Category: Journals - Page 25 - International Solidarity Movement

An email from Rachel Corrie to her parents

16th March 2016 | Rachel Corrie Foundation | Gaza, occupied Palestine
February 27 2003
(To her mother)

Love you. Really miss you. I have bad nightmares about tanks and bulldozers outside our house and you and me inside. Sometimes the adrenaline acts as an anesthetic for weeks and then in the evening or at night it just hits me again – a little bit of the reality of the situation. I am really scared for the people here. Yesterday, I watched a father lead his two tiny children, holding his hands, out into the sight of tanks and a sniper tower and bulldozers and Jeeps because he thought his house was going to be exploded. Jenny and I stayed in the house with several women and two small babies. It was our mistake in translation that caused him to think it was his house that was being exploded. In fact, the Israeli army was in the process of detonating an explosive in the ground nearby – one that appears to have been planted by Palestinian resistance.

This is in the area where Sunday about 150 men were rounded up and contained outside the settlement with gunfire over their heads and around them, while tanks and bulldozers destroyed 25 greenhouses – the livelihoods for 300 people. The explosive was right in front of the greenhouses – right in the point of entry for tanks that might come back again. I was terrified to think that this man felt it was less of a risk to walk out in view of the tanks with his kids than to stay in his house. I was really scared that they were all going to be shot and I tried to stand between them and the tank. This happens every day, but just this father walking out with his two little kids just looking very sad, just happened to get my attention more at this particular moment, probably because I felt it was our translation problems that made him leave.

I thought a lot about what you said on the phone about Palestinian violence not helping the situation. Sixty thousand workers from Rafah worked in Israel two years ago. Now only 600 can go to Israel for jobs. Of these 600, many have moved, because the three checkpoints between here and Ashkelon (the closest city in Israel) make what used to be a 40-minute drive, now a 12-hour or impassible journey. In addition, what Rafah identified in 1999 as sources of economic growth are all completely destroyed – the Gaza international airport (runways demolished, totally closed); the border for trade with Egypt (now with a giant Israeli sniper tower in the middle of the crossing); access to the ocean (completely cut off in the last two years by a checkpoint and the Gush Katif settlement). The count of homes destroyed in Rafah since the beginning of this intifada is up around 600, by and large people with no connection to the resistance but who happen to live along the border. I think it is maybe official now that Rafah is the poorest place in the world. There used to be a middle class here – recently. We also get reports that in the past, Gazan flower shipments to Europe were delayed for two weeks at the Erez crossing for security inspections. You can imagine the value of two-week-old cut flowers in the European market, so that market dried up. And then the bulldozers come and take out people’s vegetable farms and gardens. What is left for people? Tell me if you can think of anything. I can’t.

If any of us had our lives and welfare completely strangled, lived with children in a shrinking place where we knew, because of previous experience, that soldiers and tanks and bulldozers could come for us at any moment and destroy all the greenhouses that we had been cultivating for however long, and did this while some of us were beaten and held captive with 149 other people for several hours – do you think we might try to use somewhat violent means to protect whatever fragments remained? I think about this especially when I see orchards and greenhouses and fruit trees destroyed – just years of care and cultivation. I think about you and how long it takes to make things grow and what a labour of love it is. I really think, in a similar situation, most people would defend themselves as best they could. I think Uncle Craig would. I think probably Grandma would. I think I would.

You asked me about non-violent resistance.

When that explosive detonated yesterday it broke all the windows in the family’s house. I was in the process of being served tea and playing with the two small babies. I’m having a hard time right now. Just feel sick to my stomach a lot from being doted on all the time, very sweetly, by people who are facing doom. I know that from the United States, it all sounds like hyperbole. Honestly, a lot of the time the sheer kindness of the people here, coupled with the overwhelming evidence of the wilful destruction of their lives, makes it seem unreal to me. I really can’t believe that something like this can happen in the world without a bigger outcry about it. It really hurts me, again, like it has hurt me in the past, to witness how awful we can allow the world to be. I felt after talking to you that maybe you didn’t completely believe me. I think it’s actually good if you don’t, because I do believe pretty much above all else in the importance of independent critical thinking. And I also realise that with you I’m much less careful than usual about trying to source every assertion that I make. A lot of the reason for that is I know that you actually do go and do your own research. But it makes me worry about the job I’m doing. All of the situation that I tried to enumerate above – and a lot of other things – constitutes a somewhat gradual – often hidden, but nevertheless massive – removal and destruction of the ability of a particular group of people to survive. This is what I am seeing here. The assassinations, rocket attacks and shooting of children are atrocities – but in focusing on them I’m terrified of missing their context. The vast majority of people here – even if they had the economic means to escape, even if they actually wanted to give up resisting on their land and just leave (which appears to be maybe the less nefarious of Sharon’s possible goals), can’t leave. Because they can’t even get into Israel to apply for visas, and because their destination countries won’t let them in (both our country and Arab countries). So I think when all means of survival is cut off in a pen (Gaza) which people can’t get out of, I think that qualifies as genocide. Even if they could get out, I think it would still qualify as genocide. Maybe you could look up the definition of genocide according to international law. I don’t remember it right now. I’m going to get better at illustrating this, hopefully. I don’t like to use those charged words. I think you know this about me. I really value words. I really try to illustrate and let people draw their own conclusions.

Anyway, I’m rambling. Just want to write to my Mom and tell her that I’m witnessing this chronic, insidious genocide and I’m really scared, and questioning my fundamental belief in the goodness of human nature. This has to stop. I think it is a good idea for us all to drop everything and devote our lives to making this stop. I don’t think it’s an extremist thing to do anymore. I still really want to dance around to Pat Benatar and have boyfriends and make comics for my coworkers. But I also want this to stop. Disbelief and horror is what I feel. Disappointment. I am disappointed that this is the base reality of our world and that we, in fact, participate in it. This is not at all what I asked for when I came into this world. This is not at all what the people here asked for when they came into this world. This is not the world you and Dad wanted me to come into when you decided to have me. This is not what I meant when I looked at Capital Lake and said: “This is the wide world and I’m coming to it.” I did not mean that I was coming into a world where I could live a comfortable life and possibly, with no effort at all, exist in complete unawareness of my participation in genocide. More big explosions somewhere in the distance outside.

When I come back from Palestine, I probably will have nightmares and constantly feel guilty for not being here, but I can channel that into more work. Coming here is one of the better things I’ve ever done. So when I sound crazy, or if the Israeli military should break with their racist tendency not to injure white people, please pin the reason squarely on the fact that I am in the midst of a genocide which I am also indirectly supporting, and for which my government is largely responsible.

I love you and Dad. Sorry for the diatribe. OK, some strange men next to me just gave me some peas, so I need to eat and thank them.

Rachel

A new ISM’ers personal experience on Bil’in and tear gas

15th March 2016 | International Solidarity Movement, al-Khalil team | Hebron, occupied Palestine

Miguel and Kolla came this morning from the al-Khalil team (several years ago it feels) and we went to Bil’in as planned for my first demonstration. The easiest thing to do is simply to describe it:

We waited a while for people to gather around lunch time in the village and then we all walked quietly down a road out of the village towards the wall. We couldn’t see the wall as it was behind a small rise in the land, but it was there and it was what had been being protested every Friday for eleven years. We were a couple of dozen Palestinians, eight or so internationals including the three of us from ISM and maybe ten Israelis. There were also a couple of press, wearing PRESS flak jackets and interviewing people, probably all local press rather than international. Some of us carried gas masks, including me.

In front of us the road wound around through fields and in the distance you could see the Israeli tank and soldiers. The shooting of tear gas began immediately. There is a very distinctive noise and the canister is visible flying through the sky. You have to look and see where it lands and then you have a second or two to move out of the way, watching which way the wind is blowing the smoke. There is a lot of shouting then as more experienced demonstrators point to the canisters flying and we all run in an undignified fashion away from the place where they have fallen. We put scarves over mouths and noses or we put on gas masks, which look ridiculous. Some people don’t get far enough away and get gassed, but nobody gets gassed badly, just streaming eyes and uncomfortable skin. Those who have alcohol wipes give them to the worst affected. I can feel and smell the gas but I’m OK.

Soon the fields in front of us are full of flares of smoke and we are all in disarray pushed back and wondering what to do. This is the shortest demonstration for a while, I’m told. Last week was a lot longer and some go on for hours. What stopped this one was the amount of tear gas fired and how quickly it was fired. It was immediate. They can fire three, five or seven canisters in one shot from their guns and 210 canisters in one shot from the back of a tank. Apparently today that is what they did. It depends I am told on the local commander. A new commander can get ambitious to be the one finally to stop the venerable and rather famous Bil’in demonstrations.

It was very companionable and friendly and not at all frightening. I didn’t see anyone who seemed frightened. Clearly a lot of people come often. The Israelis looked like old hands, and it is particularly brave of them to support the demonstrations as it is so condemned in Israel (and it is illegal to enter the West Bank, or at least, according to the signage ‘forbidden and dangerous to your lives’).

Used tear gas collected by locals after demonstrations

This is a demonstration. They raise so many questions and I will try to think and write about them, but not now.

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Rani Burnat from Bil’in

15th March 2016 | International Solidarity Movement, al-Khalil team | Bil’in, occupied Palestine

Rani Burnat is an extraordinary human being in more ways than one. He was left paralysed from an injury sustained during the second intifada, learned to live the remainder of his life in a wheelchair, fathered three children (triplets) and now continues to resist the occupation through peaceful means to this day. His story is inspiring and a prime example of the will of the Palestinian people and their ongoing resistance to an illegal occupation.

On the 30th September 2000, Rani Burnat was going to Ramallah from his home town of Bil’in for a driving lesson. When he got there he noticed a protest gathering to protest Ariel Sharon’s entry into the sacred Al-Aqsa mosque (this of course was the beginning of the second intifada). Rani spotted friends of his from Bil’in and with time to spare decided to join in.

As the protest gathered the Israeli army illegally entered the Ramallah area and cleared the guests out of a nearby hotel, then used the hotel roof as a vantage point and placed snipers. The Israeli military claims that their illegal entry onto Palestinian land was to protect a nearby illegal Israeli settlement that the protest was nearing.

Rani and fellow friends were at the front of the protest when a sniper opened fire using a unique bullet, known as a butterfly bullet, designed to continue spinning upon impact while opening out and inflicting massive damage upon entry and exit.

The bullet entered through the left-hand side of Rani’s neck, puncturing his main artery. It continued through to the right hand side of his body, severing his spinal chord between the third and fourth vertebrae on exit.

As sniper fire continued and pandemonium erupted, Rani was left bleeding on the ground. Fortunately fellow bystanders assisted by applying pressure to the wound on his neck to limit the massive amounts of blood that he was losing. He was then put into a car and driven to the nearby hospital where he was promptly seen by doctors. Rani was the first victim of the second intifada to be treated. Anyone coming into hospital later in the intifada with his severe wounds would undoubtedly have died as staff and resources failed to cope with the influx of wounded.

The doctors applied a stint to Rani’s neck to where the artery had been severed, which remains to this day. He was put into an induced coma for two days, during which time doctors concluded that with the facilities they had they could not keep Rani alive along with the massive numbers of victims that were now being admitted to the hospital as the second intifada intensified.

It was decided that Rani must be transferred to another hospital with more facilities, one cable of taking care of someone in such a serious condition, the only hospital possible was in Jordan. Given his condition he could not make the journey by land and so a helicopter was arranged from the rooftop of the parliament building in Ramallah.

On admission to hospital in Jordan, his loss of blood was so great that he required massive blood donations from a number of donors. Rani would spend the next seven months in that hospital undergoing operations and combatting repeated infections. He says ‘The most important thing for me at that time was that I was alive. The doctors in Jordan made this possible”.

After seven months in Jordan, Rani was able to come back to Palestine for rehabilitation, after a month first back at home in Bil’in seeing friends and family who had missed him, and whom he had missed so much in Jordan.

He then had to go back into hospital in Ramallah for another seven gruelling months of rehabilitation. It was during this time that the severity of his situation became clear to him. “It was an extremely difficult situation to come to terms with, that I would now have to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair, paralysed on the right side of my body.” Rani is the oldest of ten siblings with four brothers and five sisters. He had wanted to be an electrician and he talks about the helplessness he felt at that time. But despite this he added, “The personal pain I felt was nothing compared to the pain I was feeling for my family.” However, a huge positive in Rani’s life amidst so much trauma was when he married shortly after the intifada and became father to triplets.

As time passed, Rani learned to deal with the injuries he had sustained, but one thing that he was not ready for was what happened in his home village next as the Israeli government began to illegally confiscate villagers’ land to construct the apartheid wall and enclose illegal settlements.

At this point Rani decided to become a photographic journalist so he could report on and show the world the ugly truths of the Israeli occupation and what it does to the Palestinian people. He says he will only stop when he is dead or the occupation has ended.

Every week he is able, Rani makes the trip up the rocky road in his wheelchair, gas mask and camera at the ready. His wife worries for him every time he leaves but understands that this is what he must do. Rani himself admits that every Friday he leaves he fears he will not come home to his loving wife and children but he continues to go to show the world what is happening.

Fellow activists from Israel who come frequently to the Bil’in demonstrations have translated for Rani what the Israeli army is saying about him, things like “shoot the guy in the wheelchair” whilst laughing amongst themselves. Rani has been shot with rubber bullets, countless amounts of tear gas, had many cameras broken, two wheelchairs wrecked and has even been pulled out of his wheelchair and thrown onto the ground. “The occupying forces have no morals,” he adds.

Two months ago Rani was shot in the stomach with a foam bullet, which releases a liquid that burns the skin on impact. A month later he was shot in the knee cap and also singled out by soldiers and shot in both shoulders with tear gas canisters. Despite all this he continues moving forward.

In 2005 Rani organised a unique demonstration in Bil’in for all the people who have been injured or disabled since the second intifada. He explains that Israeli army used the most tear gas he has ever seen used, firing directly into the group of people, many of whom were restricted to wheelchairs, and causing many of them to pass out from tear gas inhalation including himself. “This is occupation” says Rani.

He doesn’t believe Israel can continue like this and he hopes an end is near, as do all Palestinians. Rani tells of how he wishes to be able to travel to Jenin with no checkpoints and how he wants to take his children to see the sea. Every Palestinian who has been suppressed by the occupation has their own particular dreams of life without Israeli occupation.

“Palestine is a state of peace, Israelis should be able to come and live harmoniously in peace – against occupation”.

“If you come to my house in peace I will welcome you… but if you come to my house to take it from my family, I will fight until my dying breath with all means necessary to defend it”.

Young prisoner, Marah, is fighting medical negligence to get her high school diploma

|December 23rd 2015 | Hamza Abu Eltarabesh | Gaza, occupied Palestine

Palestinian journalist from Gaza, born in 1991, studied journalism at the Islamic University of Gaza, and works as a freelance journalist for various local media outlets.

Participated in covering the third aggression against Gaza, & basically writes in social and political issues.

(According to Marah’s family)

As they left the gate of their school, residing at the western area of Sheikh Jarrah neighborhood in east Jerusalem, Marah Bakeer, a student in her last year of high school (Tawjihi), insisted to her friend, Asma’a Elkhatib, to join her family to take lunch at her home. At first, Asma’a refused her friend’s invitation, but after many attempts of convincing her, she had eventually accepted Marah’s request.

On the way home … The two 16-year old girls, wearing their dark blue uniform, and school bags on their backs, left the bus at the entrance of Beit Hannina town, and were excitedly talking about their school life and the crucial year they have to pass; to move to college and build up their future.

In the midst of their talk, the Israeli forces stopped them at the main road of the town. One of the soldiers came close to them, and fired twelve bullets towards Marah’s small body, while he was shouting “Subversive .. subversive!”.

Asma’a freaked out and had no idea about what to do or where to go when she saw her friend Marah covered with blood, crying, while the soldiers were only watching her bleeding.

Marah was left bleeding till she lost consciousness; then the soldiers moved her to the Israeli hospital Hadassah to receive medical treatment, while her friend Asma’a was finally able to escape. This was on 10.12.2015 at noon.

The moment Marah was being fired by Israeli forces on the street, when walking home back from school — The moment Marah was being shot by Israeli forces on the street.

The Family in a Shock

With too much fear and tension, Asma’a quickly called Marah’s mother, Sawan, and told her what happened to her eldest daughter. At the beginning, the mother did not believe what she heard and what came to her mind was that she was only joking. But the fear and crying sound of Asma’a made her believe the story, which then caused her to lose control and fall on the ground.

With a faint voice, the forty year old mother said: “When we heard the news, we immediately went to the Israeli prison in Al Isawia; to ask about what happened with my daughter, but the occupation forces refused to tell us anything”, and according to the mother, the only information the occupation forces gave the family was that their daughter was having a surgery at Hadassah hospital.

Israel Tells Lies

Israel claims that “Marah”, who lives in a family of five members, was holding a knife in her hand to stab one of the soldiers who were in the place of the accident. However, their story was denied by Asma’a and a group of students who were in the place at the time of the incident. Also, a video tape was published and widely shared via social media showing Marah screaming and crying with no knife near her.

The mother refused the accusations made against her daughter that she tried to stab an Israeli soldier; and said during our phone call with her: “My daughter is dreaming of getting the university certificate; to make us proud of her, and all the Israeli accusations are totally refused”

Prison & Hell

After she was moved to the Israeli hospital, she was taken to the operations’ department for a nearly two-and-half-hour surgery in her left shoulder; where multiple bullets had settled. According to the lawyer assigned by the family for Marah’s case, Sana’a Kwaik, the doctors had inserted platinum bars to the injured girl’s shoulder and hand, as a result of significant fragmentation in the shoulder’s bone.

Marah spent twenty days in the hospital bed, without a mother beside her to comfort her, or a father to give her strength. The only thing she had was herself, with too much pain and weeping, and a little sleep.

Amjad Abu Asab, head of the Jerusalem district committee of prisoners’ families, said that Marah was heavily guarded by security personnel after being accused of planning to execute a stabbing.

Meanwhile, Marah’s father, who is working as a small trader, ensures that his daughter is an innocent school student who is clear of all the charges, saying: “Marah is doing her best since the beginning of the academic year; to get a high score that will enable her to study medical secretary, and her only goal now is to obtain a university certificate that will build a bright future for her.”

In that period, the Bakeer family made many desperate attempts to have the occupation’s permission to visit their injured daughter at the hospital. But all their attempts failed.

Their lawyer, Sana’a Kwaik, ensured during her interview in the phone: “Israeli soldiers assaulted Marah, and during the trial, which was held in absentia, no evidences were provided to prove that stabbing was to take place, and every time I ask about evidences, a short Israeli answer is given to me: “this is a secret file that we cannot talk about””.

Injuries in Marah are not yet cured. However, the Israeli authority didn’t heed to her deteriorating health condition and moved her to Ashkelon prison, to stay with another two wounded young female prisoners, Istabraq Nour and Ihan Arafat, 14 and 15 years of age, in an isolated room lacking the basics of a decent human life.

“When I was moved to Ashkelon prison, one of the wardresses removed the dressing covering my injury; I’m in need for medicine and medical care for my injury” This is what Marah told the lawyer after three days of her stay in jail.

Despite the medical negligence and the pain that took over Marah’s body, Israel didn’t show any mercy to her when she was assaulted along with other prisoners by Israeli policewomen.

Nour, Marah’s sister, a 13-year old child, innocently said: “Every time the lawyer tells us that Marah is being beaten while she’s in need for medication, I spend my whole night crying, and praying to Allah to ease her pain,” and concluded her talk with the statement “I miss my sister too much … oh God, please let them release her”

Marah spent a week in Ashkelon prison, and then she was moved along with her mates to El Ramla prison. It is worth mentioning that this prison is specific for female criminals, to find themselves, again, living in hell-like life conditions.

“I was inspected while I was semi-naked in a humiliating way. The prison condition is very bad, they never treated us with mercy” another quote Marah told her lawyer in her second visit.

Returning to the grieving father, he continued: “When we were informed that Marah was transferred to the criminals’ prison, we contacted the prisoners’ committee, and sent a letter to the Palestinian president, but none of this brought any result”

In her seventh day of jail, when the Israeli authority finally gave permission to her family for a visit, her mother said: “Marah is keeping her spirits high, she asked me to bring her books to continue what she planned for, but her body is very ill and she’s in too much pain as a result of her shoulder’s injury”.

The visit was only for fifteen minutes, the injured girl returned to her prison, and the family returned home praying to God to ease the pain of their daughter. Marah stayed with her mates for nearly two weeks at El Ramla prison, and then they were moved to the Hasharon Israeli prison.

According to Marah’s mother, when Marah reached the Hasharon prison, Haneen Zoghbi, member of the Israeli parliament (Knesset) visited Marah, who told her: “I want to complete my year of school, prison and medical negligence won’t hinder my way to achieve my dream”.

I’ll Achieve My Dream

Marah’s story is not the first, and seemingly won’t be the last; as the head of the Palestinian prisoners’ issues committee, Issa Qraqeh, clarified that besides Marah, there are four other injured female prisoners among 39 others arrested during the Jerusalem intifada (uprising) since the beginning of October, and these are: Istabraq Nour, Amal Taqatqa, Shoroq Dwyat, and Helwa Mhamra.

In the same context, Riad El Ashqar, researcher of prisoners’ issues and Head of the Jerusalem Center for Studies, said: “Arrested female prisoners since October are living in very bad conditions.” And he added: “There’s a possibility that Israel will release some prisoners, however, it’s not easy to do so; as female prisoners constitute a pressure tool over Palestinians to accept the Israeli demands.”

At the end of our talk with the Bakeer family, they all agreed that: “Marah, in spite of arresting her, and in spite of all the pain she suffers from, will keep determined to get her high school certificate, and nothing will stop her except death”

Everyday humiliation of Israeli military occupation

6th of December 2015 | International Solidarity Movement, al-Khalil team | Hebron, occupied Palestine

Israeli forces take over streets of Wadi Al-Hurriya, stop and search cars (ISM archives)

Palestinians living in the Israeli militarily occupied West Bank face discrimination, racism and humiliation at the hands of Israeli forces on an everyday basis. Humiliation is entrenched in every aspect of daily life under the Israeli occupation. The message is clear: as a Palestinian you are always perceived as a threat, a possible terrorist or a menace – but never as a human being.

As a Palestinian citizen of the West Bank, freedom of movement is severely restricted and rather resembles trying to navigate a maze of road-blocks, permanent checkpoints and temporary ‘flying checkpoints’ that can suddenly pop up anywhere. All of these restrictions share one commonality: they are clearly intended to target only Palestinians – while Israeli settlers from the illegal settlements in the occupied West Bank are using roads that might not even be allowed for Palestinians to drive on.

In occupied al-Khalil (Hebron), the Israeli bus collecting passengers from the illegal settlements is not allowed for Palestinians to ride on, and thus passes Bethlehem checkpoint on the way to Jerusalem without even stopping – all the passengers are Israeli settlers anyways. On the Palestinian bus going through the same checkpoint, everyone, with the exception of tourists and elderly, are forced to get off the bus and wait for their IDs to be checked outside in any weather, and often their bags inspected by heavily-armed soldiers.

Israeli soldiers and the flying checkpoint outside the village

Right during rush hour on Thursday afternoon, Israeli forces set up checkpoints at all the entrances of occupied al-Khalil, resulting in endless queues of cars, on their way to visit family over the weekend on Friday and Saturday. As two soldiers thoroughly checked every passenger’s ID and car going in both directions, the queues grew longer and even ambulances with emergencies were denied passage and held up for at least ten minutes while being checked – ten minutes that hopefully weren’t critical for the emergency the ambulance was attempting to quickly get to. As Israeli forces strategically blocked every possible way to leave or enter al-Khalil either by permanent road-blocks completely blocking any sort of traffic except pedestrians or temporary checkpoints; there was no possible alternative than to either turn around and stay inside the city or to endure at least two hours of waiting to eventually be allowed to pass this checkpoint.

Finally passing one checkpoint successfully, though, in militarily occupied Palestine basically doesn’t mean anything: just a few hundred meters down the street might be another checkpoint. Palestinians try to avoid Gush Etzion junction on the way to Bethlehem, as settlers often attack Palestinians cars there, and soldiers stop and search cars with Palestinian license plates only; they take a detour through Palestinian villages. But in order to make the near-lockdown of al-Khalil ‘perfect’, Israeli forces set up checkpoints at entrances and exits of Sa’ir village. Thus, after an hour-long wait to leave al-Khalil city itself, Palestinian cars were stuck in yet another checkpoint just a twenty minutes drive away.

Waiting in the dark for seemingly endless hours to move ahead just one or two more meters in the line as a car was allowed to pass – or turned around, giving up the hope of ever crossing that night at all; Israeli settler cars speed past on a nearby road without any hurdles or hassles, just ‘normaly’ driving down a road at night. When finally slowly approaching the make-shift checkpoint with traffic spikes on the street, cars have to switch off their lights, so people next in line will only hazily see what’s going on. Once it’s their turn, everyone inside the car has to get out and stand a few meters away from the soldiers, while they inspect the IDs and cars. Depending on the soldiers mood, some people, mainly young adult males, will have to lift up their shirts and trouser-legs; while others will have to answer questions about their destinations and the reason of travels, and even about their families and private life. The only thing that is for sure is that you can never tell what will happen. The power dynamics is clear, the heavily armed soldiers have the ‘authority’ to decide over everything, the Palestinian passengers will have to obey whatever is asked of them. That none of this has to do with ‘security’ but everything with control and humiliation is obvious. This is the face of just a tiny little aspect of the everyday humiliation defining this military occupation.

Humiliation doesn’t even stop with death – the Israeli forces are still withholding the bodies of Palestinians they claim attacked Israeli soldiers – refusing an appropriate funeral and mourning for their families, relatives and friends. Denying even a last peaceful rest and a person’s family to mourn the death of a loved one is the last possible way to humiliate. Not even in death, does the humiliation stop or are Palestinians treated like human beings.