Last weekend I went to see Hebron. The only Palestinian city in the West Bank that has its center taken over by Israeli settlers.
To get there, and back, we had to pass many checkpoints, as usual. To get anywhere inside the West Bank you have to pass many checkpoints, for the safety of the Israeli people and the security of the state of Israel, yeah right...
The checkpoint system, spread over the entire West Bank, is one of the most pervasive features of occupation for ordinary Palestinians. Anyone, security threat or not (even though of course every Palestinian is seen as a security threat, just because of his identity), every Palestinian has to deal with the checkpoints. It can easily be argued that the checkpoint system doesn't benefit Israeli security at all, because it's one the biggest sources of frustration for Palestinian people.
But set aside that discussion, it's still a mystery for me how the security of Israel is threatened by the free movement of people between two Palestinian towns on Palestinian territory.
The suicide bomber argument is lame and hardly convincing. It's completely ridiculous that checkpoints inside the West Bank help prevent suicide attacks, as if Palestinians are just life-hating savages trying to seize every opportunity to end their lives, even if that means doing it in a Palestinian town.
What the checkpoint system does help to prevent is the development of young Palestinians and giving them good prospects for the future. The checkpoints limit their opportunities directly. Access to good, or just any, education is limited, which might let students, or their parents, decide to stop their (university) education.
At some point the Israeli army closed down the road leading to Bir Zeit university, for some vague security reason. Students could then only access their university by foot. At first they were very creative and brought donkeys, until the Israeli army prohibited the use of donkeys on that road as well (terrorist donkey is my lucky guess of the reason..). This caused many students to drop out of university because they had to walk for miles and especially in the cold winter this was more than some students could bare.
Not being able to fulfill your dreams or just the prospect of a meaningless future is encredibly frustrating. It makes you question the Israeli checkpoint system. What is more detrimental to the security of Israel: Young educated people being able to make something out of their lives, determine their own futures? Or trying to control a bunch of heavily frustrated youngsters that have lost all hope for a better future, by imprisoning them in the city they live in? To me it just seems that either Israel just completely lacks a long-term security 'vision', or Israel knows exactly what its doing and benefits from the radicalisation of Palestinian society (the latter of course being the cynical view, if that's too bitter for you: just stick with option 1).
And one small other comment on the 'security-argument'. The main reason that the number of Palestinian suicide bombers has dropped considerably in recent years is NOT because Israel tightened its grip on Palestinian society, by strengthening its security regime. The true reason is that Hamas has stopped propagating suicide attacks amongst its followers. Because Hamas came to realize how destructive these attacks were for the Palestinian cause: it led many young people to die, it left the families of these people homeless or severely punished by the Israeli army and most of all it diminished the (small amount of) leverage the Palestinians had on the world, by wiping out support and understanding for the Palestinian struggle. At the same time, people came to this conclusion themselves. It only allowed Israel to further crack down on the rights of the Palestinian people. Of course out of such a perverse act of despair nothing good can come forth.
Anyhow, in the two months that I've been living here in Palestine I've gone through a lot of checkpoints. Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's easy. Sometimes they ask you a lot of questions, sometimes they don't. Sometimes they are nice, often they are rude.
In general, my checkpoint experiences are not that bad. This has to do with two things: Being an international the Israeli soldiers want you gone ASAP, they don't like onlookers. With internationals around their behavior towards Palestinians is much more humane than when there are no internationals there.
Secondly being an international you're like an attraction to the bored soldiers at the checkpoints. They like to know where you came from, or they just want to practice their English.
Here are the accounts of a few random encounters:
Beit Iba checkpoint (north-west of Nablus) - The moment we were about to get out of the taxi to go through the checkpoint it began raining like hell. We ran for the checkpoint, wading ourselves through (literally) a river of water. As we entered the checkpoint we were completely soaked. The two soldiers that were standing there seemed amused (not a big deal: in our own eyes it was an incredibly funny experience). They looked suspiciously at our passports and asked us where we were from. I was the last one in line. They sort of smiled at me, even though I was wearing my keffiyeh. After they asked me where I was from and I had started to walk away, one of the soldiers hesitantly mumbled: "eeh..have a nice day.. in...eeh.. Nablus". I was amazed. Was that truly friendly meant?? I had never before heard a soldier say such a friendly appearing statement. Were they flirting with me?? I was confused. Should I've been happy that they were nice for a change, or should I have been disgusted because this treatment is most likely based on racist distinctions?
Huwarra checkpoint - When it was my turn to be checked I handed over my passport to the soldier. He took it, but held it as if I had given him this piece of rubbish and had no idea why. He growld: "From where you are?". "Holland", I replied. "Huh??"... "Hol-laaand", I said again. "The NE-THER-LANDS". "Uh", was his lame reply, with the livelihood of a dead man. He handed me over my passport with the most careless gesture you can imagine. After that I was 'free' to go.
Huwarra checkpoint - While I was waiting in line with James (a guy from the UK) to go to Ramallah for a hiphop concert, some soldier came walking towards us. "Why on earth did you come here?? Why don't you go to Jerushaleim??". He said it sort of in a nice way, just completely amazed that two western people that he (thinks he)can relate to have decided to come to Nablus. I replied that Nablus is a very nice city. "No really.. why did you come here? This place must be like hell for you.." he almost screamed enthusiastically. I told him again that Nablus was really a very nice city to visit. Then it was our turn. The soldier checking our passports asked us: "Sorry but I really don't understand why you've decided to come here". The other soldier came standing next to him and yelled: "I asked them that too. Just stay in Jerushaleim.". I said to them both that Nablus is truly amazing and walked away, leaving them behind in great confusion. James remarked that we should have told them: "the only thing making Nablus like a hell for us is you guys".
Huwarra checkpoint - I was standing in line behind a man with two little children. The oldest was a boy and around three or four years old. It's hard to imagine what occupation looks like through the eyes of an innocent kid. I remember that being a child the reality looked far more sunny and unconcerned. I don't know whether that's also the case for Palestinian children. But anyhow, when it was their turn I heard the soldier talking to the small boy. He asked him in a very kind way what's his name was. When the little kid replied he made a nice comment about his name. The kid seemed to smile. I was touched. I've seen soldiers before with Palestinian children and it was shocking to see how cold they react to these children. This was the first time I saw a sign of humane and compassionate behaviour in an Israeli soldier. Suddenly it made me realize that these soldiers might have personal believes that differ completely from that of the army. Army service is obligatory so it doesn't say a lot about your convictions. It only says something about the absence of strong convictions that prevent you from joining this horrible institution.
Still I don't want to show too much sympathy for these soldiers. Many internationals put forward that it's the system that is entirely wrong, but that these young people do not really 'have a choice' or that they 'can not really help it'. I think that's bullshit, no matter what the social consequences are of your action I think you're always obliged to do what is morally just, or at least not to participate in what is morally unjust. Without operators the system is powerless and wouldn't be able to function... That's why I don't think they are really entitled to my respect.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Israel = Palestine
Yesterday I went on a trip inside Israel with a Palestinian friend of mine that lives and works in Israel.
We went to see Haifa and Jaffa. Along the way to Haifa I couldn't help myself wondering about the Palestinian villages that have disappeared when Israel was established in 1948. It is estimated that 350-550 Palestinians villages where cleared of its population and destroyed.
Whenever I saw an open piece of land, or a forest I asked myself: Maybe there used to be a village here? With such a great number of villages erased of the map, I knew we would be driving by some of them.
Tonight I had a look on a map displaying the depopulated villages and I found out that we passed many that day... I wasn't being a cynic or a pessimist, unfortunately. Strikingly, in some cases there used to be a village in exactly the same area as where I assumed them to be when 'fantasazing' about it in the car. I turned out to be right, horribly.
Haifa was pleasant. Up on mt. Carmel where the Jewish colonization of Haifa began we had a very beautiful view of the city and a nice stroll. The area was green, clean and organised. No signs of Palestine, a completely different world: Western, with shockingly naked women in the street... but at least no people staring at us too overtly.
After that we went downtown to see the Arab old city of Haifa: Wadi Nisnas. All of a sudden Nablus didn't seem that far away. Even the smells in the street were similar to those in Nablus: Palestine inside Israel. During its 60 year existence Israel has gone through a lot of effort to erase the country it was build upon: from the map, from the minds and from history even. Israel claims that there has never been such a thing as Palestine or Palestinian people: A land without a people, for a people without a land.
Driving through Israel I came to realize that Palestine is still everywhere in Israel, although largely covered under a thick layer of time. Old buildings tell the story of the Palestinian people for anyone ready to listen, they were the silent witnesses to the nakba, that drove out 85% of the people living in the territory upon which Israel was established.
After visiting Haifa we drove down the coast to see Jaffa, once the heart of Palestine, now a sad but beautiful hub for tourists that quickly want to consume some culture before they head back to the beach or the main shopping street in Tel Aviv.
Seeing Jaffa broke something inside of me. I've never had any real emotional difficulty in Palestine seeing or experiencing aspects of the situation, the ongoing colonialization and destruction of Palestine and its people. Until Jaffa. It made me feel sick to my bones.
I was in complete awe when I saw it. The old city of Jaffa is the most beautiful, most charming town of Palestine that I have seen. Strolling through its little streets and harbour the past lingers around you. It's not hard to imagine how life must have been here hundred years ago. The sincere atmosphere of any fishermen village was present there. My mind coloured the alleys with older men going to prayer, women selling fresh fish in the streets and children running around.
However, not anymore. The nakba expelled the people of Jaffa from their homes. Of its 70,000 inhabitants only 4,000 were able to stay and these people were forced to live in one neigborhood designated to them by Israel. The old city is now inhabited by Jewish Israelis and is flooded with Israeli art galleries and fancy restaurants. Hurds of ignorant Russian tourists trample the town day in, day out.
I studied them with great curiosity when I was there. I wondered whether they were aware of the fact that this used to be a Palestinian town and a home to so many Palestinian families. Would they know that the place where they were having dinner used to be a house, where some person in some refugee camp in the Middle East still dreams of going back to? Still holding the key to its property even though Israel illegally expropriated him decades ago...
Every street in the old city of Jaffa, every building, every stone almost, screams history. How do people, that are not willing to recognize the Palestinian suffering, reconcile that with the fact that Israel has only came into existence sixty years ago? Is it not quite logic that if you walk in Jaffa that you would come to the conclusion that this town exceeds the existence of Israel by far and wouldn't you then start to wonder about the people and the society that were there before? And then wouldn't you be likely to think about how and why these people don't live here anymore? Why this town features the Israeli flag all over the place? Apparently not.
This town was alive long before the idea of Israel even came to the minds of the atheistic zionists that established the state of Israel. Atheistic meaning that they didn't base their claims to this land on some holy book. Israel was not given to the jewish people for religious reasons and Israel was also not given to the jewish people because of the holocaust and World War II. Long before Hitler rose to power had the jewish people began settling in historic Palestine, strengthened by the declaration of the U.K. (Balfour declaration of 1922!!) that a jewish homeland was to be erected in this area.
Jaffa was really more than I could bare. I still feel the anger inside and this entire blog is written with that feeling as fuel. I do wonder though why it is this particular experience that has made me so enraged. I honoustly thought that I had seen and experienced quite a lot already. When I was being attacked by settlers in Hebron I didn't even react this strongly.
Maybe it's the complete denial of history here, the complete denial of truth. At least inside the West Bank, with every feature of occupation you clearly see the rotten face of it. Checkpoints are grey, ugly and depressing, the same can be said of the wall. Soldiers don't come across as your average nice guys, to say the least and to see the tormented city of Nablus makes you aware that life here is serious business.
In Jaffa, I think, it's the disguise of beauty and innocence that makes me sick. It's the complete cover-up of the history of Jaffa, and the fate of its people that I can not live with. It's one big ugly lie, black to the bone, but wrapped up in gold.. if you don't come too close, you won't notice its deceitful smell of decay.
I felt so relieved when I came back to Nablus, truly absurd. Most people here experience going through the checkpoint to enter Nablus, as entering a prison. Nablus gives them a feeling of restriction. For me it's almost the other way around, I feel comfortable being in Nablus. I know as a woman here you can not go anywhere you want, you can not drink alcohol in public... I honoustly don't give a shit. I don't feel free in Israel where all that ís possible, where you can drive with 160 km an hour over the freeway, where there are no nightly army incursions. I don't feel free seeing restaurants of Mc Donalds everywhere. And freedom for me is not necessarily about going out on the street whenever you want, dressed in whatever you want. It is part of my sense of freedom but not essential.
I feel truly free in an environment that reflects the principles that I stand for. I don't feel free in an environment surrounded by fake, corrupt and rotten principles, where you have to suppress everything you believe in... a society that suppresses everything I believe in. Freedom is more than being able to consume freely. In its soul freedom is standing for what you believe in and having the space to do so.
In Israel I feel I have to disguise my entire identity. I have to lie about what I'm doing here, where I live, and of course I have to deny everything I deeply believe in just to be able to get in to this country. I'm not allowed to exist as I am in this country. The word Palestine is not allowed to exist, especially at the Israeli airport... it's a big taboo. But even through all this neglect, suppression and denial, Palestine keeps popping back up. Israel = Palestine. Even if you don't want to see the signs, it doesn't mean they are not there.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Daily life
Over the past few weeks people have been asking me how my life is going in Nablus. I try to explain them in the best way I can what my daily life here is all about. Not an easy task I have to say. I'm uploading as many pictures as I can onto facebook to give people an impression, hoping vigorously that the core identity of Palestine can be transferred upon to people by images. At least images speak louder than words, but then there's the smell of life here, the noise... the chaos, the contact with people: friends, or random encounters in the street.
Not to forget about the essential question: do I even have a daily life here in Palestine?? And for the more philosophical minds among us: Is a daily life in Palestine possible?
Letting the past few weeks run through my head, my days don't seem to have much in common. Of course there are the common components that fill up most people's lifes, such as eating, sleeping, working... but the way that these are done and the way that leads up to them vary on a daily basis.
A lot has to do with living as a volunteer in a different country, without your daily rituals, friends and family. But a lot has to do with Palestine as well. The economic and political situation in this country teaches people not to predict and not to expect. This attitude runs through every layer of the society and it's quite bizarre how quickly you pick up on that as an international living here.
Palestine is a system of unpredictability (even though the word system might be entirely misfit, because it implies a level of organisation). Instead of trying to beat it by an overdosis of planning, it's much wiser to accept it as a reality and take life as it comes to you...
This weekend I was in the Palestinian village of Beita, staying with a family I know. I was in the car with them when the man slowly drove into another (parked) car because his brakes were not working correctly. The owners from the other car came immediately to see what had occurred. All the men talked to each other for a few minutes... all I could understand was a frequent use of the sentence 'mish mushkileh' = no problem. After that we just left as no-one really seemed to bother about what had just happened.
But anyhow let me at least try to give an impression of everything that daily life can entail here:
Yesterday I woke up, fed the baby cat we have recently adopted because it got run over by a car, went to my Arabic lessons across the street. Walked down town to get a service (shared taxi) to the new campus of the university... after this crazy taxi ride (although this seems to be a quite common experience) where the driver saw the road obstacles put up by the PA as a racing circuit, I found out that my class was cancelled because of strikes at the university.
After that I went to my class in Al Ein refugee camp where I teach 13 year old girls. Walking down to the school I experienced the occasional Fuck-you's and Hello-what's-your-name's, that are part of being an international in Nablus, from boys that had just finished school.
When I arrived at the school I found out that my local translator had been replaced. She had to resign from working for Project Hope because of problems in her home village. The class was very nice. The girls listened quite well today and were not as enthusiastic/crazy as they sometimes get. Too bad the headmistress had to come in and declare that she thought her students sucked at English and made many mistakes.
After leaving the class and the regular compliments of my students about how much they like my hair or dress, and after the 'I love you's' I went home today with one of the girls that had invited me to have lunch at her house. She insisted that I came, telling me her mother wanted to meet me and make me a special lunch.
All the other girls found out and I had to promise them to come visit their families as well. I'm completely being drowned with dinner invitations. The day before I had dinner with three students of my university class and the day before that day I took a ride from the checkpoint to the city in a car with a very nice couple. They drove me all the way home and asked me to come pay them a visit soon... which means: come eat, drink and enjoy!
Before we went to the house of the girl we paid a quick visit to the shop in her street, because she needed to buy me some candy... She informed me that she had told the shopkeeper about me and about the fact that I was coming today. When I entered the shop I was introduced and greeted as a father greets the friends of his daughter.
At the house of the girl I had an amazing lunch where the mother had prepared me a special traditional dish that they normally don't make unless it's ramadan. After the extensive lunch I stayed for tea, coffee, cookies, sweets and a very nice conversation. The mother of the girl spoke excellent English and had very openminded, liberal and intellectual political and religious views.
After several promises to come back and taking a box full of home-made cookies I went home, where I fed the cat again and played a little with it.. she's adorable. Then we all went to the office where we had dinner with all the international and local volunteers.. at least they had dinner, I just came there to hang around. That lunch had hit me hard that afternoon! The dinner was nice... we had a few laughs and after that I went home, fed the cat one more time, checked my email and went to bed.
This is just any particular day, randomly chosen and it doesn't represent experiences in any other days of the week. Any commonalities between them are just merely coincidental.
More daily life stories soon to follow!
Not to forget about the essential question: do I even have a daily life here in Palestine?? And for the more philosophical minds among us: Is a daily life in Palestine possible?
Letting the past few weeks run through my head, my days don't seem to have much in common. Of course there are the common components that fill up most people's lifes, such as eating, sleeping, working... but the way that these are done and the way that leads up to them vary on a daily basis.
A lot has to do with living as a volunteer in a different country, without your daily rituals, friends and family. But a lot has to do with Palestine as well. The economic and political situation in this country teaches people not to predict and not to expect. This attitude runs through every layer of the society and it's quite bizarre how quickly you pick up on that as an international living here.
Palestine is a system of unpredictability (even though the word system might be entirely misfit, because it implies a level of organisation). Instead of trying to beat it by an overdosis of planning, it's much wiser to accept it as a reality and take life as it comes to you...
This weekend I was in the Palestinian village of Beita, staying with a family I know. I was in the car with them when the man slowly drove into another (parked) car because his brakes were not working correctly. The owners from the other car came immediately to see what had occurred. All the men talked to each other for a few minutes... all I could understand was a frequent use of the sentence 'mish mushkileh' = no problem. After that we just left as no-one really seemed to bother about what had just happened.
But anyhow let me at least try to give an impression of everything that daily life can entail here:
Yesterday I woke up, fed the baby cat we have recently adopted because it got run over by a car, went to my Arabic lessons across the street. Walked down town to get a service (shared taxi) to the new campus of the university... after this crazy taxi ride (although this seems to be a quite common experience) where the driver saw the road obstacles put up by the PA as a racing circuit, I found out that my class was cancelled because of strikes at the university.
After that I went to my class in Al Ein refugee camp where I teach 13 year old girls. Walking down to the school I experienced the occasional Fuck-you's and Hello-what's-your-name's, that are part of being an international in Nablus, from boys that had just finished school.
When I arrived at the school I found out that my local translator had been replaced. She had to resign from working for Project Hope because of problems in her home village. The class was very nice. The girls listened quite well today and were not as enthusiastic/crazy as they sometimes get. Too bad the headmistress had to come in and declare that she thought her students sucked at English and made many mistakes.
After leaving the class and the regular compliments of my students about how much they like my hair or dress, and after the 'I love you's' I went home today with one of the girls that had invited me to have lunch at her house. She insisted that I came, telling me her mother wanted to meet me and make me a special lunch.
All the other girls found out and I had to promise them to come visit their families as well. I'm completely being drowned with dinner invitations. The day before I had dinner with three students of my university class and the day before that day I took a ride from the checkpoint to the city in a car with a very nice couple. They drove me all the way home and asked me to come pay them a visit soon... which means: come eat, drink and enjoy!
Before we went to the house of the girl we paid a quick visit to the shop in her street, because she needed to buy me some candy... She informed me that she had told the shopkeeper about me and about the fact that I was coming today. When I entered the shop I was introduced and greeted as a father greets the friends of his daughter.
At the house of the girl I had an amazing lunch where the mother had prepared me a special traditional dish that they normally don't make unless it's ramadan. After the extensive lunch I stayed for tea, coffee, cookies, sweets and a very nice conversation. The mother of the girl spoke excellent English and had very openminded, liberal and intellectual political and religious views.
After several promises to come back and taking a box full of home-made cookies I went home, where I fed the cat again and played a little with it.. she's adorable. Then we all went to the office where we had dinner with all the international and local volunteers.. at least they had dinner, I just came there to hang around. That lunch had hit me hard that afternoon! The dinner was nice... we had a few laughs and after that I went home, fed the cat one more time, checked my email and went to bed.
This is just any particular day, randomly chosen and it doesn't represent experiences in any other days of the week. Any commonalities between them are just merely coincidental.
More daily life stories soon to follow!
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Palestinian Children in Israeli Detention
Since the beginning of the second Intifada in September 2000, over 2500 Palestinian children have been arrested, according to Addameer (a Palestinian prisoner support and human rights organisation). Defence for Children International puts this number even at 5900. At this time there are at least 340 children detained in Israeli prisons, while around 700 children have been arrested in 2007.
These children are often subjected to severe mistreatment and torture:
Palestinian child prisoners routinely face violations of their human rights during arrest,interrogation and imprisonment. They are exposed to physical and psychological abuse,amounting to cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment, and sometimes torture. They are denied prompt access to a lawyer and often denied contact with their families and the outside world. Some are held without charge or trial. They face substandard, often inhumane, conditions of detention, both in the facilities where they are initially held and interrogated and in those where they await trial and serve their sentence. Moreover,they are frequently denied access to proper medical care and denied access to proper education services. In many cases, the arrest, interrogation and imprisonment experience has psychological effects that extend far beyond the period of detention. (Defence for Children International Annual Report 2007)
On the site of Ma'an News (http://www.maannews.net/) I've found an impressive personal account of a twelve year old boy that has recently been detained by the Israeli army. The content might be shocking, but still I would like to share it with you:
Ni’lin – B'Tselem Report – Twelve-year-old Muhammad Salah Muhammad Khawajah is a student and a resident of Ni'lin, a village in the Ramallah district of the West Bank. His testimony about the night his home was invaded was given to Iyad Hadad on 18 September 2008 at the witness's home.
Muhammad: I live with my family in Ni’lin. We live on the ground floor of the house, my two uncles and their families live on the first floor, and my grandmother lives on the second floor. Last Thursday [11 September], around 3:00 am I woke up from my mother’s shouts. She was shouting, “Get up! Get up! The army is here!” My father wasn’t home that night. I got up and went out with her to the inner courtyard of the house. There were about 12 soldiers there and their faces were painted black. One soldier wore a black [balaclava] that covered his face. He sat on the stairs outside the house and didn’t take part. I think he was a collaborator who led them to houses. The soldiers were on the first floor. I heard them tell my Uncle Sami to direct them to our floor. One of the soldiers asked, “Where is Muhammad?” and I realized he was asking about me. The soldier told my uncle to call me, so he did. I started walking towards them. Two soldiers grabbed me and took me outside. I realized they wanted to arrest me. I was afraid, and began to cry, and called my uncle to come with me.
The soldiers cuffed my hands tight with plastic handcuffs, which hurt a lot. A soldier grabbed me by the shirt from behind and started walking and pushing me forward. The shirt was up against my neck and I couldn’t breathe properly. I tried to free myself, and he punched me in the back and pulled the shirt tighter, choking me even more. Another soldier also punched me and pulled my hair as we walked. I cried and called out for my uncle and my father. The soldiers hit me and said, “Quiet! Quiet!” They led me to an alleyway between the houses, where there are cactuses. We were walking by some cactuses and then one of the soldiers pushed me into them. The thorns pricked me in the hands and legs. The soldiers kept on pushing me forward and hitting me along the way. While we were walking children from the village began to throw stones at the soldiers. It felt like it was raining stones. The soldiers were confused. Some of them ran off, and the others pushed me to move faster, and I fell down. One soldier started dragging me along the ground, on my stomach, with my hands tied. The ground was full of stones, gravel, and dirt. He pulled me by my hands and I cried and shouted. He told me to shut up. He wanted to pull me faster, to get away from the stones. He dragged me a few meters, until we were behind a wall. It felt like my right knee and the palms of my hands were injured. My knee was bleeding. Some soldiers fired tear gas in the direction of the stone throwers. The grenade fell not far from me and I started coughing and crying. My eyes were burning. We started walking again, the soldiers pushing me from behind.
We got to a house in the village about 400 meters away and they broke in. It was the house of 14-year-old Abd Ar-Rahman Lu’ai Abd Al-Halim who goes to school with me. They arrested him and his cousin, 18-year-old Sufian Nawaf al-Khawajah.They took the three of us to the village center, about 400 meters from my house, and made us stand facing a shop with our hands raised. Abd a-Rahman and Sufian were handcuffed as well. The soldiers beat us and knocked us to the ground. We lay there and they stepped on us, on our heads and stomach, for a few minutes. Then they stood us on our feet and pushed us toward the entrance to the village. A soldier was behind each of us holding each one by the shirt. Every now and then the soldiers punched and kicked us. One soldier was angry at me in particular. He beat and strangled me, as if he wanted to kill me. I think some of the soldiers had been hit by the stones thrown by the children. I shouted and cried, I was so scared. It was still dark out.
They led us about one kilometer, to the junction that leads to the Nili settlement. There were lots of army jeeps at the junction. The soldiers blindfolded me and put me into a jeep. It was about an hour after they had arrested me. The jeep began to move. I didn't know where it was going. I sat on the floor of the jeep, without any soldiers next to me. After about half an hour, maybe an hour, of driving, the jeep stopped, and the soldiers took me out of it. I could see a bit through the blindfold. I didn't know where I was, but it was an army base. I saw another two jeeps pull up. They took Abd a-Rahman out of one and Sufian out of the other.Then they drove us somewhere else.
There they sat us down on benches, and after ten minutes they called us in for questioning, one after the other. Abd a-Rahman went first and his questioning lasted for about twenty minutes. Then I went into the room and they took off my blindfold. I saw a man in civilian clothes. He was stout, with a round face and fair skin. He was wearing a skullcap. He said his name was Captain Sasson and I also heard other people call him that. He sat me down next to his table and asked me questions about children from the village. He showed me pictures from a thick photo album, which had more than 200 photos. He asked me about some children again and again, and I told him I didn't know them. Then he stopped asking me about them and showed me three pictures of myself, holding a slingshot in a demonstration against the separation fence. I admitted that it was me, but I kept on saying that I didn't know the other children. Then he hit me in the back with a plastic stool. I cried and shouted, and he hit me twice in the leg with a wooden stick. A soldier who had a pistol on his hip ordered me to get up and face the window or the closet. There was a camera fixed in place in front of me. He took my picture, and then the interrogator told me to sign, with my fingerprint, a page with Hebrew writing. I don’t know what it said. The soldier didn’t read it to me. I assume it was a confession. I had to sign because I was afraid he would beat me. The interrogator took prints of all my fingers, and then told the soldier to blindfold me again. He took me out of the room and sat me down on the bench outside. The interrogation had taken about half an hour.
Then they took Sufian in, also for about half an hour. Then they put the three of us in a big patrol van, and after driving for about quarter of an hour, they took us out and removed the blindfolds. I saw a sign that said “Ofer,” and I realized we were in Ofer Prison. They took us into a room where they search people. They took off our clothes and a doctor examined us. They gave us bags with pants, a shirt, and flip-flops. They arrested Sufian and put him in a detention room. A policeman in a blue uniform [of the regular, rather than border police] spoke with the soldiers. I understood that he was telling them to release us. He said to us, in Arabic, “You are small children and should be released.”
They kept Abd a-Rahman and me outside the detention room and then returned us to the van. Our hands were still cuffed. After about twenty minutes, they brought each one of us a container of jello. They removed the cuffs and let us eat. About half an hour later, they put the cuffs back on. Two soldiers were guarding us in the van. We weren’t allowed to talk to each other. Whenever we said something, a soldier told us to shut up. It was very hot in the van, and we were sweating a lot. They didn't give us anything to eat or drink. They did let us go to the bathroom, removing the handcuffs and putting them back on when we returned.
We stayed like that until after the muezzin called worshipers to evening prayers around 8:00pm. Then they took us to another camp. I think it was the Beit Sira camp. At the camp, they gave us a chocolate drink and put us in a small room with green army mattresses. There weren’t any beds. The cuffs were loose now, so we took them off, drank the chocolate drink and went to sleep.
The next morning at 10:00 they put us in a patrol van and cuffed our hands again, but this time they didn’t blindfold us. They took us back to Ofer Prison and put us in the tent section, Department 2, which had eighty-three detainees, of all ages. Each department had four tents, with about twenty detainees in each. The detainees treated us well. They gave us candy, chocolate and potato chips. I felt comfortable. I fasted during the day [since it was Ramadan] and played soccer and tennis. The Department had TVs, one in each tent. I saw kids’ programs during the day and a Syrian soap opera, “Bab Al-Hara,” at night. A detainee helped me ask for the doctor to treat my leg. They took me to the clinic and the doctor put iodine on my knee wound and bandaged it.
At first, I was afraid and cried sometimes, because my family was far away. I’ve never been detained before. It was a new experience for me. I didn't know anything about detention before then. I don’t know why they detained me – the whole village and all the children took part in the demonstrations, so why did they pick me?
The adult detainees took care of me because I was the youngest detainee in the Department, and they decided to make me assistant to the sergeant of the Department. I would wake up every morning at 6:00 and call to the detainees: “Let’s go! Time for the count!” They would get up and then the soldiers would come in and count them. I stood next to the soldiers as they counted. The soldiers treated me with respect and asked the older detainees to take care of me. The Department sergeant always helped me. He was older than most of the other detainees and spoke Hebrew. We worked together, helping the detainees and submitting their requests to the prison officials and to the guards.
On Sunday morning [14 September] at 6:00am I was taken to court together with Abd a-Rahman. Before we left for court, they shackled our hands and legs with handcuffs and iron chains. When we got there, they put us in a small room to wait until the hearing began, at 2:00pm. We didn't ask for food or drink because we were fasting. When the time for the hearing came, they took us into the courtroom, the two of us handcuffed. My father was there and so was a man from B'Tselem. Later, I learned that his name was Iyad Hadad. Other people also came to the hearing, and it made me feel good to see them. I was very happy to see my father, but the soldiers didn’t let me hug him or even touch his hand.
An Israeli lawyer defended me. I don’t know her name. She asked that I be released on bond and the judge granted the request, but set bond at 3,000 shekels. My father didn't have the money, so we couldn’t pay. After the hearing, they took me back into detention. The next day, my father managed to borrow the money for the bond and I was released on condition that I return to a hearing on Tuesday [16 September].
I went home to my parents and family. I was very happy. I went to the medical clinic in the village because my neck and shoulder hurt, and also because of the scratches and wound to my knee. They examined me and treated me. They told me to rest for a week and to come back for follow-up. My father went with me to the hearing on Tuesday. The hearing was postponed until 21 October 2008.
Since I got released, I’ve had problems. I wake up at night in fear and I can hardly sleep. I went to a psychologist called Khaled Shahawan and he gave me medicine and sedatives. I feel that it’s hard to concentrate in school. Last year my grade average was 94."
The treatment of this boy is not only morally wrong, but even illegal according to international law. Israel is a party to the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) and to the UN Convention Against Torture (CAT). Amongst others these conventions say the following:
* In all actions concerning children, their best interests shall be a primary consideration
(article 3 - CRC)
* No exceptional circumstances whatsoever, whether a state of war or a threat of war,
internal political instability or any other public emergency, may be invoked as a justification
of torture (CAT – Article 2.2)
* No child shall be subjected to torture or other cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or
punishment (CRC - Article 37 a)
* No child shall be deprived of his or her liberty unlawfully or arbitrarily. The arrest, detention
or imprisonment of a child shall be in conformity with the law and shall be used only as a
measure of last resort and for the shortest appropriate period of time (CRC - Article 37 b)
* Every child deprived of liberty shall be treated with humanity and respect for the inherent
dignity of the human person, and in a manner which takes into account the needs of persons
of his or her age. In particular, every child deprived of liberty shall be separated from adults
unless it is considered in the child's best interest not to do so and shall have the right to
maintain contact with his or her family through correspondence and visits, save in
exceptional circumstances (CRC - Article 37 c)
* Every child deprived of his or her liberty shall have the right to prompt access to legal and
other appropriate assistance, as well as the right to challenge the legality of the deprivation
of his or her liberty before a court or other competent, independent and impartial authority,
and to a prompt decision on any such action. Every child deprived of his or her liberty shall
have the right to prompt access to legal and other appropriate assistance
(CRC – Article 37 d)
Israel is in clear violation of these rights. Children are often put in prisons together with adults. The period that they can be denied access to a lawyer and held in incommunicado detention can be as long as 90 days. Children are not allowed to have contact with their parents and as said they are tortured and threatened frequently. One kid was even told: “If you don't confess, I will send you to somebody who will sexually abuse you. He has a huge penis.”
Next to that, it's interesting to note that this treatment of Palestinian (children) is in violation of the code of conduct of the Israeli Defense Forces themselves. It states:
* The use of force must be proportional.
* Anyone who surrenders can not be attacked.
* Soldiers must accord dignity and respect to the Palestinian populations and those arrested.
* Soldiers must give appropriate medical care, when conditions allow, to oneself and one's
enemy.
These children are often subjected to severe mistreatment and torture:
Palestinian child prisoners routinely face violations of their human rights during arrest,interrogation and imprisonment. They are exposed to physical and psychological abuse,amounting to cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment, and sometimes torture. They are denied prompt access to a lawyer and often denied contact with their families and the outside world. Some are held without charge or trial. They face substandard, often inhumane, conditions of detention, both in the facilities where they are initially held and interrogated and in those where they await trial and serve their sentence. Moreover,they are frequently denied access to proper medical care and denied access to proper education services. In many cases, the arrest, interrogation and imprisonment experience has psychological effects that extend far beyond the period of detention. (Defence for Children International Annual Report 2007)
On the site of Ma'an News (http://www.maannews.net/) I've found an impressive personal account of a twelve year old boy that has recently been detained by the Israeli army. The content might be shocking, but still I would like to share it with you:
Ni’lin – B'Tselem Report – Twelve-year-old Muhammad Salah Muhammad Khawajah is a student and a resident of Ni'lin, a village in the Ramallah district of the West Bank. His testimony about the night his home was invaded was given to Iyad Hadad on 18 September 2008 at the witness's home.
Muhammad: I live with my family in Ni’lin. We live on the ground floor of the house, my two uncles and their families live on the first floor, and my grandmother lives on the second floor. Last Thursday [11 September], around 3:00 am I woke up from my mother’s shouts. She was shouting, “Get up! Get up! The army is here!” My father wasn’t home that night. I got up and went out with her to the inner courtyard of the house. There were about 12 soldiers there and their faces were painted black. One soldier wore a black [balaclava] that covered his face. He sat on the stairs outside the house and didn’t take part. I think he was a collaborator who led them to houses. The soldiers were on the first floor. I heard them tell my Uncle Sami to direct them to our floor. One of the soldiers asked, “Where is Muhammad?” and I realized he was asking about me. The soldier told my uncle to call me, so he did. I started walking towards them. Two soldiers grabbed me and took me outside. I realized they wanted to arrest me. I was afraid, and began to cry, and called my uncle to come with me.
The soldiers cuffed my hands tight with plastic handcuffs, which hurt a lot. A soldier grabbed me by the shirt from behind and started walking and pushing me forward. The shirt was up against my neck and I couldn’t breathe properly. I tried to free myself, and he punched me in the back and pulled the shirt tighter, choking me even more. Another soldier also punched me and pulled my hair as we walked. I cried and called out for my uncle and my father. The soldiers hit me and said, “Quiet! Quiet!” They led me to an alleyway between the houses, where there are cactuses. We were walking by some cactuses and then one of the soldiers pushed me into them. The thorns pricked me in the hands and legs. The soldiers kept on pushing me forward and hitting me along the way. While we were walking children from the village began to throw stones at the soldiers. It felt like it was raining stones. The soldiers were confused. Some of them ran off, and the others pushed me to move faster, and I fell down. One soldier started dragging me along the ground, on my stomach, with my hands tied. The ground was full of stones, gravel, and dirt. He pulled me by my hands and I cried and shouted. He told me to shut up. He wanted to pull me faster, to get away from the stones. He dragged me a few meters, until we were behind a wall. It felt like my right knee and the palms of my hands were injured. My knee was bleeding. Some soldiers fired tear gas in the direction of the stone throwers. The grenade fell not far from me and I started coughing and crying. My eyes were burning. We started walking again, the soldiers pushing me from behind.
We got to a house in the village about 400 meters away and they broke in. It was the house of 14-year-old Abd Ar-Rahman Lu’ai Abd Al-Halim who goes to school with me. They arrested him and his cousin, 18-year-old Sufian Nawaf al-Khawajah.They took the three of us to the village center, about 400 meters from my house, and made us stand facing a shop with our hands raised. Abd a-Rahman and Sufian were handcuffed as well. The soldiers beat us and knocked us to the ground. We lay there and they stepped on us, on our heads and stomach, for a few minutes. Then they stood us on our feet and pushed us toward the entrance to the village. A soldier was behind each of us holding each one by the shirt. Every now and then the soldiers punched and kicked us. One soldier was angry at me in particular. He beat and strangled me, as if he wanted to kill me. I think some of the soldiers had been hit by the stones thrown by the children. I shouted and cried, I was so scared. It was still dark out.
They led us about one kilometer, to the junction that leads to the Nili settlement. There were lots of army jeeps at the junction. The soldiers blindfolded me and put me into a jeep. It was about an hour after they had arrested me. The jeep began to move. I didn't know where it was going. I sat on the floor of the jeep, without any soldiers next to me. After about half an hour, maybe an hour, of driving, the jeep stopped, and the soldiers took me out of it. I could see a bit through the blindfold. I didn't know where I was, but it was an army base. I saw another two jeeps pull up. They took Abd a-Rahman out of one and Sufian out of the other.Then they drove us somewhere else.
There they sat us down on benches, and after ten minutes they called us in for questioning, one after the other. Abd a-Rahman went first and his questioning lasted for about twenty minutes. Then I went into the room and they took off my blindfold. I saw a man in civilian clothes. He was stout, with a round face and fair skin. He was wearing a skullcap. He said his name was Captain Sasson and I also heard other people call him that. He sat me down next to his table and asked me questions about children from the village. He showed me pictures from a thick photo album, which had more than 200 photos. He asked me about some children again and again, and I told him I didn't know them. Then he stopped asking me about them and showed me three pictures of myself, holding a slingshot in a demonstration against the separation fence. I admitted that it was me, but I kept on saying that I didn't know the other children. Then he hit me in the back with a plastic stool. I cried and shouted, and he hit me twice in the leg with a wooden stick. A soldier who had a pistol on his hip ordered me to get up and face the window or the closet. There was a camera fixed in place in front of me. He took my picture, and then the interrogator told me to sign, with my fingerprint, a page with Hebrew writing. I don’t know what it said. The soldier didn’t read it to me. I assume it was a confession. I had to sign because I was afraid he would beat me. The interrogator took prints of all my fingers, and then told the soldier to blindfold me again. He took me out of the room and sat me down on the bench outside. The interrogation had taken about half an hour.
Then they took Sufian in, also for about half an hour. Then they put the three of us in a big patrol van, and after driving for about quarter of an hour, they took us out and removed the blindfolds. I saw a sign that said “Ofer,” and I realized we were in Ofer Prison. They took us into a room where they search people. They took off our clothes and a doctor examined us. They gave us bags with pants, a shirt, and flip-flops. They arrested Sufian and put him in a detention room. A policeman in a blue uniform [of the regular, rather than border police] spoke with the soldiers. I understood that he was telling them to release us. He said to us, in Arabic, “You are small children and should be released.”
They kept Abd a-Rahman and me outside the detention room and then returned us to the van. Our hands were still cuffed. After about twenty minutes, they brought each one of us a container of jello. They removed the cuffs and let us eat. About half an hour later, they put the cuffs back on. Two soldiers were guarding us in the van. We weren’t allowed to talk to each other. Whenever we said something, a soldier told us to shut up. It was very hot in the van, and we were sweating a lot. They didn't give us anything to eat or drink. They did let us go to the bathroom, removing the handcuffs and putting them back on when we returned.
We stayed like that until after the muezzin called worshipers to evening prayers around 8:00pm. Then they took us to another camp. I think it was the Beit Sira camp. At the camp, they gave us a chocolate drink and put us in a small room with green army mattresses. There weren’t any beds. The cuffs were loose now, so we took them off, drank the chocolate drink and went to sleep.
The next morning at 10:00 they put us in a patrol van and cuffed our hands again, but this time they didn’t blindfold us. They took us back to Ofer Prison and put us in the tent section, Department 2, which had eighty-three detainees, of all ages. Each department had four tents, with about twenty detainees in each. The detainees treated us well. They gave us candy, chocolate and potato chips. I felt comfortable. I fasted during the day [since it was Ramadan] and played soccer and tennis. The Department had TVs, one in each tent. I saw kids’ programs during the day and a Syrian soap opera, “Bab Al-Hara,” at night. A detainee helped me ask for the doctor to treat my leg. They took me to the clinic and the doctor put iodine on my knee wound and bandaged it.
At first, I was afraid and cried sometimes, because my family was far away. I’ve never been detained before. It was a new experience for me. I didn't know anything about detention before then. I don’t know why they detained me – the whole village and all the children took part in the demonstrations, so why did they pick me?
The adult detainees took care of me because I was the youngest detainee in the Department, and they decided to make me assistant to the sergeant of the Department. I would wake up every morning at 6:00 and call to the detainees: “Let’s go! Time for the count!” They would get up and then the soldiers would come in and count them. I stood next to the soldiers as they counted. The soldiers treated me with respect and asked the older detainees to take care of me. The Department sergeant always helped me. He was older than most of the other detainees and spoke Hebrew. We worked together, helping the detainees and submitting their requests to the prison officials and to the guards.
On Sunday morning [14 September] at 6:00am I was taken to court together with Abd a-Rahman. Before we left for court, they shackled our hands and legs with handcuffs and iron chains. When we got there, they put us in a small room to wait until the hearing began, at 2:00pm. We didn't ask for food or drink because we were fasting. When the time for the hearing came, they took us into the courtroom, the two of us handcuffed. My father was there and so was a man from B'Tselem. Later, I learned that his name was Iyad Hadad. Other people also came to the hearing, and it made me feel good to see them. I was very happy to see my father, but the soldiers didn’t let me hug him or even touch his hand.
An Israeli lawyer defended me. I don’t know her name. She asked that I be released on bond and the judge granted the request, but set bond at 3,000 shekels. My father didn't have the money, so we couldn’t pay. After the hearing, they took me back into detention. The next day, my father managed to borrow the money for the bond and I was released on condition that I return to a hearing on Tuesday [16 September].
I went home to my parents and family. I was very happy. I went to the medical clinic in the village because my neck and shoulder hurt, and also because of the scratches and wound to my knee. They examined me and treated me. They told me to rest for a week and to come back for follow-up. My father went with me to the hearing on Tuesday. The hearing was postponed until 21 October 2008.
Since I got released, I’ve had problems. I wake up at night in fear and I can hardly sleep. I went to a psychologist called Khaled Shahawan and he gave me medicine and sedatives. I feel that it’s hard to concentrate in school. Last year my grade average was 94."
The treatment of this boy is not only morally wrong, but even illegal according to international law. Israel is a party to the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) and to the UN Convention Against Torture (CAT). Amongst others these conventions say the following:
* In all actions concerning children, their best interests shall be a primary consideration
(article 3 - CRC)
* No exceptional circumstances whatsoever, whether a state of war or a threat of war,
internal political instability or any other public emergency, may be invoked as a justification
of torture (CAT – Article 2.2)
* No child shall be subjected to torture or other cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or
punishment (CRC - Article 37 a)
* No child shall be deprived of his or her liberty unlawfully or arbitrarily. The arrest, detention
or imprisonment of a child shall be in conformity with the law and shall be used only as a
measure of last resort and for the shortest appropriate period of time (CRC - Article 37 b)
* Every child deprived of liberty shall be treated with humanity and respect for the inherent
dignity of the human person, and in a manner which takes into account the needs of persons
of his or her age. In particular, every child deprived of liberty shall be separated from adults
unless it is considered in the child's best interest not to do so and shall have the right to
maintain contact with his or her family through correspondence and visits, save in
exceptional circumstances (CRC - Article 37 c)
* Every child deprived of his or her liberty shall have the right to prompt access to legal and
other appropriate assistance, as well as the right to challenge the legality of the deprivation
of his or her liberty before a court or other competent, independent and impartial authority,
and to a prompt decision on any such action. Every child deprived of his or her liberty shall
have the right to prompt access to legal and other appropriate assistance
(CRC – Article 37 d)
Israel is in clear violation of these rights. Children are often put in prisons together with adults. The period that they can be denied access to a lawyer and held in incommunicado detention can be as long as 90 days. Children are not allowed to have contact with their parents and as said they are tortured and threatened frequently. One kid was even told: “If you don't confess, I will send you to somebody who will sexually abuse you. He has a huge penis.”
Next to that, it's interesting to note that this treatment of Palestinian (children) is in violation of the code of conduct of the Israeli Defense Forces themselves. It states:
* The use of force must be proportional.
* Anyone who surrenders can not be attacked.
* Soldiers must accord dignity and respect to the Palestinian populations and those arrested.
* Soldiers must give appropriate medical care, when conditions allow, to oneself and one's
enemy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
