As a midwesterner, I’ve been trained to be punctual. I remember when my college girlfriend and I lived in Texas, and there was a party & potluck scheduled for 6:00 one night, and that’s when we showed up, and then we hung around awkwardly with the hosts for an hour before anyone else came. At least since then, I’ve understood that punctuality is cultural… which helps me feel better when I show up (on time, mind you) to an event I’m hosting and a bunch of folks in their 80s have been there for 15 minutes already!
I’ve heard joking expressions about cultures that put less value on punctuality. “Queer time” is one that I can name, as I’m part of it. And recently, I’ve been existing in Palestine time. Honestly, though, it’s hard to parse out what is a result of culture and what is a result of the external force of occupation, or how the culture might have shifted due to that external force.
The basic fact is that Palestinians in the West Bank don’t necessarily have control over their schedules. You could be starting out with plenty of time but run into a checkpoint that delays you by two hours (hopefully, it doesn’t detain you for longer or beat you up). Or, the route that you’re using could be closed, so you have to go several kilometers out of your way to get where you’re going, or you can’t get there at all. Or, the tool that you need to get a job done is not available, or the shop isn’t open.
What I’ve noticed, being present and doing grunt work on a farm surrounded by Israeli settlements, is a profound patience on the part of the Palestinians who run the place. On a given day, there might be a lot to do, or a particular project to accomplish, but it can’t necessarily happen unless the right people and parts are present. We never know who, of the Palestinians who don’t live on the farm, will be able to make it on a given day—there could be checkpoints, or they might need to show up to court to fight the settler incursions. But when all the right people and tools converge on the farm at the same time, there’s a flurry of activity and hustle to accomplish as much as possible before dusk, when it’s pretty important to get on the road back to Bethlehem to avoid dangerous nighttime encounters with “security.”
So, I’ve learned a thing or two about waiting in my time here, about being present and ready to work when conditions are right, but not trying to rush anything that isn’t ready. When I was in charge of animal chores I was encouraged to dodge the rain and wind, even if it meant feeding animals hours early or late. We had extensive coffee time mid-morning every day, a reminder that our creaturely needs for comfort, warmth, and togetherness are of as much value as the work of the farm. These are things that I really appreciate about Palestine time, even if I’m appalled at the occupation that causes such a precarity of plans.
I wonder what of my learning about waiting and presence I can bring back to my work as an Iowa farmer this coming season. The fact is, a market vegetable farm is wound pretty tight around a schedule of harvest and marketing, which doesn’t lend itself to the flexibility and responsiveness to conditions that I crave. Attachment to a specific schedule means that I as a manager am expected to give people work to do even when there’s a rainstorm or lightning or extreme heat, though my preference would be Palestine time, for everyone to get to chill out and drink tea until conditions are better. Our farm has already brought lunch-sharing into our collective way, which helps us slow down and care for each other. We haven’t yet implemented a siesta, or tea time, but maybe this can be the year!
The Iowa Writers’ Collaborative
I’m proud to be part of the Iowa Writers’ Collaborative. Each Sunday, Julie Gammack shares a roundup of articles that collaborative members have written in the past week. Check out the most recent roundup, here.
Really interesting! Thanks for this quick bit of cultural education (for me anyway)!