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.
9th February 2014 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine
(Photo by Charlie Andreasson)
I have seen her standing there more then once, at the edge of the port, looking out over the boats in the harbor and then towards the horizon. And for a short second, I have seen myself, when as a child I took my bicycle down to the harbor just to stand at the pier and gaze, for a long, long time, at the boats that disappeared beyond the horizon, and wonder what was beyond that line. And I have briefly asked myself if she does the same. But she is not a child, she is a young, adult woman. A strong woman.
I asked a good friend to arrange a meeting with Madleen Kolab, 19 years old and Gaza’s only fisherwoman, for an interview. Later, she would reveal this was only to tell me face to face tell me that she does not give interviews. For almost two years, she has declined all requests from journalists because they, as she says, only writes for their careers. But she decided to make an exception when she recognized me and knew that I was involved in the rebuilding of Gaza’s Ark, and thus in work for Palestine. Her firm look told me that she was serious and I felt honored, but also a little embarrassed, and was grateful that I could lower my eyes towards my notepad.
When she was six years old, she already accompanied her father when he was fishing, and she knew early what her coming profession would be. She loves her work. It gives her a sense of freedom to be on the sea, and she was careful to point out that nobody forced her to become a fisherman. Her rapt answers to my questions, that she never needed any consideration, unwavering eyes and lack of hesitation left no doubt or room for me to think otherwise. I could not doubt her word when she said that the other fishermen respect her as an equal colleague. It was only after I stressed that women all over the world find it difficult to break into an extremely male-dominated industry like fishing that she confessed she too has been fighting for her rights, and has been treated with prejudice, but that has now changed.
Madleen is the eldest of four siblings. She fishes with the younger of her two brothers on a hasaka, a small open boat, with an outboard motor. Earlier she had a type of boat she needed to paddle. Now she has the opportunity to go to deeper water and get somewhat better catches. Besides, it is safer. But she has been attacked by Israeli patrol boats, and she says it has been common for bullets to whiz around the boat. Once she feared she would be arrested, but when the Israeli soldiers discovered there was a woman on board the boat, they ordered her to instead head back to the harbor, obviously unsure of how they would deal with the unfamiliar situation. Madleen knows that will not save her forever, and she avoids the edge of the group of boats that go out, preferring to fight over the catch with others than try to get a bigger share for herself in more open water. But she also knows that when the Israeli military has decided to take a particular boat, it will also be the one they separate from the others.
(Photo by Joe Catron)
I asked her about the escalation of violence. In January, thirteen attacks on fishermen were carried out, one at the six nautical-mile limit and the others three or less than three nautical miles from the coast. She knows from experience that if it is allowed to go out six miles, the Israeli navy keeps them within five miles, and when they were officially allowed to go only three miles, it was in reality only two. But Madleen believes they now attack so close to land because it is a high season and Israel wants to make it difficult for Palestinian fishermen to support themselves. This view is consistent with those of fishermen I have talked to after they were temporarily arrested and had their boats and gear confiscated. And the Israeli military know they can continue their abuses, since the world is not protesting.
But what would she do if there was no blockade? Would she leave Gaza? Madleen did not hesitate. She would stay. Palestine is her home. But she would fish further out, away from the overfished and shallow waters. And she wish that global society could make Israel stop the illegal and inhumane blockade. Fishermen themselves cannot. And as Madleen rightly points out, they have the right to fish in their own water. Right now, everything is like a dark dream, she continues; the future seems bleak. Still she hopes that one day they will be free from the blockade. And to hope is the only thing they can do.
Her phone rang. Someone wondered where she was. Madleen had never meant to be away for any length of time, and she asked me if I had any more questions. I took a few photographs of her and thanked her for her time. Before she left, she offered her help to launch Gaza’s Ark back into water. But I think I will see her again, standing there at the edge of the port. And it strikes me that I never asked that question, what she thinks about when she gazes towards the horizon.
28th December 2013 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine
(Photo by Charlie Andreasson)
December is the time for farmers in the Gaza Strip to sow. But for those with fields near the Israeli separation barrier, it is highly dangerous. Sure enough, we were met by news that an 18-year-old was shot an hour earlier when he was checking his bird nets here in Khuza’a in the southern part of the Gaza Strip. To sell small birds can earn a few bucks, but also makes the hunter the hunted. This one was lucky. For him, a day’s hospital visit was enough.
That our presence and our yellow vests are desirable cannot be mistaken. Without any directive, some of us get up on the tractors as protection for the drivers while the rest form a row between the field and the Israeli barrier. Here the open fields were once interspersed with olive and other fruit trees, trees devastated by Israeli bulldozers. Now they can only plant wheat, a crop that grows without daily care.
(Photo by Charlie Andreasson)
The fields to be plowed were not large, and after they been sowed, we came closer and closer to the fence. We saw the barbed wire rolled out in large circles before the fence, the towers with machine guns, the large mounds of dirt and tanks coming up behind them, the military Jeeps that stop for a moment before continuing. But we also saw the green fields behind all this, where irrigation is permitted. The contrast is great.
The work takes us closer and closer to the barrier. Activists with yellow vests still sit on tractors, but the rest of us are no longer in a row. We are now very close to the fence, so we walk directly beside those sowing by hand. It would look funny at any time, in any other part of the world, but here it is deadly serious. Maybe 70-80 meters from the fence, the ground is completely disturbed by bulldozers and tanks. Deep traces of crawlers are everywhere, some of them made earlier in the week, we are told. The tractors cannot plow there, and the farmers are not trying, either. And they can only hope that the Israeli soldiers will not tear up their fields and plow down the wheat before they reap. It has happened in the past and will most likely happen again.
(Photo by Charlie Andreasson)
Done for the day, we walk back. Not a a single bullet has been fired at us this time. But I find one in the ground, one that didn’t find its target, and show my Israeli souvenir for the others. But no one reacts significantly. Someone strikes out with his arm over the fields: there are plenty of different kinds of ammunition fired here.
I try to understand how the soldier who shot early that morning reasoned. What made him shoot? Did he feet that he did his duty, believe that he erased a potential threat to the state of Israel? Did he get a pat on the shoulder from his commander, or backslapping by his peers in the barracks? When he comes home, will his proud mother serve him his favorite dish, and will his father open the forbidden cabinet to invite his to taste something stronger now then he has become a man?
(Photo by Charlie Andreasson)
But above all, I wonder what makes them think that farmers who sow by hand are really a threat forcing the soldiers to shoot them. What makes them so afraid that they take shelter in bulletproof guard towers or tanks. How the State of Israel can be protected by bulldozing Palestinians’ fields and destroying their crops. And how to get an entire nation to believe that these farmers are a threat to their existence. I do not understand it. But I understand that our presence can mean the difference between life and death.
23rd December 2013 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine
Hundreds greet freed detainees at midnight rally in northern Gaza Strip (Photo by Charlie Andreasson)
You stand below a dam because you have discovered cracks where water leaks out. You try to seal them with your bare hands, but they are not enough. The pressure is too high, and the cracks too large. And you scream for help, to let people know what is happening, stop the pressure from the inside before the disaster happens. But no one listens to your warning, and no one seems to want to see the water that wells between your fingers. Some even claim you are exaggerating. And you stand there,not daring to move your hands, wondering how long you will be able to hold back the pressure, how long you can keep calling before your voice fails. This is the metaphor that best describes the frustration activists here feel from time to time, a frustration we have to deal with because it cannot pass in dejection.
To be an activist here is not just to go with farmers into the “buffer zone,” or out to sea with fishermen, more or less as human shields: to try to seal the cracks with your hands, if I am allowed to continue using the metaphor as an explanatory model. Far more time is spent interviewing victims, gathering information, going to demonstrations and writing articles, to call for help and draw attention to what is happening. And it is mainly during the search for information that you unwittingly also look for something to show that a change is afoot. One’s eyes skim through title after title, then suddenly it’s there, the article that makes you pause. Standing below the dam, you notice a change among those high above you. Maybe now something’s finally starting to happen. And you feel relief and joy, and share the news with all the activists you meet.
Most recently, on 8th December, Dutch Prime Minister Mark Rutte had planned to inaugurate a container scanner at the Kerem Shalom checkpoint, but called off the whole thing when it became apparent that the scanner would not, contrary to Rutte’s assumptions, facilitate and thereby increase the movement of goods between the Gaza Strip and the West Bank. Israel is determined to keep these two parts of Palestine separated from each other.
On the same trip, Dutch Foreign Minister Frans Timmermans refused to accept an Israeli military escort in the 1967-occupied territories, instead canceling his planned visit to Hebron’s older neighborhoods. Other foreign ministers have recently visited them without military escorts, and Timmermans did not accept the new conditions to avoid creating a precedent.
Netherlands, you are great among activists here now. Upright, a standard-bearer for human rights, the defender of the Geneva Conventions. Only days later, we read that the Dutch water company Viten ended a partnership with Israeli water company Mekorot. Also on Rutte’s trip was Dutch Minister of Trade Lilianne Ploumen, whose visit to Mekorot the Israelis abruptly canceled. Perhaps this was because Dutch media had revealed that the same company was denying Palestinians water, but we may never know.
Netherlands, you are a light in the darkness, and may other nations follow that light. You demonstrate that there is a political space to maneuver to bring about a change. And now Romania denies its citizens work in Israeli settlements in 1967-occupied territory. Salvation is close, you can stop shouting now, and soon you will no longer need to keep your hands over the cracks.
But we are deceiving ourselves, and maybe we need to do it to not be dejected. For while we focus on the good news, we shut our eyes, at least temporarily, to the bad, which is much more plentiful, and more serious in nature. As the UK develops a new type of drone with Israel, and Italy expands its cooperation on several levels with the aforementioned occupying power, that members of the Knesset already have started congratulating each other for the peace talks that do not seem to lead anywhere … the list is grows longer every day. And when we go out on the streets of Palestine, we see that nothing has improved. Do average people here know the Netherlands stands up for them? Do they react the same way we do to the news??
People here are hardened. They believe in a change only when they see it. They’ve had enough empty promises to stop dreaming. And that’s why they pay tribute to every Palestinian who returns from an Israeli prison, no matter what he or she has done – armed resistance, political activity, being in the wrong place at the wrong time – because this person tried, in a concrete way, to change the situation. That’s all that counts after the betrayal of all who walk above, without giving a thought to the cracks you frantically try to seal. They are about to be drowned further downstream from the dam. And we continue to cry out for help.
16th December 2013 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine
(Photo by Charlie Andreasson)
Long beaches with white, soft sand. A swim in the warm and clear waters. Surfing. Water skiing. Diving among wrecks from Roman times. The allure of small rays’ silent flights, and the luck of seeing turtles and leaping dolphins. Beach cafes with plaited palm leaves as protection against the sun. Restaurants with seafood, caught in the golden light of dawn. Or historical walks among remains from the Roman, Persian or Ottoman eras. A quiet walk along the narrow streets, visits to markets, meetings with friendly, smiling people.The Gaza Strip, the Palestinian coastal enclave, has the potential for all of this, with one exception. The occupying power does not permit flight lands in to Gaza. They have even bombed the airport to prevent it. And they use military force to prevent every attempt to get here, or out, by boat. The fishermen risk their lives, their boats and gear, their livelihood, every day. The freshly caught fish or shellfish may never land on your plate. And bringing in materials to build those restaurants is highly uncertain.
(Photo by Charlie Andreasson)
It could have been so beautiful here. It could have been so rich. But it is not allowed. And virtually no exports are, either. The economy is crippled. For a month and a half, the only electrical plant stood still, was there was no longer money for fuel. Six hours a day, eight if you’re lucky, there’s electricity supplied by the occupying power and Egypt. Perhaps it would be romantic to have a meal of seafood delicacies that were never delivered in a restaurant that could not be built by candlelight, but it would not be a place for students to do their homework. Or for those who have to wade through sewage when streets are flooded because there is no power for the water stations. A Venice of wastewater. The clear sea water has become turbid with wastewater that can not be purified. And the beaches as littered as the streets.
And I wonder: By what right do make these people an exception? Exceptions from human rights. From the right to fish in their own waters or farm their own land. From developing their economy. Perhaps this is what the outside world wants. Perhaps this is why the protests are so timid. And people here knows that the world has turned its back on what is happening. Still I meet friendly, smiling faces, people that wish me welcome in Gaza. It could have been so beautiful here. Long beaches with white, soft sand. Beach cafes with plaited palm leaves as protection against the sun. The potentials exist. All except one.
28th November 2013 | International Solidarity Movement | Ni’lin
Saeed Amireh is a 22-year-old resident of Ni’lin, the son of a farmer, who has been active in the popular resistance since 2003.
Can you tell us a bit of the history of Ni’lin?
In the past, Ni’lin used to be part of the area which is within the ‘48 borders now. In 1994, when the Palestinian Authority came, Ni’lin became part of Ramallah city. So now Ni’lin is located exactly at the green line of 49 and about 27 kilometres west of Ramallah. The village is part of the West Bank but not under Palestinian control. It is completely area C and therefore under Israeli control.
After 1967, when the West Bank was occupied, Ni’lin has been suffering constantly. Since that time, the Israelis began to build colonies on our land, starting with Ni’li in the north of Ni’lin in the early ’70s, you can see that they stole the name from our village. Then Hashmonain in the south, Qiryat Sefer, Mattitjahu and then Naaleh. So there are five Israeli colonies. They also built an apartheid road called 446 that separates Ni’lin into two parts. Due to these constructions, the villagers have lost a great part of their land. The majority of the people here are farmers and their main income source comes from harvesting their land.
Besides that, Ni’lin has two main olive oil factories; the export is another major income. Ni’lin is famous for its olive oil production and for their cactus industry. Just like Hebron is famous for grapes, Jerico for bananas. During this period, intensified by the construction of the wall, Ni’lin lost about 5000 hectares of land out of a total of 5800 hectares, so there is only 800 hectares left. We have been fighting against this land grabbing and confiscation.
We also lost many people who were killed, injured or arrested, in some cases we still don’t know where they are. Many people have also left the area. We used to be about 12000 inhabitants, now we are only 5500 people left. They left to Jordan or to other locations in the West Bank in area A or area B, others went to Europe, the United States. Actually the majority went to Germany, mostly to Berlin.
Why does Ni’lin have Friday demonstrations against Israeli forces?
The demonstrations were a response to the construction of the wall. And we started our non violent, unarmed protest, as I told you, together with international and Israeli activists
What about the village’s struggle in terms of the occupation?
The struggle began in 2003 when the wall construction started. They began in Budrus and Ni’lin at the same time. They started in the north of Palestine until they reached our village. They moved very fast, there was not a lot of resistance on the way. The people were still tired from the repression of the Second Intifada. And since the Intifada was armed resistance, there was not room for everybody. That is the difference between the armed and unarmed resistance. In the unarmed resistance everybody can join and be involved. That makes it more powerful.
So when the wall construction continued, we had the first meeting here in Ni’lin in 2003. That was the beginning of the popular committee and the popular struggle movement in the whole of the West Bank. The first protest was in Budrus, where we joined the people from there. The soldiers were surprised, seeing how people returned to the tactic of the unarmed resistance after the Second Intifada. In the beginning it was only a few people who joined, many were afraid. During that first demonstration the soldiers drew a line and told us, anybody crossing that line, can consider himself dead. So we held each others hands, counted until three and then jumped at once over that line, of course they couldn’t kill us all.
We were soon more than three hundred, from all the villages. Seeing this, more than sixteen villages started doing protesting as well. Israel did not approve at all of the demonstrations but had to stop the construction of the wall in Ni’lin because they feared another uprising. Only after they were finished with the wall in all the other places, they returned to Ni’lin to finish their job in 2008. During that period the poplar struggle developed. We created popular committees. In Ni’lin we had a committee representing all the political parties, the farmers, several organizations and families. We started organizing our protests together with internationals, Israeli peace activists and journalists. That is another big difference to the Intifada. During the Initfada, there wasn’t a focus on media or on involving Israeli activists. They actually helped us a lot, in order to understand the Israeli military law and the occupation. They have been teaching us and have been a really strong inspiration and motivation for us. Especially the Anarchists Against The Wall, they are the best.
How has the resistance changed in Ni’lin over the last few years?
In the beginning we were so many; we were ready after the two Initifadas. But the suppression was heavy and the protesters became less and less. This is a big problem, because every struggle needs its sources of support. And without this support, a few people put in all their power until they reach a point where they can’t continue. Many people got arrested and injured and could not continue to attend the demonstrations.
Why did you begin to engage in the protests?
In 1997, I had a very significant personal experience. My father took me to the protest for the first time. We used to demonstrate against the colonies, peacefully as well. The man who organized the protest, his name was Atallah Amireh, was snipped with live ammunition in his head and in his heart. The Palestinian authority just had a funeral for him. Whenever someone dies under the occupation, we honor that person. We call them martyrs. We try to support the family and make them feel better, their relatives died trying to protect their home. Anyway, this man was shot in front of me. At that time I did not really understand why. I did not cry, but I was just astonished.
Since then my whole life has changed. Some people may ask my father, why he brought me to the demonstration in the first place. Because I was so young, I was seven and the demonstrations are very dangerous. Why would a father do this to his children? But you know, if our fathers don’t confront us with the reality of the occupation, it won’t be good for us. That is why they show us the reality of life from the beginning, so we can get used to it. We don’t live in an illusion when we are young, suddenly realizing the hard facts of life when we grow up.
You know we are a very big family. I have four brothers and three sisters. And I have lots of cousins, my brothers and sisters; they all have cousins their same age. I didn’t, so my father always took me with him. Everywhere he went, to all his friends and to all his serious meetings. All this time, I was never brought along as a child; he introduced me as a friend of his. And I also wouldn’t allow anyone to treat me like a kid. So even though I was still a child, they treated me like a man, even as a leader. Very early on, I had big responsibilities put on me.
I got my first real chance, when the construction of the wall began in 2003, which was the most recent time after the Second Intifada.
What is the current situation in Ni’lin?
At the moment, there are many arrests. We tried to resist the expanding of the colonies. We even went to the court to file a lawsuit against Ni’li, when they confiscated our land. But they are still expanding, with dozens of new houses on our land. We are unable to do anything. They are also starting to construct a tunnel. The brutality in Ni’lin also increased. There is a new commander responsible for the area here. He wants to suppress our village, because despite everything they have done to us, the shootings, the arrests, the killings of the five people, the people are tired but they don’t give up.
From January to April this year, they arrested 16 people, and then they stopped briefly, only to intensify their repression in October. They invaded the village every day, arresting more people. In total there are 42 people from Ni’lin in prison now. Despite all this, the voice against the occupation rose. A new thing is that the soldiers started to confiscate computers and other technical devices from the village, because they know that this [the media] is our weapon. In July the army asked for permission to use live ammunition from the Israeli courts, even when there are cameras filming, which they got.
In 2008, they killed Ahmud Musa, who was ten years old at that time. The soldiers claimed they had to respond with violence, otherwise it would have been considered as a sign of weakness. The murderer of Ahmud Musa was never charged with any crime.
They also try to fill the village with drugs to weaken the movement. This is causing lots of trouble in our social life.
What effects does the occupation have on your family?
I will tell you about the history of my family. We were refugees from Jaffa. We were expelled in 1948 to Jordan. Before that my family used to live in the old city of Jaffa. We came back to the West Bank in 1968. Just my grandfather and his closer family, the rest stayed in Jordan. Some of them refused to come back, because they did not want to agree to the points that were made with the Oslo agreement. They were fighters in the PLO. When we tried to come back to our land in Jaffa, we realized that it was impossible for us to do so. That is why we came to Ni’lin, which is the closest point to that area. Everything else was closed.
The first thing is that we lost all of our land in Ni’lin. We have no more land, except the land we live in, with our house and garden. We lost the first part, when the buildings of the colonies began. The biggest part of our land though lies behind the wall now. We used to have 260 dunams of land; we are now left with six or seven today.
Since we used to be farmers but didn’t have any land anymore, we had to find a different source on income and of existence. My father used to have permission to work within ‘48, that way he still earned enough money to support his family. In 2008 however, he was arrested for joining the peaceful protest against the wall and they wouldn’t extend his permission so he became unemployed. We had no more farming land and no more work, which was a very big problem for us. Since that time, several things have happened. Many of us were arrested. I was arrested, so were my two brothers and my father. My sister and my mother were injured with live ammunition. Another problem was the night raids. The soldiers used to come to my family house; they invaded it more than 25 times. They would always come in the night, wearing masks with their dogs. Once they isolated us in one room, but my little brothers, who were about four at that time, were still asleep. So when they woke up, we were all gone, locked up in one room. That was a shock for them, they started to shout and scream. This experience left a mark on them. Up until now, they sometimes pee without realizing it, because of their fear.
My mother also has developed panic attacks due to all the stress she has been going through. These attacks come in moments when she is anxious and under a lot of pressure or stress. It started during the Intifada and increased during the period after 2008, when so many of us were arrested, injured and our financial situation deteriorated. My father has been unemployed for the last six years. There is no more land, no more work left here. The occupation affects our life in so many ways, economically and socially.
