The road that leads into the Jenin refugee camp is a broken artery: storefronts caved in, homes hollowed by shellfire, power lines slashed and hanging like exposed nerves. A landscape where past and present Palestinian resistance collides with the machinery of Israel’s occupation.
Here, in the northern West Bank, the word ‘camp’ is a misnomer; Jenin is a town built on memory and siege, where resistance isn’t ideology but inheritance. It is part of the wider city of Jenin whose narrow streets have harboured the armed resistance of the 1930s, sheltered refugees from the Nakba and stood firm through two Intifadas, or uprisings.1
