Volunteers with the International Solidarity Movement are encouraged to write personal reflections about the work they engage in with Palestinian communities, the events they experience, and the people they meet. These journals offer the human context often missing in traditional reports or journalism. These articles represent the author’s thoughts and feelings and not necessarily those of the International Solidarity Movement.
Israeli F-16s bombed Gaza’s main bridge, right next to my father’s farm, between northern and southern Gaza. They have also destroyed Gaza’s ONLY power plant, and electricity in most of Gaza has been cut off as a result. I’ve just spoken to my grandmother in Khan Yunis, who confirmed the entire Strip has plunged into darkness, with people stocking up on food and supplies. The electricity of course has also been cut off in hospitals and clincs, though I’m not sure how long the generators can last.
Friends in Gaza City also tell us that terrorizing sonic boom attacks have resumed, stronger than before, full force, by low-flying jets breaking the sound barrier throughout the night over the civlian population-illegal in Israel, the united States, and most all of the world.
Friends and family in Gaza have told me they are bracing themselves for the worst, while praying for the best. In Rafah, the refugee camp that has not been spared the wrath of the Israeli Army on so many occasions in the past, where 16, 000 Palestinians lost their homes to armoured bulldozers, families have holed themselves indoors, fearing for their lives.
Israel has taken control of the border area, including Rafah Crossing, and the Airport. Colleague, friend, and activist Fida Qishta with whom I toured the northeast US is on her way to Egypt, where she will have to remain until she will be allowed to enter her home in Gaza in Rafah by Israeli forces, who have sealed off the Gaza Strip in its entirety. I was worried about her safety, since she is from Rafah, but I received a frantic telephone call from her in London airport where her flight was delayed, and where is making plans to remain exiled in Egypt. Meanwhile, journalist colleagues have told me that CNN and BBC crews from Jerusalem were also not allowed through the Erez Crossing into Gaza yesterday.
It is 7am, June 28, 2006. This is an update in the morning from last night. It was very dangerous for me to reach the computer. The power was cut off. I stayed on the floor with my son and daughter. We didn’t sleep at all like all the residents in Gaza Strip. While trying to get some hours of sleep, we did not manage. The jet fighters sonic bombs started showering us. It is very loud and horrifying noise, they are continuing their attacks.
I contacted the hospital several times: no casualties yet. The operation is going on in different parts of the Gaza Strip, but it is focused in the south: Rafah. I have no idea about the casualties.
We are really surrounded with death and expect death all the time. The disengagement of the Israeli army last September left Gaza people facing their destiny alone, with the full control of the Israeli occupation army outside the Gaza borders. The disengagement and building of the wall in the West Bank, did not bring peace to Israelis.
It is 1:30am, June 28th. The operation against Gaza, is continuing. The Gaza Bridge has been destroyed. The jet fighters are still in the sky hitting many targets. The Gaza power plant was hit by at least 7 missiles. I can see a big fire from my window and hear the sirens of emergency vans. The gun boats started shelling too. I live by the beach.
It is 10.30pm. June 27th. I am writing while the jet fighters are in the sky, with their horrible sound, bringing death and horror. I am still like everyone: waiting. I will not go to bed tonight, most of us in Gaza will not. I prepared my emergency bag, left it next to the front door. The hospitals declared high emergency status, the medical facilities resources are exhausted, and limited due to the sanctions.
We experienced all sorts of Israeli aggression in the last few months and throughout the Intifada. Since Ehud Olmert took over the government 4 months ago, 85 Palestinians were killed, economical and political sanctions were imposed and people here in Gaza have nothing to lose. Maybe they have only their chains to lose; they are frustrated and do not anticipate or look forward for any hopeful horizon.
I hope Israel will not go ahead with their operation into Gaza, the outcome could be horrible, the resistance movement is going ahead with their preparation too, but the balance of power is obvious to which side, any way Israel with Palestinian resistance or no resistance is attacking us all the time, but this time will be different, and in the process many civilian lives will be lost. I am listening to the local radio. It seems that the operation started in Khanyunis, the artillery started shelling, under the cover of Apache helicopters and jet fighters. I am able to write now, but I do not know what will happen next- the power might cut off soon.
A few hours ago, Mohammed and Sondos (my dear kids, I pray for the safety of all the children of the world, including Israeli children) had a narrow escape during their way home; a car exploded 150 meters from my home, close to the president’s home. One person died and 4 injured, I cannot help feeling worried. I am, after all, a mother. I shall stay strong.
Tomorrow I am going to the Red Crescent society office. We are supposed to get some medications to be used at Alawda hospital for the emergency department that was stopped at the closed borders. I am hoping to get it through with the help of WHO. I am not sure if we shall receive them in time, but I shall keep trying. Alawda Hospital is inside Jabalia refugee camp. Two weeks ago, it received the Galia family children, who lost their parents during the beach incident. Alawda hospital medicine supplies are enough for one week of routine use. If the operation continues and the casualty numbers increase, a health disaster will follow. I am just warning, since I am a doctor. The airplane’s sound in the sky is getting louder. I shall keep writing, it is big relief for me.
I decided to take a vacation to Balata refugee camp and give art lessons to children there. I hadn’t been there since the invasion in February and I recently completed a portrait of Ibrahim, a boy who died while I was there and I wanted to give it to his family.
Because of all the roadblocks and closures, just getting from Hebron to Balata is an ordeal in and of itself. I took a service from Hebron to the junction near Bethlehem, another service to Bethlehem to meet up with my friend Chris, we crossed through the Orwellian Bethlehem checkpoint which is built around the concept of no human to human interaction between the people trying to get through and the soldiers giving them permission or not. You can’t see the soldiers, they’re behind tinted, bullet proof glass; you just hear them barking orders over a PA system at you in Hebrew.
Next we took a service to Jerusalem, got off and took another service to Qalandia checkpoint, got off, took a service to Huwara checkpoint. Ah Huwara, my least favorite checkpoint in all of the West Bank. Going through isn’t difficult but coming back out can take hours. Last time our friend Mohammad Farraj, a filmmaker, tried to leave through Huwara on his way to the airport to catch a plane to a film festival in the United States, soldiers refused to let him and told him if he tried to go through again, they’d put him in jail for six months.
Huwara checkpoint
All in all, it took three and a half hours from Hebron to Balata, a distance of 40 miles. This was about the best you can expect if you are an international. If you are Palestinian it would take longer.
Balata is a town of ghosts. You walk down any street and the ghosts stare back at you from the walls of all the buildings. These are Balata’s martyrs and this is how the residents of the camp choose to remember them. It’s a strange feeling to come back here and recognize faces of people you never actually met.
We stayed at Mohammad Farraj’s house. He’s a friend of Chris and I’d talked to him via email about coming to the camp and doing art projects with the children. The first person I saw when I walked into Mohammad Farraj’s apartment was Mohammad Issa, the brother of Ibrahim whose portrait I had brought with me. I’d never met Mohammad Issa formally in person but we had corresponded quite a bit over email while I was working on some paintings illustrating life in Balata. He was pointed out to me the day after Ibrahim died and I had never seen anyone with so much pain on their face in my life. I instantly recognized him and introduced myself. I told him I brought the portrait of Ibrahim for him and his smiling face instantly fell. I felt like shit. It took an hour before he finally asked to see it. I couldn’t look at his face for at least five minutes after I gave it to him. He didn’t speak for about five minutes either, he was just staring at the painting. I was trying really hard not to cry and feeling a bit ridiculous since I was sitting in a room full of Ibrahim’s friends and I was the only one who was losing my composure. Nobody said anything for awhile. Finally he told me, “Thank you, you gave me the feeling that he was alive again. It’s amazing.”
Ibrahim is the only person I have painted a picture of in life and in death. I never got a chance to scan the portrait I gave to his brother. Maybe next time I am back there.
Later we went to Mohammad Issa’s house and he gave the painting to his mother. She thanked me and told the story of how he died, how she heard screams and found him on the roof with his best friend who was killed by the same bullet. Her other son was also with them, he had been shot in the leg. Mohammad Issa asked very matter of factly, if I would like to see the pictures of the two boys at the morgue. It was almost as if he was asking if I would like tea. I don’t like to see pictures of dead people but I felt like it would be rude to say no. Their eyes were half open.
After leaving the Issa’s house we went to the neighbor’s of Mohammad Farraj. They were a very sweet family who made us coffee and asked us how the situation in Palestine is reported on in the US. I told them people have absolutely no idea what is going on here. It never ceases to amaze me, the warmth and friendliness of people I meet in places like this. There’s not one family in Balata that doesn’t have a horror story of their own, yet they are so kind and welcoming. Ahmad, one of the sons, about 15 years old is missing all of the teeth on the right side of his mouth where he was hit with shrapnel. His face is also mildly disfigured.
There was gunfire on and off all night. Mohammad Farraj promised nonchalantly it was only Palestinian fighters shooting in the air. At some god-forsaken hour we all woke up to the sound of a bulldozer. I never found out what that was about.
The next day at about 10 AM we bought felafel sandwiches for 11 boys and girls, put them in two taxis, drove them out of the refugee camp to a playground in Nablus where I gave them an art lesson.
I asked them to draw pictures of their daily life and this is the result. It was heartbreaking and at the same time it was really fun to be able to give these kids something fun to do, something they were so grateful for and also to be able to play with them in the park. We all had an great time. It was a much needed break.
I’m sitting here looking at these adorable kids and I’m wondering if any of these boys are going to live past 30.
Haroun says:
“I drew the army and the martyr Khalil and some boys who threw stones at the jeeps and the sun.”
Amal says:
The soldiers killed someone who is sitting in front of his building. And some helicopters were shooting the building.” She wrote: “We will return to our homeland and our original life.”
Noor says:
“I drew my cousin who was killed by the Israelis. Some men are carrying the Palestinian flag.” She wrote “occupied Palestine”
Asil says:
“I drew houses very close to each other. There are some soldiers who killed a martyr and soldiers who would not let the ambulance take the martyr away. People in the building are crying.”
Dalia says:
“I drew my house, a tree, a Palestinian flag, Israelis, jeeps, two people, a martyr and a sun.” She wrote: “The sweetest flag is the Palestine flag, we hope the situation is fixed soon, inshallah. My mother, don’t cry, the days will come back to Balata camp.”
At 4pm we left Balata. I plan to continue doing art lessons with the kids here. If anyone is looking to save the world I urge you to come to Balata and start a summer camp there for the kids. They need it so much.
Ahmad the 15 year old neighbor of M.F. walked us to our taxi. He had a necklace around his neck with about six tiny pictures in it, sort of like a locket. I asked him about it, he said they were his friends.
22nd June: At about 8.30pm tonight, the Israeli army carried out another incursion here in Ramallah, assassinating Ayman Khateb, a member of the Palestinian intelligence. Initial reports in the Israeli media are claiming that he was also a member of the al-Aqsa Martyr’s Brigades, which is possible, but unconfirmed right now. He assassinated by undercover Israeli forces. The Israeli army was then brought in so that the assassins could make good their escape. They injured at least two other people in the process. The soldiers reportedly shot the body again for good measure before they left.
This all happened here in the Old City of Ramallah or “Lower Ramallah”, the same neighbourhood that I live and work in. Only one block away from us in the ISM Media office, we heard loud gunfire close by and could tell that it was not from a celebration or protest. All the shops in the street below quickly closed up. Very soon after this, several Israeli army jeeps sped past our street towards the direction that the gunfire was coming from.
People came out onto the street in clusters, sharing news and wondering what to do. A group of us from the ISM office went onto the street to talk to people and see if we could be useful in any way. We got into a position from which we could film the jeeps from a distance. We heard they had shot someone, and no one was being allowed close to him. By the time we got there he was dead and the jeeps had left. We witnessed the dead and injured being taken away in ambulances, as well as the scene of destruction left behind. A falafel shop had been trashed so that the soldiers could use it as cover. It was on a street I regularly walk down. I had stood near that very spot only a few days previously as a friend bought falafel from one of the street vendors.
Today, during the daytime, we were sitting near some Border Police. Sometimes they like to joke and be friendly with us. What follows actually happened: one of them TOOK OFF his helmet, flak jacket and gun, put them down next to us and started doing back flips and no handed cartwheels in front of us. He was showing off and it was quite amusing. He would have been in so much trouble if his commander had seen his gun laying on the ground!
There’s a new volunteer here from San Francisco. We know some of the same people and he also spins fire. We were able to put that to good use today in terms of nonviolent resistance.
We told the people in the neighborhood that we were going to give a fire performance tonight. During the day we practiced while out monitoring the streets.
At one point we were walking past the checkpoint, an often problematic area, and we noticed about 6 border police, including the guy who had done back flips and cartwheels for us earlier, detaining and mistreating to 5 Palestinian men who were our neighbors. There were about 6 adult settlers hanging around and we figured the border police were acting like this because the settlers had urged them to.
Anyhow, we decided to try to deescalate the situation with these border police at the checkpoint by being clowns.
My friend took out his juggling pins and I took out my fire chains. I announced to everyone present that there was now going to be a circus performance. So he started juggling and I started spinning the poi. We were being a little bit silly and ridiculous. After about 5 minutes we bowed and the Palestinians and one or two of the border police clapped. The settlers didn’t! But it seemed that everyone had lightened up and after about 5 minutes the police let the men go.
We stayed there for awhile longer because soon after, a new group of Palestinian men were detained and we did our routine again and they were only detained for maybe 15 minutes or so which is pretty good.
When it got dark, we lit our fire chains and did a performance for our neighbors. I have never had such an enthusiastic audience!
Maybe circus tricks will become a new strategy of nonviolent resistance to arrest…
