The Effect of Closure on the Village of Iraq Bureen

by Ellen O’Grady

Since July 26 I have been living in and witnessing the effects of the Israeli military closure on the village of Iraq Bureen and its 900 inhabitants. Iraq Bureen is located three miles outside of the city of Nablus on top of a terraced mountain 880 meters above sea level. Since the outbreak of the Al-Aqsa Intifada and more forcefully since the Israeli invasion into the West Bank, Israel has imposed a closure on Iraq Bureen which impedes movement into and from the village. The closure of the village, which is implemented through military outposts, checkpoints, road blocks, physical barriers, tanks, planes, and helicopters, enables the Israeli army to completely control and restrict movement of people and goods.

The road leading from Iraq Bureen to the surrounding towns and the city of Nablus is closed by a six foot tall rock and dirt barrier constructed by the Israeli army. The road and the surrounding valleys and mountain paths are constantly watched over by an Israeli military camp and military posts on the neighboring mountains. Those who risk breaking the closure by walking around the roadblock or through the valleys risk both being arrested and being shot at. Many take the risk in order to care for and support their families. For example, people break the seige in order to transport food to Nablus for the needed income, to work in neighboring villages for the needed income, to transport water and food and fuel from Nablus to Iraq Bureen, and to go to Nablus to receive medical care.

MEDICAL CARE DENIED
Over 70% of the Palestinian population live in rural areas, such as Iraq Bureen, which do not provide hospital services. Closure therefore severly restricts the population from health care facilities. The inablitity for the people in Iraq Bureen to reach hospitals and clinics has severly affected pregnant women, sick children and people requiring treatment for things such as cancer, kidney failure, and diabetes.

On the night of August 6 Hiyam Q’s baby died while she was in labor in her home. It was a late pregnancy, the baby was very big and could not be delivered vaginally. Had she had access to a hospital a ceasarean section could have been performed and most likely the child’s life would have been saved. (The UNWRA reprts that among its patients there has been a 58% increase in the number of still births since the military closure. Other medical organizations reprt a 100% increase in home deliveries.)

In the past two weeks I have accompanied Palestinians breaking the closure in order to help them reach medical care safely. I have walked with three sick children and their families to reach hospitals and clinics in Nablus. And with Salwa an old woman with sores on her hands and face who is suffering from untreated Diabetes. Doctors at St. Luke’s hospital in Nablus report a 49% decline in general patients, a 73% decline in specialty services, and a 53% decline in surgeries.

KILLED FOR BREAKING THE CLOSURE TO WORK OUTSIDE IRAQ BUREEN: THE STORY OF ADNAN AND MAMOUD
After six months without any work two laborers from Iraq Bureen, Adnan and Mamoud, and a friend and co-worker of theirs from the village of Tell broke the closure to work in a town North of Nablus. They worked for two weeks painting and putting down tile. Before their expected return Adnan called his sister to tell her they would be leaving the next day and be home in two days. The day after the phone call was made the three men were shot and killed by the Israeli Occupation forces in a field in a nearby town. They lay in the feild for two days without being discovered. On the third day the Israeli media reported the killing of the three men, claiming in the report that the three were suspected terrorists, a claim that has no evidence to support it. An ambulance was permitted to reach the three bodies and take them to a hospital in Nablus. The bullet holes were as large as fists suggesting they were fired upon from a plane or tank. Adnan had a large hole through his stomach and eight bullet holes through his right leg. Mamoud had a bullet through his mouth and the top of his head had been cut open. Both of their faces were blue and pocked with gravel from being dragged from the location of the killing. Nothing supports the claim that the men conducted violent activites against Israel. All evidence supports that they were laborers returning from work. I visited and sat with the two families in Iraq Bureen. The family of Mamoud showed me the interior decorating work he had done on their home, including a relief of painted roses on the ceiling and a border of flowers painted on the wall.

The families of Mamoud and Adnan fear that the Israeli military will soon come to destroy their homes. Since 1967, the Israeli authorities have partially or wholly demolished close to 10,000 Palestinian homes. Often these house demolitions are used as punitive measures (e.g., against the families of suspected terrorists). Nearly every day in the past week we have heard the explosions and demolitions of homes in Nablus and the village of Tell. There has been increased tank activity around Iraq Bureen; people here fear there homes will be next.

AGRICULTURE UNDER SEIGE
The majority of the people in Iraq Bureen depend on the sale of cactus fruit, milk and yogurt to support their families. These past eleven days the cactus fruit should have gone to markets in Nablus. Because of the closure and a strict curfew on Nablus there has not been access to markets and much of the fruit is beginning to rot. The small amount of fruit that has reached Nablus has been carried in buckets by farmers and their donkeys who were able to evade the military blockade. This is getting more and more difficult as the presence of tanks and military blockades around Iraq Bureen and Nablus has increased over the past two weeks.

I have spoken with nine farmers who had been trying to get to Nablus with their cactus fruit this past week and who had been stopped by Israeli soldiers and forced to sit with their faces bowed down to the ground for more than four hours in the hot sun and never permitted to sell their fruit.

I have spoken with seven farmers who in the past four weeks have been detained by the Israeli occupation forces for attempting to transport milk, yogurt and fruit to Nablus. Two of those detained, Mohamed and Said, brought me to the place they had been taken by the Isreali soldiers and showed me the broken glass yogurt jars that had been thrown to the ground and broken by the soldiers who had detained them.

From the top of Iraq Bureen I have watched tanks stop and turn back farmers and their donkeys on the road leading to Nablus.

HUNGER AND MALNUTRITION
As a direct result of the closure there are families in Iraq who have no food or money and are surviving on olive oil. I sat with the mothers of two families, Iman and Miriam. Iman has a husband who suffers from a mental illness (dissociation) that is treated through medication. However since the closure he has not been able to recieve his medication. Since the invasion the medication is not even available in Nablus, only in Israel. As a result he has been mentally unstable and unable to provide for the family. The husband of Miriam also suffers from a mental illness. Until the seige, the family of her husband had been providing for her. Now, the family of her husband has little money for themsleves and so Miriam’s children go without food and sleep much of the day to try to escape their hunger.

Many families in Iraq Bureen are getting by just on bread and olive oil and are suffering from malnutrution. The Palestine Bureau of Statistics recently relased a survey on nutrition and found that 63.8% of those surveyed faced difficulties on food supply since the outbreak of the Al-Aqsa Intifada. 45.5% are suffering from chronic malnutrition. 36.9% are suffering from mild chronic malnutrition.

WATER UNDER SIEGE
Iraq Bureen is one of many villages suffering from a severe water shortage as a result of closing the Palestinian territories. There is no water source in Iraq Bureen so the village depends on water tankers to come and fill people’s wells. Normally water tankers come every week during the summer months. Under the closure they cannot reach the villages. This forces people to break closure, bring donkeys down to a river and collect what little water they are able to with plastic containers.

POWER SHORTAGE
Iraq Boreen is one of over 130 West Bank villages that has electricity supplied for only a fraction of the day. Electricity in IB is generated by a motor powered by benzine. Normally the motor runs for seven hours. Under the seige there is often only enough diesel fuel to run for three hours a day.

*********************
Closure is in direct violation of internationl humanitarian law. Under the conditions incurred by the closure, people of Iraq Bureen and throughout the occupied territories are suffering from a lack of access to food, fuel and water and access to basic health care. Breaking the closure puts people at risk for being detained and arrested as well being shot at and killed. The people here are in a state of emergency. We must do everything we can to end this seige and the Israeli occupation of Palestine.

Ballad of a Small Victory

by Karl Dallas

The Battle of Nablus
tune: English traditional, “The Bold Princess Royal”

On the last day of June in two thousand and two
In the city of Nablus the pleasures were few
The Israeli army had invaded the town
And the people were terrorised by the tanks roaming round.

We were ten internationals come into this land
To see what was happening and perhaps lend a hand.
We were Christians and Muslims and atheists and Jews
And all were determined to see what we could do.

For eight days a curfew all day and all night
And anyone on the streets could be shot on sight
But the people determined to reclaim their streets
And so we marched with them the curfew to beat.

Next day in the morning we woke from our dreams
To hear that the army was invading the homes
Of many brave fam’lies who had done nothing wrong
And so we decided to see what could be done.

We went to a house where the soldiers had gone
And twenty or so people they confined in one room.
We found a way in and we banged on the door
Saying we come in peace and in the name of the law.

Outside in the street while the folk gathered round
Some more of our number from all over the town
They gave us a warning that a tank was in view
So they sat down to stop it and they saw what they should do.

All the time in the house we persisted to try
To speak to the soldiers but they gave no reply
Instead they fired tear gas and exploded grenades
But our comrades were steadfast Though none could came to their aid.

They were only five people, brave vessels of light,
Confronting without weapons all the enemy’s might
The soldiers took hold of them and dragged them away
And one of their number was taken that day.

At length in the house the soldiers did say
We will take our leave if you’ll go away.
We consulted our comrades to see what to do
And at eight in the evening we decided to go.

Despite this small victory we should never forget
That the invading army oppresses them yet
Even while all our hearts with joy did abound
They were killing two young men elsewhere in the town.

The statesmen are weeping salt crocodile tears
At the plight of this people for so many years
But remember the teargas and the tank on that day
All carried the trademark: Made in USA.

International Activists Reach the Door of the Church of the Nativity

By Larry Hales

We walked right in to Manger Square–“right through the front door.” The writer in me wants to create some suspense, but I am ecstatic–my heart continues to beat at the rate it was when we were walking through.

We were planning the night before and were planning around another demonstration led by clergy. Our plan was to walk to the checkpoint before Bethlehem and protest. This morning we decided to participate in this action but to also continue on if the participants of it were stopped.

Well, we were stopped and the clergy weren’t so much interested in pushing through as they were in just challenging the checkpoint.

After this action, which lasted only about 30 minutes we decided to take a route through a monastery. No one expected us to get through this way either because the soldiers were very close, and if they were looking, would be able to see us. But, they didn’t and we continued on into Bethlehem.

The city was a ghost town, it was on curfew and it was almost completely quiet–at first. As we walked on, people began appearing at their windows and cheering us on. It was very powerful to see these people looking out and throwing up peace signs, children and elderly people. Our presence gave them hope and as we continued we began to see more and more people, mostly children coming out of their homes. They wouldn’t come out on the streets but they were coming out.

We stopped after having walked for quite awhile, and we began to plan for the march on the Church of the Nativity. No one thought that we would have gotten as far as we did. We planned and planned and waited and planned; finally, some of us decided to talk to some families that had gathered just in front of their homes, a few of them were fluent in English.

They were entirely full of gratitude–they let us into their homes and served us coffee–these people are resilient. Their lives are being put on hold by an occupying force; they can’t go to work; their children can’t go to school, yet, they were so willing to share with us. Some even invited me to stay with them.

Time began to get short; so, we had to go with the plan we had, which was for five of us to cross the barricade with water and food but we didn’t think that we would get through; and so, we were considering that the action would be symbolic at best. We waited some more and finally set on our way with a box of water and a bag of rice–meant to be symbolic of course because in the church there is barely any water, let alone a way of cooking the rice.

People began coming out more. I guess the word had gotten out. There was a group of Palestinians just before the barricade and some walked to it with us, holding down the barbed wire so that we could walk over it.

When we saw Manger Square we thought the siege had ended. It was empty except for an M1 Abrams tank. We walked on and at the halfway point, Israelis began yelling for us to stop. These soldiers doing the yelling didn’t have on their Kevlar helmets or their rifles–they were caught off guard.

We continued on through the yelling and made it to the door of the Church. When there we were instructed to sit by Huwaida. We did and the soldiers threw smoke canisters to block the press from seeing us. We knocked at the door and yelled that we had food; the soldiers looked on, the smoke rising. The tank moved so as to scare us. The media began moving so the smoke wouldn’t block their view. We held our hands up while yelling at the people inside to open the door, then, the soldiers moved towards us started pulling us up and throwing the food away from the door.

They were attempting to hold us but we were leading them more than them us. They tried to confiscate cameras, but we refused and they capitulated. However, they did drag some people. The soldier holding me was telling me how he didn’t agree with what was going on but that it was his job. He seemed to be a good man.

We were put in one area and Ted Koppel came over and interviewed Huwaida. He got the entire incident, all the cameras did despite the smoke. When he finished we came to the conclusion to walk out. The soldiers weren’t prepared for this. They tried to stop us but we defied them and kept on walking ’til we were clear of them.

The action was one of the most spectacular things I have ever seen, and the people I was with are some of the most brave people I have ever known. Tomorrow we will begin to try and get some people in Hebron and the Gaza Strip. I will be going to Hebron. More to come.

* Larry Hales is one of two members of the Colorado Campaign for Middle East Peace who have joined many internationals in Palestine to nonviolent resist Israel’s illegal military occupation of Palestine.

Voices in the Wilderness

By Jeff Guntzel

We left for Ramallah yesterday morning. In order to enter the city, our little group had to avoid the Israeli checkpoint by walking (and sometimes running) through the brush just south of the checkpoint. Once we were safely inside the military zone, a taxi driver with whom we had made advance arrangements drove us about a mile into Ramallah and stopped. He would not go any further for fear of Israeli snipers who were situated in many of the city’s tall buildings. A Red Crescent ambulance driver offered to take us to the Sheik Zayed hospital where we had arranged to meet two organizers with the International Solidarity Movement (ISM), Huwaida Arraf and her fiancé, Adam Shapiro. We had heard that tanks and troops surrounding the hospital might block our passage.

Those of you who have been following the news carefully might remember the Sheik Zayed hospital as the site of a mass grave dug, several days earlier, in the parking lot as a temporary burial ground for 29 Palestinians, including one American citizen. The morgue at the hospital was full, and there was nowhere else to put the bodies. Coming down a steep hill about three miles from the hospital, we spotted a tank and an armored personnel carrier (APC). These days, in Ramallah, the only vehicles on the streets are tanks, APCs, and ambulances (I guess you could also count the mangled cars peppering the roadside that tanks had rolled over during the invasion). Suddenly a soldier appeared. He crouched on one knee, aimed his M-16 directly at us, and fixed his eye to his gun’s sight. We stopped. The driver began slowly backing up the hill and several more soldiers appeared some of them taking aim and some motioning us to come closer. We all held our passports up to let them know there were internationals in the car.

Israeli troops had been harassing, arresting, and even shooting ambulance drivers since the start of the invasion. We had no idea what to expect. When we got to the soldiers at the bottom of the hill we stopped again. Eight M-16s and a tank were aimed at us. The soldier directly to my right looked tired and scared. That scared me. Our driver was ordered out of the car and asked a few questions in Arabic. Then we were ordered out, with all of our bags. We laid our bags out on the ground and opened them. After a not-so-thorough search several soldiers asked us a few questions while others encircled us. The soldier who at first struck me as tired and scared now just looked cautiously curious.

“Why are you here?” he asked, not quite meeting our eyes.

“We came to bring medicine and food to people under curfew,” said one member of our group.

“Don’t you know there are terrorists here, it is dangerous,” he replied, “do you think you can bring peace?”

“We don’t know,” we said, almost in unison.

Then Kathy, my roommate and co-worker, stepped in, “We are here because we know that our government pays for much of what is going on here and we feel a responsibility to intervene nonviolently in this terrible situation.”

“We did not ask for this, it is the Palestinian leadership, bad leaders, they are responsible for this,” replied the soldier.

“But over half of the people here are children,” Kathy said, “and children can’t be bad leaders, they can only be children!”

“I know there are children here,” he replied solemnly, looking off into the distance, “but there are also terrorists. You cannot drive to the hospital,” said the soldier.

“Then we will walk,” replied Greg, another member of our group, who then began walking towards the tank and APC that partially blocked our path.

“Stop! You cannot walk either,” demanded the soldier, who then paused and looked around. Directly in front of us was a soldier on one knee, holding each of us briefly in his cross-hairs, one person at a time.

“Don’t you understand that you make the terrorists happy when you come here to help them?” the soldier continued.

“We are here to help the innocent people in Ramallah who are being terrorized and killed every day,” replied Kathy.

“We do not kill innocent people.”

“We read Ha’aretz [an Israeli paper, printed in Hebrew and English] every day and we know innocent people are being killed,” Kathy said.

“Do you think I like this?” the soldier demanded, “I don’t want to be here.”

At that moment there was an enormous explosion and sustained machine gun fire. It was coming from directly behind us, and it was really loud. Two members of our group stepped away to smoke, and the others drifted back towards the ambulance. Kathy and I remained with the soldier.

“Do you know what Arafat wants, he wants murder, why do you want to help a murderer,” he asked.

“Maybe there is another way to look at our presence here,” I replied, “We are here operating beneath the level of the leaders who we believe do not want real peace. I think you and I have more in common than you have with Sharon, or than I have with Arafat, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, I agree.”

“So let us go to the hospital,” Kathy responded.

Silence. Then the soldier spoke again, “You know, it is not just the Palestinians who are suffering.”

“We want a just peace for both sides,” we responded, “We want an end to *all* of the violence.”

“It is too late,” insisted the soldier, “there can be no peace now.”

“It is difficult to see a way out, but…”

“Why don’t you work on behalf of the Jews, why can’t you be objective?”

At that moment, another soldier came up to us and began speaking in Hebrew. Then, suddenly, we were told we could get back into the ambulance and push ahead towards the hospital.

The hospital is actually two buildings separated by a road. It was in that road, just yards from the hospital, that an elderly woman with a walker was shot dead by an Israeli sniper just weeks ago. In the parking lot we saw the mass grave we had all read about. It was empty; the killing was less frequent 11 days into the siege, giving hospital workers the window they needed to dispose of the bodies properly.

***

For our second day in Ramallah, we agreed to divide our efforts. Some of us could accompany ambulances making house calls while the rest would defy the curfew by walking to the office of the Union of Palestinian Medical Relief Committees (UPMRC) to assist in deliveries of food and medicine to families. We had walked about one block when we spotted an Armored Personnel Carrier (APC) at the intersection three blocks ahead of us. On top of the APC were a mounted machine gun and a soldier; another soldier, bearing an M-16, crouched in front of the APC. Both were aiming at us. We stopped. A soldier yelled something. Adam yelled out, “I’m sorry I can’t hear you.” One of the soldiers fired. “I hear your bullets,” Adam replied, “We’re going to deliver food, we are all foreigners.” We waited. There were shots in the distance. The soldiers ahead of us seemed to be engaged in some sort of operation that drew them out of the APC. They were moving around. We were a distraction. We began walking very slowly, then stopped, and again called out our intent to deliver food. Adam asked to speak to the commander, with whom he has spoken before. Then he asked for some signal that we could pass. Nothing. We resumed our slow march, white flag held high. We heard a dynamite explosion nearby. The soldiers were blowing their way into a building. We stopped again and Adam continued, “Soldiers, we wish to proceed, may we approach to speak to you?”. After a long silence we decided to turn back and try again later. We worried that the soldiers would do something stupid to deal with their “distraction.” Turning around, we walked back slowly, in the direction of yesterday’s snipers.

While we were engaged in our sort-of-stand-off, Alexandra had ducked into a refugee camp and returned with a heart medicine prescription for a middle-aged woman who couldn’t reach the hospital to fill it because of the snipers and the soldiers. The hospital was one block away. We returned to the hospital, got the heart medication, and decided to head back to the refugee camp, which was just in view of our friends with the APC. We began again, white flag waiving, and arrived at the entrance to the camp (really indistinguishable from the rest of the neighborhood) and were pleased to see that the soldiers had moved on. We decided to again attempt making our way to the UPMRC offices. Just as we were getting ready to walk on, a man approached us to ask if we could get an ambulance to take his feverish son to the hospital. We decided to escort the boy to the hospital since it was so close.While we were regrouping in the parking lot, two ambulances sped into the driveway. Inside one was the body of 28 year old Manel Sami Ibrahim, who was standing near her window when an Israeli sniper shot her through the heart. Her husband and three children were in the apartment.

“This,” as one Palestinian relief worker said to me, “is the occupation.”

We started off again for the UPMRC offices. I felt a small sense of victory as we passed the location of the soldiers we had confronted just an hour earlier. We turned left and headed up a hill. The streets of Ramallah were empty and ruined. Bullet casings of all varieties littered the streets. The Israelis had shot up banks, internet cafes, bars, clothing stores, medical relief offices, civil service organizations, and homes. Tanks had bulldozed power lines, dumpsters, and street signs. But the houses were full. Every once in awhile, somebody would lean out of an upper window to say hello or just look at us, wondering. A woman from Los Angeles came down for a quick visit. A man planting a tree in his garden showed us the bullet casings he had collected around his yard. It was surreal.

Occasionally, an APC would rumble by us on a nearby street, but we didn’t encounter any soldiers until the very end of our walk. It was right out of a war movie. Two young men in fatigues with a lazy grip on their M-16s. Clearly bored out of their minds and blasting Bob Marley’s “I Shot the Sheriff,” They made us open our bags and barely even looked into them. Soon we were on our way.

At the UPRMC offices, workers took us on a tour of the damaged building. Two family apartments were heavily hit with damage to the ceilings, walls and floors, which were covered with debris and broken glass. The clinic’s reception room and examining room were similarly damaged, but had also been ransacked. A ruined copy machine had crashed to the floor. All of the patient files had been stolen. And every window was shattered. After seeing the damage, I was assigned to an ambulance and given a UPMRC/Red Crescent vest to identify me as a medical relief worker. Alexandra and I accompanied a doctor and two UPMRC volunteers on food and medicine deliveries to various homes that had requested help. The trip through Ramallah neighborhoods was successful and without incident.

Returning to the Sheik Zayed Hospital, we learned that IDF soldiers had shot Arduf Mussa Khandil, a 23 year-old mentally retarded man whom we had seen on the hospital grounds just hours earlier. Apparently he had wandered out into a street behind the hospital. Witnesses saw 11 Israeli soldiers chasing him. They speculated that the young man ran because he was scared when he saw armed soldiers. He was unarmed. They shot him dead.

Scott, a member of our group, visited the morgue to confirm the details of the day’s deaths. A third body was delivered to the morgue while we were out. It was the body of Mahmoud Farid Bawatma, who had been dead 7-15 days, his body only recently discovered. He was shot, but the details of his death are unclear except that the bullet had entered through his buttocks and exited through his head. The morgue was full again and the doctors were talking about a second mass grave. As we were leaving the hospital to attempt a return to Jerusalem, two APCs rolled up the street and parked at the intersection nearest the hospital. It was the same army unit that had stopped us on our way in. Now they were telling us we couldn’t leave. After five minutes of talking and ten minutes of waiting while they struck war poses, we were allowed to leave.

Now I am back in Jerusalem, working on getting to Jenin with Kathy and several others. They say there has been a massacre there.

Witness to Destruction

By Adam Shapiro

The first thing you notice at the entrance to the Balata Refugee Camp is the overturned, burned out car stuck in a huge man-made crater in the ground. But this was the battleground of the previous three days, as the Israeli Army sacked the camp and destroyed homes, cars, property, and lives with wanton abandon and without much purpose. Other than to attack and terrorize a people who have nothing in this world and who have already been made homeless – and who have remained refugees for over 50 years. Inside the camp, this alleged “hotbed of terrorism” the group of us eight internationals were met and greeted by the residents with inquisitive looks, “salaam aleikum” shouted from time to time, and lots of little kids running up to us to see who were these strangers. All tried to make us feel welcome and when they learned that we were there in solidarity with the people of the camp and wanted to take pictures to show the world, we were pulled in many different directions at once to witness what the Israelis had done. What they had done was obvious, and it was all over the camp. Immediately noticeable, at eye level, was the black spray paint on the walls – arrows, numbers, Hebrew writing and stars of David, markings the soldiers made to allow themselves to navigate through the crowded camp. Permanent markings of the three days of hell the camp endured. We later found these markings inside people’s homes as well, painted on the walls.

Thirty homes were destroyed in the camp, but hundreds more effectively ruined and damaged. The camp is densely populated and some alleyways between the buildings are barely wide enough for me – an average sized male – to pass through. Other structures are just built wall-to-wall. When the Israeli army took down a building – allegedly looking for weapons or rockets (no evidence of any found) – it meant that the neighbors’ buildings also were damaged. The first place I visited was a destroyed home. Next door, the building was still standing, but upon walking in, I discovered that the neighbor had lost his wall. The home was also damaged by the demolition and the home utterly unusable. If each house demolished results in the two or three neighboring buildings also being damaged beyond use, then the result is between 90 and 120 structures affected. Each structure contains at least two (and usually more) apartments, housing anywhere from 10 to 40 people. Therefore, at minimum, 900 people were left homeless by the home demolitions in the camp – this is the calculus of Israel’s war on the Palestinian people.

Walking through the streets of the camp, destruction was all around us. Peering down alleyways, we inevitably spotted the chunks of stone, the twisted metal and the broken piece of furniture that indicated a home was demolished. Cars had been set ablaze and riddled with bullet-holes – the carcasses lay in the streets as added testimony to the siege. Every house we visited had a story to tell. Some were simply shot up, others had tear gas thrown inside, while others were invaded and occupied by the soldiers. We visited one home that had been occupied during the entire siege by Israeli soldiers. Upon entering the house, the soldiers offered to allow the family to leave, but promised them they would never come back to the house. The family stayed – three children (aged 4 to 9), two young women (one pregnant) and an elderly woman. The man of the house – PLC member and leading figure in the camp, Hussam Khader – was not home for fear of his life. The soldiers forced the family into one room – approximately 8×10 feet – and made them stay there the entire three days. For the first twenty-four hours, not a single person was allowed to leave the room at all – not for the bathroom, not for food, not for water. The soldiers ransacked the entire place – taking money and computer disks, breaking furniture and emptying drawers, ripping apart passports and overturning children’s beds. We knocked at the door of the home when we arrived. As we entered the sitting room, we heard child whimper – little Ahmed (four years old) was afraid we were the Israelis coming back to the house. He is traumatized by the experience and needs to be near his mom and aunt constantly. But he is tough, and before long he was playing with my camera. He told me to follow him upstairs and there he showed me how the soldiers had ransacked his room. He was amazed by the sight and asked me why the soldiers did this to him.

The last home we visited in the camp was located on the main street, near the cemetery. A ground floor apartment was located adjacent to a store. The main gate of the store was blown apart and the glass from the window lay in the street. The back wall of the small store was torn down and you could see directly into the apartment behind – but there was not much to see. Walking into the house we were unable to step on the floor directly – it was covered with clothing, broken dishes, broken furniture, etc. The electricity was cut, so we had to poke around in the diminishing light until a portable fixture was brought in. The lit room revealed the full destruction – even the washing machine was not safe from the brutality of the soldiers. A fully veiled young woman (only her eyes showed) boldly came up to me and asked if I spoke English. I replied that I did and that she could speak to me in either English or Arabic. She explained that she was the oldest of four children in the house – 14-years old – and that her father was dead. She led me over to where the kitchen had been and searched in the broken glass for something. Finally, she pulled up a picture frame with a photo of her father in it and explained to me that Israeli spies had killed him in 1994. In a flash she was back in the pile on the ground looking for another photo – that of her grandfather, also dead. Now holding both pictures, this young Muslim woman, proud to know English and proud of her family, calmly explained what had happened when the soldiers came – how they had to flee and spend the night outside the camp in the nearby fields. For more than fifty years they had been refugees, and now Israel wanted to attack them again. But, she told me, struggling with her emotions and her sense of dignity, “they must know we are strong children and we won’t leave this land, my grandfather’s land. We will return to the land which they occupied in 1948.”

These refugees, like those in the other camps, have lost everything and live with virtually nothing. Now, day after day, the Israeli army is going after them in a pogrom deliberately designed to provoke and to strike terror in the hearts of an entire people. Like little Ahmed Khader, the world must ask, why are the Israelis doing this?