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.
We stopped by the roadside at the spot where the two little girls had been killed. Their blood still stained the cushion on which they had been sitting, fragments of the military jeep which had rammed their father’s tractor still littered the ground. Janaa Fakha (8), her sister Maasa (5) and their brother Hussein (9) never saw what hit them as they waited for their father to take them from the family fields to their home in the small village of Al Ain al Baida in the northern Jordan Valley. Al Ain al Baida (the White Spring) is one of the few remaining Palestinian villages here. Its inhabitants scratch a living from what remains to them of their lands in this fertile and beautiful area.
That April day Emad Fakha had taken three of his four children to help in the fields after school, something they enjoyed, a treat. The children had climbed into the “basket” on the ground at the rear of the tractor, ready to be lifted up. Emad was preparing to start the motor when an Israeli military jeep swerved off the road, at speed, and rammed into the tractor from behind. While Hussein was thrown clear and suffered only a broken leg, the little girls didn’t stand a chance. With the body of one sister draped obscenely over its front bumper, the jeep reversed for five or six metres and then rammed once again into the tractor. What might have been a tragic accident is thus revealed for what it was – a cold-blooded murder.
Their jeep undriveable and so unable to escape, the soldiers threatened Emad with their rifles. More soldiers arrived but it was 25 minutes before the Israeli police reached the scene. The soldiers claimed that it was “an accident”, but Israeli citizen Eliazer Salam, from the settlement at Yama, who had witnessed the entire incident from his car, testified that the jeep driver had not applied his brakes at any stage and had, indeed, swerved off the road and accelerated into the tractor.
The jeep’s driver was arrested but there has been no news that he is to face any charges in a court of law. When I asked the family whether there would be an inquest (explaining that this was the usual procedure in Western, democratic countries) they didn’t understand the term. They have no recourse to the protection of the law, as we know it. Far from protecting the civilian population of the territories which they occupy, as required under international law, the Israeli military brutalises and preys upon a helpless people.
Recent similar incidents in the Nablus region – at Awarta and in Jenin – where Israeli military vehicles have been used to run down pedestrians and ram a civilian car, with fatal consequences, seem to point to an emerging pattern. The psychopathic tendencies of certain members of the Israel Defence (sic) Force have found an outlet.
Meanwhile, a single, small grave has been dug in the graveyard at Al Ain al Baida. It houses the remains of two small sisters, their severed limbs and bodies buried as one, together forever under the sun, clouds and rain of their beloved Palestine.
Last week, two small, rural outposts were awaiting two payloads from a 4×4 that was snaking its way along the winding, West Bank roads of the South Hebron hills. The first was the material to construct some alternative energy sources for these small communities, the second was an international presence that would aid them in the fight for their legitimacy. Distant Clouds
In the hills around Susya, sheep- and goat-herders live in small, tented communities in the wadis of Israeli-controlled “Area C” in the West Bank. These communities are fighting for their existence against the Israeli policy of ethnic cleansing in the region, where strict controls limit the quality of life that is possible for these people.
Our first stop was to deliver the parts to construct both solar and wind-powered electricity sources to an isolated site where two families live in tents. The access to their dwelling was a painstakingly slow, bumpy drive up a rock-strewn dirt-track which lay off the side of a minor country road. In order to dissuade Palestinians to live in these areas, which are under the threat of increasing Israeli Settlement expansion, these families are limited in what they can construct and are not connected to the electricity grid nor a main water supply. Even the installation of these clean, alternative energy sources falls foul of the law, risking Israeli demolition orders. But a small group of activists on both sides of the Green Line are committed to providing a decent standard of living to these people.
Our next stop was to deliver ourselves to the small community of Khirbet Bir al ‘Idd, just north of the small village of Jinba, itself lying just several kilometres north of the proposed route for the West Bank Apartheid Barrier. Four months ago, on November 8th 2009, two families moved back to these hills to prevent the Israeli settlements from extending into their wadi. We were to spend the next few days living with Abu Tarek who lives here with his wife and youngest daughter, raising sheep.Sparse Grazing
Abu Tarek gave up his life in the nearby city of Yatta in order to protect the Palestinian land here, and in doing so, has drastically changed his lifestyle. The family is forbidden from erecting any permanent structures by the Israeli authorities, they have no mains electricity nor running water.
The land upon which he lives includes several caves, two of which are used to provide shelter for his flock of over sixty sheep. The walls within which the family live are built of local rocks, and stand less than five feet high; their roof is tarpaulin. Yet within these rustic limitations, the family has created a homely sanctity from the harsh meteorological and political conditions outside.
The reason for our presence was to both encourage the family in their activity, and support them when facing the constant struggle with the Israeli settlers and army. The day before our arrival, Abu Tarek had been threatened by an Israeli soldier, and a local settler tries to destroy the community’s livelihood by grazing his own flock on their agricultural land, thus destroying their crop.
Life here begins with the sun, rising to milk the sheep before breakfasting on the delicious bread, freshly baked in a taboon by Abu Tarek’s wife, served with the products of their farming here: warm milk and lebeneh. The lack of electricity means no refrigeration, and so transformation of the milk to a longer-lasting substance is a must.
Whilst out grazing the sheep, Abu Tarek’s concern of the situation here is clear. To avoid problems with the Israeli authorities, he must be careful to not let his sheep drift to the other side of the dirt-track that leads to an Israeli Settler’s farm. Rocks thrown here are to direct and contain the sheep, rather than a resistance of the IDF by the local Shebab.
This dirt-track segregates the hill-top that lies between the land that the Palestinians are authorised to use for grazing, and the land that they can use for cultivation. When pointing-out which parts of the valley he can “safely” use to graze, he neglects the greener, more fertile verdure, which he says have been taken by the Settlers. The Palestinians rarely get the rich-pickings of their own land.
Whilst Abu Tarek is watching over his flock on the rocky hills below the track, I hike further up this hill to ensure that the community’s wheat is not being destroyed by the Settler’s own flock. The panorama from the top of this hill provides a vivid portrayal of the encroachment of the surrounding Israeli settlements, a stark contrast to the restricted development that is afforded to the Palestinians.
The intimidation by the Israelis is ever-present. In one day, less than an hour apart, we were harassed first by an Israeli official, responsible for the management of this land, and then by Israeli soldiers. The official tried to claim that he had seen the Palestinians take their flock onto land that was reserved to the settlers, defining the track as the dividing line. (We had been present all morning and the flock had not crossed the track.)Soldiers Harass
Later, an army jeep approaches from the Settler’s farm and three young soldiers exit, rifles slung across their chests to confront Abu Tarek & Abu Nassir, the other patriarch of the community. They speak patronisingly to these two dignified men, telling them that they were but “children” here in this land, that this is Jewish land, and that they shouldn’t be grazing their sheep here at all. Their protests seem to fall on deaf ears, despite the earlier altercation with the land-management official. When I ask them to show me a map of the area, defining the division and allocation of the land, they claim not to have one, and promptly leave.
This racial division is also evident when the Palestinians try to address complaints to the police about Settler intrusions or attacks. As this is “Area C”, the police are Israeli. Abu Tarek tells us that when he has telephoned the police, upon hearing his Arabic accent when speaking Hebrew, the operator simply hung-up.
Despite the daily hardships that this family faces, life within their modest home is jovial, soulful and rich, and their welcome is incredibly warm and heart-felt. Whilst I would recommend any international to visit them and help defend their cause, I hope that they will soon no-longer need to welcome us as fighters against the Occupation, and simply as friends.
There was an odd collection of internationals rousing in our media office this morning. We were an eclectic mix of activists from the US, Denmark, France, England, Sweden and Taiwan preparing to head out to various demonstrations across the West Bank. After an early guitar session with fellow volunteers, we waved goodbye and began our journey to the Nabi Salih protest. Although we hadn’t made this journey before, we found the service in Ramallah without much trouble. We were three at this point, Valle, Sweet Prince and Lucy, fresh with international enthusiasm to go to a Palestinian demonstration.
Fifteen minutes into the ride, it dawned on us that we needed an alibi if we were questioned by the IDF at the Atara checkpoint just ahead. Valle, pulling out a giant wooden cross out of his bag, thought that we could perhaps pass as Christian zealots following the footsteps of the Crusaders in a village called Sinjil, which apparently has some ancient tombs. Inevitably, the soldier at the checkpoint demanded to see our passports and told us to turn back. After much debate, a shebab persuaded us to follow him on a paved road nearby to get around the checkpoint. We reluctantly followed him, foreseeing that a military vehicle will pull up and chastise us for undermining their orders. Of course, five minutes later, a soldier brandishing an M-16 demanded to know where we thought we were going. Damn, we thought, busted so soon.
In a diplomatic tone, Sweet Prince calmly explained that we were simply pilgrims on our way to visit the holy sites in Sinjil. Unfortunately, we looked more like hippies then devout Christians. Not completely buying our story, the soldier insisted on us handing over our passports. Knowing that our magical little passbooks of privilege would most likely be confiscated and not returned until we signed a letter prohibiting us from re-entering the West Bank, we refused. After a couple minutes of fruitless negotiating, we were forced to turn back.
In our determined spirit and armed with a UN map of the area, we decided to make a 12 kilometer trek weaving through the valleys, dodging the checkpoints to reach Nabi Salih. We zigzagged through aged olive groves, passed picnicking families and strolled along tree-lined stone cobbled footpaths. Nevertheless, the overwhelming injustice of the occupation crept up on us as we saw wadis and its vast tiers of stone lined plateaus upon the horizon; a work of labor over a matter of years and decades that can be snatched away from Palestinians upon the flicker of a pen. Another picture perfect postcard with a back story not often known in this ignorant world of ours I thought. And the beat goes on with the occupation at 61 years of age.
Alas, after three hours under the warm Palestinian sun, we finally approached Nabi Salih. The deserted streets with accompanied by gun shots and shouting ringing from a distance. Due to our three hour detour, we had just missed the demonstration as the press, with gas masks still strapped on their foreheads were heading out. What was still alive and kicking were the shebab throwing stones at the IDF in the field. After a quick refreshment at a Palestinian house, we proceeded to witness tear gasses clouds above a scattered crowd of Palestinian youth, some barely even 7 years old, flinging rocks with homemade slings at one of the most powerful armies in the world.
Valle's lip after being hit by a rubber bullet.
We were within 300 meters of the IDF, far behind the shebab taking photos when Valle nonchalantly said, “I think something hit me.” A stream of crimson red was running down from his lip. A circle of Palestinians, Israeli activists and internationals soon formed around the wounded Swede. In the midst of a panicked crowd, Valle tried to assure everyone that he was okay as he held a blood soaked handkerchief in his hand. Although a bit relieved, we could still clearly see that his upper lip had been cut completely through; forming three lips like those of cleft lips. At first, we thought that it could have been shrapnel that sliced his lip, but a shebab later said that he saw a rubber bullet ricochet from the ground. If it had been a rubber bullet that hit him straight on, his teeth would have been smashed in, a cringing thought.
Within minutes of Valle being shot, the IDF unleashed 40 canisters of high velocity tear gas from their military vehicle. The canisters rained down in all directions as plumes of thick white tear gas lingered in the blue sky, scattering the crowd like ants. It was a run-run-as-fast-as-you-can kind of situation with apprehension of the canister dropping on our heads or being engulfed in the lachrymatory agent. As we ran, an Arabic speaking international managed to hail a car to bring Valle to the hospital. He returned an hour later with three stitches and enough resilience to want to go back to the field where the shebab were still hurling stones. Until sundown, it was a cat and mouse game until the IDF started shooting live ammunition into the air and at the ground, creating mushrooms of dust to show the shebab that time’s up, they’ve had enough today.
It’s an obvious act of resistance against the occupation as anyone can see, but it’s also evident that it was a game for the IDF, shooting tear gas canisters, lobbing sound grenades and firing rubber bullets at Palestinians for hours until they’ve had enough and eventually invade the field with their US funded military arms and chase the Palestinians back to their homes. It’s a procedural Friday routine we were told by the Palestinian family who later treated us to dinner in their home. Knowing that Palestinians won’t be able to succeed through force in this current state of affairs, I couldn’t help but wonder how these weekly stone-throwing actions hinder the reconciliation process as Israeli media paints the picture of violent anti-Semitic Arabs. However, many of the shebab are simply unloading steam, taking out their frustration and in their stone throwing, physically resisting the occupation.
We returned to Ramallah and smoke boxed the apartment with strong, cancer-ridden Palestinian cigarettes and we swapped stories of the various protests we were at. The stale cigarette smoke mixed with the rotten smell of sewerage, carried back by two other volunteers who were sprayed with stinky water at the Bil’in protest, despite their multiple showers. The mood was jovial. We compared mental notes of our day in Palestine over sweet sage tea. Shot, stinking, dirty and tired, we laughed away our fucked up world through antics and jokes and went off to a world of dreams.
Abdallah Abu Rahmah at a demonstration in the village of Bilin in 2005. He was arrested an imprisoned on 10/12/2009 at 2AM.
Dear Friends and Supporters,
It has been two months now since I was handcuffed, blindfolded and taken from my home. Today news has reached Ofer Military Prison that the apartheid wall on Bil’in’s land will finally be moved and construction has begun on the new route. This will return half of the land that was stolen from our village. For those of us in Ofer, imprisoned for our protest against the wall, this victory makes the suffering of being here easier to bear. After actively resisting the theft of our land by the Israeli apartheid wall and settlements every week for five years now, we long to be standing along side our brothers and sisters to mark this victory and the fifth anniversary of our struggle.
Ofer is an Israeli military base inside the occupied territories that serves as a prison and military court. The prison is a collection of tents enclosed by razor wire and an electrical fence, each unit containing four tents, 22 prisoners per tent. Now, in winter, wind and rain comes in through cracks in the tent and we don’t have sufficient blankets, clothes, and other basic necessities.
Food is a critical issue here in Ofer, there’s not enough. We survive by buying ingredients from the prison canteen that we prepare in our tent. We have one small hot plate, and this is also our only source of warmth. Those whose families can put money in an account for us to buy food, do so, but many cannot afford to. The positive aspect to this is that I have learned how to cook! Tonight I made falafel and sweets to celebrate the news about our victory. I cannot wait to get home and cook for my wife and children!
I was arrested in my slippers, and to this day my family has been unable to get permission to supply me with a pair of shoes. I was finally given my watch after repeated requests. For me this is an essential way to keep oriented; it was unbearable not being able to see the rate at which time passes. Receiving it, I felt so overjoyed, like a child getting his first watch. I can barely imagine what it will be like to have a pair of proper shoes again.
Because of our imprisonment, the military considers our families to be a security threat. It is very hard for our wives, children and extended family to visit. My friend, Adeeb Abu Rahmah, also a political prisoner from Bil’in, cannot receive visits from his wife and one of his daughters. Even his mother, a woman in her eighties who is currently in bad health, is considered a security threat! He is afraid that he will not see her before she dies.
I am a teacher and before my arrest I taught at a private school in Birzeit and also owned a chicken farm. My family had to sell the farm at a loss after I was arrested. I don’t know if I will have my position at the school when I am released.Adeeb ‘s family of nine is left without their sole provider, as are many other families. Not being able to care for our loved ones who need us is the hardest part of being here.
It is the support that I receive from my family and friends that helps me go on. I am grateful to the Palestinian leaders who have contacted my family, the diplomats from the European Union and to the Israeli activists who have expressed their support by attending my hearings. The relationship we have built together with the activists has gone beyond the definition of colleague or friend, we are brothers and sisters in this struggle. You are an unrelenting source of inspiration and solidarity. You have stood with us during demonstrations and court hearings, and during our happiest and most painful occasions. Being in prison has shown me how many true friends I have, I am so grateful to all of you.
From the confines of my imprisonment it becomes so clear that our struggle is far bigger than justice for only Bil’in or even Palestine. We are engaged in an international fight against oppression. I know this to be true when I remember all of you from around the world who have joined the movement to stop the wall and settlements. Ordinary people enraged by the occupation have made our struggle their own, and joined us in solidarity. We will surely join together to struggle for justice in other places when Palestine is finally free.
Missing the five-year anniversary of our struggle in Bil’in will be like missing the birthday of one of my children. Lately I think a lot about my friend Bassem whose life was taken during a nonviolent demonstration last year and how much I miss him. Despite the pain of this loss, and the yearning I feel to be with my family and friends at home, I think that if this is the price we must pay for our freedom, then it is worth it, and we would be willing to pay much more.
Yours,
Abdallah Abu Rahmah
From the Ofer Military Detention Camp
Yesterday a man died in Al Khalil/Hebron. Israeli soldiers shot him, and he died of his injuries. He was a Palestinian of about forty, with a large family.
There are different versions of what happened. The Israeli military have reported that the man attempted to stab one or more soldiers with a knife and that the soldiers then shot him. Locals say that this is not true. One report CPTers have heard is that Palestinian kids were throwing stones and the soldiers started shooting; the man had not been involved but was shot while he was trying to escape from danger. We were not there and so do not know.
There has been no large funeral of the kind often held when a Palestinian dies this way. The man was buried quietly late last night; a Palestinian friend told us that this was at the insistence of the Israeli authorities.
Earlier this week a Palestinian man stabbed an Israeli soldier to death in the Nablus area. Did that influence the soldiers who pulled their triggers in Hebron yesterday? I don’t know.
What I do know is that the soldiers here in Hebron go out in groups of six and that each soldier wears heavy body protection and a helmet. If the man did indeed have a knife, might it have been possible for the six soldiers to have disarmed him without killing him?
Three of us from CPT were at the spot an hour or so after it happened. I heard a Palestinian woman wail, ‘Ibni, ibni’ (‘My son, my son.’) She was the man’s mother. I have been thinking of her today, and of the mother of the Israeli soldier killed near Nablus. I know that I shall think of them too on Good Friday, as I think of another mother grieving for her son.
