English translation of the statement:
In the Name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful,
The Association of Muslim Scholars in Palestine deeply regrets the killing of the peace activist Tom Fox on Iraqi land.
We were shocked and grieved to receive news of Tom’s death on the morning of the 11th of March 2006. We renew our call to our brothers in the Swords of Justice group to release our brothers that are still in captivity: Norman Kember, James Loney and Harmeet Sooden.
The death of Tom Fox and a true test of solidarity
By Joe Carr
I first met Tom Fox in Chicago at a Christian Peacemaker Teams’ training and we became good friends through our work together. He was a father with children about my age, and was like an uncle to me.
He was my team’s coordinator during my month in Iraq. Shaggy, a young Iraqi friend and translator, nicknamed him “Uncle Tom” because of his paternal but playful manner. He provided a calm and steady presence, and an open and compassionate ear. His warmth and humor helped me to hang on through my depressing and fearful time in Iraq.
I remember the comforting sound of Tom’s recorder, which he played in place of his clarinet. I will miss the mornings when he led worship, often in the silent Quaker tradition.
Tom was truly committed to maintaining an international presence in Iraq despite the danger. He understood the privilege we have in being able to choose whether or not we face violence, a choice denied to Iraqis, Palestinians, and poor people of color around the world. His commitment to solidarity led him to Iraq, to share in some of that risk.
Dozens of Iraqi bodies show up in Baghdad each week. Many are killed by US-sponsored death squads, trained to use brutal counter-insurgency tactics against militants and civilians alike. In the chaos of occupied Iraq, thousands of Iraqis have been kidnapped for profit. But we only hear about it when it happens to internationals.
I was standing with 23-year-old American activist Rachel Corrie when an Israeli soldier intentionally drove over and crushed her to death with a US-made Caterpillar bulldozer. A month later, I was with 22-year-old British activist Tom Hurndall, helping to move Palestinian children out of the line of Israeli sniper fire when that sniper purposefully shot Tom in the head.
The three-year anniversary of Rachel’s murder is March 16, next Thursday, and activists around the world will host events to commemorate her life and sacrifice. But we will also commemorate the thousands of Palestinians who’ve given their lives to the struggle, over 3,500 since September, 2000.
Activists are also gearing up for demonstrations next weekend to mark the three-year anniversary of the invasion of Iraq. As we mourn for Tom Fox, let us remember the 100,000-250,000 Iraqis murdered by US occupation forces, and the 15,000-17,000 Iraqi hostages, held without charge in US and Iraqi detention facilities.
The loss of my comrades hurts very much, and it scares me to be so close to our few western martyrs. But my pain and fear only deepens my sense of solidarity and determination to continue their legacy of struggle.
Iraqis, Palestinians, and oppressed people everywhere are fighting and dying for freedom, and it’s long passed time for Americans to join them.
Let us grieve for our loss, together with families everywhere who’s loved ones have fallen. Let us also continue the legacy of Tom Fox, Tom Hurndall, and Rachel Corrie, to build a global solidarity movement for peace, justice, and freedom.
Palestinians throughout the West Bank expressed sorrow Saturday over the killing of American Tom Fox, 54, who had traveled to the West Bank to protest for their cause before he was taken hostage in Iraq.
Fox’s body was found shot in the head and chest Thursday near a Baghdad railway station. He had worked with Christian Peacemaker Teams in the Palestinian areas before he began work with the group in Iraq.
Fox, from Clear Brook, Virginia, had demonstrated in the West Bank town of Jayyus against the construction of the security fence and he helped Palestinians pick olives, local Palestinians said.
“Tom used to sit in front of the (Israeli) bulldozers to block them,” said Jayyus’ mayor, Shawka Shamha. “Hearing news that he was killed makes me very sad.”
Sharif Omar also from Jayyus said that Fox lived at his brother’s house for three months while local Palestinians and foreign activists protested against the construction of the barrier.
“I’m very sorry to hear that he has been killed,” Omar said.
Palestinians in the West Bank city of Hebron also remembered Fox. Neither Fox nor the Briton and two Canadians taken hostage with him deserved to die, said Hisham Sharabati, a human rights activist who met Fox.
“I’m calling for the kidnappers to release the other hostages,” Sharabati said. “This killing harmed the Palestinian and Iraqi causes because the hostages were working for peace.”
The two Canadians – James Loney and Harmeet Singh Sooden – also worked in the Palestinian areas.
When the four were taken hostage in November last year, the Palestinians’ top Muslim clergyman, Mufti Ikrema Sabri, called for their immediate release.
Reflection written by Tom Fox in Iraq the day before the abduction
2 December 2005
As I survey the landscape here in Iraq, dehumanization seems to be the operative means of relating to each other. U.S. forces in their quest to hunt down and kill “terrorists” are, as a result of this dehumanizing word, not only killing “terrorists,” but also killing innocent Iraqis: men, women and children in the various towns and villages.
It seems as if the first step down the road to violence is taken when I dehumanize a person. That violence might stay within my thoughts or find its way into the outer world and become expressed verbally, psychologically, structurally or physically. As soon as I rob a fellow human being of his or her humanity by sticking a dehumanizing label on them, I begin the process that can have, as an end result, torture, injury and death.
“Why are we here?” We are here to root out all aspects of dehumanization that exist within us. We are here to stand with those being dehumanized by oppressors and stand firm against that dehumanization. We are here to stop people, including ourselves, from dehumanizing any of God’s children, no matter how much they dehumanize their own souls.
Israeli Military overseeing further construction outside Kalandia Checkpoint
By Jon
Traveling between Ramallah and Jerusalem used to be a relatively easy trip, despite the various demarcations and borders the two cities contained, both within and between them. Things have changed of course, both quickly and drastically. What only a few years ago was a temporary “flying” checkpoint near Kalandia Refugee Camp, would then be converted into a more fixed checkpoint; ultimately it would evolve into it’s present form, a monstrous Terminal/Wall infrastructure complex. And the process continues; everyday that I pass through there, something new is built or added, complete with Palestinian laborers working in the shadow of Caterpillar bulldozers, while being watched over by heavily armed Israeli security guards.
With the physical landscape being so irrevocably redefined and reconstructed by the occupation, I want to describe my most recent passage through Kalandia. Partly, I am doing this as I prepare to leave Palestine, and not knowing when I may be able to return. Of the many things that frighten me, one is this; simply how much will change and be changed while I am away? How do you look forward to returning somewhere if your can’t even recognize it when you get there?
When I first used Kalandia checkpoint, in 2003-2004, it was a checkpoint much like Huwarra near Nablus; people were being harrassed by the IOF whenever I passed through, mostly by being questioned as to their IDs and permits. It’s hard to describe the experience of waiting on line with 50 or more Palestinians, waiting to have your ID checked, while a 20 year old Israeli soldier is standing in front of you, pointing his rifle at you, looking at everyone like they are no better than the dirt on his boots.
Back in January, a soldier was killed at Kalandia, stabbed by a Palestinian while passing through what at that time had evolved into a labyrinth of concrete, metal sheeting, razor wire and Israeli soldiers. For the next week or two, the process there, which was already humiliating, violent and painfully slow became even more so. I remember passing in the opposite direction on the way to Ramallah, and seeing the new changes; even longer lines, and when one approaches the soldiers to show your ID, there were at least 5 other soldiers standing to the side, their rifles drawn and pointing straight at you, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.
Then, the sparkling new ‘Terminal’ was opened. Paid for by US aid to the Palestinian Authority, it is truly a triumph of sarcasm and sadism, all rolled into one (and by the way, didn’t a certain Central European regime build a wall in Warsaw and charge the people they were building it around for it’s construction?). Now, the IOF can hide in their protected little bomb and bullet-proof cubicles, scream orders and insults in Hebrew through a microphone, make people wait as long as they like, while never having to so much as breath the same air as the Palestinians passing through the terminal.
Outside the checkpoint there used to be a sign that read “THE HOPE OF US ALL,” although it wasn’t entirely clear whose hopes and for what they were referring to; pretty soon a group of activists from Jews Against Genocide covered it in graffiti, writing “ARBEIT MACH FREI” a few times over it. Soon, after, the sign was removed… but alas, the checkpoint remains.
The last time I was there, I was not very happy to see a really, really long line to get into the checkpoint. Usually, I haven’t had to wait too long, as the soldiers have never seemed too concerned about my being there; at the most, I might have my visa checked, but that’s about it (and sometimes not even that much). To make matters worse, I was pretty tired too, and a bit stressed about my leaving so soon; the last thing I wanted to deal with while on my way to seeing friends in Hebron was a long wait at Kalandia but I didn’t seem to have much choice. So, I got into the slowly moving mass of people, and soon I was in a sea of Palestinian men, from about 25 to 40 years old; there was a way to pass for the young & old & women, but I just couldn’t get the guts to flaunt my privilege and use it.
Inside the nearby control room was a female Israeli soldier, and she was shouting commands in Hebrew every minutes or so, as she controlled how long the revolving metal-bar doors in front of us would be open for (complete with green and red lights, for our convenience!). Now, most of the men seemed to be taking the situation with the usual coping method of laughing at it; personally, I started fantasizing about how many screwdrivers it would take to dismantle the place while we were waiting, but that’s just me. They would cover the speaker with their hand, mimic her voice, and stay pretty relaxed, all things considered, but for all these men to be talked to like they are children by this young woman was certainly yet another method of humiliation by the IOF. And then there was the challenge to her authority; whereas she would be insisting that only one person go through the revolving door at a time, the men would be squeezing anywhere from 2 to 4 people through at a time; she would say “wahadi wahadi,” (one by one) and they would say (and do) in response, “arba a arba” (four by four).
This went on for a bit, until I got within range to squeeze in, but I had some difficulty; my backpack kept getting stuck, and people would jump out ahead of me each and every time. I finally got into position along with 2 other guys, with my backpack on my head, and we waited for the light to turn green. But, then something unexpected happened. Next to the revolving doors that we were using, there were to regular doors, and two men selling sunglasses were working out passage through, as their merchandise wouldn’t fit through the revolving doors. So, she opens the other doors, and what happens? Yes, everyone starts pouring through, including me; hell, I had already spent an hour there, and this was just the first door to get through!
At this point, more than 100 of us had gotten through, but there was still the actual checking of the permits & bags still to be done. I walked about, trying to find a line that was shorter, going faster, something, but, nothing! I even tried to slip into the women’s line, but the soldier said on the speaker that I needed to go to the men’s lines. So, standing there, I resigned myself to getting to Jerusalem much later than I expected, if at all. But out of the corner of my eye, I notice that the station to my left was just starting to let people in, so I make a move… along with 50 other people! But I get a jump on most of them, push my way into the revolving door, and then it slams shut, I get the red light!
Welcome to Kalandia Checkpoint
But now I’m mad, I’m tired, and I just don’t understand why these soldiers, these boys, see the need to toy with us all like this? Is this ‘security?’.
So I yell at the soldier I see behind the window, “What the hell are you doing to us? Will you let us through for Christ’s sake?”
The soldier behind the glass window sees me, and of course hears and sees my frustration, so what does he do? He responds to me in Hebrew, saying who the hell knows what!
So I tell him ” I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE SAYING!!!! Will you just let us through?!?”
And then, miraculously, he does! About 10 of us get into the main chamber, put our bags through the scanner, walk through the metal detector… as an afterthought I show my passport, but they don’t even ask to see the visa or ask me anything.
And after passing through another set of the same revolving iron bar doors, I was out, the whole ordeal only taking 1 and a half hours. It could have been much worse, and I did get through eventually, but just what was it that I had been through? According to the Israeli government, I had passed through the newest and most efficient checkpoint that was to provide ‘security’ and would be ‘The Hope of Us All.” As far as I am concerned, I had passed through a place that, despite the aesthetic changes, had not changed at all. It is still a place that by its very existence, miles within the Occupied West Bank, serves only to humiliate, control, and do violence to the lives of Palestinians. It is a constant reminder to Palestinians that they are the ghettoized slaves and serfs of the land, and that the Israeli boys with guns, whether up close and personal or behind blast-proof glass, have all the power in the world; it is, in other words, the true meaning of ‘security,’ which will never result in anyone’s security.
