Epilogue

Aware that my Passport would now be flagged and informed that I was under surveillance, I was grateful for the fact I had slipped them the wrong phone number and given the wrong street address. I was supposed to meet contacts in Hebron before visiting Jenin, but deciding it unwise to cross through checkpoints, I felt it was best to lay low in Tel-Aviv. I hurriedly mailed home my files and evidence from the West Bank and headed for the British Consulate. I explained to the assistant the literal account of events, to which she gave me a look that said “Yeah, Right”. Nonetheless she took my passport and headed out to the office. Five Minuets later she returned looking nervous, “Take a seat, someone will be right out.”

Bringing forward my date of departure, I made a dash for the Egyptian border, preferring to be out of the country than awaiting the Shin Bet. As the Border Control women uttered the words “Sorry Sir, theirs a problem with your passport” I had already turned to see the plain clothes officials moving in. Having mailed out all incriminating evidence, sanitised my laptop and aware the likely hood of a stringent security presence on a soft border was low, the three hours I spent (again in a holding cell) were not as intimidating as my first encounter. Showing the investigators photos I had downloaded off Google of Israeli tourist sites, my documentation of the West Bank evaded detection. Passing through to Egypt, it is almost certain I will never be allowed to return to Israel.

“Did you want to kill him, buck?”

“Well, I bet I did.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Him? He never done nothing to me.”

“Well, Then, what did you kill him for?”

“Why, Nothing – its only on account of the feud.”

“What’s a feud?”

“Why, where was you raised? Ain’t you ever heard of a feud before?”

“Never heard of it before – tell me about it.”

“Well,” says Buck, “a feud is this way: when a man has a quarrel with another man, and kills him; then that other mans brother kills him; then the other brothers, on both sides, goes for one another; then the cousins chip in – and by and by everybody’s killed off, and there aint no more feud. But its kind of slow, and it takes a long time.”

“Has this one been going on long, Buck?”

“well, I should reckon! It started thirty years ago or som’ers along there. There was trouble ‘bout something, and then a lawsuit to settle it; and the suit went agin one of the men, and so he up and shot the man that one the suit-which he naturally would do of course. Anybody would.”

“What was the trouble about, Buck? – Land?”

“I reckon maybe.”

- Mark Twain, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Capture/Release On the Long Road to Gaza

Gaza is one of the most densely populated areas in the world; smaller than the Isle of White and yet home to 1.5 million Palestinians. Despite collective punishment being illegal under international law, Israel's dominance of the Air, Land and Sea has for over two years placed Gaza under debilitating siege. Refusing to allow anything, or anyone, in or out; medicines, water purification, food and building materials are in desperately short supply. As a result of the siege, unemployment runs at over 50%, with 80% of the population living below the world poverty line. According to the United Nations, Gaza is in a state of De-development. With the stated aim of quelling Hamas rocket fire, Israel's devastating “Operation Cast Lead” cost the lives of over 1,400 Palestinians, of which over 400 were children. Contrasted with just 8 Israelis killed by hostile fire, it is understandable why many Arab states label it ‘The Gaza Massacre”. A group of London based lawyers have warned there is Prima-Fascia evidence of war crimes, including the use of disproportionate force, the use of chemical weapons against a civilian population, the killing of unarmed civilians and indiscriminate fire. In the last few days, an Israeli human rights group -‘Breaking the Silence’, has collected grim testimony from over 20 IDF soldiers that corroborate these allegations, including the Israeli use of human shields. One soldier described how civilians would be made to walk in front of the soldier whilst he rested his rifle on his shoulder. Amnesty International has repeatedly warned that Gazans have no safe place to shelter, which was a major factor in why so many civilians were killed. A Gazan I met in a taxi who managed to leave two weeks ago described the place as a “Living Hell”.

My initial plan of entry was to be smuggled in by a UNRWA Aid convoy for an afternoon, but my contact informed me this would not be possible until next week at the earliest. With an Interview arranged with the UN representative in Gaza City, I decided to try my luck on the border, which depending on how the guards feel can gain a foreign passport access. Whilst waiting for the bus to Erez in Tel-Aviv, a young soldier began a conversation. Twenty-Two years old, it quickly transpired he fought in Gaza. I asked him how he felt about the operation; “It was a good thing, we fought well because we had to stop the terrorists. It was too dangerous to stay for long, so we used hit and run tactics, going into the towns for a few hours then quickly withdrawing.” I asked him if he was scared, He sheepishly grinned; “Yes I was scared, so were many. We often came under fire, we were very nervous, I did not want to die there.” Considering that large swathes of the IDF is drafted through National Service, many of its soldiers are between 18 and 22. Sending such young and inexperienced soldiers into an urban combat environment in a climate of fear perhaps explains the policy, illustrated by Breaking the Silence, of “If it moves, shoot”. I asked him if he thought enough care had been taken to protect civilians and how he responded to allegations of war crimes; “We took enough care to avoid civilian casualties, we only killed the terrorists. No war crimes were committed, the world sees things very differently to us.” I asked how he responded to the fact that over 400 of the dead were children; His face fell as he looked at the floor and did not answer.

The bus dropped me on the motorway by Erez Kibbutz, about 4km from the Gaza border. I hitched a lift with a passing car and drove down the long, empty road towards Gaza. As a resident of Southern Israel, (the area afflicted by Hamas rockets) I asked him how he felt about “Cast Lead”, his response came as a shock:

“I opposed Cast Lead, I went on every demonstration. When the Quassams were being fired, it was not this constant rain the IDF spoke of, but a handful a week, no more than 7 or 8 on average. They are a very weak weapon; they do little damage and have little power. Are they frightening? Yes. But they are not much of a threat to anyone. When the Ceasefire was signed, it fell quiet and we lived here in peace. But the IDF broke the ceasefire; they infringed the border and killed a few civilians and so they started firing the Quassams again. Then they started Cast Lead. They planned it before they even signed the Ceasefire; the documents were printed in Harretz. [An Israeli Broadsheet newspaper] The operation was not about the Rockets, its because Israel wants to continue the war with the Palestinians. Very Religious families and the Settler movement have influence over the government and want Israel to have the West Bank. 30 – 40% of Israel wanted peace with the Palestinians and to take down the settlements so they created a war and now all that is gone. They went into Gaza and destroyed everything the Gazans needed to form a state. The situation there is a catastrophe, they now have no fresh water. I cant believe the world does not speak out, what we are doing is disgusting. There are not many who think like me because the media convinces them we are under constant threat of annihilation and we must fight to survive. The media here isn’t media, its propaganda, the mainstream press are worse than Pravda [The Soviet Unions’ state run paper]”

As I made my way through the scrubland, I headed towards what I thought was the border terminal. The Border with Gaza is akin to a high security prison. A 4-meter high concrete wall surrounds Gaza, with a 500m No-Mans land on each side surrounded with razor wire fencing. Camouflaged outposts are on every hilltop, whilst watchtowers and fortified military bases line the perimeter. American supplied armoured vehicles race around, the dust trails snaking into the air.

Disorientated, I make my way onto a fresh tarmac road. Over the sound of my headphones I hear the distant crack of gunfire and see the sand a meter in front of me fly up. Every watchtower contains snipers, and I realise that I’m receiving a warning shot. My map is outdated, and I have in fact strayed onto a military road, the structure I thought was the terminal is in fact a military base. I stand still and raise my British passport into the air as in front of me the unmistakable dust cloud of the IDF races towards me. Within 30 seconds three vehicles full of soldiers surround me. As soon as they slow down I yell as loudly as I can “Ingleezi! English! Ingleezi!” The sound of safety catches click as they lower their weapons. Satisfied with my explanation of what I am doing here my passport details are taken and I’m driven to the terminal. Surrounded by boxes of ammunition and assault rifles, amongst the Hebrew radio chatter and static I can hear other units radioing my name.

I Queue with a Palestinian family at the entrance gate, the car park empty and the terminal deserted. “No Visas today” Is yelled at me as I approach. I ask if there is an authority I can contact for permission and will there be any visas issued in the future. “NO, and I hope we will never issue them” comes the snapped reply. With no explanation and my passport in hand, she suddenly leaves the booth and begins walking towards the terminal. I’m instructed to place my bag on the floor and step away from it. Keeping my hands in plain sight I wait for her return. Suddenly with no warning two armed guards flank me, their M16’s aimed straight at me. I demand to know what’s going on, only to receive the sinister reply of “You’ll find out”. I am handcuffed and led inside the terminal. My belongings taken, I am bundled through doors marked “Restricted” into a massive security checkpoint. My belongings reappear and are fed into a massive X-ray scanner. Covered at all times by armed guards, my handcuffs are removed and I am sent through a metal detector. Despite coming up negative, I am then frisked, checked with a hand detector and then instructed to step into a Perspex capsule. Instructions are barked at me through an Intercom whilst an elaborate body scanner rotates around me. After ten minuets I am led into a small room with an x-ray machine. As the heavy steel doors lock with a loud thud a man appears behind a bullet-proof screen. I am instructed to place all of my clothes into the X-ray. Another door opens and an armed guard appears and my clothes and skin are swabbed for explosives. Its at moments like this that you begin to understand how psychologically important your clothes are: its not being naked that bothered me; it was how vulnerable I suddenly felt to the rifle being levelled at my chest.

Whilst still refusing to tell me what is happening, I am led to a holding room while for two hours 3 people intricately search my belongings, swabbing them all for explosives and taking everything apart. I am then interrogated for a further three hours before being placed in a holding cell. The Palestinian man I shared with looked visibly terrified: One 21 year old I met in Ramallah spent 3 years in an Israeli prison till his father sold the family farm to raise his bail money. He showed me the scars where the Israeli guards had tortured him with a halogen light bulb and beaten him. He was eventually cleared of all charges.

After further interrogation and 8 hours after arriving at the gate I was released. The People handling me had changed from the Border Police to Military Intelligence – the Shin Bet. Informed that I would be contacted by the “Security Services” for further interrogation and made aware that I was now under surveillance, my Passport and Camera were finally returned. I was released into the night; For the 1.5 million Palestinians trapped in the worlds largest open air prison, they will not be so lucky.

For G-ds sake...

In response to mounting international pressure, Israel has stated that the programme of house demolitions in Arab East Jerusalem will be frozen in six weeks time. In reality the programme is being accelerated to make way for Israeli settlements. Israel’s aggressive game of Geopolitics is the reason the White House recently demanded that settlement construction in Jerusalem ceases, as it is illegal under international law. This is what the prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu was referring to when he stated that “Jews have the right to build anywhere in Jerusalem.” We awoke to grim news: at 7am two more homes were demolished, adding to the total of over 16,000 demolitions. Israeli policy violates at least seven international laws and human rights including “All humans have the right to housing and to seek to improve this housing to the best of their ability” and “The Occupying power must preserve housing at all costs unless absolutely militarily necessary.”

Working with the Israeli Committee Against House Demolitions (ICHAD), we set up a stall in central Jerusalem along with 40 other activists. Attempting to discuss the issue with Israelis was a remarkably impossible experience. People would take the leaflet, and at best, read the first line and screw it up before throwing it at your face. The first line read: “Speak up for human rights, no to East Jerusalem home demolitions”. The leaflet, written by Israelis, contained what shouldn’t have been points of contention, simply facts and figures highlighting human rights abuses. Within seconds a sizable angry mob was forming, the arguments quickly becoming heated. One man, visibly incensed, screamed at the top of his lung into a young girls face. I recorded his tirade:

“Fuck the Palestinians, Fuck Palestine, it has never existed and never will, this is a big lie! Since Jesus Christ, Since Santa-Claus, This is a big lie! The Palestinians should never have existed; the Jews have the right to half of Africa and the Arab world. We are Jews and we are ready to fight even you, Wait here, I will get my gun, I will get my gun and shoot you like the dog you are. I kill very well by the way.”

I quickly was drawn into an argument with another man standing near by which I again recorded:

Zionist: “…We didn’t force anyone out, no one was forced out”

Me: “Well nearly 8 million Palestinian refugees is testament to the fact that actually Zionists forced a lot of people out”

Zionist: “No, That’s a testament to the fact that instead of going to an Arab country and demonstrating for them to take responsibility for them…”

Me: “But WHY should they have to flee to another country. Why SHOULD they have to leave their homes?”

Zionist: “Because of useful idiots like you, they choose to live in camps”

Me: “You think people choose to live there? You think that they desire to live in poverty, whilst their homes are destroyed, their farms and businesses taken? You think that they choose to live in 18% of Historic Palestine, that they choose 30% unemployment? You think they choose squalor and misery?”

Zionist: “Yes.”

I became so frustrated that at this point I walked off. Talking to a brick wall does not begin to epitomise how difficult this is. People will spit on you, stare at you, gang up on you and even threaten to kill you. I am beginning to understand what was said to me in Tel-Aviv: Israeli society does not have the will to change itself. Many of these people do not know what is going on, but the do not want to know. In my eyes this makes them morally culpable for the actions of their government.

One man told me how Barrack ‘HUSSEIN’ Obama, (He was keen to emphasize his middle name) was a Muslim in disguise and had just given $1,000,000,000 to Hamas with which to destroy Israel. I pointed out that Israel receives $3,000,000,000 of US Aid every year and that the US does not bankroll its terrorist blacklist. Despite 5 Americans informing him that his facts were massively wrong, he was convinced. The most worrying thing was that he was seemingly intelligent.

I asked an Israeli human rights activist why she thought the situation was so bad. “Racism”, was the instant reply. Opinions in Jerusalem contrasted sharply with those I found in Palestine. Here, the Palestinians are spoken about with genuine malice and a sense that their problems are not the fault of Israel. One particularly vile rant epitomises this:

“Fuck the Arabs, - those fucking sand-niggers need to die. This is Jewish land, Jewish, and they cry that they left, well GOOD, they are a blot upon the earth; I hope we kill every last one of them. They were squatting our land and in the name of G-d we reclaim it. We will take all of Israel [Referring to the West bank] and they will cease to exist.”

This is, quite literally, the avocation of Genocide.

The Bedouin Land Clash

As the Taxi speeds along the highway, charred blackened stumps in neat rows running as far as the eye can see line the side of the road. I ask the driver what they were: “It was a farm, the Israelis came and destroyed it.” This is the evidence of one such land clearance. In order to make way for settlements or simply ruled illegal under Israeli military law, the IDF has executed a policy of demolishing the Olive farms that proliferate the landscape. It is hard to conceive how Olive trees that are literally a hundred years old could be justified as illegal by a state that is little over 60. Setting fire to the trees or simply using chainsaws and bulldozers, the destruction of these farms is a devastating blow to the future Palestinian state – Olives are Palestine’s most important crop and account for over 30% of GDP. In recent years the policy has shifted: the trees will be uprooted and replanted in the Israeli settlements. Destroying the Olive plantations does not just heavily damage the economy, but destroys livelihoods, throwing thousands of Palestinian farmers and their families into poverty.

Dropped on the side of the road, we watch as the taxi slides into the horizon, the desert hills towering to our sides. Following the dusty uphill track, we stumble into the Bedouin camp. Its ramshackle structures built with whatever materials can be scavenged. The Bedouins are semi-nomadic tribes that stretch from North Africa across the entire Middle East. Under the occupation, the tribes are buckling into poverty and isolation. Once able to utilise vast swathes of land, the Tribes have found themselves pushed onto smaller and smaller areas. Unable to sustain their herds, the Bedouins traditional livelihoods are drying up. Many have left for the towns and cities of Israel, but with little education they have adapted poorly; in some towns as much as 60% of the unemployed population are Bedouin Arabs.

Goats and children run around whilst the elders drink tea watching satellite TV in the shade. Around 20KM outside Jenin and surrounded by 3 settlements, the camp is home to around 100 people, the surrounding camps raising the total to about 200. In an attempt to improve conditions, the Elders elected to build a school for the large population of children. In true Bedouin style, its constructed out of discarded tyres from the road, filled with concrete and covered in mud. The Israelis however, have ruled the school an illegal structure, and stated that it will be demolished unless it obtains the required permits. To prevent the demolition, the school has to be finished in an ever-shrinking time frame. As a result, we like many other internationals have come to assist in its construction. Like many actions taken in the occupied territories, the intent to demolish a school for a population suffocating from poverty seems difficult to justify.

Rocking the Casbah...

Costing nearly $2 Billion and causing the defacto annexation of 46% of the West Bank, Israel defiantly continues to build the illegal ‘separation wall’ across the West Bank. Once a week for over five years Palestinian, Israeli and international activists have gathered and lead a protest march to the razor wire fences that trace out the unbuiltparts of the future wall. Israel holds itself up as a beacon of democracy in a sea of oppressive regimes. Travelling to Bil’in, that beacon appears more of a flicker.

The local Palestinian organisers address the sea of flags in Arabic and then English about the continued need for non-violent resistance. The march moves off down towards the wall and fervent chanting by the core is closely followed by apprehension: 3 Palestinians have been killed here in the past few months by the IDF. An American still lies brain dead in a Tel-Aviv hospital after he was intentionally shot in the head with a tear gas canister. In European cities the police use plastic canisters to avoid injury, here the Israelis prefer Metal, and after being fired from a gun, they have the velocity and power of bullets.

A local activist and a popular hero was a victim in April, Israeli soldiers shot Bassem Rahma in the heart. Video footage of his death clearly shows he was unarmed, and separated by two barbed wire fences from the soldiers; there was no justification for his killing. This was cold-blooded murder; at the time he was trying to tell them to stop shooting as an Israeli activist had been hurt. As we proceed towards the fence a grenade explodes in the air. “Do not be afraid, we will not be oppressed, we are non-violent and within out rights, FORWARDS FRIENDS!” One of the organisers yells over a megaphone. As we move to within 150 meters of the fence the soldiers begin to fire Tear gas behind us. Soldiers on our flanks and gas pouring out into the air are quickly boxing us in. The flags remain high and the demonstration remains peaceful, we continue to nervously move forward.

As we move into range the Israelis bring out a water cannon hidden behind a hill. It immediately begins to fire on us, the white armoured van spraying out jets of Aquamarine blue. I assumed the putrid smell, akin to rotting meat, is a chemical added to the water along with the dye. Wondering what the brown stains on my jeans are, it later transpires that we are being doused with raw sewage.

The first barrage of tear gas falls around us, we scatter and take cover, the canisters are being fired straight at us and they will kill you if the hit you. The first waft of acrid chemicals hits my nostrils and within seconds my skins feels like it is on fire. We hurriedly pour lemon juice into our eyes and onto our faces but the gas has hit our respiratory system. Your body is convinced you are choking and I gasp for air in the 35° heat. People start to turn and run, panic rips through the crowd, flags are trodden underfoot as people sprint back over the hill. Not wanting to be isolated, half blind and disorientated I too turn and run. Sharp cracks echo rounds the hills. The Israelis will fire rubber bullets and then live ammunition at the protest. Unwilling and unable to see what it is, I run for my life, Zig-Zagging down the road to make myself harder to aim at. A Cacophony of explosions; around 30 in quick succession comes from a Humvee as the Israelis fire a hail of Gas canisters onto us. Covering my head with my bag in the hope that it’ll deflect the volley people begin to scream and fall down. After what seems like an age, I make it out of range, but alone, at the fence, a single man remains in a fog of gas, holding his flag and facing the soldiers. I use my camera lens to see what’s going on; the soldiers are laughing at us. The Palestinians cannot even protest against the theft of their land. With 8,000,000 Palestinians crammed into less than 12% of historic Palestine, the need for an international movement is greater than ever. This was not a demonstration, it was another public humiliation.

Relief and Works

There is not a lot to say about working in Jalazone camp because not a lot happens here. The people live in extreme poverty and life is evidently difficult. The UNRWA has a strong presence here. Food aid is handed out periodically, but there is often not enough to go around. Last year the U.N built a school for over 1000 children at the camp, its gleaming white walls stand in stark contrast to the filth of Jalazone.

I meet with the headmaster of the school who tells me that before it was built the children here could obtain little or no state education. The typical class size is 50-60 children, almost double the English maximum. I ask if the school struggles with funding: “We have enough to pay salaries but we do not have enough to buy new equipment. Because of the recession countries are giving less money to the UN so aid budgets are being cut.” I ask if the recession is having a direct impact on the lives of Palestinians. “Undoubtedly yes. The people here are poorer than they were a year ago, there are no new projects for infrastructure or education, housing projects have stopped and money is running out.”

The children are learning English as a second language and tell me of their desires to travel to the USA, Amsterdam and London. The majority I speak to are 13 and 14, I ask them how they feel about Israel. “We are angry about what they do to us. But most Israeli people are OK. It is the soldiers we hate.” I ask if they hate Israel as a country: “No, we are angry, but we do not hate.” Being younger than most of the people I speak to, I expected them to be far more reactionary, but in truth despite the squalor of their surroundings they bear remarkably little animosity to Israel. One tells me the story of what happened to his friend. “My friend was 16 and was playing in the street with a football last year. It got dark and he was near Beit El (the Israeli settlement) and so the soldiers shot him in the chest. They left him in the road for 2 hours until is family came looking for him.” I ask if he survived: “Yes, but last year they killed 3 teenagers from Jalazone.” I ask how often the soldiers kill young people. “Across all of Palestine, everyday people are killed.”

The Lions of Al-Manara Square

You do not have to travel far in Palestine to encounter stories about the checkpoints. Introduced after the 1st Intifida, the networks of watchtowers, soldiers and barricades are perhaps the most powerful symbol of Israeli oppression. Desmond Tutu has described them as “Stark reminders of Apartheid South Africa”. Here, the Palestinians are stripped of their dignity and at the mercy of the soldiers. A common tactic of the guards is to separate the Men from the Women, and force the women to choose between two lines: beautiful and ugly. If they pick the wrong line, at best they will not be allowed to pass through the checkpoint, otherwise they will suffer further public humiliation or worse.

One man tells me of an experience he had at a checkpoint: “Your life is nothing to them, the soldiers are unaccountable for their actions. One soldier told a woman to take a message in English to a man waiting in a car on the other side of the checkpoint. She did not understand what the message meant but delivered it anyway. The Message was “Tell that man his life is over”. As soon as she had finished speaking, the soldier shot him in the head.”

It is a valued part of Palestinian culture to welcome visitors to the area, which is why I have no difficulty in finding people to talk too. Whilst sat in Al-Manara Square a 19-year-old named Shehab begins to talk to me. After a while he tells me what happened to him and his family: “I live in a small village near Ramallah. When I was 15 the Israelis came to the town and announced over a loudspeaker that there was a curfew and that anyone who left their homes would be shot. My father was a doctor and got a phone call in the morning that someone was seriously ill. As it was daylight he assumed the Curfew was over and left to go and help. He made it twenty meters down the street before a Soldier shot him in the throat and killed him. I ran out screaming to his body whilst the soldiers stared at me. I realised he was dead, and I was no longer scared but angry, I was so angry and I picked up a stone and threw it at the soldier who shot him. I screamed at them “You murdered my father” and threw more stones. The soldiers tried to shoot me in the chest but missed, Allah saved me that day. The bullet hit me in my leg and I fell to the ground. My mother was screaming so a soldier hit her with his rifle. They handcuffed and blindfolded me and left me on the ground. A soldier came and stabbed me in my abdomen. They put me in a cell for ten hours and would not get me a doctor until I finally collapsed.” He shows me his scars, the flesh from the exit wound still looks raw, a jagged line about 4 inches long is strung across his stomach. “Since that day we have had nothing. My mother is sick and cannot work, I have 5 brothers and sisters and they are not old enough to work. We are dependent on U.N food aid for survival, if it were not for that we would starve. I want to leave Palestine and forget what happened here, I want to come to England. Life here is so hard that it is not worth living.”

Four stone lions sit in Al – Manara Square. Traditional symbols of power, bravery and pride, Palestinian flags are taped to the lampposts above them. The bravery of the Palestinians is unquestionable, but the Palestinian sprit and will to resist has been well and truly crushed.