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.
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.
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