Author: Adi Shifrin
 

I would sit through official meetings attended by Arab leaders in the Knesset, people who, up until then, I had only heard about, and there I was, watching them deal with the Ministry of Justice, summarizing the meeting minutes. There, I realized something that is both very straightforward and precedent-setting. I realized that lawyers had no understanding of planning and planners had no understanding of the law; they were not speaking the same language. By the end of every session, I could see that when the goal was to discuss planning, it transitioned to a discussion about a trial and vice versa. They could not understand each other. Add to that the fact that these debates clearly had a political element, however, when politics came up, they would say: ‘this is not the place for political considerations.’ And I would sit there and ask myself, if not here, where?

 

 

“I was always a talkative child, not opinionated, talkative… and I always had the courage to speak. As a kid, you also hear your parents speak about all sorts of things, including issues you don’t always understand. However, one particular issue constantly nagged me. Every six months or so, I would hear my parents speak about the demolition order for our home. I never really understood it. Why would someone want to demolish our home? I asked my father: “Dad, this is our land, right? We didn’t invade the land, correct? It’s our home?” He answered yes to all three. I didn’t understand the meaning behind this ongoing event, especially why my parents needed to pay the huge fines as part of the legal process they were going through. This forced us to deal with significant financial changes and hardship. We sold our car and then stopped going to after-school activities. As a child, it drove me crazy, I did not understand what was happening.”

Amal was born in Dir Hana, is the third of four children, and comes from what he describes as your typical Arab family, “everything fell somewhere in the middle.” Throughout my interview with him, he spoke about his path and the various aspects that made him who he is today: an attorney, urban planner, and commentator who relates and confronts the social and political struggles the Palestinian Arab society experiences in Israel. He is a frequent guest on various news and media outlets, a feature of the daily commentary program ‘From the Other Side with Guy Zohar,’ and writer and host for an Arabic podcast that deals with Palestinians’ legal struggles in Israel.

How did you find yourself in Law School?

In 2006, while I was still in High School, the Second Lebanon War broke out. There was chaos all over the country, and schools shut down. At that point, I hated school, and I reached an agreement with my father that if I got high marks on the psychometric exam, he would let me drop out. I got very high marks, so I dropped out. I moved to Haifa and started working as a dishwasher while waiting for my acceptance letter to study Law at Haifa University. 

The first thing I wanted to understand as a student was the world of ‘demolition orders,’ why did they want to demolish our home? and how does this process work? In hindsight, that specific interest led me to study Real Estate and Planning Law. I developed political awareness through this new lens, something I lacked before starting university. During my studies, I became quite politically active and, despite opportunities to leave, decided to complete my degree. After finishing my degree, I needed to complete a law internship, and I had to choose between a private law firm and the public sector. I wanted my internship to be meaningful and allow me to gain a deeper understanding of the legal system, even if it came at a high cost. I applied and was accepted to the Office of the State Attorney in the Planning and Construction division. My clerkship occurred during Deputy State Attorney Erez Kaminitz's stint in the Ministry, where he helped pass the infamous “Kaminitz Law,” severely affecting the Arab sector. Even though I was not involved in writing the bill, I witnessed a lot of action in the department. As a clerk, you don’t actively participate in anything; you’re a fly on the wall, you write protocols only for them to be mostly erased or rewritten. During that period, I absorbed a lot of information, but I also left with hard feelings. The transition from Haifa to Jerusalem was not easy.

What made it difficult?

The sheer scale mostly, it changes everything. On my first day in Jerusalem, a terror attack set off a chain of stabbings incidents throughout the city. I witnessed this difficult period from the Ministry of Justice. On top of that, there is also the day-to-day struggle Arabs experience in the country, especially in the field of planning and construction. I would sit through official meetings attended by Arab leaders in the Knesset, people who, up until then, I had only heard about, and there I was, watching them deal with the Ministry of Justice, summarizing the meeting minutes. There, I realized something that is both very straightforward and precedent-setting. I realized that lawyers had no understanding of planning and planners had no understanding of the law; they were not speaking the same language. By the end of every session, I could see that when the goal was to discuss planning, it transitioned to a discussion about a trial and vice versa. They could not understand each other. Add to that the fact that these debates clearly had a political element, however, when politics came up, they would say: ‘this is not the place for political considerations.’ And I would sit there and ask myself, if not here, where? 

I remember one particularly volatile discussion that dealt with planning in Wadi Ara. Among the planners who came to speak was Dr. Enaya Banna. Enaya began to speak and instantly showed legal and planning expertise and knowledge, fascinating the audience. That was the first time the Ministry of Justice was exposed to an Arab woman who understood planning, law, and history. I was awestruck and thought to myself, “I want to be like her!” I suddenly understood what I wanted to be and needed to figure out how to get there. What did I need to study to be like Enaya? Towards the end of my internship, I noticed the Urban Clinic scholarship for an M.A. in Planning studies at Hebrew University. I applied and was invited to an interview. Do you know who was on the scholarship selection committee? Enaya Banna! 

I was fascinated by my studies and learned a new professional language. The conversations I had with Dr. Emily Silverman, the head of the Clinic, was particularly significant because she presented planning as a multidisciplinary field. This made me feel that being a lawyer is advantageous as it allows me to see layers upon layers of information that planners don’t see. I saw the law. My studies, together with the scholarship program offered by the Clinic, enabled me to develop my own worldview. I met people from all fields, from law to geography to social work who piqued my curiosity. I began to ask about our space, what shapes it, how it affects and influences our behavior, but mainly, how does it affect the essence of our existence - the conflict?

 

Amal at a Clinic staff meeting

What does that mean?

Conflict is the essence of our existence, it cannot be denied. It is central to shaping our identity and day-to-day experiences. My studies helped me understand that many factors shape our space. For example, institutions like the Admissions Committee Law allow local committees to exclude me from living in 900 localities. In this sense, the law shapes the planning reality, and the planning shapes the space. Take, another example, my home. For thirty years, the house’s status has been ‘not permitted’ (has no building permits) because a planner arbitrarily drew a ‘blue line’ (a plan’s delineation) marking our local council’s boundaries. This planning tool affects my life and that of my neighbors. We all live without a building permit.

During my studies, I started working in Zian Kaur’s Law Firm. Thanks to him and the Clinic, I learned how to view spaces from the residents’ point of view. As a lawyer, the case is usually what interests you. As a planner, you’re interested in the ‘user experience,’ or on cases I worked on, the person afflicted by planning is my top priority. Once I found my place at the Clinic, I felt more comfortable writing about topics that interested me. I wanted to bring myself and issues I cared about to lessons. Some of the professors appreciated this, while others did not. I found people in the Clinic who encouraged me to write about myself and what interested me. I engaged in deep and meaningful learning and constantly received feedback from people who agreed and disagreed with me. There’s a phrase from the Torah I like that relates to this “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” The Clinic was a space where we could have difficult conversations and debate complex issues. It’s there that we decided to run the East Jerusalem Planning Platform.

Toward the end of my degree, I had to decide if I wanted to be a lawyer who understands planning or a planner who understands the law. I decided to take all the tools I had acquired and contribute to my community’s struggle. I returned to Haifa and began working for Sikkuy-Aufoq, an NGO campaigning for a ‘shared and equal society,’ as a planner in the equitable policy department. In Sikkuy, they believe that ongoing advocacy work, policy proposals, and research will change policy just like water erodes rocks. I wanted to lead a struggle for spatial equality and equal land distribution, to change places where there are policies of separation and discrimination. During our team learning stage, I increasingly sat with public Arab leadership speaking with them about the struggle from a professional standpoint. That was another defining moment for me. I realized that I am a planner and a lawyer, and my knowledge is a means to an end. I can use my knowledge to fight spatial and cognitive segregation between Jews and Arabs because currently, Arabs don’t see Jews, and Jews don’t see or hear about Arabs.

Why does it happen?

The current planning conditions are the result of a political vision, a  Jewish national planning vision. TAMA 35 (National Outline Plan 35) leaves no room for doubt. The plan limits Arab townships and surrounds them with JNF forests. Arab townships have local councils where residents are supposedly represented, but there are severe issues of underrepresentation in spatial and regional district committees. Arabs make up 80% of the northern population but only account for 2% of the planning committees. The facts and figures are so extreme that they cannot be ignored. Still, every time you come to a government office, you need to ignore this data; otherwise, you are ‘politicizing’ the discussion, which is frowned upon.
 

Amal with the Sikkuy-Aufoq team
 

Every single day we hear about the housing crisis in Israel. What is the housing crisis for the Jewish sector? It is about housing scarcity in central areas. What is the housing crisis for the Arab sector? It is about a lack of land, lack of planning, and lack of infrastructure. I wanted to present this struggle in words. How could I take maps and turn them into words? How could we share our work with other people? And do it all while still understanding institutional complexities, understanding the planning context, and connecting it to the social, historical, and political context, not to mention the context of a shared society. 

I became more critical of principles of segregation and discrimination and began using planning and legal tools to understand and submit policy recommendations to government ministries and shape a new planning approach. The recommendations were based on the culture and nature of Arab townships. The new planning approach was based on equitable spatial planning for everyone living in the same area, not just for the benefit of the Jewish majority. Planning can be a deterministic act guided from the top that promotes a nationalist policy, but planning can also be a tool to shape our day-to-day life equitably.

Three years into working at Sikkuy, crime and violence in Arab society began to rise, and the issue of personal security became a top issue on the agenda. Because I studied planning from a social point of view, I interpreted the subject of personal safety from a planning perspective. For years localities demarcated by that ‘blue line’ were not allowed to advance planning and build infrastructure. That led to unprecedented density without any infrastructure development, including public and commercial spaces. Inevitably, these places became slums which led to violence. Surprising, right?

Take the mirror image, for example. I read somewhere that people who grow up by the sea develop artistic traits. An accepted opinion is that if you live by the sea and in proximity to green spaces, you become an artist. However, stating that growing up in a slum with demolition threats and without public space will lead to crime and violence is not acceptable. The response to that statement is, ‘what you are saying is nonsense. Arab society is a violent society, your culture is violent.’ At Sikkuy, we understood that the upcoming discourse on policing would, at a minimum, negatively impact relations between Jews and Arabs and Arabs and the state. We decided we needed to introduce a different lens to analyze this phenomenon and look at violence from a socio-economic perspective. In the end, what shapes the economy? What shapes housing? Planning. Here, I realized that the best thing I can do with this knowledge is mediate and share it. I needed to use my knowledge to share our story and struggle and put forward a new planning perspective. We do not need more bureaucrats, we have enough of those. 
I will conclude with the following: To us, Palestinian Arabs, in our lives and in this state, land is in the soul of every one of us and Arab society in general. Land is a pillar of our conflict; our conflict is essentially a conflict about control over the land. Through speech, writing, and research, I try to express my identity as a member of Palestinian Arab society and as a native of the land. We are a population fighting for its place and fighting against separation, nationalization, and oppressive policies. That is my first and foremost job as a professional. I refuse to say, ' I don’t deal with political issues, and I am only driven by professional considerations.’ Politics are part of my professional considerations. Edward Said called it “the educated involved.”

Amal currently works for the New Israel Fund as the manager for Arabic communication. He is also a member of Amnesty International's Israel branch and is constantly involved in spatial and environmental justice campaigns.
 

Translation: Galya Globerman