Jerusalem is a microcosm of what is happening in the rest of Palestine. Chiara Cruciati

Israeli policies in Jerusalem are targeting not only the private sphere, through demolitions and evictions, but the connection of Palestinians to their city.

The goal is to abolish the status of Jerusalem as a unified and cultural center of all Palestinians through confiscation of land in order to minimize the physical presence of Palestinians; the recognition, for the Palestinians of a conditional residence permit, as if they were foreigners and not natives; the demolition of houses; and the shutting down of the public sphere.

After the Second Intifada, Israel’s control of the public sphere through the closure of cultural centers, public parks and institutions meant weakening the manifestation of national identity. In this sense, the limit on prayer at al-Aqsa doesn't just have a religious meaning, but also a secular one: since it is the only remaining place where one can express one’s identity and connection with the land.

We are in a new phase of what began in 1948 with the expulsion of 67,000 Palestinians from West Jerusalem, and in 1967 with another 40,000 expulsions from East Jerusalem. There has been an escalation in the demolition of houses: in 2020 alone, three times as many were destroyed and the UN reports over 6,000 demolished homes in the last 10 years.

Today the situation is as follows: 86% of East Jerusalem is destined for the use of Israel and the Jewish settlers, while 350,000 Palestinians have only 14% of their own land at disposal. A limited use in any case, since Israel does not grant building permits.

The radical right-wing government accelerated the occupation and the forced displacement of Palestinians that started in 1967. Sheikh Jarrah is a symbol of this: a neighborhood of 30,000 Palestinians living in houses with pending demolition orders that may, once again, experience a forced relocation.

However, this silent transfer is no longer as silent as in the past. Today Israel feels confident enough to do it at a fast pace and with the assistance of violence from the settlers. This is happening under the eyes of the international community and in the face of its silence.

Whatever it is, coronavirus has made the mighty kneel and brought the world to a halt like nothing else could. Our minds are still racing back and forth, longing for a return to “normality”, trying to stitch our future to our past and refusing to acknowledge the rupture. But the rupture exists. And in the midst of this terrible despair, it offers us a chance to rethink the doomsday machine we have built for ourselves. Nothing could be worse than a return to normality.

Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next.

We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage, ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it.

“Above all, life for a photographer cannot be a matter of indifference”.

June 4th. 1989. Armed forces of the People’s Republic of China violently suppress a seven-week long demonstration in Beijing.