Category: Journals

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.

What I saw in Jericho or Olmert’s Election Campaign

By Neta Golan

British Chris and I beginning our attempted entry. We were stopped minutes later
British Chris and I beginning our attempted entry. We were stopped minutes later.

Jericho Tuesday March 14th
After a four-hour walk around two Israeli checkpoints and an illegal Israeli settlement, we arrived in Jericho to find that the neighborhood around the compound surrounded by Israeli jeeps and Palestinian children throwing stones at them. We asked the kids for directions. After sizing us up for a while a young Palestinian guided us through the side streets to the closest point to the compound as possible where journalists where filming the attack.

As Chris from Britain, C. from IWPS and I were approaching the city we could here shelling and a helicopter from a long way away. When we got to the site of the prison and governmental compound we saw that the it was “U” shaped and the external building that was visible to us was burning and completely destroyed. We were told it had been shelled by a helicopter before we arrived.

Destroyed external building
Destroyed external building

The prisoners and Palestinian prison employees had been cornered into a room inside the middle of the “U” by the Israeli military who were destroying the building around them after the British and American guards abandoned the prison.

While we were getting organized to attempt to join the prisoners that were being attacked, the external building was shelled by a tank at least four times. The military were calling on the prisoners to surrender on an amplifier system.

The sound that worried us the most was a very loud and very low rat-tat-tat-tat that we thought was some kind of heavy machine gun fire. Later we discovered that it was a rock compressor or “congo” machine used to break up rock. Behind the destroyed external building the rock compressor and a similar machine with a shovel on a long arm were being used on the wall of the room where the prisoners were.

We tried in vain to contact the people inside the compound by phone to tell them we were coming in. We knew we were running out of time so despite our tiny number we stocked up with medical equipment and some food, raised our hands to show that we were not armed and walked as quickly as we could in the direction of where the prisoners were. Soldiers screamed at us to stop but we continued. We were directly in front but still hundreds of meters away from where the prisoners were when soldiers that had left their jeeps on foot caught us.

After being caught I lay down to prevent them from easily removing me. Thanks to the nonviolent techniques we teach in training it took three soldiers about ten minutes to handcuff me with plastic handcuffs. They succeeded by one of them pressing his knee down hard against my throat and two other solider grabbing an arm each. I could see Chris on the floor up against a jeep behind me.

When I refused to move the commander left two soldiers to guard me on the spot. He told them in Hebrew “If any one comes out of the building shoot him. Shoot in order to hit. We are not playing games. The games are over.” He repeated: “Any one that comes out of the building shoot to hit!” The fact that they came out of their jeeps to chase us and stood right in front of where the prisoners were for such an extended period indicates that they knew that they were in no danger of getting shot at.

The solider guarding me and I were there at least ten minutes until Border Police came to carry me away. When the Border Police unit commander approached my guard he asked him in Hebrew if the “fat” ones were still in the building. He was told not to talk next to me and he switched to Arabic and asked the same question.

Four border police carried me into a jeep and then brought Chris in with his hands cuffed behind his back. We were sure they were taking us to a police station but they stopped at a checkpoint outside of Jericho and told us we could go.

On the way back to Jerusalem we heard that the prisoners and the rest of the besieged people had all been arrested. What people on the ground said was that the wall of the room that a prisoners and the others were in was demolished leaving them exposed to the Israeli soldiers, who ordered them to walk down one by one. That explained the too-strong machine gun-like sound that we heard: it was a rock compressor against the old stone walls of the building. The prisoners had no weapons. The Palestinians trapped inside the prison did not surrender and walk out of the building. The building including the room they were in was destroyed around them.

The room the prisoners were cornered in and arrested from.
The room the prisoners were cornered in and arrested from.

According to AlJazeera.net, two Palestinian security officers including Ibrahim Abu al-Amin were killed and 23 other people were wounded in the raid. The Palestinian people and the Arab world were humiliated enraged and betrayed. The chances for a viable Palestinian Authority (not to mention state) and the trust in international mediators was destroyed while chances for retaliation attacks increased. The rift between the west and the Arab world has grown wider. All for the sole purpose of Olmert’s election campaign.

The Ridiculousness of Tel Rumeida

by Katie

Here are a few incidents that happened in Tel Rumeida over the last few weeks. Keep in mind that these anecdotes are only a tiny fraction of the daily insanity happening here.

I don’t even blink…

The other day the soldiers at the IOF post near the Beit Hadassa settlement were detaining every single Palestinian man who walked by for up to 45 minutes for ID checks. Why ? “Security.” This is the generic answer you hear when you inquire about any outrageously unfair practice against Palestinians. Part of our work here is to try and get the men released sooner rather than later because the soldiers usually don’t detain the men for as long when we’re pressuring them. It was out of the ordinary for the soldiers to be detaining everyone who passed so I decided I was going to try to warn people to take a different route around the IOF post so they wouldn’t be detained. From down the street I could see a man I knew pretty well and I motioned for him to come over and talk to me. I told him the soldiers were detaining everyone and that he should go around and tell everyone he knew to avoid that IOF post today. What happened next just totally broke my heart because he replied “no, it’s ok, we’re used to it.” This kind of thing is so normal here that people just accept it as part of their life, but its not normal. It’s racist and unfair and it makes me so crazy to see it happening everyday. Even still, I’m getting resigned to it as well. The first time someone pointed his gun at me and cocked it, I was a little bit freaked out, now it happens so often I don’t even blink. I just laugh.

A baby or a bomb?

There’s a metal detector at the checkpoint going into Tel Rumeida that everyone must pass through. Because pregnant women and teachers don’t pose a security threat, the soldiers have orders to allow them to go through a gate instead of through the metal detector. This is so they don’t get X-rayed everyday which is unhealthy if you are pregnant or trying to become pregnant. There is often a lot of hassle about this policy because soldiers will say they don’t know about the order, or they will make the women wait around for a long time or they just refuse to let them through the gate all together. When the soldiers refuse to let them through, I have seen women leave the checkpoint in order to take another route into Tel Rumeida so they don’t have to pass through the metal detector. This takes them three kilometers out of their way. Recently I saw an obviously pregnant woman waiting at the gate for the soldier on duty to let her through. The soldier was ignoring her and she motioned for me to come over and help her. I asked the soldier if he was aware of the order to allow pregnant women through the gate. He replied he had heard of no such order and that if she wanted to get into Tel Rumeida, she would have to go through the metal detector. He told me he couldn’t be sure if it was a baby under her dress or a bomb (!) This is the kind of insanity that makes me almost freak out, but freaking out at the soldiers doesn’t usually help so I took a few breaths and called the nice lady at Machsom Watch, an Israeli human rights organization that monitors and intervenes in checkpoint harassment. Usually when I call her, whoever is being detained is let go, and sure enough, a few minutes later the soldier got a call and he let her through.

Call the Moussad, they’ve built a house…

Settlers drive cars in Tel Rumeida. Palestinians are not allowed to drive cars in Tel Rumeida. Why ? “Security.” Roadblocks have been set up on roads going into the Palestinian controlled area of Hebron to prevent Palestinian cars from entering or leaving Tel Rumeida. One of our neighbors recently finished building a beautiful house here. When asked how he and his family brought the building materials in to build the house, he explained that they had to bring everything in by wheelbarrow. It took two years. The house is at the bottom of a steep hill and right now the family is building a concrete wall to protect the house from rocks or debris that may fall from the hill in bad weather. They need a car to transport sand and gravel to build the wall. In order to do this, first they must move the concrete roadblocks at the entrance to Tel Rumeida in the middle of the night and second they must distract the soldiers so they do not hear the car. Last night the young men in the neighborhood had to act really loud an obnoxious in front of the soldiers so that they would not hear the car being driven a block away. The next day, the Moussad (secret police) came to ask questions about how the sand and gravel got there. My fellow Americans, your tax dollars go to pay for special missions such as this.

While venting my exasperation about the situation here to F, he told me that compared to the way things were at the beginning of the intifada in 2002, it’s like paradise now. Back then there was a 24 hour curfew that lasted for 100 days. This meant that no one could leave their house unless the army gave them permission. If they were caught in the streets, they would be arrested. I am totally in awe of the restraint and patience demonstrated by the people of Hebron.

Another Fallen Friend and Martyr

The death of Tom Fox and a true test of solidarity
By Joe Carr

I first met Tom Fox in Chicago at a Christian Peacemaker Teams’ training and we became good friends through our work together. He was a father with children about my age, and was like an uncle to me.

He was my team’s coordinator during my month in Iraq. Shaggy, a young Iraqi friend and translator, nicknamed him “Uncle Tom” because of his paternal but playful manner. He provided a calm and steady presence, and an open and compassionate ear. His warmth and humor helped me to hang on through my depressing and fearful time in Iraq.

I remember the comforting sound of Tom’s recorder, which he played in place of his clarinet. I will miss the mornings when he led worship, often in the silent Quaker tradition.

Tom was truly committed to maintaining an international presence in Iraq despite the danger. He understood the privilege we have in being able to choose whether or not we face violence, a choice denied to Iraqis, Palestinians, and poor people of color around the world. His commitment to solidarity led him to Iraq, to share in some of that risk.

Dozens of Iraqi bodies show up in Baghdad each week. Many are killed by US-sponsored death squads, trained to use brutal counter-insurgency tactics against militants and civilians alike. In the chaos of occupied Iraq, thousands of Iraqis have been kidnapped for profit. But we only hear about it when it happens to internationals.

I was standing with 23-year-old American activist Rachel Corrie when an Israeli soldier intentionally drove over and crushed her to death with a US-made Caterpillar bulldozer. A month later, I was with 22-year-old British activist Tom Hurndall, helping to move Palestinian children out of the line of Israeli sniper fire when that sniper purposefully shot Tom in the head.

The three-year anniversary of Rachel’s murder is March 16, next Thursday, and activists around the world will host events to commemorate her life and sacrifice. But we will also commemorate the thousands of Palestinians who’ve given their lives to the struggle, over 3,500 since September, 2000.

Activists are also gearing up for demonstrations next weekend to mark the three-year anniversary of the invasion of Iraq. As we mourn for Tom Fox, let us remember the 100,000-250,000 Iraqis murdered by US occupation forces, and the 15,000-17,000 Iraqi hostages, held without charge in US and Iraqi detention facilities.

The loss of my comrades hurts very much, and it scares me to be so close to our few western martyrs. But my pain and fear only deepens my sense of solidarity and determination to continue their legacy of struggle.

Iraqis, Palestinians, and oppressed people everywhere are fighting and dying for freedom, and it’s long passed time for Americans to join them.

Let us grieve for our loss, together with families everywhere who’s loved ones have fallen. Let us also continue the legacy of Tom Fox, Tom Hurndall, and Rachel Corrie, to build a global solidarity movement for peace, justice, and freedom.

Let us see to it they do not die in vain.

We Mourn the Loss of Tom Fox

“Why are we here?”

Reflection written by Tom Fox in Iraq the day before the abduction
2 December 2005

As I survey the landscape here in Iraq, dehumanization seems to be the operative means of relating to each other. U.S. forces in their quest to hunt down and kill “terrorists” are, as a result of this dehumanizing word, not only killing “terrorists,” but also killing innocent Iraqis: men, women and children in the various towns and villages.

It seems as if the first step down the road to violence is taken when I dehumanize a person. That violence might stay within my thoughts or find its way into the outer world and become expressed verbally, psychologically, structurally or physically. As soon as I rob a fellow human being of his or her humanity by sticking a dehumanizing label on them, I begin the process that can have, as an end result, torture, injury and death.

“Why are we here?” We are here to root out all aspects of dehumanization that exist within us. We are here to stand with those being dehumanized by oppressors and stand firm against that dehumanization. We are here to stop people, including ourselves, from dehumanizing any of God’s children, no matter how much they dehumanize their own souls.

Kalandia and the Meaning of ‘Security’


Israeli Military overseeing further construction outside Kalandia Checkpoint

By Jon

Traveling between Ramallah and Jerusalem used to be a relatively easy trip, despite the various demarcations and borders the two cities contained, both within and between them. Things have changed of course, both quickly and drastically. What only a few years ago was a temporary “flying” checkpoint near Kalandia Refugee Camp, would then be converted into a more fixed checkpoint; ultimately it would evolve into it’s present form, a monstrous Terminal/Wall infrastructure complex. And the process continues; everyday that I pass through there, something new is built or added, complete with Palestinian laborers working in the shadow of Caterpillar bulldozers, while being watched over by heavily armed Israeli security guards.

With the physical landscape being so irrevocably redefined and reconstructed by the occupation, I want to describe my most recent passage through Kalandia. Partly, I am doing this as I prepare to leave Palestine, and not knowing when I may be able to return. Of the many things that frighten me, one is this; simply how much will change and be changed while I am away? How do you look forward to returning somewhere if your can’t even recognize it when you get there?

When I first used Kalandia checkpoint, in 2003-2004, it was a checkpoint much like Huwarra near Nablus; people were being harrassed by the IOF whenever I passed through, mostly by being questioned as to their IDs and permits. It’s hard to describe the experience of waiting on line with 50 or more Palestinians, waiting to have your ID checked, while a 20 year old Israeli soldier is standing in front of you, pointing his rifle at you, looking at everyone like they are no better than the dirt on his boots.

Back in January, a soldier was killed at Kalandia, stabbed by a Palestinian while passing through what at that time had evolved into a labyrinth of concrete, metal sheeting, razor wire and Israeli soldiers. For the next week or two, the process there, which was already humiliating, violent and painfully slow became even more so. I remember passing in the opposite direction on the way to Ramallah, and seeing the new changes; even longer lines, and when one approaches the soldiers to show your ID, there were at least 5 other soldiers standing to the side, their rifles drawn and pointing straight at you, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.

Then, the sparkling new ‘Terminal’ was opened. Paid for by US aid to the Palestinian Authority, it is truly a triumph of sarcasm and sadism, all rolled into one (and by the way, didn’t a certain Central European regime build a wall in Warsaw and charge the people they were building it around for it’s construction?). Now, the IOF can hide in their protected little bomb and bullet-proof cubicles, scream orders and insults in Hebrew through a microphone, make people wait as long as they like, while never having to so much as breath the same air as the Palestinians passing through the terminal.

Outside the checkpoint there used to be a sign that read “THE HOPE OF US ALL,” although it wasn’t entirely clear whose hopes and for what they were referring to; pretty soon a group of activists from Jews Against Genocide covered it in graffiti, writing “ARBEIT MACH FREI” a few times over it. Soon, after, the sign was removed… but alas, the checkpoint remains.

The last time I was there, I was not very happy to see a really, really long line to get into the checkpoint. Usually, I haven’t had to wait too long, as the soldiers have never seemed too concerned about my being there; at the most, I might have my visa checked, but that’s about it (and sometimes not even that much). To make matters worse, I was pretty tired too, and a bit stressed about my leaving so soon; the last thing I wanted to deal with while on my way to seeing friends in Hebron was a long wait at Kalandia but I didn’t seem to have much choice. So, I got into the slowly moving mass of people, and soon I was in a sea of Palestinian men, from about 25 to 40 years old; there was a way to pass for the young & old & women, but I just couldn’t get the guts to flaunt my privilege and use it.

Inside the nearby control room was a female Israeli soldier, and she was shouting commands in Hebrew every minutes or so, as she controlled how long the revolving metal-bar doors in front of us would be open for (complete with green and red lights, for our convenience!). Now, most of the men seemed to be taking the situation with the usual coping method of laughing at it; personally, I started fantasizing about how many screwdrivers it would take to dismantle the place while we were waiting, but that’s just me. They would cover the speaker with their hand, mimic her voice, and stay pretty relaxed, all things considered, but for all these men to be talked to like they are children by this young woman was certainly yet another method of humiliation by the IOF. And then there was the challenge to her authority; whereas she would be insisting that only one person go through the revolving door at a time, the men would be squeezing anywhere from 2 to 4 people through at a time; she would say “wahadi wahadi,” (one by one) and they would say (and do) in response, “arba a arba” (four by four).

This went on for a bit, until I got within range to squeeze in, but I had some difficulty; my backpack kept getting stuck, and people would jump out ahead of me each and every time. I finally got into position along with 2 other guys, with my backpack on my head, and we waited for the light to turn green. But, then something unexpected happened. Next to the revolving doors that we were using, there were to regular doors, and two men selling sunglasses were working out passage through, as their merchandise wouldn’t fit through the revolving doors. So, she opens the other doors, and what happens? Yes, everyone starts pouring through, including me; hell, I had already spent an hour there, and this was just the first door to get through!

At this point, more than 100 of us had gotten through, but there was still the actual checking of the permits & bags still to be done. I walked about, trying to find a line that was shorter, going faster, something, but, nothing! I even tried to slip into the women’s line, but the soldier said on the speaker that I needed to go to the men’s lines. So, standing there, I resigned myself to getting to Jerusalem much later than I expected, if at all. But out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the station to my left was just starting to let people in, so I make a move… along with 50 other people! But I get a jump on most of them, push my way into the revolving door, and then it slams shut, I get the red light!


Welcome to Kalandia Checkpoint

But now I’m mad, I’m tired, and I just don’t understand why these soldiers, these boys, see the need to toy with us all like this? Is this ‘security?’.

So I yell at the soldier I see behind the window, “What the hell are you doing to us? Will you let us through for Christ’s sake?”

The soldier behind the glass window sees me, and of course hears and sees my frustration, so what does he do? He responds to me in Hebrew, saying who the hell knows what!

So I tell him ” I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE SAYING!!!! Will you just let us through?!?”

And then, miraculously, he does! About 10 of us get into the main chamber, put our bags through the scanner, walk through the metal detector… as an afterthought I show my passport, but they don’t even ask to see the visa or ask me anything.

And after passing through another set of the same revolving iron bar doors, I was out, the whole ordeal only taking 1 and a half hours. It could have been much worse, and I did get through eventually, but just what was it that I had been through? According to the Israeli government, I had passed through the newest and most efficient checkpoint that was to provide ‘security’ and would be ‘The Hope of Us All.” As far as I am concerned, I had passed through a place that, despite the aesthetic changes, had not changed at all. It is still a place that by its very existence, miles within the Occupied West Bank, serves only to humiliate, control, and do violence to the lives of Palestinians. It is a constant reminder to Palestinians that they are the ghettoized slaves and serfs of the land, and that the Israeli boys with guns, whether up close and personal or behind blast-proof glass, have all the power in the world; it is, in other words, the true meaning of ‘security,’ which will never result in anyone’s security.