In Montreal on Saturday, protestors marched through the streets carrying a symbolic coffin with the writing ‘United Nations’ to represent the international community’s failure to condemn the Gaza atrocities. A vigil was held after the march.
At 11am on Thursday, the Palestinians of Azun Atme will hold a non-violent protest against the construction by Israel of a wall surrounding and isolating their village. Israeli and international supporters will take part in the demonstration.
The Israeli apartheid wall will completely ghettoize the Palestinian village if it follows the planned route declared by the Israeli government. It is feared that ten houses and large tracts of agricultural land will be cut off from the rest of the village and effectively annexed to Israel.
Azun Atme, in the Qalqilya region and near the village of Mas’ha, is already surrounded on both sides by illegal Israeli settlements. The village is about 2 km outside of Israel and within the internationally recognized Green Line, or 1949 ceasefire line.
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Translated from the Hebrew original by Rann Bar-On.
“As a doctor, a mother and a human being I have always been strongly against any attacks on civilians, Israelis or Palestinian. But here we are serving as target practice for an organized army. The people are hungry, there is no water, electricity or communications, it is impossible to move freely on the roads and medical supplies are almost exhausted.” Mona El’Fara, a doctor in the Al Wada hospital in Jabalia, describes life in Gaza. A monologue and pictures from the other side of the checkpoint.
“My name is Mona Al’Fara, I am 52 years old, a mother to three children, the youngest of whom is 14. I am a doctor in the Al Wada hospital in the Jabalia refugee camp in Gaza. I work for the Medical Committees Organization that operates the hospital, a number of other health centers and community health programs for children, women and teens. I serve as the health and development advisor for the organization and also co-ordinate projects for the ‘Chidren’s Union of the Middle-East’ in the Gaza area.
“This week, as I made my way to the hospital along the abandoned road, I could see Israeli tanks. The Al Wada hospital is not far from Beit Hanoun, and every day on my drive to and from work I felt fear. I fear that the Israeli army’s shells will hit the car in front of me or behind me.
“The general mood in Gaza is of a lack of security, but I still continue my work. I send my daughter to school and wonder if she will return home safe and well. Many children have been killed in the schoolyard or on their way to it. The Israeli army hits civilians during its operations, and sometimes we feel that the army intends to hit as many civilians as possible.
“It is difficult for me to travel freely throughout the Gaza Strip because I am very scared of missile attacks. I almost never visit my mother, certainly not as often as I should. I have no social life whatsoever and no possibility of planning ahead. From a mental point of view, things are very hard for me. I have mood swings, I feel depression and a deep sadness. I have trouble sleeping at night and terrible nightmares. My feelings are typical of almost all Gazans, even children and infants. The worst feeling is of being jailed – the borders are all closed, they have opened only six times in the last four months.”
* * *
“Last Sunday two rescue workers were killed as they were working, and one of the team members in the hospital was also hurt. On Monday at 7:30am a bus of 3-5 year old children arrived at the hospital. Their teacher was hurt by a falling shell and the bus evacuated her to the hospital. The youngest children were in shock. They were crying and shaking, and the team worked to calm them down. Some of the people burst into tears at the sight of the stunned children who were admitted to various departments.
“Two days ago I arrived at work exactly as the dead and wounded from Beit Hanoun began to arrive. Among the injured were those who were severely wounded and many children, it was without doubt one of the hardest days I’ve had in the hospital. The family members waiting outside were clearly traumatized. The triage room was crowded and we could barely function.
“Since the beginning of the operation in Beit Hanoun nine women from the town came to give birth at the hospital. They were made to wait for hours until they got permission to leave Beit Hanoun. Some of them stayed in the hospital because they couldn’t get back home, others found shelter with local families. With the help of the UN I managed to send 400 packs of baby formula to Beit Hanoun. I was told there was a great shortage of milk there.
“My feeling is that the terrible situation could have been prevented by the army. Saying “sorry, we apologize” is not enough. It certainly won’t bring the dead back to life.
“As a doctor, a mother and a human being I have always been strongly against any attacks on civilians, Israelis or Palestinian. But here in Gaza we are serving as target practice for an organized army. State terror is what I call it.
“For the past four months we have been living without electricity after the power station in Gaza was destroyed by a targeted bombing. The shortage of electricity makes life here very difficult. In the hospital we use a generator that uses expensive petrol. Since the border to Gaza is closed most of the time and it is impossible to transfer patients, the teams here are under enormous pressure, especially the surgical teams. We are forced to postpone almost every surgery that isn’t an emergency or life-saving so that we can conserve electricity for critical surgeries.
“Cancer patients are forced to give up chemotherapy and radiology treatments because they are not permitted to cross the Egyptian border. Patients in intensive care units are in dire states due to the shortage in the electricity supply. So are dialysis patients.
“At the moment, we still have medicine and other medical supplies, but we are fearful that they will soon run out completely. Despite the enormous pressure we are trying to ensure availability of supplies. Due to the situation, the operating expenses of the hospital have gone up enormously. Additionally, we are forced to treat most patients at no charge due to their financial circumstances. Around 70% of Gazans rely on international aid for a living.
“As part of our work, we found out that 42% of women and children suffer from severe anemia due to a shortage of iron. There is no doubt that this is caused by malnutrition and the lack of meat. That is the extent of the crumbling economy that is caused by sanctions and the siege.”
* * *
“The people of Beit Hanoun are hungry. They have no water, electricity or access to communications. Large tracts of agricultural land have been destroyed, medical teams are not permitted entry except in emergency cases and after complex co-ordination. The huge number of dead in the civilian population adds to the enormous pressure the fragile and diluted medical system in Gaza is under.
“The fact that Israel persists in carrying out the operation causes me sometimes to think that it does not seriously want to achieve peace and stability in the region. I feel that your government is trying to cause us, the Palestinians, to shrink to a minimum our national ambitions – until, in time, our attention will be diverted to the humanitarian situation and nothing else.
“I believe that the Occupation has to end, and that a peace process that is not based on justice cannot sustain itself. But peace cannot be dictated by the stronger side. I still dream of the day the war will end, then Israelis and Palestinians will live side by side in this ancient land.”
Dr. Mona Al’Fara requested that her picture not be shown.
Nablus, population 113 thousand, is the West Bank’s second largest city: second only to East Jerusalem. Founded during the time of the Romans, it is over 2000 years old.
Here is a fruit market in the center of town.
The heart of Nablus is Al Dowaar Square, also known as Martyr’s (Shaheed’s) Square.
Since the second intifada, many have died defending Nablus from Israeli attacks.
On Friday we face Mecca, and pray for an end to our oppression.
For when cats are trapped in the alley, they will hiss and fight by all means necessary in order to survive; until Israel renounces violence and recognizes Palestine’s right to exist . . . with full and equal rights; just like the Israelis: in a sovereign and independent nation with full control of its borders, its air and sea space, and its economy.
We have no choice but to trust in God.
Palestine has the right to defend itself. Here are some posters of dead local fighters. Lebanon and Iraq have the right to defend themselves too: from brutal military invasions and colonial occupation.
Much of the ancient Old City of Nablus was bombed in the spring of 2002. It has since been rebuilt.
It is Friday, the day of worship for Muslims. That’s Al Harbell Mosque in the distance.
Young girls of Nablus.
These boys are crazy for their city, and are determined to free their city from Israeli occupation.
This is Mr. Eid, who is a tailor, making a comforter.
Most of the shops are closed today because it is Friday.
During this last week while I’ve been picking olives in the Nablus area with Palestinian families and occasionally encountering/confronting soldiers, I’ve been thinking a lot about the role of negotiation in daily life here in Palestine, and also about the role of internationals in that. I often find myself in situations where Palestinians ask for us to talk with soldiers in order to help them gain access to a place, but I’m concerned about how this sometimes could be seen as accommodating the occupation.
Here are some examples of situations I’ve been in recently:
Aside from going through checkpoints, one of my first contacts with soldiers this week was during my third day of harvesting, in the village of Tel. Four of us internationals went to Tel because farmers there often have problems crossing the settler road that cuts between their village and most of their agricultural land. Although Palestinians have the right to access their land, this village had reported recent incidents of denied access.
In the morning, we headed down the hill towards the road, a large and lively group of families and donkeys. Just as we began to cross the road, a jeep of four soldiers pulled up and ordered everyone to stop. The 20-minute conversation between the soldiers and us internationals was something to the effect of them telling us they knew that the farmers had the right to cross the road, but insisted they needed to see IDs from the four of us, as well as from the young men in the group. We tried to reason with them, asking that they let the farmers go ahead, but they would not budge.
It went on and on like this for a while. The soldiers took the hawwiyas (ID cards) of two young men, and claimed they had to check on them. Eventually, the villagers decided to turn back and take another route to their land, through a drainpipe under the road. Some farmers explained that the soldiers often deny them the right to cross the street, telling them instead to go under it in this way. I don’t know what the point of this is, other than to make life more difficult for Palestinians.
When we were told that we were cleared to go, we informed the soldiers that we would stay with the 2 men whose hawwiyas they had taken, until they were finished with them. They seemed surprised by this and immediately returned them to their owners, clearly not actually needing to check up on them.
In this case, I wondered what might have happened if we weren’t there, and my question was answered the next day when our contact in Tel called to report an incident in which soldiers held some farmers who were not accompanied by internationals for over an hour, and dumped a few bags of picked olives onto the ground. I’ve learned this week, mostly through the incidents in which we were not present, that the high court decision about farmers’ rights to access their land safely is only selectively enforced. At the same time, it never feels good to try to negotiate with soldiers for rights that Palestinians already legally have, even if it works at the time.
On Saturday evening, on the way home from dinner, we got a call that Sabatash Checkpoint, on the outskirts of the city, was closed and about 200 Palestinians were waiting in the rain and cold. Thinking we might be able to change the situation, we headed over there at 8:45pm. We arrived to a tense situation of about twelve packed taxis and buses in line and over 100 men in the street waiting. Soldiers had blocked the checkpoint with razor wire and were just standing around. It was dark, raining and cold, and the watchtower was shining a spotlight all over the crowd. People who had been there since 2pm told us about an incident earlier in the day when a man was shot in the leg for verbally defending a woman who was touched by male soldiers after refusing to lift up her shirt. Nobody had been allowed through the checkpoint since.
The eight of us walked up to the checkpoint, and a few crossed the razor wire against the soldiers’ orders to go back. We began talking with them, asking why they wouldn’t let anyone through, and trying to appeal to them by explaining that many had been waiting for over five hours in the cold and rain. It took a lot of talking and complaining and negotiating, but within twenty minutes the soldiers agreed to allow the women through, then the university students on buses, the trucks, and finally, after two hours, the shebab (young men).
While it’s clear that the presence of eight American and European activists was a positive force in changing the situation (after nearly seven hours of closure, they reopened it within twenty minutes of our arrival and confrontation), it does not remain in my mind as a success. As we left, I felt uneasy, thinking about all the times we aren’t able to be there to make changes, and then reminding myself that relying on our presence as internationals in order to open checkpoints, grant land access and provide protection, also isn’t a solution to the problem. In fact, it makes me feel even more a part of this brutal occupation.
The next day we were called back to “Sabatash” and told it was once again closed. When we arrived, the lines of people were moving, but slowly. We decided to leave but then realized that the soldiers were not going to let a group of women walk through, claiming that only people in cars could pass. This is a difficult place to get a taxi and it was cold out, so we tried once again to negotiate them through. A soldier told us he needed to stick by his orders, and couldn’t in his conscience allow them through. Most of our responses to him went something like “But isn’t it worse to have on your conscience that you made a group of women with small children stand in the cold?” and “How would you feel if someone made your mother or sister do this?” Eventually, we suggested that the soldiers get a taxi so the women could go through, and they agreed. We left feeling infuriated that it took international activists relentlessly making suggestions and bothering them, to get the soldiers to actually do it. And once again our involvement made a small change in the situation, but not in the occupation or in this all-too-common process.
If I am in a place where I am asked by Palestinians to try to make a difference, and my negotiating or confronting soldiers can make a situation even temporarily better, I of course feel obligated to do it. Meanwhile, I struggle with my part in creating expectations that Palestinians (or internationals) must negotiate for rights that are either already there on paper, or should be. This is also not a sustainable solution, and I hope that we can all continue to use various tactics in order to directly challenge the occupation, even while trying to maintain a basic level of dignity here in daily life.
