A Palestinian children's football club in the occupied West Bank faces imminent demolition despite an international campaign to save it. Its supporters say it provides a rare sporting opportunity for young Palestinian players. But Israel insists it's been built without the necessary permits.
In this deeply divided land so much is contested; from the identities and faiths of the people who live here, to every inch of the ground they stand on. Recently, that has come to include one small patch of artificial turf laid down under the shadow of the giant concrete wall that isolates Israel from much of the occupied West Bank.
In the context of the 7 October attacks, the two-year war in Gaza and the fragility of the current ceasefire, there are without doubt far more pressing issues. But this is a story freighted with symbolism and one which has drawn outsized international attention because of its connection to that other world religion - football.
On the day we visit, a group of Palestinian children are lining up to take penalty shots in the winter sunshine. The construction of the pitch began here on the edge of Bethlehem in 2020, and today it provides a place to practise for more than 200 young players from the nearby Aida refugee camp, descendants of families displaced during the 1948 Arab-Israeli war.
In early November, as the children approached for training, they found a notice declaring the field illegal, followed by a demolition order. 'We don't have anywhere else to play,' said 10-year-old Naya. After international campaigns and support, the club received a seven-day reprieve, but the departure left them with a difficult choice: to demolish the pitch themselves or wait for military authorities to do it, incurring the cost.
Community members argue that the threat of demolition is about more than legality; it’s a deliberate attempt to strip away hope. As the children of Aida face an uncertain future, they hold onto the hope that their voices will resonate beyond the borders that seek to confine them.
In this deeply divided land so much is contested; from the identities and faiths of the people who live here, to every inch of the ground they stand on. Recently, that has come to include one small patch of artificial turf laid down under the shadow of the giant concrete wall that isolates Israel from much of the occupied West Bank.
In the context of the 7 October attacks, the two-year war in Gaza and the fragility of the current ceasefire, there are without doubt far more pressing issues. But this is a story freighted with symbolism and one which has drawn outsized international attention because of its connection to that other world religion - football.
On the day we visit, a group of Palestinian children are lining up to take penalty shots in the winter sunshine. The construction of the pitch began here on the edge of Bethlehem in 2020, and today it provides a place to practise for more than 200 young players from the nearby Aida refugee camp, descendants of families displaced during the 1948 Arab-Israeli war.
In early November, as the children approached for training, they found a notice declaring the field illegal, followed by a demolition order. 'We don't have anywhere else to play,' said 10-year-old Naya. After international campaigns and support, the club received a seven-day reprieve, but the departure left them with a difficult choice: to demolish the pitch themselves or wait for military authorities to do it, incurring the cost.
Community members argue that the threat of demolition is about more than legality; it’s a deliberate attempt to strip away hope. As the children of Aida face an uncertain future, they hold onto the hope that their voices will resonate beyond the borders that seek to confine them.
