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.
8 March 2012 | International Solidarity Movement, Gaza
Thaer Abed Al Hameed Mahdi died on Saturday, March 3rd, 2012. He was 23 years old. A rope snapped and he plunged down a shaft to his death. He died instantly. His coworkers Jamal Kamel Mahdi and Raed Jaber Mahdi survived, they are still in the hospital. Jamal is in the European Hospital with two broken legs and a broken arm. Raed is in Shifa Hospital. His back is broken. Three years ago Israel slaughtered almost 1,500 Gazans, and nobody was held accountable for that massacre, and no one even talks of the hundreds or thousands that have been killed and injured in the tunnels since the beginning of the siege. The tunnels that are Gaza’s only link to things like cement, whose import into Gaza is forbidden by Israel.
Thaer was just a normal young man; he wanted what all young men in Gaza want, to get married, to have a family. Those are things that he will never have. Marriage and family of his own were always a dream for him, but a distant dream. The money he earned from his job working in the tunnels went to help his own parents and his eight younger brothers and sisters. He started working in the tunnels six months ago; there was no other work to be found. His family needed the money; their only income was his father’s job as a doorman at Al Aqsa University. Money was tight. He went with his two friends, Raed and Jamal, and got a job in the place they could find one, the tunnels.
Even this job was only three or four days a week, when he got the call, he went to work. He never knew what he would be doing, unloading the cement his tunnel imported into Gaza, or working underground in the hot airless tunnel. On Saturday, the three of them went to work, they got on the seat that they rode down into the tunnel and started the descent, the rope broke, they fell. Thaer will never get married; he will never see his own children.
This is what we heard as we sat in the mourning tent with Thaer’s uncle. This was the story of Thaer’s life and death. Thaer died when a rope broke, but he was killed by the siege that strangles Gaza. His uncle said to us, “The main reason for the siege is the division between Fatah and Hamas, the division must end. The youth must be given a chance to live a normal life.”
Nathan Stuckey is a volunteer with International Solidarity Movement.
7 March 2012 | International Solidarity Movement, Gaza
Today, like ever Tuesday, we marched into the no go zone north of Beit Hanoun. We gathered by the half destroyed Beit Hanoun Agricultural College and marched north, towards Jerusalem. A Jerusalem that few of the protesters have ever seen, they have never been allowed to go to Jerusalem, it is forbidden to them, just as the land in the no go zone is forbidden to them. Jerusalem and Al Aqsa are unseen. We demonstrated for Al Aqsa and the prisoners. The prisoners too are unseen; Gazans are not allowed to visit their sons and brothers and held in the prisons of the occupation. As we walked down the road toward the no go zone a giant balloon rose over the wall. We are the seen, watched from giant balloons, watched from soldiers in the towers that line the wall, seen from the sights of guns, an Apache helicopter roars in the distance. Local herders tell us that there are tanks behind the wall. For us, the soldiers who look at us through rifle scopes are yet unseen. Later, they will make their appearance. In the sky floats the black flag which flies over the occupation, most of the world refuses to see it, they refuse to recognize it for what it is, but for the people of Palestine it always floats in the sky, like the second moon in a Murakami novel.
We enter the no go zone and walk toward the flags that we have left during previous demonstrations. There are about forty of us, we have no guns, only our voices and our flags. We stop by row of flags we left last week. Sabur Zaaneen from the Local Initiative of Beit Hanoun starts to speak, “Khader Adnan told us that honor is more important than food, Hana Shalabi reminds us that freedom is more important than food, we will continue the struggle.” Both of them are held in Israeli prisons, neither of them have been charges with any crime. Three months ago few people knew who either of them were, they were unseen, but they still existed, within them both was a great power and a great determination. Both of them refuse to be oppressed in silence, their hunger strikes are calls for justice, for honor. They are inspirations to us all.
We sit down under the flags. Our goal is to spend twenty minutes in the no go zone. After only a couple of minutes the unseen Israeli soldiers start to shoot at us. Bullets whistle over our heads, thirty maybe forty of them. We stand up, retreat down a small hill and stop. The young men begin to chant, against the occupation, pledging their lives to defend Al Aqsa, an Al Aqsa that few of them have ever seen, in support of Hana Shalabi, a woman none of us has ever seen. It doesn’t matter that most of them have never seen Al Aqsa, or Jenin, or Hebron, or Jaffa, that they have never seen the homes from which their grandfathers were driven, the orange trees that fed their grandmothers, those things are still theirs, they are still inside of them. Theft does not change possession.
We leave the no go zone when we want, we are not driven out by the Israeli bullets which whistle over our heads. As we leave the no go zone the soldiers come out of hiding and watch us from atop their tower, we see them with our bare eyes, they see us through rifle sights. We have done what we set out to do today, we have tried in our small way to remind people that closing your eyes and saying that you don’t see something does not make it disappear. What is unseen is often more important than what is seen. Food we can all see, honor, none of us can see, but honor is more important than food. Al Aqsa is something that many of the people here have never seen, but it is something for which we are willing to give our lives. Justice cannot be seen, but all of us are willing to fight for it. The struggle will go on, a struggle mostly for unseen things, often unseeable things. It is a struggle for the only things really worth fighting for, justice, freedom, and peace. I have never seen Khader Adnan or Hana Shalabi but I would like to thank them both, for showing us what heroism looks like. Even those that have never seen Al Aqsa know that it is beautiful, that it is worth dying for.
Nathan Stuckey is a volunteer with International Solidarity Movement.
2 March 2012 | International Solidarity Movement, West Bank
Today we went to Bil’in, a small village 17 km from Ramallah. For decades it has been harassed by the Israeli army. When the Apartheid Wall was constructed, it separated the farmers from their land.
Seven years ago, the villagers succeeded in moving the wall a bit towards the settlements again and gained back a few meters of the land where their great grandparents already lived.
Every Friday after that, there where demonstrations organized. For my friend and I, this was our first demonstration in the West Bank.
Luckily we had a bit of an idea about what to expect because the others told us about the situation.
When we arrived in Bil’in we gathered together with the villagers and went together to the place where the demonstration was held. One of the villagers we met there had been already arrested 3 times. Still that doesn’t stop him for going on with fighting for his land and his people.
We drove through the valley, it was all so beautiful, the atmosphere relaxed, and the people loving. I almost forgot that the country is occupied, until we arrived at the Wall, with barbed wire fence to protect it.
Soldiers stood behind it with their “toys,” at least that’s the way it looked.
It all started off really quiet. There was some yelling, some hanging around at the wall but nothing more then that.
The soldiers came and were looking at us from the other side of the wall at what we were doing. A few of the Palestinian boys started throwing rocks, which obviously was purely symbolic. The soldiers were far away and wore protection.
Some of the boys tried to get through the wire to the wall. A few managed to do that and started laughing and slapt the wall a bit. It was still a very friendly protest.
My friend, Mira, and I were taking videos and pictures. At some point the soldiers started shooting teargas directed at us, who were filming. Thick clouds of smoke were surrounding us within seconds. It smelled like fire works, but more sour and very sharp. I couldn’t see anything and breathing was really difficult. My cheeks and nose were burning.
After a few minutes I was fine again. Luckily Mira was able to avoid it a bit more than I did.
After this action from the military, we pulled back and stayed a bit away. After a while we went to the group again. For half an hour the situation was again like before. Hanging out, boys throwing rocks again, and I even heard one of the boys communicating with one of the soldiers.
The short conversation ended in laughter of the soldier and a few minutes after that there came a lot of teargas again, even more than before. This time it was Mira who suffered more from the gas.
When the action ended I heard that they did shoot rubber coated steel bullets at the boys, “But probably it was meant as a warning to not 0come too close to the wall,” another protester said
Even though the whole action looks like a ritual almost, it makes me more angry than I was before. Taking away the land, using weapons towards people, children even, who have absolutely nothing. The soldiers themselves are even kids, like 17 -18 years old. Just boys fighting an old man ‘s war filled with hate already from since they were born.
How crazy is that? By far, i haven’t seen the worst yet..
We will see what the future brings Free Palestine!
Boycott Israel ( bar code beginning with ” 729″ )
29 February 2012 | International Solidarity Movement, Gaza
Israeli riot police have entered the Al Aqsa Mosque Compound, Palestinians have struggling to protect it for days. After 66 days Khader Adnan has ended his hunger strike, hopefully, soon, he will be home with his family. Even before his hunger strike ended the newest one had begun. Hana Shalabi, a young woman from the West Bank, was put into “administrative detention” on February 16, 2012. Like Khader Adnan she has been charged with no crime. Like Khader Adnan she finds dignity more important than food. Hana Shalabi was only recently released from Israeli prisons, freed in the latest prisoner exchange between Israel and Palestine. She had spent over two years in prison when she was released, she had not been charged with a crime that time either. These are the things that inspired this week’s demonstration against the no go zone and the occupation in Beit Hanoun.
As we gathered on the road beside the half destroyed Beit Hanoun Agricultural College the wind blew fiercely. The flags did not wave in the breeze, they were held stretched out in full. Those that did not have flags had posters of Al Aqsa. Music played over the megaphone. We marched quietly and quickly down the road to the no go zone. As we approached the buffer zone the chanting began, dozens of young men pledging to defend Al Aqsa and demanding the end of occupation. We marched to the ditch that bisects the no go zone, we stopped. Sabur Zaaneen from the Local Initiative of Beit Hanoun said a few words, “Al Aqsa is at the center of our nation, it is at the center of our life, we will not abandon it.” Sabur announced that we would symbolically join Hana’s hunger strike, for two hours we would remain in the no go zone and neither eat nor drink.
Soon, the Israeli shooting began. The first bullet I thought was perhaps the crack of a flag in the wind; there was no mistaking the bullets after that. We retreated a bit, then the young men stopped and rallied. The flag we had been standing by now had a hole in it. We walked back toward the wall; soldiers appeared on top of the concrete tower from which they had so recently shot at us. The soldiers started to fire tear gas at us. The fierce wind carried it away too quickly for it to be really effective. They started to shoot at us again. The bullets whistled over our heads. We were unarmed demonstrators, who had not so much as thrown a ball of cotton, who had no guns, being shot at by soldiers in a concrete tower. This is the only way the occupation knows how to speak, with bullets, with tear gas. We started to walk back toward Beit Hanoun, bullets whistling over our heads. We stopped at the edge of the no go zone. Some of us set down to continue our symbolic hunger strike. The Israeli bullets began again. They continued to shoot as we walked back to Beit Hanoun. The entire time the Israeli soldiers shot at us Hana Shalabi refused to eat and drink, her refusal is louder than their bullets. We will win.
21 February 2012 | International Solidarity Movement, West Bank
Five years ago Abed Seder’s wife, Kefah, was shot five times in the chest by Israeli soldiers as she went onto her roof to check her water tank. She was 23 years old and left three sons motherless. He tells me his sons are afraid to go on the roof, which overlooks the illegal Zionist settlement of Beit Hadassah. To an international community, Abed’s struggle is one of trauma and loss, but he tells it with shockingly familiar regularity.
Israeli military is seen often in Palestinian neighborhoods in Al Khalil
Abed´s home is sandwiched inbetween Beit Hadassah and Beit HaShisha settlements, from which he receives regular torrents of abuse and violence. Rubbish and broken glass bearing Hebrew writing litters the path to his front door, bypassing the nets which attempt to catch the used nappies and toilet roles. His windows have been boarded up from the outside by Israeli soldiers in an attempt to prevent settlers from throwing molotov cocktails into Abed´s home. Abed shows me the view from his caged bedroom window, which looks directly onto a neatly planted playground, complete with basket ball court where the children of immigrant Zionists can enjoy the sunshine. As one of them raises their middle finger, Abed tells me that they regularly throw water and beer bottles so they try to keep the window closed.
Perhaps the saddest victim of this has been Abed´s 6 year old son Wadia, who was left blind after Abed´s neighbours threw chloric acid from their rooftops two years ago. He was just four years old. Wadia has since been seeking treatment in a hospital in Jordan while Abed and his wife can only afford to visit him once every three months.
Shards of glass reflect the hatred of extremist, illegal settlers
In 1967 Israel occupied Hebron along with the rest of the West Bank. The settlement of Kiyat Arba was established on the outskirts of Hebron in 1968, later allowing for communities of settlers to illegally occupy properties such as the Hadassah Hospital and other Palestinian neighbourhoods such as Tel Rumeida. Hebron is currently home to over one hundred thousand Palestinians, who are suffering at the hands of some 500-800 settlers protected by a constant Israeli military presence.
Since the Second Intifada, settler violence has escalated in the city of Hebron with illegal settlers routinely attacking and violating the rights of their Palestinian neighbours. B’tselem has recorded incidents of physical assaults, including beatings, stone throwing and hurling of refuse, sand, water, chlorine and empty bottles. Settlers have destroyed shops and doors, committed thefts and chopped down fruit trees. Settlers have also been involved in gunfire, attempts to run people over, poisoning of a water well, breaking into homes, spilling of hot liquid on the face of a Palestinian, and the killing of a young Palestinian girl.
“Price Tagging” has become a coined phrase for the violent, illegal, Zionist settlers “struggle” as they continue to illegally steal land throughout the West Bank. On 24 July 2008, after Israeli security forces removed a bus that had been placed in the Adey Ad outpost, the head of the settlers’ struggle headquarters in Yitzhar was quoted in Ha’aretz as saying,
“The police have to understand that there will be a very high price tag on any event of this kind.”
He described the harm to Palestinians as “a display of good citizenship that is intended to help the police enforce the planning and building laws in the area on Palestinians, too.” Collective punishment is illegal under international law and is a violation of the Geneva Convention.
B’Tselem has investigated many incidents of settler violence and stated to have found that “Israeli forces intervened late, usually when Palestinians begin throwing stones at their attackers. The late response cannot be justified, as these incidents are part of a pattern and can be predicted. They conclude that “the security forces must prepare in advance in a way that will enable them to prevent harm to Palestinians.” B´Tselem stated that the authorities have systematically failed to enforce law and order against violent settlers attacking Palestinians.
Abed Seder stands before his home in Al Khalil
Human rights worker Hisham Shabarati explains the relationship between the soldiers and the settlers as a kind of role play, where by “settlers are able to make the actions the military can’t.” He describes settlers as a political instrument able to carry out random and brutal attacks under the protection of Israeli soldiers.
“They have the same agenda; to make life unbearable for the Palestinians.”
Abed Seder’s home in the Old City of Hebron is four hundred years old. His brother and four children live above him and his great-grandfather lived here before them. For Abed, the act of resisting occupation stretches for as far as he can continue to live in the home which he legally owns. Its traditional arched doorways and original winding stairways make his home a desirable target for many settlers looking to move into an area which former Prime Minister David Ben Gurion described as “more Jewish even than Jerusalem.”
As long as Israel protects the rights of illegal settlers in Hebron over the rights of the Palestinian people, Abed and his family will suffer.
Silvia is a volunteer with International Solidarity Movement (name has been changed).
