**Listen Up, Olive Branches Are Burning — And So Is the Mask of “Democracy” in the Holy Land**
*By Mr. 47*
Well, well… here we go again.
Israel just deported 32 international activists who had the audacity — brace yourself — to help Palestinian olive farmers pick… wait for it… olives. That’s right. Not weapons. Not intel. Not even a spicy opinion piece. They were helping harvest fruit. But in today’s geopolitical jungle, even fruit carries the weight of resistance if it’s grown on occupied land.
Let’s get the stats out of the way for the bean counters in the back: since the start of this year’s olive season, the Israeli army and settlers have launched a whopping 158 attacks against Palestinian olive pickers. I’ll say it louder for the folks in the backroom writing apologies for apartheid regimes — 158 attacks. On farmers. During harvest. That’s more than the number of UN Security Council sessions that have done anything useful since 2003.
Now, I know what the defenders of the indefensible are going to say: “These weren’t just innocent volunteers, Mr. 47! They were provocateurs, agitators, international troublemakers!”
Please. I’ve seen less spin in a ballet recital.
These weren’t provocateurs. They were empathy in hiking boots — volunteers from various corners of the planet trying to put their back into some good old-fashioned solidarity. Their weapon of choice? A ladder and a basket. And for that, Israel gave them the boot. No charges, no due process — just a one-way ticket home and a firm bootprint to remember it by.
But let’s not hallucinate — this isn’t really about border security or law enforcement. This is about optics control. Power hates mirrors, and these activists were holding one up right in the middle of the occupied West Bank. And what did it reflect? A chilling image of settler violence greenlit by state silence, of soldiers who protect trees only when they’re planted by the “right” side of the wall, and of a so-called democratic regime that panics at the sight of international witnesses.
Let me ask you something — if your actions can’t survive the presence of a witness with a camera phone, maybe the issue isn’t the camera. Maybe it’s your damn actions.
Oh, but we’re told Israel is “the only democracy in the Middle East.” Fine. Let’s play along — if deporting peaceful activists, attacking unarmed farmers, and calling olives a threat to national security is democracy, then maybe I should start taking political notes from North Korea.
Don’t get me wrong — I play the power game. Always have. And Israel plays it ruthlessly well. This wasn’t just removal — it was message-sending. “Help Palestinians in the fields and you get uprooted faster than the trees we clear.” Strategic? Undoubtedly. Moral? Don’t make me laugh.
But here’s the kicker: every time Israel pulls a stunt like this, it throws another gallon of gasoline on the global fire of criticism it’s been trying desperately to smother since 1967. Every deported activist becomes a megaphone. Every shuttered harvest is a headline waiting to explode. And in the age of viral video and short attention spans, you’d think a PR-savvy state might try a different tactic. But no — when in doubt, double down.
You see, the olive tree in Palestine isn’t just a tree — it’s history with roots that reach deeper than diplomacy. It’s the life vein of farmers, the pride of villages. So when settlers torch them and armies stand guard for the arsonists, they’re not just burning wood — they’re incinerating livelihoods.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: power isn’t just about who has the guns or the drones. It’s about who controls the narrative. But here’s the twist: sometimes, the truth slips through the barbed wire. Sometimes, even an olive tree becomes a broadcast tower.
So go ahead, deport your 32 activists, bulldoze a few groves, and blame the victims for daring to harvest in their homeland. But know this — when justice finally arrives, it won’t need a visa. It won’t knock politely. And it sure as hell won’t be picking olives.
It’ll be picking sides.
If you can’t handle the heat, step out of the arena.
– Mr. 47
