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.
10th July 2014 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine
The entrance to the harbour was yesterday blocked for cars and other vehicles, but it was no problem to enter by foot. No one tried to stop me; there was no one there to stop me.
Photo by Charlie Andreasson
The sentry box, where the police are always calling me by name and trying to invite me in for a coffee and a chat, was closed. I looked around. The harbour, a place that is usually bustling with life and is a popular place for picnics, was noticeably deserted. I got the feeling that I was there without permission. The night before, I stood on the roof of the building where I live and saw two missiles hit just beyond the harbour. The target was, as I later could read, a building belonging to the port police.
Memories came back from the interviews I had with released fishermen and what they had to say about the interrogations, that the interrogators questioned them specifically about these buildings, how many people they were manned by, if the Port Police carried weapons.
To my surprise, I discovered that I was not alone in the harbour. On board some of the boats were people, but they were few. Perhaps they felt they were there without permission, as I did, none of them waved at me to come closer, but I didn’t try to contact them either.
I left the harbour, went to a nearby beach cafe, sat down for a moment and looked around at all the empty chairs. No one, including staff, was there. I stayed for a while, seemingly invisible under the parasol for the drones circulating above.
Heavy shelling from the sea could be heard. I received a text message from a friend in a refugee camp a few kilometers from where I sat. The situation was insane there, no one dared leave their homes, and drones seemed to fire off missiles at everything that moved. Detonations could be heard from where I was sitting.
The usually busy streets up towards a central square were deserted. Only occasional cars passed by, mostly press cars driving at high speed hunting for the latest attacked target, and a moment later, running in the opposite direction, an ambulance.
The shops were barred. This area, one that always reminded me of the hysterical Christmas shopping I witness yearly in Europe, was as deserted as the beach. And out of nowhere came the memory of an old song again, Ghost Town by The Specials. But totally deserted it was not. Three men in blue flak jackets with ‘Press’ written across were heading towards me. One of them recognised me, he came up and greeted me, asked if I wanted to come with to Shifa hospital.
I declined, but didn’t say why. There is life I want to see, it is life that I need, not death and suffering.
9th July 2014 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine
I wake up after a night shattered by rocket launches, airstrikes, and flyovers, to sparrows friendly twittering, seemingly unconcerned by the drones swarming overhead.
Photo taken by Fred Ekblad, ISM Gaza
No explosions have been heard since five o’clock in the morning, almost four hours ago. The sun shines as usual, I will not have any internet access for many hours yet, and thus no access to any news; had it not been for all the drones that circulate above, and I admit that I do sometimes wish that they will fly into each other so I don ́t have the unwanted noise in my ears for a while, it could have been a day of peace.
But it is not.
People I have talked to have stated that this war cannot be compared with that of 2012. This is nowhere near as intense as the last, not yet.
According to an American analyst in Gaza, Joe Catron, the war is an extension of the Israeli government’s attempt to break the political reconciliation between Gaza and the West Bank, and to obstruct such a merger being completed in the foreseeable future. That Israel this time allows the various resistance movements in setting the agenda may be an attempt to conceal their intentions, to dissolve the political merger, and instead show the world that it only responds to rocket attacks.
Politics. This war is clearly political by military means.
People who sweep up shattered glass in their homes, brush away grout from their furniture, live in fear of what might happen to their loved ones, is nothing else but politics.
The children who recently died when they tried to prevent their home from being bombed are nothing but political victims.
The fishermen that recently had their waters halved are political losers.
The farmers are currently outside the political fray; it’s the middle of summer and therefore not growing season. There is reason to believe that the death toll would be higher if farmers had been out on their fields.
And the battle, the political one of course, is just about having Palestine united, a necessity for a future Palestinian state, or not.
My watch says it is now past 10am, sparrows are still twittering, the drones have not yet flown into each other, and at a distance I can hear some explosions.
28 June 2014 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine
(Photo by Charlie Andreasson)
Yesterday, shortly after three o’clock local time, two men were killed in their car. Two missiles struck it only about 100 meters from former prime minister Ismail Haniyeh’s residence in Shati (“Beach”) refugee camp. Ambulances soon arrived and took the two men to al-Shifa hospital, where both were immediately pronounced dead.
They were Muhammad al-Fasih and Osama al-Hassumi, both members of the armed wing of the Popular Resistance Committee. This was the first targeted killing by Israel since the formation of the new Palestinian coalition government. So eventually it happened.
The using of drones in extrajudicial killings in densely-populated area shows the occupying power’s lack of concern for the safety of civilians.
Who controlled the drone, we will never know. Extrajudicial execution. So simple. So convenient. No time-consuming and costly court proceedings. No bickering with the defense counse. Just a drone and a faceless pilot in a command center at a safe distance; a court, jury, and prosecutor in one. An action in accordance with a just state?
(Photo by Charlie Andreasson)
Shortly after three o’clock in the afternoon. People everywhere. Anyone in the vicinity could have been killed. There could have been more passengers in the car. Was this also a message addressed to Haniyeh? Was it a warning of a time to come?
Ambulances and fire trucks were already there when I arrived. The place was crowded with people, most of them around the wreck. I asked one of the youngsters if it was an attack from a drone. He replied in good English that there were two missiles from drones, but with a trembling voice, vibrant with anger, shock and fear. He tried his best to control himself, his jaws clenching, close to tears. I lowered my camera and asked if he was okay. A stupid question: I could see clearly how he felt. Of course not, he answers, this is Gaza. I took him in my arms, momentarily worried about how he would respond with his friends around him, but he welcomed my hug and I held him, pressing him against me. Yes, this is Gaza. No, it’s not okay here.
Drones continue to circulate above. Are they ooking for new targets, or are other faceless pilots at safe distances just curious about the outcome of their colleague’s attack? Will the images appear on the evening news of the successful intervention? Of the remains of what was recently a car with two living people in it? Will viewers see a Westerner are standing and holding a Palestinian with his eyes tightly shut?
A drone, two missiles. Court, jury, and prosecutor in one. Bangs when they detonate, no echo from the outside world of just states afterwards. So simple. So convenient.
5th June 2014 | International Solidarity Movement | Hebron, Occupied Palestine
My plan for the morning was pretty simple, I wanted to enter the souq (market) and buy some bread for breakfast, and then walk home. That was it. As I made my way towards the souq entrance I was stopped by two Israeli border police officers and asked for my religion. This is not an unusual experience in this city, the military are a common sight and as well as the regular checkpoints, they can and often do stop you at any time, demanding your identification, asking your religion, and any other questions they desire to ask.
I am neither ashamed nor proud of my religion. It is part of who I am in the same way my hair colour is a part of me. It is also a question I have been asked before and, as in the past, I told the truth.
“I’m Jewish,” I said.
The two border police officers spoke to each other in Hebrew, a language I have very little understanding of.
“Where are you going?” They asked.
“The souq,” I said. “I just want to go to the market.”
“No, you can’t go in. No Jews allowed.”
I wasn’t completely shocked, this has also been something stated to me before.
“Come on, I’ve been in there a thousand times, is it illegal for me to enter?”
“You can’t go in, you’re Jewish, it’s not allowed, it’s dangerous.”
I wanted to laugh, I may well have done. “It’s not dangerous, I have many friends in there, just let me go.”
This continued on for a few more minutes, the blood heating in my face as I tried to argue my case to no avail. The real irony was instead of walking through the market to go home, I was forced to walk Shuhada street, a perfect example of the apartheid that exists within this military occupation, a street where Palestinians have been barred from walking since the year 2000, where many people lost their homes and livelihoods after they were forced to leave and never return. Only the Israeli military, settlers, and internationals are allowed to walk Shuhada Street, it is often christened “Ghost Town” by the Palestinians, and indeed the sight of so many closed shops and houses, is haunting. It is also a street where I have been assaulted twice by settlers, so the idea that this was a safer alternative for me than the market, is laughable.
I have been fortunate enough to live in Palestine for several months, mainly living in the city of al-Khalil (Hebron). Al-Khalil is a city with many problems, mostly due to the illegal settlement in the heart of the city [all settlements in occupied territory are illegal under international law], and the huge Israeli military presence there to enable the settlers.
The Israeli military commits terrible crimes against the Palestinian people. I have seen them arresting and detaining adults and children for no reason, physically and verbally harassing the people of the city, using their military weapons against adults, youths and children, as well as a hundred and one other injustices that impact the daily lives of Palestinians in al-Khalil.
The settlers in al-Khalil are above the law. They attack Palestinians and steal their land and property on a regular basis. The Israeli military not only does nothing to stop this, but in many cases they condone and encourage it. I have seen settler youth throwing stones at Palestinian homes, while Israeli soldiers watched on. When we asked the soldiers to do something to stop this, they replied they would do nothing, as they are “children”. However Israeli soldiers have no qualms in using violence against Palestinian children. I have come to al-Khalil as a solidarity activist; one of the activities I participate in almost daily is ‘school checkpoint watch’. This is where I would assist in monitoring a specific checkpoint the children of the city are forced to go through on their way to school. I have witnessed Israeli soldiers harassing and searching children as they go through the checkpoint, firing tear gas and stun grenades at them and into their schools, and detaining children, some as young as six-years-old.
After the two border police officers denied me entry into the market in the morning, I tried again several hours later. The result was the same. I was angry, and I was upset, and while I am in Palestine as a solidarity activist, all I wanted to do was to go through the souq and visit one of my friends.
However, I have no intention of writing that I now “understand” what the Palestinians experience due to the military occupation, and the complete control that exists over their freedom of movement. My experience today was frustrating, and also unfair, but it is nothing compared to what the Palestinian people experience on a regular basis.
Due to the colour of my skin, and my nationality, I am incredibly aware of the privilege I have in Palestine, and all over the world. The very fact that I am able to enter Palestine is a huge privilege within itself; so many Palestinians in the diaspora were forced away from their homeland and have never seen it again. The fact that, if I so wish, I can travel to Yaffa, and one of my closest friends, a Palestinian woman whose family is originally from the city, can never see her home.
I have never been denied entry to any area due to my religion by Palestinians, or any other time in my life. It is telling that the first time this happens is by the Israeli military, under the façade of my ‘safety’. Unless Israeli soldiers or settlers enter, which they frequently do, the most dangerous thing that could happen to me in the souq is that I could overdose on tea, forced on me by my friends.
Since 1967, Israel has detained around 20% of the Palestinian population and approximately 40% of Palestinian males. The majority of those arrested are transferred into Israel, where they are held and if charged will most likely serve their sentence. Although this is a clear violation of Article 76 in the Geneva Convention which states “all protected persons accused of an offense must be detained within the occupied country and if they are sentenced, they have to serve the sentence within it” Israel continues to transfer prisoners to its territory. As of April, 2014 approximately 5,021 Palestinians were being held by Israel. Of the aforementioned number, 22 Palestinian women are being held in Israeli jails.
Palestinian prisoners are subject to various levels of both physical as well as psychological torture. These tactics begin at the moment of the arrest and are carried out during the investigation where they continue until even after the prisoner is charged. Additionally, Palestinian women are subject to sexual harassment by Israeli jail guards as well as soldiers and police officers during their detention time. You can read more about Palestinian women held in Israeli jails here.
On April 11th, I was arrested in the village of Nabi Saleh and wrongfully charged with stone throwing as well as assaulting a soldier. The testimony of a 20 or so year old soldier was enough to push for indictment and send me to Hasharon jail held in Israel.
The below are excerpts from my jail journal diaries that I have written throughout my stay in Hasharon. These journals are written by me, but this is hardly about me. It’s about the harsh reality and the macabre these women have to face. This is a fraction of a fraction of the ugliness some of these women have endured for years, one of them for 11 years.
If one word describes these women, it’s endurance.
Entry one:
“After 12 hours from bus to bus, from one dark cold box, to an even
darker and colder box I was finally brought to Hasharon. I was placed
in room number 1 with five other women. I was dirty, afraid, tired,
hungry and distraught. I find an empty top bunk bed with Fulla
(barbie) bed covers and five sleeping women. At that moment, I was
greeted with a half awake Muna Qaadan.
I wanted nothing more than to climb into the bed, lay in the fetal
position and sleep. I wanted nothing more than to be a child again.
But the reality we live in wouldn’t allow it.
On the top bunk there were stickers of Tweetie, Mushroom houses,
Cinderella and other children cartoons. The reality is that they’re
probably there because they’re some of the few things Israeli forces
will allow inside the jail cell; In my head however, I couldn’t help
but think of them as stickers that resemble these women’s hijacked
innocence. Their hijacked childhood. So they make up for it, by
putting little toys and cartoon stickers around.
My first night, I pretended Fulla’s hand printed on the bed sheets was
mama’s hand extended from her bed in Ramallah to my bunk in Hasharon.
My first night, I cried. I hadn’t cried in ages and on April 12th at
4:00 am I finally cried.”
Shireen Issawi, sister of former hunger striker Samer Issawi was transferred from Maskubbiyeh in Jerusalem where she was in solitary to Hasharon earlier in April. Issawi suffers from back pain due to the awkward positions she was placed in whilst under interrogation and when being transferred from one jail to the other.
Shireen is being held unjustly in Israeli jails as she states that “Israel is targetting any lawyers that are active in the case of Palestinian prisoners especially those that are in contact with the families of prisoners.” Despite the pressure and harassment Issawi underwent, in jail she always held a smile and made jokes at almost everything. At one point, jokingly, Lena Jerboni jests and asks “why are you always talking, Shireen?”
“I was in solitary, I have to workout my tongue again! Let me laugh!”
Shireen is joy.
Shireen Issawi
Entry two:
‘Jail (Hasharon), is unpleasant, the situation, environment, treatment,
commodities, the are all organized around psychologically ruining the
individuals involved.The game of psychological manipulation begins way
before you enter the jail cell. It begins with the start of
colonialism.
But here, it’s different. It’s more tangible, less abstract and
definitely harsher. The buses (read 1×2 boxes) they put you in are
filled with trash, pests, and of course you’re cuffed by the feet and
hands. Even if one isn’t cuffed you still can’t move. All you hear
outside is Hebrew, yelling, police singing obnoxiously and of course
the occasional banging on your door.
The most humiliating part was the occasional “check up” where
different officers open the hole in the door for a few seconds, close
it, I hear laughter and then another does the same. It’s as though I’m
the latest specimen in their experiment with lives.
How are we so quiet with this not even in our backyard, but right
here, in our front yard?
Israel’s idea of democracy is interchangeable with the abuse of the “other.”
Lena Jerboni is currently the longest serving Palestinian female prisoner. She was sentenced to 17 years and has served 11. In jail, Lena is considered the dean of the prisoners. All of our affairs went through her first. Despite her young age, she acted as an older sister to all of us. Some prisoners, although older than her call her Khalto.
As I craved a cigarette and asked for one. Lena turns her head towards me and firmly says “no. We don’t have slaves here.”
Lena is one of the strongest women I met and the most fragile. Jail has become everything she knows. At one point during my incarceration we had a conversation in which myself and the other girls were trying to explain the style of skinny jeans and what they were.
We laughed. We laughed extremely hard. However, inside our souls wept. Wept for the reality of existing but not living, and we wept out of fear of jail becoming the only reality we knew.
Lena is wisdom.
Lena Jerboni
Entry three:
‘It’s day 5 of me being in prison. Half of the time I spent from one
bus (box) to the next. This strategy is designed to break you. To make
you dread going to court and to crave stability, even if it comes in
the form of an unjust jail.
It’s day 5 and I’m already accustomed to the cockroaches. They’ve
become the reminder of outside interaction. It’s only day 5 and I’ve
become so indifferent. So numb.
I know I did nothing wrong so let them do what they want. I’ve read
too many books, I know better, I know the conviction rate is 99.7% for
Palestinians, innocent or not. And we’re all innocent.
The court room in Ofer consists of a trailer and in it some chairs and
a bench. Military court consists of a judge that has already decided
you’re guilty and the only thing being negated is your punishment.
Saying it’s absurd is the understatement of the century.
Ironically, whenever I’m being moved from one bus to another one of
the police has to say “Israel is the only democracy in the world.”
well, at least they’ve upgraded from “the only democracy in the Middle
East.”‘
Palestinian prisoner Intisar Sayyad has been in Israeli jails for 2 and a half years and is scheduled to be released June 9th 2014. She spoke to me about the “bosta” which are are cells hidden inside buses that prisoners are transferred in. Israel uses these to break the prisoners and make them wish to be charged with anything at all, simply so that the dreadful journey will end.
Instisar recalls her trips in the bosta “at one point I begged my lawyer to have them charge me just so I don’t have to endure those humiliating and painful trips.”
Intisar had the warmest heart and kept reiterating her nostalgia for her kids and their hugs. She kept comparing me to her 19 year old son, saying “You’re almost as old as my son, I haven’t seen him in a long while, but you remind me of my son.”
My last night there at 3:00 am as I was being taken from Hasharon back to Ofer for my third trial in one week, a half awake Intisar looks at me, takes a gray sweater from her clothes and gives it to me. She has known me for a few days and the kindness she has showed me measures to that of an eternity. She says, “take this habibti, it’s going to be a cold one.”
Regardless of how little they have, the prisoners always managed to share everything. When one appears to be in pain another consoles and a third ensures that the room is sanitary and clean. Their togetherness is outstanding.
Intisar is warmth.
Intisar Sayyad
Entry four:
‘Jail, like colonisation is ugly. The girls here have developed such an
intense sense of humor that helps them cope with the shit around them.
We have glorified them for so long, like we do with most people coping
with their misery. We drape the ugliness and we should stop.
They are not superheroes. I see the hurt, their pain, the nostalgia,
the longing. Their hears are broken, their souls are jaded and that’s
okay to feel. We need to acknowledge the negatives rather than hide
them with a facade.
The girls are needle point organized, I think however that this ideal
is adopted throughout their time here to gain a sense of control on
what seems to be an uncontrollable situation..
Time passes by so slowly here, eternity’s definition should be Hasharon.
I tried to make games for the girls, even to get them to meditate or
try and change up the mood a little. It worked, for about 5 minutes
and then I realized, horrible things are meant to be horrible. There
is no bright side to unjust incarceration.’
Alaa Abu Zaytoon just 21 years old has served a year and 3 months since her arrest. She was sentenced to two years.
The entire time Abu Zaytoon kept recounting the time she has left of her sentence. Her dream is to have a baby girl and name her Nagham “so she can be my music” she used to say.
Alaa, had the patience to sit down with my stiff hands and teach me how to craft jewelery and to do my laundry with the supplies we were allowed.
She had such a whimsical voice and was constantly making fun of everyone.
Alaa is patience.
Alaa Abu Zaytoon
Entry 5:
‘I recall when I saw my lawyer after a weekend in jail I felt safe
again, and then he looked at me and said they’re looking for
indictment. I cried and I remember apologizing to my lawyer for
crying. Then I saw friends and family in the court and I wanted
nothing more than to cry in their arms.
I felt weak.
Weak and guilty.
Guilty, because I am showing my weak side out and publicly. We have an
indoctrinated dogma that we should always be strong. Never weak.
That’s what’s fucking us up. It’s okay to be weak, long as you don’t
allow it to control you and stop you from doing what you can. But it’s
okay to be weak and to acknowledge it.
We are not invincible superhumans and the world needs to fathom that.
Enough with the romanticism. Being here gave me the greatest reality
check of all time. Sharing a 4×3 room with Intisar, Muna, Lina, Alaa,
and of course Shireen put things into perspective.
In a few hours I’ll begin the box journey to Ofer again. Hopefully
it’s the last time and the final trip I have to make.
I hope to never see these women again, unless it’s when they’re free.’
Muna Qaadan, aged 42 with the spirit of a 20 year old was the first prisoner that I met. She’s from Jenin and her detention has been extended for the 14th time by Israeli forces. Muna got engaged in jail and looks forward to being free and married.
She was the one that always gently caresses our hair, or sternly commands us when things need to be done. She was commanding but gentle.
Muna is longing.
Muna Qaadan
These are the women I had the honor of meeting, and this is a fraction of their stories. Israel has indiscriminately tortured all women in Israeli jails at one point of their incarceration and continues to perform violent acts every now and then to exert their power.
It is those that seem least powerful that possess the most strength, and the powerful are the cowards.
