Palestinian Farmers Remain Rooted in Their Land Despite Uprooting Trees and Denial Access
Palestine – Among the olive trees he planted years ago, 53-year-old Mahmoud Jabarin spends most of his days on the land of Al-Minya village, south of Bethlehem in the West Bank. Mahmoud is a father of five and a farmer who relies on his land as a source of livelihood for himself and his family. But for him, it is not just a source of income, it is part of his life, his memories, and the labor of a lifetime.
Mahmoud begins his day in his fields, tending to olive and grape trees, watering, pruning, and monitoring their growth season after season. For him, farming is not just work; it is a long relationship with the land, one built on effort, patience, and waiting. However, he explains that the life of a Palestinian farmer is not as many might imagine. The challenge is not only the hardship of farming itself but accessing the land in the first place.
Like many Palestinians across the West Bank, Mahmoud faces settler violence. He says: “In Al-Minya, like many Palestinian villages, we suffer daily from attacks by settlers and the army, whether while we are on our land, through being prevented from reaching it, obstructing the harvest, or being unable to rehabilitate and care for it.”
Palestinian farmers await the olive harvest season as an annual joy, yet it often turns into a season of deprivation and pain. Land that once brought families together becomes out of reach due to restrictions and attacks. A farmer endures the harsh reality of seeing his land before his eyes but being denied access to it. These restrictions not only deprive farmers of their livelihoods but also sever their connection to land and identity.
Anticipation shifts from eagerness for harvest to anxiety over denial and loss. The suffering lies not only in losing a season, but in the helplessness of being unable to reach one’s own land. Mahmoud describes this feeling: “The hardest thing a farmer can go through is seeing his land in front of him and not being able to reach it.”
Palestinian farmers are subjected to repeated attacks by settlers targeting their land and livelihoods. These attacks go beyond property damage, destroying years of labor and effort. Breaking and uprooting trees, especially olive trees that take years to grow and bear fruit—is not merely a material loss, but the destruction of life and memory tied to the land. A farmer feels deep pain when seeing trees, he has cared for like his own children destroyed in moments of violence, turning his land from a place of safety and stability into a constant site of threat. Every destroyed tree represents a story of patience and hard work erased by force—violations that affect not only the economy but also the dignity of farmers and their deep connection to their land.
Mahmoud recounts: “One night, settlers attacked my land and destroyed dozens of olive and grape trees, around 50 to 60 trees. For me, this was not just the destruction of trees, but the destruction of many years of work and effort. An olive tree takes years to grow and produce, and a farmer cares for it like his own children.
Mahmoud speaks of the olive tree as if it were a family member: “It represents life, hope, and homeland, it represents the past, present, and future. A farmer waters the olive tree with his sweat and cares for it for many years. So, when it is broken, uprooted, or burned, it feels as though he has lost a part of his life.”
The hardships extend beyond the land into daily life. Fear of unsafe roads and settler attacks affect families and even children’s education. The area is surrounded by settlements and outposts, making movement dangerous, especially for women and children.
Mahmoud adds: “The hardest feeling a farmer can experience is to work his land for years, then be unable to reach it or protect his trees.” He describes this as “dying fifty times a day” when he sees the olive trees he nurtured with his sweat but cannot access.
Despite repeated pain and losses measured not in numbers of trees but in years of life, Mahmoud continues to hold on to his land as a non-negotiable choice. For him, staying on the land is an act of resilience and a way to preserve identity, a message that this land cannot be taken from its people, no matter how intense violence and deprivation.
Between one season and another, between trees that are destroyed and others that are planted, the story continues, a story of a farmer who sees his entire life in his land and believes that his roots run deeper than any attempt to uproot them.
Despite everything, Mahmoud insists he will remain steadfast. For him, the land is not just a source of income, it is life, identity, and future. As he says: “Without this land, we are nothing.”
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ActionAid began its work in Palestine in 2007 to strengthen the resilience of the Palestinian people, grounded in their right to freedom, justice, and self-determination. In Palestine, ActionAid implements various programmes through engagement with Palestinian communities, youth groups, and women. We aim to empower women and young people, enhance their effective civic and political participation, deepen their understanding of their rights, and mobilize them to engage in collective action to address rights violations resulting from prolonged occupation. Additionally, we work to strengthen their leadership capacities and support them in practicing active citizenship by holding authorities and other duty bearers accountable.
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Riham Jafari
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