Category: Journals - Page 39 - International Solidarity Movement

The water in Gaza is not only water

22nd November 2013 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine

I was just going to make dinner when I realized the filtered water in my tank was almost done. Perhaps it would be enough if I used the last of my bottled water. But then I would have nothing to drink with my meal. And there would be no coffee, not after the food and not for breakfast. Glances at the tap, I considered diluting the filtered water with tapwater, in order to save time and to avoid having to walk two blocks to fill the tank. It was dark outside, and the shop with water might be closed.

Tapwater cannot be used for cooking, or should not be used for cooking. I avoid doing it anyway. I wash dishes in it, but do not use it to cook my rice. It’s salt. Saltwater penetrates the underground aquifier, which it is larger than the natural supply of fresh water can fill. But the seawater is not its only contaminant. According to the United Nation, chemicals and sewage also pollute it, which is not surprising when 90,000 cubic meters of untreated sewage gush out every day. Sewage, from the toilets, back in the taps. With water treatment plants, that works. But in Gaza, the problem is that there is not enough diesel to run the generators around the clock. And for those Israel has bombed, well, it also stops the import of replacement parts. Meanwhile seawater, chemicals and sewage increase in the water supply. By 2016, UN expects the water to become completely unusable. Only three years are left until then. And at 2020, no one they say, no one will be able to live here.

I open the fridge, hoping to find something that does not require water for cooking. I close it again. Maybe the store is open, but the cistern outside it is empty. It’s not just me who needs water. And some families have to spend as much as a third of their income on it. They must use the contaminated tapwater far more than I do. When I first came here, I used tapwater to brush my teeth. That was a mistake I will not repeat. But I rinse the toothbrush in it afterwards, shaking it carefully. I think that’s okay. A Swiss woman visiting Gaza asked if I drank the filtered water. It should be drinkable, but someone told me it is only filtered from salt. I do not want to find out how things are, do not want to know. I buy the more expensive bottled water. But I wash my clothes in water from the plumbing system, like everyone else here is forced to do. I wash my hands in it, my face. I take my showers in it, washing off my salty sweat with contaminated water, polluted not only by salt, like everyone else here must.

It becomes more polluted every year. The farmers have problems with it. It’s too salty for citrus seeds to germinate, and causes harvests to decline for the products that still grow. Tanker trucks drive to those who can afford to pay. Israel says it’s concerned, has plans to pull in a pipeline and talks about desalination plants, the same plants it keeps from entering. And I think about what will happen when the disaster strikes, when no one can live here, when everyone is forced to flee: a new Nakba, caused not by the force of arms but by the siege. Where can they go? Who is prepared to receive them? And what will happen then? Will Israel then will take over the empty land, this terra nullius, pumping in water, getting the desert to bloom? I hear it as an echo.

Photos: A hero returns to Gaza

5th November 2013 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine

A hero return to Gaza (Photo by Joe Catron)

What could be a more appropriate theme for this Monday demonstration for prisoners than those recently released by Israel? Would it have been possible to have a different one? Possible, but hardly appropriate. On the street outside the Red Cross, a temporary stage with a lectern had been erected and draped with banners. Loudspeakers were deployed on it, as if for a rock concert, and together with rows of plastic chairs, it effectively blocked the street from traffic.

A hero return to Gaza (Photo by Charlie Andreasson)

Speeches were made, the media were in place, and more groups joined with their banners, even some that had no representative among the newly freed prisoners. The released detainees themselves had to give speeches, which were applauded by the audience, and finally, placards were handed out.

During one of the speeches, I was asked if I was interested in coming along to the Erez crossing, or the Beit Hanoun crossing as it is called here, to witness another release, which I accepted. But I doubted I had understood correctly. It was difficult to hear anything at all because of the volume of the speakers, and it was not yet time for the next group of 26 prisoners to be released as part of the agreement for the resumption of peace negotiations.

Anyway, I stepped into a hired bus as placards were distributed for the five, who had given 20 years or more of their lives in the struggle against the occupation, and for a second time in a week ended up at the northern crossing. And though I have been there recently, everything was very different except the crowds and banners.

Now, during the day, I could even see the wall that cuts off the landscape, that according to the Israeli dialectic is not a wall but a barrier. But while we waited, a growing number of taxis or private cars, motorcycles, tuk-tuks, and even an open truck, overcrowded with people waving flags of yellow, the Fatah color, appeared. The only noticeable difference was the absence of the press. As the only westerner, and with a camera too, I could not help but notice my position was unique.

Suddenly the murmur raised to a cheer as the crowd rushed through the open gates to meet 51-year-old Mohammed Abu Amsha, married with eight children, who had just been released after seven years in prison. It was his third prison term, and he has been denied adequate medical care for his heart and lung problems. But now he was a free man, and soon he was sitting in a car followed by us, among the narrow streets in the nearby village of Beit Hanoun, while children and adults alike curiously lined the walls and hung out of windows.

Women ululated as a tuk-tuk drove forward with big, booming speakers. A large celebration tent had been raised outside Abu Amsha’s family home. Those who had not found a place in any of all the plastic chairs patiently huddled in anticipation of getting in to express their congratulations, kiss Abu Amsha and be photographed with him.

I could not melt in. I was too different, and I’m afraid I stole some of the attention when children flocked around me, curious and smiling, and asked in faltering English how I felt, my name, and where I was from. Nothing could make them as happy and proud as when I agreed to their request to photograph them. But then someone took my hand and dragged me past the line of people waiting to get into the house, up the stairs and into the reception room.

Smiling people took turns hugging and touching Abu Amsha, a man who, after so many years in prison, is forced to wait another few days before he gets to be alone with his family. For it is a great day, not only for him, but for all those who see him as a hero in the struggle against the occupation. The focus of next Monday’s demonstration outside the Red Cross is already a given.

In Gaza, hundreds of miles from the battlefield

28th October 2013 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine

The "buffer zone" is seen from the second floor of Nasser Abu Said's house in Jahr el-Deek. On 28 April 2011 the house, which stands 300 meters from the separation barrier, was shelled by Israeli tanks and partially destroyed. (Photo by Desde Palestina) — The “buffer zone” is seen from the second floor of Nasser Abu Said’s house in Jahr el-Deek. On 28 April 2011 the house, which stands 300 meters from the separation barrier, was shelled by Israeli tanks and partially destroyed. (Photo by Desde Palestina)

Drones fly over rooftops at night, awakening peoples’ memories. They may only patrol, or carry deadly cargo with them. F-16 planes draws streaks across the sky. Here on the ground, no one knows what order the pilot has for the day. Tanks raid across the separation barrier, devastating farmland. Do farmers plant more seeds, or is it too late in the season?

Boats patrol off the coast. For how many nautical miles do they allow fishing today? Enough for it to be meaningful? Or will they start shooting like so many times before, ruin fishermen’s gear, seize their boats, and take away their livelihood, forcing the men on board to strip naked and swim over to them, laughing at them, humiliating them, arresting them for trying to support themselves and their families in their own waters?

Medicine cabinets sit empty in the hospitals. Only the labels are left for antibiotics and other vital medicines. During long power cuts, only the generator in the basement of the hospital keeps dialysis patients alive. Will they get more gas for it before it runs out?

It’s a scene from a war. But the battle is not here. Nor is in Jerusalem or the West Bank.

Palestinian and international activists hold signs in support of the Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) movement by the buffer zone in Zeitoun on 9 February 2013. (Photo by Desde Palestina)

The battlefield is in the West. That is where the war can be won. The battle is against the media, lobbyists and companies that do not have a column for people in their annual reports. Victory getting people to understand what is happening, getting them to take off their blinders, engaging them and winning their hearts . Victory is to expose the true nature of politicians who insist that some people are not people and therefore are exempt from human rights. Victory is to show the unvarnished truth , the naked truth without censorship or editing. Victory is forcing the democratically-elected leaders of the West to take responsibility.

Victory will be achieved by people exercising their power to influence, either individually or in groups. This is where the battlefield is.

Photos: A morning with the resistance at Gaza’s Monday protest for detainees

23rd October 2013 | International Solidarity Movement, Gal·la López | Gaza, Occupied Palestine

It’s 9:00 am, and today the Red Cross in Gaza City is more crowded than usual. Women, men, children and the elderly await the arrival of the resistance. In a moment, they will receive some members of the al-Qassam Brigades, the armed wing of the Hamas movement.

When the resistance members arrive, a noise of great joy spreads throughout the crowd. They distribute flowers among the mothers, wives and relatives to honor the struggle they wage, Monday after Monday, in the Red Cross.

Today more than 5,000 Palestinians are detained by Israel.

It’s important to mention that while Palestinians differ on many questions, the armed resistance, as well as the detainees, are strong points of unity.

A portrait of steadfastness in the Gaza Strip’s deadly “buffer zone”

21st October 2013 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine

Abu Jamal Abu Taima (right) poses with an international activist. (Photo by Charlie Andreasson)

An older man meets us when we step out of the taxi, a patriarch, his back straight, with a firm handshake and a welcoming smile. The other activists I shared a taxi with have all been there before, and we sit with no major ceremonies at the gate of the house as the sun casts its last warm rays upon us.

Soon we are served soft drinks and biscuits, followed by coffee, tea and dates. Our visit is clearly expected. Around us gather children and grandchildren.

By Palestinian standards, Abu Jamal Abu Taima is a large-scale farmer with his 50 dunams. But he also has many mouths to feed: three generations with 71 people. “It was crowded during Eid,” he says with a smile that shows more pride than concern with making room for everyone. But as we begin to discuss the conditions of this great crowd, the smile vanishes.

The years between 1995 and 2001 were something of a golden age. He grew a variety of products, and had greenhouses and a substantial income from what he could export. Then the worries began. His land is adjacent to the Israeli separation barrier, and as Israeli forces expanded the “buffer zone,” it swallowed more and more of his land beside it.

Within this zone, there are no longer any olive or other fruit trees. In 2003 Israeli bulldozers devastated his greenhouse and former home. All he can grow there now is wheat, because it does not need to be tended as regularly as other crops.

And it is only wheat that he hopes to sow when the rains start in November. The occupying power does not allow irrigation. They destroy any irrigation pipes in the area. There is also the danger of death if farmers go onto their fields to manage crops.

Today Abu Taima can grow enough to feed his family, but no more. Before his olive trees in the “buffer zone” were destroyed, they produced enough olives for 70 bottles of olive oil. Those left this year gave six. No exports of what he can grow are allowed.

Farmers grow much less with their greenhouses gone, and they are not given access to their fields to use artificial fertilizers or irrigation.

There are fuel shortages. When given the opportunity to obtain fuel, the price has nearly doubled. Some goods, like dates, are cheaper, precisely because they can no longer be exported. Other crops, costlier to produce, will be more expensive for buyers.

Since they discovered the tunnel between the Gaza Strip and Israel, Israeli forces had become more aggressive. Only a few days ago, a shepherd was shot at, even though it was obvious what he was doing. We understand Abu Taima’s hope that we and other activists in Gaza will put our solidarity into action. This season, we will join the planting and harvesting in yellow vests.

But a question grows stronger within me, and I finally have to ask it. “Since the situation only seems to get worse, would you then want your sons to one day take over from you?” I have to ask it twice, rephrasing it slightly, when he does not seem to understand what I mean.

“Palestinians do not leave their land easily,” he explains patiently. “It gives life. I have no desire to be at a center of political and strategic interests. I just ended up there. All I want is to cultivate my land and support myself and my family.

“And if we leave the land, what happens then? Will Israel advance their positions, crowding us further? It may be another Nakba. I have a responsibility not only to my family but also to Palestine.”