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One family’s story illustrates the cumulative impact of Israeli interference in Palestinians’ lives

September 30, 2013 by Nora Lester Murad

This article first appeared on Mondoweiss.

Tia, a Palestinian toddler in Qalandia refugee camp, looks doll-like, with a yellow bow in her hair. She only just celebrated her first birthday, but already Israel has intervened in nearly every aspect of her life. In a sense Israel even instigated her birth.

Four years ago, according to her father, Mohammed Abdel Rahman, an Israeli military judge offered him a secret deal. He told Mohammed to get married within 19 days or he would serve his five-year suspended sentence in prison. They also forced him to change universities. “They said they wanted me to calm down, but they interfered with my personal life and tried to provoke me.” His eyes suggested a maturity that is common among Palestinians who came of age during the second Intifada and who have served prison terms.

Mohammed Abdel RahmanNow, only 24, Mohammed is married with a toddler and another child on the way, and already his life story reads like an inventory of Israeli harassment tactics.

Israeli occupation policies affect all aspects of Palestinians’ lives, including where they can study and how they get food. A recent NPR story on This American Life even documented in chilling detail how Israeli soldiers routinely invade Palestinian homes in the middle of the night to photograph children, ostensibly for security purposes. However, while teargas and shooting have become cliché in reporting about occupation, the cumulative impact of Israeli interference in Palestinians’ lives is rarely reported.

Mohammed knows the ingenuity of Israeli harassment tactics first hand. He was only 17, not yet a legal adult, when Israeli soldiers first came for him, claiming he was a member of an illegal organization. This video shows the day of his arrest; Mohammed says he is the one being put into the ambulance at the end of the clip.

Recalling the events of March 2, 2007 in Qalandia refugee camp, he said, “I escaped to a nearby house. About one hundred soldiers stormed the house. I was unarmed, but they shot at me. I was hit in the right leg and it destroyed the bone between my knee and hip.”

“So many people came to help me that the soldiers weren’t able to arrest me that day,” Mohammed smiled, “but they wounded thirteen more people trying to get me.” Camp residents told him that soldiers later shoveled over the entrance of the house where Mohammed was shot. Mohammed believes they sought to destroy evidence that he says proves that Israeli Special Forces shot an unarmed minor using illegal ammunition. Such incidents are not rare.

Palestinians, who are the world’s oldest and largest refugee population, are protected under various international laws. Yet Yousef Hushiyeh, Chief Area Officer of the Jerusalem and Jericho Area for the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA), said, “Residents of Qalandia refugee camp are subjected to many abuses.”

Mohammed spent ten months in the hospital as a result of his injuries that day. Dr. Ahmad Bitawi, who is currently director of Ramallah Hospital, treated him for a fractured femur with a platinum implant. “The injury was consistent with the damage caused by dum-dum bullets,” Dr. Bitawi confirmed. Although use of dum-dum, or exploding bullets, is prohibited by international humanitarian law, Dr. Mousa Alatary, an orthopedic surgeon at Ramallah Hospital, said, “We see gunshot injuries every week. About 20 percent of them are the result of exploding bullets.”

Mohammed was finally sent home from the hospital to continue his rehabilitation.“I knew the soldiers would come to arrest me. But it was snowing, which is very rare in Palestine, so I thought they would wait until after the snow stopped.” They didn’t. Mohammed was arrested the same day.

He spent 65 days in interrogation at Israel’s infamous Moscowbiya facility, a period so horrible that he is still haunted by memories years later. He found the psychological tactics—denied sunlight so he did not know what time of day it was; sudden, threatening banging on metal; frigid air conditioning after mandatory showers—worse than the physical pain.

“I complained to the woman from the Red Cross when she finally came to see me on the 30th day of my detention,” Mohammed said. “She didn’t seem very sympathetic. She just wrote down what I said and gave me three cigarettes and some clothes. The prison guard took the clothes away as soon as she left, and I don’t smoke.”

In court, the Israeli military prosecutor asked for seven years, so Mohammed felt fortunate when the judge brought it down to two years in prison with five years of probation. Mohammed was still under 18 when he was sent to Ofer Prison and later to Naqab Prison.

Mohammed recalls that the Israeli human rights organization, Btselem, which regularly monitors the status of minors in detention, saw him twice—once in the hospital after his injury, and again during his initial court proceedings, but Btselem was unable to locate Mohammed’s file and couldn’t comment on his case.

As the occupying power, Israel is strictly bound by International Humanitarian Law (IHL), International Human Rights Law, and a host of other protections. Also treatment of prisoners is governed by international rules concerning the administration of justice. These include treaties, customary international law, judicial decisions, and general principles of international law, but violations are frequent and well documented.

“It is typical for Israeli soldiers to enter refugee camps without a legitimate military objective, which can provoke stone-throwing, to which Israeli forces frequently respond with disproportionate force,” commented Shawan Jabarin, General Director of Al-Haq, a Palestinian human rights organization. “It is common for them to arrest young men, individually or en masse, and hold the suspects incommunicado. They are not read their rights before being interrogated, and are often denied requests for a lawyer.”

Lawyers who work with Palestinian detainees say that denial of rights continues throughout the judicial process. Investigators regularly ask judges to postpone sentencing so they have more time for interrogation, which can involve mistreatment and even torture, even when detainees are children. Only after information is obtained under duress and charges are filed does the suspect get access to a lawyer. But if the lawyer is Palestinian, he or she may not be able to enter Israel to visit the prisoner, who is often transferred to Israel for detention, a practice considered a breach of the Geneva Convention. Furthermore, lawyers say that it often takes two to three years for a case to reach trial, and since there are no provisions for bail, there is tremendous pressure on prisoners’ families to cut a deal. One lawyer concluded that about 95 percent of cases end with a plea bargain and outcomes that further curtail suspect’s rights.

Israel’s infamous administrative detention policy allows the authorities to bypass even the sentencing process: Palestinians can be held for up to six months without being charged with a crime and without any opportunity to defend themselves. Moreover administrative orders are frequently renewed, sometimes for many years.

In Mohammed’s case, he was sentenced, served two years and was released with five years of probation, as promised. But after six months he was arrested again.

“Someone turned me in,” Mohammed said. “They lied and said I had weapons but it wasn’t true. The interrogators tried to get me to agree to collaborate and become a spy for them against my own people. They threatened to imprison me for five more years saying that I violated my probation.”

Mohammed wasn’t the first person in his family to experience psychological coercion by Israeli military officials. He described how his older brother was in detention when he developed a growth on his neck. The prison doctor said that it was an insect bite, but it turned out to be cancer. For the next seven years Nidal was in and out of hospitals and at every stage Israeli intelligence services questioned him. More than once, Mohammed said, the interrogator promised Nidal treatment if he would provide information about political activists in the camp but Nidal refused. “Just before he died, Nidal was denied permission to go to Jordan for treatment, but the Israelis had already stolen all his medical files from our house, so it didn’t really matter anyway.”

When Mohammed went before the military judge the second time, for allegedly violating his probation, he was not sentenced to serve five more years as he had feared. “There was no evidence that I had done anything wrong,” he said, “but I felt they were all working together to pressure me to say I was guilty of something. The judge sent me back to the Israeli military intelligence agents and they tried to play with my mind. They pretended to be interested in me. They asked what I wanted to do with my life and I told them I wanted to get married and have a family.”

When Mohammed reappeared in court that day, the judge greeted him by saying “Mabrook,” which means “congratulations” in Arabic. “He told me I had to get married in 19 days or he’d arrest me again and sentence me,” Mohammed said. A lawyer, who refused to be identified, confirmed that Israeli military judges frequently take advantage of prisoners’ personal situations to elicit certain kinds of cooperation. He gave the example of a man, engaged to be married, who was released from prison for his wedding on condition that he would leave the country for a minimum of two years. Often, he said, prisoners with severe tooth pain are given pain relief in exchange for confessions.

“It took me three months, not 19 days, to find Rana,” Mohammed said, glancing proudly at his wife who poured glasses of soda in their kitchen. “But they [Israeli military intelligence] were asking about me the whole time. They knew that I was seriously looking for a wife.” Rana was 16 at the time of their marriage.

Rana said that Israeli military officers visited their home soon after the wedding claiming they came to congratulate them. “They sat on the couch in our living room for five hours pretending to be friendly,” Rana said. “But before they left, they broke everything in the bedroom and the bathrooms,” Mohammed added.

Ironically, Israel is under attack for its policies that impede marriage. They are not known for encouraging Palestinians to marry.

A few months later, Rana miscarried when Israeli soldiers let off a stun grenade next to their house in Qalandia refugee camp. “There was a lot of shooting that day, and our walls are thin,” Mohammed knocked on the plaster to demonstrate his point. “We were moving from room to room, staying away from the outer walls in case a bullet came through,” When the loud crack of the stun grenade went off just below their window, Rana felt a severe pain and ran to the bathroom where she started bleeding profusely. She had not known that she was pregnant.

“Rana was scared, so I couldn’t leave her. But I could see three young men had been shot in the street near my house. The soldiers were right in front of my door. It was dangerous so I didn’t go out. Later two of my friends died and I still feel guilty that I didn’t go out to help them,” Mohammed said.

“I grew up in this refugee camp, too,” Rana said. “One of my uncles was killed by soldiers and several of them are in prison. I’m used to it.” When asked why she married Mohammed, knowing his history and the likelihood that his problems would continue, she smiled shyly, “It’s my destiny.”

But now that they are parents Mohammed and Rana are more concerned about the long-term impact of the violence that surrounds them. “One time we were sleeping on the floor so my daughter wouldn’t fall,” Mohammed recalled. “She climbed up on me while I was having a nightmare about soldiers grabbing me and I pushed her away very hard. I nearly hurt her.”

Though it would be difficult financially, Mohammed and Rana could leave Qalandia refugee camp and live in Ramallah, where conditions are easier. “But,” Mohammed said, “that’s what they want. They want us to leave the refugee camp, and get a comfortable life, and forget our right of return.” The couple intend to stay put.

Mohammed conceded: “I did get married and I did calm down, but the Israeli plan for us isn’t going to work.” Despite Israel’s daily harassment and intervention in nearly all aspects of Mohammed’s life, and the lives of millions of other Palestinians, the Palestinian people still have their dreams and determination. Mohammed said: “They may destroy our lives, but they can’t damage our national spirit. It’s always inside of us.”

The American Colony Bookshop hosted a conversation with Raja Shehadeh, Penny Johnson and Rema Hammami, editors of New Palestinian Writing on Exile and Home on May 22, 2013. Here are the best 27 minutes of the event.

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For those who ask me about daily life in Jerusalem, I’m happy to share this collage of clips from recent cultural performances by children. The halls are packed with proud parents. The children beam and clutch their certificates of achievement. I hope you enjoy.

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Gaza Diaries, Day Two

April 22, 2013 by Nora Lester Murad

Gaza Diary, Day Two: The Beautiful Beach

I sat on the Gaza beach with a friend. I don’t like the beach, truth be told. But I filled with gratitude for the chance to sit on the Gazan sand– because it is the place of so much history, so much bravery, all the way from the Mavi Marmara to the fishermen who risk being shot so that we can eat shrimp. And because it is a strip of beauty in this very tragic place.

As we spoke I picked out the pretty shells, the multicolored ones, the unbroken ones, and stashed them away for my daughters, or maybe for me.

Twice, my friend jumped in fright when the metal from a truck bed clanged open to unload dirt. I pretended not to notice, not to notice her vulnerability, to memories, of powerlessness.

We chatted about organizations and women and opportunities. We could imagine so many ways to work together, now that we had seen each other for the first time. Now that we could see, not just hear, the sincerity in each other’s eyes.

And when there was a lull, she sighed, a deep sigh, and wished that I could come again, and wished that she could visit Jerusalem, and wished that life wasn’t so hard. Don’t they know that what they deny grows more and more valuable in the hearts of people?

Gaza Diaries, Day One

April 21, 2013 by Nora Lester Murad

Day One, Morning: Leaving Jerusalem for Gaza

My daughters, their long, curly hair hanging out of the second-floor window, waved furiously as I got into the taxi bound for Gaza. It was a send-off far more significant than when I travelled to Indonesia or Namibia. In those cases, they said goodbye and went back to reading. Today, though, my girls, who I can hardly drag to Bethlehem or Nablus, sent me off with a longing in their eyes. It’s the same look I got from all the West Bank Palestinians I told about my trip plans. It’s a look that encompasses envy and sadness and anger. Because they cannot go to Gaza.

They cannot go meet nephews, nephews who enjoy birthdays without the auntie they know only by name. They cannot visit the graves of their parents who died without their comforting touch at the end. They can’t even go for work, for a meeting with colleagues at the university or to negotiate prices with partners. They can’t go to Gaza because Israel does not allow them. And Gazans, except under rare circumstances, are not allowed to go to the West Bank.

Gaza is only about one hour by car from Jerusalem.

One of my friends was last in Gaza 13 years ago, another 20 years ago, another 8 years ago. I got in (my first visit in 25 years) for a consultancy with an international organization, with my US passport, and lots of international negotiating effort.

The Gaza Strip is a tiny, but integral, part of Palestine. Twenty-five miles long and 7.5 miles wide at its widest, it lays along the Mediterranean Sea coast just south of Israel. Administered as part of the British Mandate since the twenties, the war in 1948, Gaza brought under Egyptian control. In 1967 Gaza was occupied by Israel, and over time restrictions on mobility between Gaza and the West Bank were implemented. The Oslo Accords cemented these restrictions in 1993, and Israeli settlements expanded.  In 2005, Israel changed its occupation tactics. It removed the Israeli settlements inside Gaza and hardened control over the perimeter. The Palestinian elections that brought Hamas to power in 2006 triggered an international boycott of the Palestinian Authority, followed by internal fighting that ended with Hamas in charge of Gaza and Fatah in charge of the West Bank. That, in 2007, was excuse for Israel to implement a blockade that has cut Gaza off from the rest of Palestine almost totally.

Now, Gaza is not only physically and politically separated from the West Bank, but culturally and socially, too. Though Palestinians try to work across the divide, the truth is that the Israeli attempt to break Palestinians into cantons has worked – going to Gaza is like going to a foreign country. Even my young daughters know that.

 

Day One, Evening: Putting Faces to Voices

I ate a lovely meal with a dear, old friend, someone who I care about deeply, whose panic I’ve heard over the phone lines when bombs fell indiscriminately around him and his family. He has been my friend for seven years. We worked together to build an organization, to establish its mission and culture, to build its programs. But since he has always been denied an exit visa by Israel (even to attend a conflict resolution training with a scholarship from the US embassy), and since I could not enter Gaza, today was the first time we ever met.

Sitting there, trying to memorize the face that went with the voice, and thrilling in the sight of his adorable boys riding a bicycle in circles in the living room, I tried to imagine how our friendship might have developed if Gaza had not been under siege.

The glow of the conversation lit the faces of my friends, but at some point I realized that I could no longer see the stuffed zucchini well, and a few minutes later, we were sitting in darkness. I groped for my camera that I remembered putting down near my plate so that it would not be lost.

No one moved to turn on the lights, which I found odd, until I recalled that in Gaza, they only have electricity 8-10 hours a day. The entire neighbourhood was dark. This is Gaza.

We cleared the table in darkness, setting plates on the kitchen counter, and putting soda in the refrigerator, which was now not running.

It wasn’t long before the lights came on again, fuelled by my friend’s brother’s generator. I felt myself exhale, and I felt guilty. Daily life in Gaza—even without bombs falling—presents a level of unpredictability and inconvenience that disoriented me.

We walked to his car passed the roar of the generators and the greasy smell made the zucchini turn over in my stomach.

He drove me back to the apartment where I was staying and he said, with what felt to me like great emotion, “Next time bring the whole family.” And I said, “Really? Will Israel allow that? Can my youngest daughter come here to play with your son?” And looking straight ahead he said, “No.” There was silence and I realized we had hit the limits of normal conversation, where reality makes a mockery of normal dreams.

Every Friday in Jerusalem

April 13, 2013 by Nora Lester Murad

This poem was published on PeaceXPeace. I would love your comments.

 

On Fridays,

I feel rested
you feel anxious

I make pancakes
you cut onions

I fold laundry
You tie kafiyehs

I read email
You read danger

I buy fish
You buy time

I contemplate you
you contemplate them

Then,

tear gas stings
shots ring

I cringe
you bleed

I write

The Ziad Jilani case could be a landmark for Palestinian human rights (Guardian)

March 25, 2013 by Nora Lester Murad

My headline for the article I wrote that appeared in The Guardian was “Jilani Family Cautiously Hopeful as Israel Impunity Stands Trial.” Having spoken recently to Ziad Jilani’s widow, I confirm this is true: something feels different about this case, which is currently under consideration by the Israeli Supreme Court.

Please read the article and voice your comments on this blog. Will Israel again protect their police despite violations of human rights? Or will they, in this case, admit that wrong is wrong and hold those responsible to account?

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Moira Jilani at Israeli Supreme Court hearing

 

Shadi Har al-Din at Israeli Supreme Court hearing
Shadi Har al-Din, Israeli Border Police Officer, at Israeli Supreme Court hearing

Mothering in the “Ramallah Bubble”

March 19, 2013 by Nora Lester Murad

This article first appeared on PeaceXPeace.

Palestinians know what “Ramallah Bubble” refers to, even if they’ve not heard the term. The city of Ramallah is palpably different from the rest of Palestine. It’s the lifestyle, the mindset, the money, and, above all else, the irking feeling that it might suddenly burst.

Inside Ramallah, Israeli incursions are relatively infrequent and movement is unencumbered. Palestinian police stand on nearly every corner in the bustling downtown shopping district; and construction is booming. To outsiders, Ramallah’s appearance of “normalcy” may seem proof that the “peace process” is benefiting Palestinians. But some locals, including some mothers, believe that Ramallah’s fake “good life” dilutes children’s national consciousness.

“It’s really difficult to teach our children what military occupation means while living in Ramallah. Unless an Israeli jeep drives by, we can’t convince them there’s a problem. There are too many distractions,” Iman Assaf said.

Iman sipped espresso at Zamn Café, itself a product of Ramallah’s aid-fueled economic growth, as she chatted with friends about the challenges of mothering in Ramallah today.

Joyce lamented, “Once we invited friends for dinner. We found their four kids and our four kids sitting together in the playroom staring at their iPads – eight iPads in one room!”

Ramallah has been host to a pseudo-government since the Palestinian Authority was established as a result of the Oslo Accords. The five-year interim period, which has now dragged into nearly twenty years, was meant to build trust and resolve final status issues. But hope seems to have dissolved into Walls, fences, ditches and checkpoints and relentless violence. This defines life in most of the occupied Palestinian territory—except in Ramallah.

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In fact, Movenpick, a visible symbol of the Ramallah Bubble, runs a five-star hotel in Ramallah. General Director, Michael Goetz, said they became profitable in their second year, even sooner than their financial forecasts predicted. Movenpick’s success, and that of the hotels, restaurants, landlords, and other service providers, is primarily a result of international aid. Palestine receives billions of dollars in international aid, most of it flowing through Ramallah before trickling to more remote areas.

“I was in Gaza recently,” May Kishawy shared. “People in Gaza don’t live like we do. They know what poverty is. They understand from their experience that our political problems are not solved.”

People who enter any one of Ramallah’s refugee camps know that that poverty is real in Palestine, even in Ramallah, and a stroll near the checkpoint, especially on a Friday, will surely find angry boys throwing rocks at the symbols of occupation and being tear-gassed in response. The point is that while Ramallah isn’t free, people in Ramallah may choose not to see. For mothers, the choice is poignant: “Should I protect my children from the horrors of occupation if I can? Or should I show them the truth even if it hurts?”

“When I was growing up in Nablus during the first Intifada,” Iman said, “we couldn’t avoid the occupation and we didn’t want to. We were young, but we cared about social issues like violence against women and attacks on villages. Today, kids are more concerned about the model of mobile phone they carry. We’re still occupied and we have no rights, but the new generation doesn’t understand that.”

The mothers acknowledged that consumerism is global, that peer pressure is universal, and that mother-child conflicts over television time are unexceptional. Still, there is something strange and disturbing about entering Jasmine Café in the late afternoon and finding it crammed with local school children—while their peers in villages and refugee camps are being tear gassed or assaulted, arrested, and sometimes killed.

Naela Rabah, Principal of the Greek Catholic School of Our Lady Annunciation, said that while not all Ramallah families have money, all are subjected to the influence of the Ramallah Bubble. “Many famililes in Ramallah are living beyond their means. They take loans to buy houses and cars. The kids who have access to money put pressure on other kids to wear fancy clothes, too. Parents give in because they don’t want their children to feel self-conscious, but they’re taking a risk. None of us has security. If I lose my job, I have no income. I don’t have health care like they do in other places or old-age pension.”

Some critics assign blame for Palestine’s illusory economy on international donors, who inject money without challenging the fundamental problem of Israeli occupation. Other critics point specifically to World Bank policies that tout private sector-led economic growth as a solution for Palestine’s problems—without admitting that real development under occupation is impossible.

The group of Ramallah mothers stopped short of saying that international actors created the Ramallah Bubble to intentionally lead Palestinians away from their national aspirations, but they did say that systemic forces are pushing Palestinian society in that direction.

An eighth-grade student at a private school in Ramallah agreed that the top layer of Palestinian society does have money to burn, but she disagreed that Ramallah youth have lost touch with their national consciousness.

“Kids in Ramallah are more aware of the occupation than kids in Jerusalem,” she said. “Don’t forget that kids in Ramallah experience the occupation every time they are prevented by soldiers from crossing the checkpoint in order to get to the mall.”

This article first appeared on PeaceXPeace.

Five Broken Cameras and One Broken Heart (Mine)

March 17, 2013 by Nora Lester Murad

I don’t know why I went to watch the Palestinian documentary, “Five Broken Cameras” last night. I was already exhausted from a long, sad week. And I knew that the Educational Bookshop in Jerusalem would be packed and there would be no seat. And I’d see people I was too tired to be polite to. But I went. I don’t know why. My car seemed to drive itself down to Salahadin Street. Then I paid too much to park in a lot. I don’t know why I went. I could have just bought the DVD and watched it at home.

I knew the film would be excellent or it would not have been nominated for an Academy Award. I knew it would be so well done that it would keep me up at night, and here I am, as expected, writing about it at 4 am. I knew it would be too much for me, after writing about Ziad Jilani’s death. Each article I write seems to deplete my being in some way that can’t be replenished. Yet I write, hoping it will save me, but fearing it will kill me. Being in touch with so much pain.

That’s what co-director Emad Burnat meant, I think, when he said in a discussion with the audience by skype, “I wanted to tell my story,” and why he braved, and continues to brave, such violence so that he can continue to film. I sensed it hurt him to document the reality that he, like the rest of the world, would prefer to deny. Yet he was compelled. I think I understand that.

Emad Burnat in Bil'in talking to film audience in Jerusalem by Skype
Emad Burnat in Bil’in talking to film audience in Jerusalem by Skype

The scenes of the movie were all familiar to me. The children said what they always say. The protesters chanted what they always chant. I watched as children vomited from tear gas, as old people were hit with rubber bullets in the face, as people who we’d come to love through the story died almost on cue. There was no new information. Still, the film affected me. It was a compact presentation of the horror that lasted for years, and continues to this day, from the perspective of one man. A regular man.

The sickness and inhumanity of what is happening in Bil’in, in Palestine, is inescapable.

I did try to escape the film, more than once. I wanted to go home, to my children, and to rest. I was so tired. But I stayed, drawn both by deep sadness and utter awe for the steadfastness of the people of Bil’in, and of Emad Burnat.

I’m sure if you watch the film, you’ll feel it too. And I hope it compels you, and me, to act.

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