A DWINDLING INDIGENOUS ENVIRONMENTAL ETHOS
Because of the generally lower socioeconomic position of Arabs relative to Jews in Israel, it might seem objectively harder to enlist the public in environmental concerns. Yet the organic connection to the land, a most cru-cial part of Israeli Arab ideology, is a conviction to which environmentalists can appeal. There is certainly a strong religious foundation for environ-mentalism among the country's Muslims.
Islamic theology has been described by scholars as having almost an ecocentric perspective. The Koran contains a steady naturalist motif throughout, and the book is filled with ecologically relevant parables.[171] For instance, the prophet Solomon is moved by the warning of an ant to its fellows to get out of Solomon's way lest they be crushed.[172] It is inter-esting to note that, although Sharia is typically translated into English as “Islamic law,” the word literally means “source of water.” True to its hy-drological etymology, the Sharia considers groundwater a public good that cannot be individually appropriated.[173]
It is not surprising, therefore, that a devout connection to local land and landscape is a highly romanticized part of traditional Palestinian identity and a common theme of exposition for poets and politicians.[174] Yet the connection has been intellectualized as a result of the ongoing trauma of exile and indignity. The environmental ethic of Arab communities in Palestine prior to its politicization was a nonintellectual intuitive impulse—or what has been called “premodern environmentalism.”[175]
It is therefore ironic that Israeli Arabs have so quickly come to resemble the Jewish majority in the distinctly nonspiritual nature of their connection to nature and the natural world. The attachment to the land, instinctive in a society of fellaheen, is hard to find among the younger generation. Arab environmentalists are remarkably uni-form in their assessment of the present situation: They believe that the problem can be traced to the appropriation of lands and the mass depar-ture from agriculture.
The SPNI's Gazawi lays the blame for this alienation squarely at the feet of the Israeli government's preferential policies: “Arabs' movement to find work in the city was part of a policy. Water was withheld and given to the kibbutzim, and the rainfall was not enough. If we had gotten more water, we might have stayed more agrarian and connected to the land.”[176] Whether or not his political diagnosis is correct, pointing the blame will not turn back the clock. Nor will it restore the sense of harmony born of a world that had fewer distractions and thus greater familiarity with nature and the land.
The changes go beyond the occupational profile or recreational prefer-ences of Arab society, informing countless areas in its landscape. Arab ar-chitecture is still distinct from that found in Jewish settlements. Palestinian villages swelled after the initial displacement of 1948 was re-inforced by an astonishing birthrate. As they turned into small cities, the villages lost much of their original, pastoral flavor. With memories of an
This ideological drift was manifested in the ubiquitous trash found along the streets of many Arab settlements. “Until twenty years ago, you couldn't find much garbage,” bemoans Ghattas. “There were hardly even any tractors to collect trash. Thirty years ago everything got used several times, even plastic bags. Whatever was left would be burned once a week. Today everything is thrown into the trash, and it is hard to get people to go back to the ways of grandmother and mother.”[178] The same phenome-non is even more pronounced among Bedouin citizens, even though in-digenous Bedouin culture offered a profound statement about simplicity, reuse, and material self-discipline.[179]
Some see historical continuity in the phenomenon. From the time of the draconian implementation of Ottoman land laws, “miri,” or government-owned territories, were perceived by Palestinians as off-limits; the relationship was primarily one of alienation and disregard. The ubiquitous litter in public areas presumably constitutes a modern manifestation of this attitude.[180]
Even if the events of 1948 had gone differently, it is unlikely that the bucolic fellah existence would have lasted forever. Ultimately the nostalgic tune of Arab environmental leaders sounds very much like the sad refrain one hears old-time Israeli environmentalists repeat—mourning a lost so-ciety where communalism, a nonmaterialistic mission, and “the land” were the highest ideals.
The challenge ultimately is to salvage the most wholesome and nour-ishing aspects of traditional rural culture and transform them into a sustainable modern form. Integration of the olive harvest into the present calendars of Arab communities constitutes one such example. Even though most families no longer depend on the olive crop, schools are on vacation in November and October for the harvest. As families flock to relatives or small family plots to pick, an economic necessity was trans-formed into a celebration of the ancient covenant with the trees.[181]
The resonance of the SPNI message and the increasing number of Israeli Arabs who join the hordes of weekend hikers and picnickers (especially around springs and streams) suggest that if environmental passion is not always evident, it is certainly dormant there.[182] A 1996 review of environ-mental activity in Israel cited a variety of Arab community organizations—daycare centers, sports facilities, libraries, and after-school educational programs—that have begun to focus on environmental issues and projects.[183]