This article originally appeared on VICE SwitzerlandIn 2002, the Israeli government began building a border wall across the West Bank. For some, the 440 mile-wide barrier is an effective security barrier protecting Israel. For others, the wall represents racial segregation in the region – the checkpoints Palestinians are forced to go through being a humiliating daily ordeal. Whichever way you lean, the structure has grown into a lasting symbol of the ongoing conflict.
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Earlier this year, I travelled to the West Bank and Israel, because I wanted to talk to people living near the barrier, and learn what effect it had on their lives. Of all the people I approached, most were too afraid or uncomfortable to open up about the subject – but ten of them were willing to talk about the challenges they've lived through over the past 15 years."My little brother was killed in 2003. They came in tanks in the middle of the night – at first you could just hear sirens and screaming, then they started shooting and spraying teargas. We ran into an alley to hide. I screamed, 'Murad, you idiot, get down!' When he stood up for a moment, just like that, he was shot in the throat. Murad gasped and started to cough as his eyes went blank. There was so much blood – it was everywhere."The next thing I remember is waking up in jail. I was imprisoned for 18 months. When I got home, we celebrated for two days. I never speak about what it was like to be tortured – believe me, it's not something you want to hear about."Sometimes I think the wall has silenced us and we should speak more about our experiences – our hopes and fears – but how? Once, in Hebron, an old man spoke to me in Hebrew. Even though he was smiling and just being friendly, I started to shake. My wife, Dana, tried to calm me down, but I couldn't speak – I just ran away like a child."
Noor, 39, accountant, lives in a refugee camp in the West Bank
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Micha, 34, salesman and former soldier, West Jerusalem
Fatima, 58, farmer, Nablus, West Bank
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Ehud, 32, engineer and former soldier, Tel Aviv
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Saed, 34, social worker, Al-Far'a refugee camp in the West Bank
Rahel, 31, saleswoman and former soldier, Tel Aviv
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"Living there weighed heavily on me – I could barely sleep. That is when I asked my husband, Dori, whether we could move, because it wasn't our land. We now live in Tel Aviv. On sunny days after work, I take my sons to the beach or stroll through town. It is beautiful and clean here. I rarely think about the wall, but I know it's there. I am still afraid of Palestinians. That might sound idiotic, but I cannot help it."
Bassam, 24, graphic designer, Hebron
Benjamin, 38, banker and former tank gunner, Chadera
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"Today I live in Chadera, and earn enough money to go on nice holidays and party with friends. Sometimes I think about what life must be like in Nablus. I was there just that one time, in a tank.""I was on duty throughout the second Palestinian uprising. I wouldn't call it a war though, because they didn't have an army. All they had were kids with rocks, Molotov cocktails and burning car tires – while their grown men had broken weapons and old grenades and bombs. There were thousands of us in tanks and helicopters, using the world's best rifles, bulletproof vests, night vision goggles and communication devices. We had access to any equipment we wanted."That doesn't make us heroes or the Palestinians martyrs. The way I see it – they played around with us and we played around with them. It's a game, with the mere addition of dead people. I shit on this conflict, I don't want to hear another word about it."