Myths and other things

Christiane Nasser, in Bethlehem, searches in vain for Christmas spirit"
photo: Reuters
Driving through Manger Street, Bethlehem's main thoroughfare, which leads to the Church of the Nativity, I fail to see any indications that Christmas is upon us. The street is largely empty and most of the shops that normally bustle with business at this time of year are shut. A hotel owner challenges his neighbour, the manager of a souvenir shop across the street, to a game of shesh-besh. They have no customers to cater to: the former has long since dismissed all but two of his staff, and the latter is the only employee, there on the owner's behalf. The few restaurants that have managed to remain open despite an almost total absence of tourists blast a medley of Arabic music and Christmas carols at formidable decibel levels in a vain attempt to attract local customers.
It is a sad state of affairs when a city rolls dice in the absence of the thousands of tourists that should be strolling its streets and milling though its old quarter. J Nasser owns an olive wood factory, a family concern that supports his own and his son's family; they have not had any income since October 2000. The Bethlehem Inn, a family-owned hotel, was refurbished three years ago in expectation of the tourist figures projected for the millennium and after. The owners have been evicted from their hotel and the Israeli soldiers occupying it have vandalised rooms and the seating areas, reducing an investment of a whole life's savings to smithereens. The Orient Palace Hotel, located on Nativity Square, had to shut its doors just after Christmas last year due to massive cancellations. The Jacir Palace Intercontinental, a five-star hotel owned by Palestinian investors from the Diaspora, had barely started operating when it had to close last March. The Solomon's Pools tourism facilities and Convention Centre, two large investment projects, have been frozen and will resume when -- and if -- the current situation settles.
Many such investments, large and small, were made thanks to the momentum of the Bethlehem 2000 Project, a special organisation established by the Palestinian Authority in 1998 to oversee the development of Bethlehem in preparation for the millennium celebrations. It was a time when all Palestinians, those who live here and many of those who are scattered in the four corners of the globe, believed that peace was on its way. Their efforts show what hopes they had, and how much they wanted to contribute to the process of nation building. It was also a period when Bethlehem, at the centre of attention, glowed in the newness of its revamped streets and spruced-up squares.
This past year -- 2001 -- was supposed to be climactic, with multiplied benefits to the growing Palestinian tourism industry. Since September 2000, the turning tide has gradually brought on the closing of businesses and the onset of a severe economic slump. This new situation has forced investors to reconsider tourism prospects. More importantly, it requires the reassessment of an unworkable peace process.
Unlike any other city, Bethlehem has fed the imagination of generations of Christians, whatever the myths they associate with it. Yet like all other cities, it has to deal with the reality of day-to-day life, and the disruption of the past 15 months has brought its burden to unprecedented levels. Bethlehem has thrived on tourism since the 19th century, but only recently was it allowed the opportunity to develop and thrive as Christmas capital of the world, a title it had barely been able to enjoy before it was snatched away as a result of Israeli Prime Minister Sharon's incursion into Al-Haram Al-Sharif and the political and economic consequences of this visit.
Income from tourism represents seven to 10 per cent of GNP and, because it is so intimately associated with this sector, Bethlehem currently suffers from an unemployment rate of 57 per cent. But such statistics, and the departure of 450 families from the Bethlehem area during the past year, while necessarily correlated, are generally overlooked by those who jealously defend their mythologising and refuse to smear it with such base issues as income and survival. The rest are too busy zapping their remote controls, drinking in the latest in the persecution of American citizens and the new anthrax myth.
Still, Christmas is here and Bethlehem's people will see it through, looking back with nostalgia to the happy episode of the turn of the millennium. People cannot seem to find their Christmas spirit, but at least they hope Israel will fulfil its pledge of easing passage from one Palestinian area to another and from one enclave to another within Palestinian territory. So far, Bethlehemites who work in Ramallah and in the areas north of Jerusalem and who have come home for Christmas using the winding road of Wadi Al-Nar -- the Valley of Fire -- the only Palestinian road that links the northern areas to the south, circumventing Jerusalem, have encountered three ad hoc road blocks, the Israeli army's gift for the holiday season.
A few days ago, we observed Eid Al-Fitr with quiet scepticism as the Muslim world advocated for the rights of Muslims in Palestine. Tomorrow we will celebrate Christmas under the distracted gaze of the Western world, which still wonders whether there are Christians in Palestine. A few assiduous journalists will brave an impossible checkpoint and come to Bethlehem to bear witness to the current subdued mood, but their voices will be drowned by the hyperbole of the superpower's righteous fight against the forces of evil and its concern to restore its own order of world peace. And we Christian Palestinians still bask in the myth of the Christian world's active support.
We all agree that there is more to Christmas than beautifully wrapped gifts piled under a tinsel-bedecked tree and a steaming turkey being lifted from the oven. But no one was counting on the multiplication and perpetuation of closures, the tightening of already impracticable road blocks and economic strangulation. In the grand scheme of things, the plight of the Palestinians is collecting mothballs, and our demands for independence and statehood, dating back to the dismantling of the Ottoman Empire after World War I, have become an historical superfluity. Is it surprising therefore that we Bethlehemites, like the rest of Palestinians, are not expecting Father Christmas to call?
The writer is head of Public Awareness and International Cooperation, Bethlehem 2000/Centre for Cultural Heritage Preservation.
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