Category: Journals - Page 40 - International Solidarity Movement

The Gaza Strip is closed and more besieged than ever

18th October 2013 | 3deVuit, Maria del Mar Fernández | Gaza, Occupied Palestine

Israel continues to maintain a full, tight closure by land, sea, and air, on the only coastal enclave left to Palestine. This has become even worse since July, as the Egyptian government closes the Rafah crossing on a regular basis and has destroyed many tunnels through which the inhabitants of Gaza could receive food, medicines, fuel and construction materials that Israel bans from entering or allows in insufficient quantities.

Israeli forces bombed and bulldozed Rafah's Yasser Arafat International Airport in 2001. (Photo by Radhika Sainath) — Israeli forces destroyed Rafah’s international airport in 2001. (Photo by Radhika Sainath)

The Rafah border crossing, through which it was possible to get in or out, is now closed whenever Egypt decides, and open for only a few hours. In fact, from my entry on Saturday until Wednesday, it has been closed. It is not known when they will open it again. We are jailed. Patients cannot travel to hospitals abroad, and some of them have already died. Lots of students, registered in foreign universities, are stuck here. Even Palestinians who have been working in foreign countries for many years have lost their jobs after not being allowed to leave.

I have been lucky enough to be able to come back to Gaza. But a trip that should take four hours from Barcelona to Gaza has taken me four days. The Rafah airport, built with foreign funding, operated from 1998 to 2001, when it was bombed and bulldozed by Israeli armed forces. Gaza has been completely besieged by Israel for seven years, and also by Egypt since July of this year.

From Cairo to Rafah there are some 370 kilometers by road, crossing the Sinai Peninsula. The flights from Cairo to el-Arish, about 50 kilometers from Rafah, were already quite expensive, but now, as el-Arish is considered a war zone, there seem to be no flights.

I was lucky not to have chosen 6 October, when a national holiday is celebrated in Egypt, to arrive in Cairo. Because of the clashes there, 51 people died and hundreds were injured and arrested. I did not board any of the flights arriving in Cairo by 2:00 am, either, because there is a curfew after midnight. It was great that two men unexpectedly waiting for me when I got off the plane were really from the Cairo press center. I could not forget that a journalist and a psychiatrist, both Canadian, were arrested by the Egyptian government while going to the Gaza Strip. They were still in prison when I arrived.

As there were no more bus tickets to el-Arish on Friday, I took the bus to Ismailia, some 130 kilometers from Cairo, with the intention of getting the one to el-Arish from there. I could have taken a shared taxi from Cairo, but have always preferred to travel by bus, as I think the danger of being kidnapped is less. Four foreigners had recently been kidnapped while travelling through the Sinai Peninsula. There was news that the Rafah border crossing would be open on Saturday. I could not travel to el-Arish until Friday, as it seemed the military did not want foreigners around, especially if they were journalists. I could stay in el-Arish overnight, since if you take the bus in the morning from Cairo, when you arrive in Rafah via el-Arish, the border will have been closed since 2:00 pm.

But when I arrived in Ismailia, I had to travel on to el-Arish in a shared taxi for seven people. I was the only woman and the only foreigner. The Egyptian student who so kindly and selflessly arranged my trip, and obtained a good price for me, also gave me her telephone number, so that I could call her on my arrival to make sure everything was okay.

I had previously been told that on my arrival to el-Arish, the military would be waiting for us, and that I should show my willingness to make no problems and follow their directions. They were very busy when we arrived there, though, due to some attacks on the zone, and the taxi driver was able todrop me at the hotel. On our way there, we were only asked to show our identity cards and passports twice. Finally, when on Saturday at midday I could cross the Rafah border to the Palestinian side, I couldn’t help shedding tears when I saw a bus full of Palestinians that had just been rejected on the Egyptian side and forced to return to Gaza.

On Monday, the Spanish embassy in Cairo had been unable to reach me. I had not advised them that I had arrived safely, nor told the newspaper for which I am writing, the 3deVuit in Vilafranca del Penedès, Spain. The embassy phoned them, they both kept calling me, and in the end, I could confirm that I had arrived safely to Gaza, to their relief. I am so grateful to them for their concern for me.

In Gaza, I have seen people much more distressed than before. They cannot understand why they have suffered this tight Israeli blockade, now worsened by the Egyptian one, for seven years while the world keeps silent. They feel abandoned by other countries. There are shortages of food, medicines and fuel. There are daily cuts of electricity and Internet for more than 10 hours. Fishermen cannot fish because there is not enough fuel. The Egyptian navy has also fired at them several times. Israeli F-16s hover above our heads, each time lower and lower. Israeli tanks and bulldozers launch incursions into the “buffer zone,” destroying Palestinian land and the work done by Palestinians farmers there, almost every day. But now it is the Muslim festival of Eid al-Adha. and everything possible is done so that children may feel happy. Their mothers have made cakes for them.

This article was first published in Catalan by the 3deVuit newspaper in Vilafranca del Penedès, Spain.

Photos: Eid al-Adha under the Gaza siege

18th October 2013 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine

It’s Eid al-Adha, the festival commemorating Ibrahim, or Abraham as the Christian part of the world knows him, and his willingness to sacrifice his son. He never had to do it, and none of the three monotheistic religions are associated with human sacrifice, since his son was replaced by a ram. And it’s meat that is central to dining tables during this commemoration.

Small Ferris wheels across the Gaza Strip mark E-d al-Adha. (Photo by Charlie Andreasson) — Small Ferris wheels across the Gaza Strip mark Eid al-Adha. (Photo by Charlie Andreasson)

According to custom, the more affluent share their abundance after slaughtering their best animals. One third is given to the poor, one third to relatives, friends and neighbors, and the remaining third remains on dishes at home. Most of the wealthy no longer keep livestock, but rather buy food and then distribute it. It’s not uncommon to see people knocking on doors with bags in their hands.

Children wear new clothes to celebrate Eid al-Adha. (Photo by Charlie Andreasson)

This religious festival is not primarily about meat. But like the Christian part of the world celebrates Christmas, gifts and sweets are obvious feature. And clothes. Wherever you go in the streets you see people in their finest, and preferably new, clothes. Children are shorn and dressed up, and move more cautiously than usual so as not to dirty themselves. When darkness falls, people fill the streets to socialize and enjoy. There is an exhilaration that, to an observer, not even the intensified overflights of F-16s seems to obstruct.

A row of stores closed for the holiday. (Photo by Charlie Andreasson)

But something casts a shadow over the celebrations. The situation is getting worse in this coastal strip. Now that Egypt has made common cause with Israel, it is precariously difficult for people and goods to cross the border. The destruction of smuggling tunnels, the lifeline for people and businesses, has deepened the crisis. In addition, the media shadow is also falling over Gaza, as its siege has been all but hidden by the crisis in Syria. Last year, charities distributed 400,000 kilograms of livestock and winter clothing for 3,000 children. This year, there was significantly less. And rising unemployment, as a result of the intensifying blockade and warfare by the occupation forces against farmers and fishermen, has put its mark on the celebration of Eid.

A father and son in their Eid clothes. (Photo by Charlie Andreasson)

A poor society is rarely equal. Although some can manage well, while others seem to do so, the proportion of destitute people constantly increases. For them, Eid is another moment of exclusion from society, when they do not have enough food on the table to invite family and friends over, when they do not have new clothes to show off, when the consequences of the occupation, its heavy shade, prevent them from rejoicing with the diminishing ranks of those who can.

Eid al-Adha occurs the day after pilgrims complete the hajj pilgrimage to Mecca. For many of the people of Gaza, the pilgrimage was an impossibility, and had it been possible, they would have returned to empty plates. The intensifying overflights to mark the occupying power’s presence are hardly necessary. The consequences of its policies are increasingly clear, even without this constant reminder.

Video: The olive harvest in the Gaza Strip, 2013

16th October 2013 | International Solidarity Movement, Gal·la | Gaza, Occupied Palestine

Palestinians in the Gaza Strip harvest olives during the month of October. Several years ago, a large amount of land was planted with olive trees. They were completely destroyed by Israeli bulldozers, and Palestinians were prevented from replanting them by the so-called “green line.” Today the olive oil industry is a small part of the local economy. The export of this olive oil is also prevented as a consequence of more than seven years of the Zionist blockade.

Refusing to forget Palestinian political prisoners in Gaza

11th October 2013 | International Solidarity Movement, Charlie Andreasson | Gaza, Occupied Palestine

Every Monday here in central Gaza City a demonstration is held, and has been since 1994 or 1995. It was the first time I attended, though I’d probably call it a meeting more than a demonstration. Around 200 people had gathered in a small courtyard belonging to the Red Cross, with stretched canvas as protection from the sun. The simple wooden pews filled quickly. Those that did not fit on them stood along the walls. Several TV crews were in place. There was a short speech and subsequent interviews.

Women in the Red Cross Monday protest. (Photo by Gal·la López) — Women in the Monday Red Cross protest. (Photo by Gal·la López)

It is about the Palestinian prisoners in Israeli jails. Inmates in most cases, in some ways, resisted the occupation forces, but are also political prisoners. There were banners with portraits. Some of them brought to mind images of Russian icons. There were mothers and wives of prisoners who sat with pictures of these men, many lifers.

Mona Babakh, age 50. Her son Rami Barbakh, age 37, was imprisoned on 10 July 1994 and condemn to one life sentence. (Photo by Gal·la López) — Mona Babakh, age 50. Her son Rami Barbakh, age 37, was imprisoned on 10 July 1994 and condemned to one life sentence. (Photo by Gal·la López)

But there was also a pretty hilarious mood, chatting along the benches instead of absorbing the speech, gravity mixing with the joy of reunited friends. It had elements of a social meeting, certainly not what I would call a demonstration.

Mothers and wives of the detainees. (Photo by Gal·la López)

While I sat there, I made a comparison with ‘the Mothers’ in Buenos Aires, with their regular demonstrations against the then-prevailing junta demanding to know what happened to their men and children, but soon realized that the comparison limps precariously. Their goal was clear. These recurrent demonstrations as more in the nature of social events instead, as a safety valve, to show each other that they are not forgotten, that they support their missing relatives, where they feel that they are not alone in their loss. And it is this cohesion that is so familiar to people here, and perhaps that makes it so hard to subdue the proud people more than anything else. They have not forgotten, they refuse to forget and they are waiting for the day when they will all be free.

Detainees' relative protest in front of the Red Cross. (Photo by Gal·la López) — Detainees’ relatives protest in front of the Red Cross. (Photo by Gal·la López)

Illegal Israeli settlers attack Palestinian farmer attempting to harvest almonds

14th September 2013 | International Solidarity Movement, Nablus Team | Kafr Qalil, Occupied West Bank

Photo of Bracha settlers taken after running for our lives (Photo by ISM)

Late Friday night we received a call to accompany a farmer to harvest almonds early the following morning in Kafr Qalil, a village south of Nablus. This is a completely normal activity, harvesting crops when they are ripe and ready-to-pick; however, in Palestine, simply trying to tend to one’s land can be a life-risking event.

At times, international activists and observers accompany Palestinian farmers whose lands are close to settlements and who are at great risk for attack. For some settlers, though a limited minority, international presence can act as a deterrent against violence. For the settlement of Bracha, widely known for its unfettered brutality against Palestinians, there seems to be little that can influence the scope and scale of their attacks.

As soon as we received the call, our team began to scramble a bit- rereading our fellow activists’ reports from a few weeks ago in which the same farmer and his family were violently assaulted by the settlers from Bracha, his almond harvest and donkey stolen. We discussed our plan should the settlers attack again and reassured ourselves that the majority would likely be in synagogue all day, as it was the holiday of Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement.

The following morning we arrived to Kafr Qalil around 6:30 to meet the farmer and international observers from EAPPI. After a few quick rounds of tea, we set off for the almond and olive groves in the south of the village. The farmer’s young son led our convoy, riding a donkey and carrying the tools and bags necessary for the harvest. As we walked and chatted about the general situation in the area, the farmer kept close watch over his son, calling him back anytime he rode too far in advance.

We walked the long, windy hills until we reached the groves where we split into two groups, two of us taking the higher hill and four, including the farmer and his son, taking the lower. As my partner climbed the highest hill to look for trees ready to pick, I waited down below, inspecting those badly damaged by fires set two months before by the settlers. The leaves crumbled in my hands to dust.

No more than five minutes later, in a flash of white, the settlers attacked. Without warning, around 15 men and teenage boys began running through the trees, shouting abuses and hurling massive stones toward the farmer, his son and the internationals present. As I called to my partner to warn him, the settlers also began charging toward me, also throwing stones and screaming. Needless to say, and not at all an overstatement, we all ran for our lives. From the corner of my eye, I managed to spot the farmer ahead of me, struggling to run quickly as he walks with a cane. His son and the donkey were even farther ahead. One of the international volunteers was hit in the back with a stone. The settlers continued chasing us through the trees until we reached an area closer to the village, out of breath, panicked and exhausted. Eventually, when they tired of shouting at us to leave, they settled under a tree, dashing any chance of returning to harvest.

Nearly 20 minutes after the assault, the farmer got in touch with the army commander of the area, who just happened to be sitting in a military jeep on the settler road below the olive grove. The commander insisted that we walk down the steep, rocky terrain to talk to him and explain the situation. After a brief discussion, one of the soldiers arrogantly declared that they “kicked the settlers’ asses back to the settlement,” (conveniently) well after the attack and botched harvest. They assured us that they would stay in the area so that the farmer would be able to work. An international volunteer asked where she could make a complaint about the assault, an inquiry which was met by some laughter from the soldiers who told her she was welcome to make a complaint at the Ariel police department (a futile journey, indeed).

Settlers shouting across the olive and almonds groves (Photo by ISM)

Slowly, we marched back up the hill, listening to the farmers advice to stay quiet and keep our eyes on the horizon, should the settlers return. Unsurprisingly, the army remained quite far away, seemingly unconcerned about the potential for another assault. As we sat under the tree to make a new plan, the farmer told us about all the attacks before, the stolen equipment and donkeys, the many fires that had burned most of the trees that surrounded us. It was hard to understand how a man could remain so calm and kind after a mob of religious nationalist extremists attacked him and his family yet another time.

It felt like a failed day, as not even a single almond was picked. Only the farmer managed to keep a positive attitude. He said that the almonds that we would have harvested are not the most important thing. He came to show both the settlers and the army that this is his land, just as it belonged to his father and his grandfather before him. This is his land and he will continue to plant it and to harvest his crops. This is his land and no violence by the settlers, no violence supported by the army, will ever drive him away.

I feel really uncertain as to what would have happened if the settlers had managed to catch any of us, particularly the farmer and his son. I keep going over the event in my mind, trying to piece together an attack that happened so quickly, but was so extreme in its violence and intensity. In the end, I feel sure that if we ran a bit slower, if the farmer or his son had been caught, the day would have ended quite differently, with someone badly hurt or even killed. It is not uncommon here in Palestine, where farming one’s land must be considered a brave and courageous act.