, organized and operated. The architects in this book are therefore military men, militants, politicians, political and other activists. I shall return to this latter meaning in the last section of this introduction.

Elastic geography

As the foundational narrative of Migron demonstrates, the frontiers of the Occupied Territories are not rigid and fixed at all; rather, they are elastic, and in constant transformation. The linear border, a cartographic imaginary inherited from the military and political spatiality of the nation state has splintered into a multitude of temporary, transportable, deployable and removable border-synonyms – ‘separation walls’, ‘barriers’, ‘blockades’, ‘closures’, ‘road blocks’, ‘checkpoints’, ‘sterile areas’, ‘special security zones’, ‘closed military areas’ and ‘killing zones’ – that shrink and expand the territory at will. These borders are dynamic, constantly shifting, ebbing and flowing; they creep along, stealthily surrounding Palestinian villages and roads. They may even errupt into Palestinian living rooms, bursting in through the house walls. The anarchic geography of the frontier is an evolving image of transformation, which is remade and rearranged with every political development or decision. Outposts and settlements might be evacuated and removed, yet new ones are founded and expand. The location of military checkpoints is constantly changing, blocking and modulating Palestinian traffic in ever-differing ways. Mobile military bases create the bridgeheads that maintain the logistics of ever-changing operations. The Israeli military makes incursions into Palestinian towns and refugee camps, occupies them and then withdraws. The Separation Wall, merely one of multiple barriers, is constantly rerouted, its path registering like a seismograph the political and legal battles surrounding it. Where territories appear to be hermetically sealed in by Israeli walls and fences, Palestinian tunnels are dug underneath them. Elastic territories could thus not be understood as benign environments: highly elastic political space is often more dangerous and deadly than a static, rigid one.

The dynamic morphology of the frontier resembles an incessant sea dotted with multiplying archipelagos of externally alienated and internally homogenous ethno-national enclaves – under a blanket of aerial Israeli surveillance. In this unique territorial ecosystem, various other zones – those of political piracy, of ‘humanitarian’ crisis, of barbaric violence, of full citizenship, ‘weak citizenship’, or no citizenship at all – exist adjacent to, within or over each other.

The elastic nature of the frontier does not imply that Israeli trailers, homes, roads or indeed the concrete wall are in themselves soft or yielding but that the continuous spatial reorganization of the political borders they mark out responds to and reflects political and military conflicts. The various inhabitants of this frontier do not operate within the fixed envelopes of space – space is not the background for their actions, an abstract grid on which events take place – but rather the medium that each of their actions seeks to challenge, transform or appropriate. Moreover, in this context the relation of space to action could not be understood as that of a rigid container to ‘soft’ performance. Political action is fully absorbed in the organization, transformation, erasure and subversion of space. Individual actions, geared by the effect of the media, can sometimes be more effective than Israeli government action.¹³ Although it often appears as if the frontier’s elastic nature is shaped by one side only – following the course of colonialist expansion – the agency of the colonized makes itself manifest in its success in holding steadfastly to its ground in the face of considerable odds, not only through political violence, but in the occasional piece of skilful diplomacy and the mobilization of international opinion. Indeed, the space of the colonizer may as well shrink as frontiers are decolonized.

In the meantime, the erratic and unpredictable nature of the frontier is exploited by the government. Chaos has its peculiar structural advantages. It supports one of Israel’s foremost strategies of obfuscation: the promotion of complexity – geographical, legal or linguistic. Sometimes, following a terminology pioneered by Henry Kissinger, this strategy is openly referred to as ‘constructive blurring’.¹⁴ This strategy seeks simultaneously to obfuscate and naturalize the facts of domination. Across the frontiers of the West Bank it is undertaken by simultaneously unleashing processes that would create conditions too complex and illogical to make any territorial solution in the form of partition possible (many of the settlements were indeed constructed with the aim of creating an ‘irresolvable geography’), while pretending that it is only the Israeli government that has the know-how to resolve the very complexity it created.

One of the most important strategies of obfuscation is terminological. The unique richness of settlement terminology in Hebrew was employed after 1967 in order to blur the border between Israel and the areas it occupied, and functioned as a kind of sophisticated semantic laundering. The controversial Hebrew term hitnahlut – a term with biblical roots describing the dwelling on national patrimony – is generally understood by the Israeli public to refer to those settlements of the national-messianic right, built in Gaza and the West Bank mountain range near Palestinian cities. In the popular grammar of occupation, settlements created by the centre-left Labor governments are referred to and seen more empathically as agrarian Yeshuvim (a generic Hebrew term for Jewish settlements within Israel) of the ‘Kibbutz’ and ‘Moshav’ type, as ‘suburbs’, ‘towns’ or, if within the boundaries of expanded Jerusalem, as ‘neighbourhoods’ (Shhunot). Semantic distinctions are also made between ‘legal’ settlements and ‘illegal’ outposts, although the latter are often the first stage in the development of the former in an enterprise that is illegal in its entirety. For the Israeli public, each of the above terms carries a different moral code. Large suburban settlements such as Ariel, Emanuel, Qiriat Arba and Ma’ale Adumim were officially declared ‘towns’ (Arim) in an exceptional process, long before their population had reached the demographical threshold of 20,000 required within the recognized borders of Israel ‘proper’.¹⁵ This was done in an attempt to naturalize these settlements in Israeli discourse, make their existence fact, their geographical location unclear, and keep them away from the negotiation table.¹⁶ Indeed, accordingly, most Israelis still see the Jewish neighbourhoods of occupied Jerusalem and the large towns of the West Bank, not as settlements, but as ‘legitimate’ places of residence. Within this book all residential construction beyond the 1949 borders of the Green Line are referred to as ‘settlements’ – which in this context should be understood as ‘colonies’.

In fact, despite the complexity of the legal, territorial and built realities that sustain the occupation, the conflict over Palestine has been a relatively straightforward process of colonization, dispossession, resistance and suppression. The Israeli critical writer Ilan Pappe explains: ‘generations of Israeli and pro-Israeli scholars, very much like their state’s diplomats, have hidden behind the cloak of complexity in order to fend off any criticism of their quite obviously brutal treatment of the Palestinians … [repeating] the Israeli message: This is a complicated issue that would be better left to the Israelis to deal with …’¹⁷ The attempt to place issues regarding conflict resolution in the domain of experts, beyond the reach of the general public, has been one of Israel’s most important propaganda techniques. This book asks not only that we examine the complexity of the occupation and the sophisticated brutality of its mechanisms of control, but that we simultaneously see through them.

Laboratory

Although this book is largely framed between 1967 and the present, and primarily within the Occupied Territories of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip, it does not seek to claim that the spatial injustices of the conflict started only after the Six Day War of June 1967, and that the extent of the present injustices are confined to the 1967 occupied territories. Nor does it underestimate the century-old process of Zionist colonization, land-grab and dispossession that preceded it. It suggests though that any adequate address of the injustices and suffering of the conflict must begin by ending Israeli rule in the Occupied Territories and the daily suffering inflicted in its name. Focusing on the occupation itself, furthermore, allows Israel’s spatial strategies to be investigated in their most brutal and intense manifestation, as within a ‘laboratory of the extreme’. The technologies of control that enable Israel’s continued colonization of the Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza are located at the end of an evolutionary chain of techniques of colonization, occupation and governance developed throughout the history of Zionist settlement. Furthermore, every change in the geography of the occupation has been undertaken with the techniques and technologies of the time and in exchange with other developments worldwide. The main surge of the colonization of the West Bank in the 1980s coincided with the Reagan-era flight of the American middle classes and their fortification behind protective walls – both formations setting themselves against the poverty and violence they have themselves produced. Perfecting the politics of fear, separation, seclusion and visual control, the settlements, checkpoints, walls and other security measures are also the last gesture in the hardening of enclaves, and the physical and virtual extension of borders in the context of the more recent global ‘war on terror’. The architecture of Israeli occupation could thus be seen as an accelerator and an acceleration of other global political processes, a worst-case scenario of capitalist globalization and its spatial fall-out. The extended significance of this ‘laboratory’ lies in the fact that the techniques of domination, as well as the techniques of resistance to them, have expanded and multiplied across what critical geographer Derek Gregory called the ‘colonial present’,¹⁸ and beyond – into the metropolitan centres of global cities.

Indeed, beyond their physical reality, the territories of Israel/Palestine have constituted a schematic description of a conceptual system whose properties have been used to understand other geopolitical problems. The ‘Intifada’ unfolding in Iraq is a part of an imaginary geography that Makram Khoury-Machool called the ‘Palestinization of Iraq’.¹⁹ Yet, if the Iraqi resistance is perceived to have been ‘Palestinized’, the American military has been ‘Israelized’. Furthermore, both the American and Israeli militaries have adopted counter-insurgency tactics that increasingly resemble the guerrilla methods of their enemies. When the wall around the American Green Zone in Baghdad looks as if it had been built from left-over components of the West Bank Wall; when ‘temporary closures’ are imposed on entire Iraqi towns and villages and reinforced with earth dykes and barbed wire; when larger regions are carved up by road blocks and checkpoints; when the homes of suspected terrorists are destroyed, and ‘targeted assassinations’ are introduced into a new global militarized geography – it is because the separate conflicts now generally collected under the heading of the ‘war on terror’ are the backdrop to the formation of complex ‘institutional ecologies’ that allow the exchange of technologies, mechanisms, doctrines, and spatial strategies between various militaries and the organizations that they confront, as well as between the civilian and the military domains.

The politics of separation

Each of the spatial technologies and practices to which the following chapters are dedicated is both a system of colonial control and a means of separation. Israeli domination in the West Bank and Gaza always shifted between selective physical presence and absence, the former dealing with Israel’s territorial and the latter with its demographic strategy – aiming to gain land without the people living in it. It thus operated by imposing a complex compartmentalized system of spatial exclusion that at every scale is divided into two. The logic of ‘separation’ (or, to use the more familiar Afrikaans word, ‘apartheid’) between Israelis and Palestinians within the Occupied Territories has been extended, on the larger, national scale, to that of ‘partition’. At times, the politics of separation/partition has been dressed up as a formula for a peaceful settlement, at others as a bureaucratic-territorial arrangement of governance, and most recently as a means of unilaterally imposed domination, oppression and fragmentation of the Palestinian people and their land.

The Oslo Accords of the 1990s left the Israeli military in control of the interstices of an archipelago of about two hundred separate zones of Palestinian restricted autonomy in the West Bank and Gaza. The military governed the area by modulating flows of different types between these enclaves (money, waste, water, traffic). During the second Intifada, the Oslo lines of partition further hardened into mechanisms of control. The military checkpoints and the Wall, slipping seamlessly into this geography, have become not only brutal means of segregation but active sensors within Israel’s network of surveillance, registering all the Palestinians passing through them. The process of partial decolonization, which was recently embodied in the evacuation of the ground surface of Gaza and the building of the Wall in the West Bank, is indicative of an attempt to replace one system of domination with another. If the former system of domination relied upon Israeli territorial presence within Palestinian areas and the direct governing of the occupied populations, the latter seeks to control the Palestinians from beyond the envelopes of their walled-off spaces, by selectively opening and shutting the different enclosures, and by relying on the strike capacity of the Air Force over Palestinian areas. In this territorial ‘arrangement’ the principle of separation has turned ninety degrees as well, with Israelis and Palestinians separated vertically, occupying different spatial layers. This process of ‘distanciation’, which saw the reduction in Israeli direct territorial presence on Palestinian territories and with it a degree of responsibility for the Palestinian population, resulted in a radical increase in the level of violence, with the period since the withdrawal from the Gaza Strip being the most devastating to Palestinian life and welfare since the beginning of the occupation.²⁰

This conflation of separation/partition with security, violence and control is not surprising when we realize that it was largely Israeli military officers, serving or retired, that conducted territorial negotiations during all the Israel/Palestine peace (or partition) processes. Israel’s logic of ‘peacemaking’ throughout the conflict was the monopoly of its war-makers. In the hands of Israeli generals, the territorial discourse of partition blurred the distinctions between war and peace.²¹ Partition plans were presented as peace plans, while settlement masterplans, prepared by or submitted to Israeli governments, were also partition plans (planners placed settlements in those parts of the territories they wanted the government to annex).

The proposed Palestinian link road leaving the Gaza Strip. Illustration: Eyal Weizman, 2002.

The politics of verticality

By 2006 the separation between Israeli and Palestinian areas in the Occupied Territories was not articulated on the surface of the terrain alone. Palestinians had been forced into a territorial patchwork of sealed islands around their cities, towns and villages, within a larger space controlled by Israel. Areas under Palestinian control included only the 200 fragments of land surface, but Israel controlled all the area around them, the vast water aquifer in the subterrain beneath them, as well as the militarized airspace above them. Revisioning the traditional geopolitical imagination, the horizon has been called upon to serve as one of the many boundaries raised up by the conflict, making the ground below and the air above separate and distinct from, rather than continuous with the surface of the earth.

The various borders of the conflict have accordingly manifested themselves as different topographical latitudes. Settlement master-planners aimed to achieve territorial control in the West Bank by constructing settlements on the high summits of the mountainous terrain. Across this fragmented geography the different Israeli settlements were woven together by lines of infrastructure routed through three-dimensional space: roads connecting Israeli settlements are raised on extended bridges spanning Palestinian routes and lands, or dive into tunnels beneath them, while narrow Palestinian underpasses are usually bored under Israeli multi-laned highways.

Palestinian militants have themselves discovered that Israeli walls and barriers can be easily bypassed in three dimensions. People and explosives are routinely smuggled in tunnels dug beneath the walls of Gaza, while home-made rockets are launched through the airspace above them. When the Wall’s construction is complete, tunnels will no doubt be dug under it through the bedrock of the West Bank mountains.

In 2002, Ron Pundak, known as the ‘architect’ of the Oslo Process, explained to me that a three-dimensional matrix of roads and tunnels is the only practical way to divide and thereafter sustain the fragmented division of an otherwise ‘indivisible territory’.²² In the July 2000 negotiations in Camp David, President Clinton’s outline for the partition of Jerusalem was based on the territorial/demographic status quo in declaring that whatever part of the city is inhabited by Jews will be Israeli and whatever part is inhabited by Palestinians will belong to the Palestinian state. According to Clinton’s principles of partition, 64 kilometres of walls would have fragmented the city into two archipelago systems along national lines. Forty bridges and tunnels would have accordingly woven together these isolated neighbourhood-enclaves.²³ Clinton’s principle of partition also meant that some buildings in the Old City would be vertically divided between the two states, with the ground floor and the basement being entered from the Muslim Quarter and used by Palestinian shop-owners belonging to the Palestinian state, and the upper floors being entered from the direction of the Jewish Quarter, used by Jews belonging to the Jewish state. Clinton also sincerely believed that three-dimensional borders could resolve the problem of partitioning the Temple Mount from Haram al-Sharif (for all others – the very same place). According to this plan Palestinians would control the surface of the Haram al-Sharif, the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa mosque on top of it, while Israeli sovereignty would extend to the ‘depth of the ground’ underneath, where the temples were presumed to have lain. In an interview, Gilead Sher, Israel’s chief negotiator at Camp David (and a divorce lawyer) explained it to me as a simple negotiation and ‘bridging’ technique: the swelling of the ‘cake’ to be partitioned (from a surface to a volume) will make each side feel that it has got more and done well out of the arrangement.²⁴

Previously still, according to the Oslo Accords, the two main, estranged Palestinian territories of Gaza and the West Bank, 47 kilometres apart as the crow flies, should similarly have been connected into a single political unit.²⁵ In an interview given to the London Daily Telegraph, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu explained the problem to his British interviewer by an analogy: ‘You connected two states separated by water with a tunnel; we have the problem of connecting two entities separated by land …’²⁶ In the imagination of its engineers, the so-called ‘safe passage’ would become a Palestinian bridge in Palestinian jurisdiction spanning Israeli territory. This massive viaduct would support six lanes of motorway, two railway lines, high-voltage electricity cables and water and oil pipes. Over the past twelve years since the issue was first raised in the context of the Oslo process, thousands of hours of talks, dozens of professional committees and joint planning sessions, hundreds of plans, publications and declarations have been dedicated to the issue. Speculations included a bewildering variety of other possible solutions: sunken highways, tunnels and more elevated roads. At times, the political debate got entangled in the question of who should be on top: Israel preferred, naturally, that the Palestinian sovereign road should run under Israeli territory, in a tunnel or a ditch, while Palestinians preferred the alternative of an elevated bridge.²⁷ In 2005 the World Bank announced its support for plans drawn up by the RAND Corporation that adopted the model of an elevated Palestinian bridge spanning Israel between Gaza and the West Bank.²⁸

In fact, similar territorial ‘solutions’ in three dimensions were a feature of each and every historical or contemporary partition plan for Palestine, and were outlined in the context of a series of partition plans prepared throughout the period of the British Mandate (1919–1948). Unable to carve out of Palestine a contiguous Jewish state, the map-makers of the 1947 United Nations Special Committee on Palestine (UNSCOP) presented an outline for two states, each of which was comprised of three elongated territorial bodies entangled with the other’s three sections and connected at their corners. In these corners – the ‘kissing points’ – where the border between the supposed territories of Israel and Palestine changed from a single-dimensional line to a non-dimensional point – planners proposed to embrace fully the third dimension, and maintain connections between the fragments of Israeli and Palestinian territories via tunnels or bridges.²⁹

These massive infrastructural systems, drawing provisional borders through sovereign three-dimensional spaces, are the physical infrastructure of a unique type of political space, one desperately struggling to separate the inseparable, by attempting to multiply a single territorial reality and create two insular national geographies that occupy the same space, but crashing, as Israeli historian Meron Benvenisti remarkably put it, ‘three dimensions into six: three Israeli and three Palestinian’.³⁰ Throughout this process the territory of Palestine emerged as a hologramatized ‘hollow land’ that seemed spawned of the imaginary world of seventeenth-century British astronomer Edmund Halley, or the nineteenth-century novels of Edgar Allan Poe and Jules Verne, who themselves foresaw a hollow earth inhabited in layers.³¹ With it, the imaginary spaces of conflict have seemingly fully adopted the scale of a building, resembling a complex architectural construction, perhaps an airport, with its separate inbound and outbound levels, security corridors and many checkpoints. Cut apart and enclosed by its many barriers, gutted by underground tunnels, threaded together by overpasses and bombed from its militarized skies, the hollow land emerges as the physical embodiment of the many and varied attempts to partition it.

The organization of this book follows the different strata of this vertical construction of the Occupied Palestinian Territories. Starting in the deep aquifers of the West Bank, it progresses through its buried archaeology and then across its folded topographical surface to the militarized airspace above. Each chapter, describing different spatial practices and technologies of control and separation, focuses on a particular period in the history of the occupation. In this way, the succession of episodes following the development of Israel’s technologies of domination and Palestinian resistance to them also charts a tragic process of cumulatively radicalizing violence.

However, with the technology and infrastructure deemed necessary for the physical segregation of Israelis from Palestinians, it appears that the vertical politics of separation and the logic of partition have been fully exhausted. The untenable territorial legal and sovereign knot created by the politics of separation/partition indicates a fundamental problem: although hundreds of proposals prepared by well-meaning cartographers from the period of the British mandate to the present have attempted to find a borderline and a geopolitical design along which Israel could be separated from Palestine, this path has repeatedly proven itself politically and geographically fleeting. The two political/geographic concepts of Israel and Palestine refer to and overlap across the very same place. The over-complex and clearly unsustainable practices and technologies that any designed territorial ‘solution’ for separation inexorably requires demonstrate this spatial paradox and beg us to consider whether the political road to partition is the right one to take.

The Tunnel Road, Daniel Bauer, 2002.