Category: Journals - Page 108 - International Solidarity Movement

Israeli Holidays Impede Palestinian Freedom of Movement

by Tom Hayes, October 11th

I visited the village of Bil’in, close to Ramallah, on Saturday. The villagers had asked for an international presence in the village after the IOF had arrested Emad, a Palestinian cameraman who works for Reuters on Friday after the weekly demonstration against the Apartheid Wall, which will separate the villagers from a majority of their agricultural land.

A new IOF commander has taken over responsibility for the area and has threatened to renew raids on the village to arrest villagers involved in the weekly demonstrations. Previously the IOF have arrested known protesters and village youths and demanded large sums of money for their release.

We walked through the fields towards the Apartheid Wall to reach the village’s outpost on the isolated part of their land beyond the wall. Villagers keep a permanent presence at the outpost to reassert their right to access their land. We walked through the gate in the barrier (which in Bil’in consists of two fences and a security road surrounded by large rolls of razor wire) and asked the IOF soldiers to be let through onto the isolated land on the Western side of the barrier. The soldiers told us that we could come through but that Palestinans could not come through to their land during the Jewish holiday. We asked why we were treated differently and were told ‘because you are tourists…’.

As we were let through the gate the soldier told us ‘this is not Auschwitz…’. Who was he trying to convince?

We visited a villager from Bil’in who was staying at the outpost, close to several illegal Israeli Jewish-only settlements. He told us he was unable to go back to the village because he would to be allowed back to his agricultural land if he left it. He was not willing to leave the land to the settlers and the army so he planned to stay there until access to the lands beyond the wall was permitted again.

The people of Bil’in are continuing their resistance to the annexation of their land and need more international support over the coming weeks. The villagers expect disruption to access to their land throughout the Jewish holiday. Similarly, in Tel Rumeida, access to the Ibrahimi Mosque, and freedom of movement for Palestinians has been impeded to allow for hundreds of Israel visitors.

On Saturday in Tel Rumeida hundreds of Israeli visitors were allowed to march into the Palestinian controlled area. Palestinians were cleared out of the way by soldiers shooting sound bombs and tear gas.

The restrictions on movement over the holiday period are a further example of the apartheid system operated by the IOF, similar restrictions were put on Palestinians during the Passover period this year.

The Small Battles

by Daniela, Tuesday 26th September

This weekend I attended a small rally in Tulkarem, where Palestinian NGOs were calling for a boycott of Israeli goods. Although the group was small, they were organized and seemed intent to follow through with this goal. On our way back to Ramallah, our taxi slowed to a stop. A line of ten cars was ahead of us, waiting at the checkpoint.

When our time came to pull up beside the soldiers we all passed our IDs to the driver. The three soldiers glanced at the IDs and began to walk around the car, inspecting the passengers. We opened the door and they instructed my friend to step out and speak with them. He walked over to their station, lifted his shirt upon request, and turned in a circle to prove that he was not carrying a weapon. He said nothing. (One day later, I would watch this same guy as he furiously chanted in front of a group of soldiers, “Hey Israel what do you say, how many kids did you kill today?”)

The three soldiers spoke to him for a short time, and then asked the driver to pull over to the side and wait while they called in my friend’s ID. “It will only take five minutes,” they said, and went back to chatting. One soldier appeared bored with this game, and blithely urged his friend to just let us pass, but he refused.

Five minutes turned into fifteen, and the car’s passengers began to get restless. After my friend’s failed attempt to reason with the soldiers, I decided to get out, and use any pull that I might have as a U.S. citizen to get back the ID.

“What do you want,” called out one soldier as I approached them.

“Listen, I’m not sure what the problem is, but we’re really in a hurry,” I said, trying to sound casual and degrading at the same time.

“What’s your hurry, do you have to catch a plane back to the U.S. or something?” one of the younger ones joked.

“No, but there are people in that car that have things to do with their day. They have to get to work, they have to meet people in Ramallah, they have lives to get back to.”

“This will only take a few minutes, we have to check your friend’s ID.”

“Why,” I asked.

“I don’t know,” said another one.

“You don’t know, but you’re making us wait here for 20 minutes?”

“Well, he could be a suspect,” he responded authoritatively.

“He could be a suspect? That’s it?” I said, trying to be careful with my words. “Listen, can you just give me his ID and let us go. We really need to get to Ramallah.”

They looked me up and down, and then hesitantly handed me the green ID. I snatched it up and walked back to the car.

When I was only a few steps away, the youngest of the soldiers called back to me, “Don’t hate us sweetie,” in a tone of condescension that I had not been subjected to in a while.

I turned around, prepared to say everything that I thought this kid needed to hear, everything that I hadn’t spoken out loud since I arrived in Palestine. But I looked down at the ID in my hand, wondered what might happen to my fellow travelers if I talked back to the soldiers, thought about the four more checkpoints we would have to go through that day, and remembered that this wasn’t my fight.

Recently I have been working on a report for ADDAMEER (Arabic for conscience, a prisoner support and human rights association) on Palestinian child detainees, and the various military regulations that apply to their interrogation, trial, and detention. Advocacy agencies will often make the point that most Israeli military regulations consistently violate international laws. For example, Palestinian children are tried as adults when they reach the age of 16 and will be placed in adult prisons. They are denied the right to education, the right to congregate in prayer, and are subjected to both physical and psychological abuse on a daily basis. But what do all of these small arguments matter when they are merely tiny details in a much larger injustice?

I was interviewing an Israeli lawyer the other day on the differences in treatment between Israeli children and Palestinian children. He mentioned that Israeli children who are convicted are often sent to rehabilitation centers, and not to juvenile prisons. When I pointed out that this option has not been provided to Palestinian children he scoffed at the idea. “The help [a Palestinian child prisoner] might need is not the help that Israeli occupying system would be able or ready to supply,” he said. “What will be the rehabilitation? Education to Zionism? Or will Palestinian social workers, who identify with the Palestinian cause (and may be potential
prisoners themselves) be let inside to help the children?”

It is rare that I will see a lawyer make the argument at trial that this system, as a whole, is illegal. It is rare even to hear someone bring up international law in the proceedings. With the exception of administrative detention cases, or cases of torture, international standards have no place in these military courts. More often than not, there will be a plea bargain, and if they’re lucky they will get their client’s sentence down a few months. As no one is listening to the big arguments, they have to make these small arguments day in and day out: This child has never been arrested, so his sentence for throwing rocks should be reduced…This man has a family to take care of, so may he pay a fine for belonging to the PFLP party instead of serving time?

Last week, I was able to attend the appeal hearing for the members of the Palestinian Parliament that have been held in Israeli jails since June. A few days before, a military judge had ordered the release of these detainees, on bail, for the duration of the trial, but this was delayed in order to give the prosecutor time to appeal. Five minutes into the trial my translator had to abandon me, so I stood silently and did my best to pick up a few words.

All of the hearings are conducted in Hebrew, but a soldier will stand at the back of the room and translate in Arabic. Most of the time his words will be mumbled, so it’s nearly impossible for the detainee’s families to understand what is happening. The defense attorney went on at length, speaking for nearly half an hour straight. The court was definitely standing room only that day, as all of the seats were occupied by reporters. I wondered if the judge would have allowed the defense attorney to continue for this long if members of the media weren’t watching him like hawks. The members of the legislative council sat quietly, occasionally mumbling something to their lawyers and laughing. I had seen the faces of all of these men on posters plastered up around Ramallah. In their pictures, they looked dignified in their suits and ties, resembling every politician I have ever seen. Now, even in their brown jumpsuits and shackles, they still seemed determined to look stately.

The defense attorney was still presenting his case, and all I could think was, how could he possibly have that much to say? What more is there to say than, “This is completely illegal. You can’t arrest someone for being a democratically elected official.” Done. Case closed. But things do not work that way around here.

There have been moments in the history of this occupation when defense lawyers have decided to boycott the trials altogether. They will make a statement that they cannot participate in this instrument of the occupation. The organization I’m currently working with has often called for such boycotts, but will never follow through with them without the full support of the prisoners. After all, it is they who will bear the brunt. I was speaking to a good friend the other day about his time in prison. He said that these boycotts had occurred during his time, but it was always damaging to the prisoners. If a group of lawyers made a public statement about the illegality of the Israeli Military Courts, any prisoner associated with them would undoubtedly be sentenced to double the amount of time. This is a risk most lawyers are not willing to take, nor should they—unless their client is ready to take that risk with them.

So I sit back each day and watch the small battles being fought, but not often won. I’m still trying to figure out my role in all of this, but for now I’m satisfied in getting the stories of those I meet out to all of you. So here are the words of one client of ADDAMEER who is currently being held under administrative detention. This means that he is held without charges or trial, and his attorney is not permitted to see the secret file against him. Technically he may only be held like this for six months, but most administrative detainees have their sentences renewed indefinitely. His name is Yahir, and he is 18 years old:

“During the last 10 days of my Detention Order, I start to think about the outside world. About my family and friends, how things are outside, what all my friends are doing, how they are spending their time. When my Detention Order is renewed, I feel shattered. I am depressed and frustrated because in my mind the renewal means nofamily, no friends, no knowledge of the outside world.

“On the day of renewal, the prison authorities move 26 prisoners all together and put us in 3 cells. We leave our section at 8:30 in the morning and have to wait until the end of the day, when all the 26 prisoners have finished, before we are returned to our section.

“During the renewal hearings, I sit and wish I would hear the word ‘release’ and I wait for the judge to say ‘sha’rur’ (release). I don’t understand what the translator says as he speaks too quickly and sometimes I have to ask him to repeat.

“On the last hearing, when my detention was renewed, I told the judge that I am only 18 and that there is nothing against me and that I have never been in prison. I wanted to know what the secret file against me has in it. I told him I was from Qalqilya, which is literally a prison anyway due to the wall. I asked him to release me. My request was refused.

“The life of the Administrative Detainee is all about waiting. We don’t know when we will go home. When our detention order is about to end, all our thinking goes to the outside world. We daydream about our family and friends and what we will do when we are released.

“I have seen Detainees receive a renewal of their detention on the day they are supposed to be released, and they go mad. One Detainee, Nimmer Nazal in my section gave all his prison belongings away on the morning he was to be released. He was given a renewal on that day and he lost his temper.

“Then in the evening he had to ask to get all his belongings back again…”

You and Whose Army?

by Sholmo Bloom. Journal entry providing further insight to a previously published report on the same incident.

It’s Shabbat, the Jewish holy day, also the day when the settlers cause the most trouble in Tel Rumeida.

I was sitting on Shuhada street with two human rights workers when a Palestinian woman came walked by and told us there were settlers throwing rocks up on the path leading to the girls school. Many Palestinians use this path to go to and from their homes. We went over to check it out and, sure enough, there were about 15 kids tearing up the cement from the path, probably to use as projectiles.

We called the police and and T.I.P.H (Temporary International Presence in Hebron). The Police and TIPH arrived but the settlers remained on the path. At this point there were approximately 25, an intimidating number even with police present. So we began escorting Palestinians up and down the path until they were safely past the settlers.

After a few rounds of doing this, the settlers began to physically block our way as we tried to walk down the path. There were about 15 of them doing this and when we approached, they did not move out of the way. The police did not tell them to move, so I walked straight into the center of them and kept walking despite them calling us Nazis, grabbing, kicking, clawing and trying to prevent me, my friends and the Palestinians we were escorting to get through.

The police of course, just sat there and did nothing.

This charade continued for a few rounds, we’d bring a Palestinian with us, push through the crowd, return back, and take the next person through.

Then a police officer stopped me and asked me if I had assaulted a settler girl. I said no of course not and he informed me that a girl had accused me of scratching and pushing her.

At this point I was taken to the police station on suspicion of assault.

No, I couldn’t quite believe it either, but after being in Hebron for so long, it doesn’t really surprise me.

Upon examining some of my documents, the cops discovered I am Jewish. He told me I should not tell any of the settlers I am Jewish because they will see me as a traitor. I asked him if he saw me as a traitor. He smiled condescendingly at me and said “well, we all make mistakes in our lives.”

I was detained and questioned at the police station for about 4 hours, then released.

I asked the police why didn’t they arrest the settlers who kicked, pushed and blocked our path. They said “We would need an army to arrest them.”

They have an army, don’t they? They call it the Israeli “Defence” Force.

Forgetting the Occupation, Almost

by Daniela

I was staring out the window of my office today, looking down from the seventh floor of this building that is also a shopping mall in the middle of Ramallah. I was watching a group of cab drivers sitting on stools in front of their cars, sipping tea and blasting music. All the stores were open, and it seemed as though the entire city had decided to go shopping on their lunch break. If I leaned far out the window I could probably see the “Stars and Bucks Cafe” down the road, but I wasn’t going to risk it from this height.

Staring down at the roofs of apartments I noticed that they all had satellite TV attachments along with the black tanks that hold each family’s water. Two girls were goofing around in the middle of the street, clearly trying to get the attention of the fifteen-year-old boy that was trailing behind. They looked like any teenager: low rise jeans, trendy t-shirts, hoop earrings, and purses that were far too adult for them to be holding. I glanced back at my tea-drinking cab drivers just as one of them was standing up to stretch. His angle changed, revealing one missing leg and a limp hanging arm. My mind flashed back to pictures I had seen of this city, only a few years back when it was under 24-hour curfew and saturated with Israeli tanks. It’s hard to believe it, looking down on the busy streets now with its citizens dancing around in the daily business of life. Every time I begin to feel comfortable in this city, every time I being to forget that I’m living in an occupied land, all the pain of Palestine that Ramallah’s glitter and glisten manages to conceal comes seeping up to the surface.

I am living in “Area A” of Palestine, where tanks and soldiers do not frolic about as they do in the villages. These days most of Palestine is going hungry, but it seems as though the country has pumped all the money it has into the city of Ramallah. It’s been leaving me with the false impression that Palestinians could live their lives free of oppression if they isolate themselves only to the cities.

The other day I was talking with my friend about Bethlehem and how long the journey is from Ramallah, even though it’s very nearby. He said to me, “I love Bethlehem, but no way will I go there now. Why would I want to travel through all of those checkpoints and have a [seeming] 15-year-old point his gun in my face and decided if I can pass. I’d rather stay here.” I guess the reality of the occupation is unavoidable, no matter where you hide.

For two days now, I have come to the office and immersed myself in reading about the intricacies of the Israeli military court system, and the life that Palestinian prisoners must endure. So much of what I read seems miles away, but in reality it’s right in front of my face. Two days ago, the mother of one of our organization’s clients died. He has been imprisoned for a number of years and the lawyers petitioned for his release to attend the funeral. Unsurprisingly, their request was denied. While Israeli prisoners are permitted to speak with their families, receive visitors on a regular basis, and even take a “vacation” to attend weddings and funerals, this man was not even permitted to call his family’s home in order to give his condolences.

Last night my friends and I drove outside the city center to spend a nice evening at an outdoor café. We drove up to the top of the hill and looked out over all of Ramallah. Our friend pointed to the large highway down below where only Israeli settlers are permitted to drive and then directed my attention to Ofer Military Camp. This is one of 27 detention centers where Palestinian prisoners are being held, five of which are located in the West Bank. I had just read that afternoon that prisoners in Ofer sleep in oil soaked hangers that were once used to store Israeli military vehicles.

Prisoners are often required to buy their own food, or to rely on their families to bring meals when they come to visit. However, most prisoners can’t afford to purchase food, and all family members have been forbidden to visit their sons and daughters since the capture of one Israeli soldier in Gaza several months back. My new employers explained to me that forcing detainees to buy their own food from the prison canteens is only one of many ways that the Israeli government profits off of the thousands of Palestinians that they have captured in recent years. Apparently prisoners are also forced to pay a fine for any small infractions that they commit, such as breaking a chair or yelling too loud in their cell. Palestinian prisoners have paid over 3 million dollars in fines just last year. I had always wondered how Israel could afford to carry out these arbitrary mass arrest campaigns. Now I know.

After a beautiful night at the café, I returned home to sip more tea on my balcony. Through a window, I could see my neighbor’s son watching TV and his mother washing dishes in the sink. The young kids in Ramallah were still out in the streets, undoubtedly heading off to a party or a bar. A large spotlight drifted across the city, following cars and shining into the windows of each home. I followed the beam to the top of the hill in the distance. There sits the Israeli settlement of Psgot, with its cluster of identically designed tan condominiums. Every night this week the police station inside the settlement has shined a spotlight down on Ramallah, and I’m sure it will continue every night that I am here. One more reminder that the fate of Ramallah does not belong to its citizens, or even to its municipality. Every time I trip over tank tracks while walking to work, I am forced out of my haze of normalcy. Every time I meet a new colleague only to be confronted with the bullet scars up and down his arms, I remember what it means to be Palestinian. And every time I head off to the beautiful city of Jerusalem for the weekend while my new friends are forced to remain home, I remember what drove me to come here.

IOF Soldiers Kidnap Family

Shlomo Bloom

Somehow I doubt the names and faces of the father and his three teenage boys who were kidnapped by Israeli Occupation Force soldiers tonight in Ramallah will be plastered all over news tomorrow like the face of Gilad Shalit, the kidnapped Israeli soldier.

At about 2am last night we heard there were soldiers in Al Manarra square shooting and arresting people so we went to check it out. By the time we got there the soldiers had left with their four kidnap victims whose names we were unable to find out.

I’m sure once Gilad Shalit is released, there will be a movie made about him. He’ll be the boy-next-door turned national hero who spent two months holed-up in the Gaza tunnels with savage Palestinian militants. No disrespect towards his ordeal, but why are only white people the ones who are made famous and who garner the sympathy of the whole world when they are kidnapped in this region?

After the movie is made, still no one will be able to tell me the names of the dad and his three kids who were kidnapped in Ramallah tonight.