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CounterPunch
January
23, 2003
Mountain of Fire
Nablus Under
Lockdown
by ANN GWYNNE
Not content with the injuries they inflicted yesterday,
the Israelis have today become even more violent, and the following
incidents occurred just in our small area. They beat, kicked
and spat on two accredited photographers for Reuters and AP,
knocked over a 65-year-old UK grandmother (me) with a blow in
the back from a rifle butt, and beat up one of the young Ambulance
Drivers when he was stopped in the mud of Beit Fouriq to change
a wheel. Soldiers also injured a baby (who needed hospital treatment)
with a blow from a rifle butt, refused for ages to return my
passport, kept ten or more ambulances at a time waiting at a
newly set-up tank-point (road-block), and generally made a nuisance
of themselves. These huge tanks swivel their large caliber shell-firing
gun straight at you while you wait in the ambulance, and today,
for the first time, I was able to see all the way down the barrel--even
considering what is normal here, that was pretty amazing--the
mouth of this unbelievable weapon not three feet from my eyes.
I also took a VERY close look at the rest of the death-delivering
monster, paid for by the Tax dollars of US citizens, and ran
my hand along the side from end to end. Inside this metal container
soldiers live all day--no wonder they are quite crazy.
We are under total lock-down which will
last for the next two weeks, mainly because a few kids threw
stones at their precious tanks, taking chips out of the paint.
Ramallah is suffering the same fate. Lockdown, or curfew as the
occupying forces term it, is a concept beyond imagining unless
you are in it. No one can go to a doctor. No doctor can visit
a cancer patient dying in agony. The obstetrician is powerless
to assist in a difficult birth. No medicines can be obtained
from the pharmacy. No one may visit a parent in the next street,
or pop to the shop for a missed food item. Any child who goes
outside for a few minutes to get away from the confinement of
a couple of rooms is liable to be shot dead--and there may well
be no toys, books or other playthings inside. I have been in
only one home where there was anything to play with, and that
was a well-to-do home in Ramallah.
For the past two weeks it is as if no
one lives here. Tanks or armored personnel carriers (APCs) are
at every strategic point--all paid for by US tax dollars. In
the APC's at the newly-sprouted checkpoints are 6--8 young soldiers
who hide under a back-breaking, low roof all day, so that they
will be ready to kill the imaginary terrorists in every ambulance.
Israel's collective paranoia seems to be intensifying. But how
is it that they do not have a single psychologist in their government
who understands the simple truth that the more you humiliate
and murder, the stronger is the resolve of the people.
At times like these the number of Chevy
ambulances in the City is amazing--where do they roost in normal
times? No one here can really remember normal life. I was privileged
to travel all day with our Ambulance, and I really can see that
it helps to offset the vicious brutality that is everywhere now.
A young woman, Samar, told me that as she drove home with her
children of 2 (Amir) and 3 (Dana), checkpoint soldiers shot at
the car, hitting them both--the littlest one in the head, and
the other in the cheek--think of it if you can. First they refused
to let her go on to the hospital and then, when she finally made
it and was returning through the same checkpoint, they took away
the children's pain-killers and antibiotic medicines. At one
tank-point today, I took our identification documents to the
soldiers and they did not even look at them--we were let through
unhindered. It makes me angry that I have so much presence here
in a land not my own, and the Palestinians none.
I was not on the one trip in which Feras,
the young ambulance driver, was attacked. When he came back from
the neighbouring village of Beit Fouriq completely covered in
mud--face, hair, upper body, jeans--his anger and stress were
at what must be maximum level. He had a quick wash under the
cold tap in the yard and then we were off to--well, you will
think I got this wrong, but it is so--to a large apartment block,
the top three floors of which the Israelis have commandeered
as a headquarters while the remaining families live in the lower
floors. Parked outside their home were four huge tanks and assorted
smaller vehicles. A troop carrier arrived while we were there
waiting for our doctor to come out of an apartment. It watched
as Feras gave an impeccable display of a precision 3-point turn
on a steep hillside in 10 inches of slippery mud--completely
calmly, as though he were on a flat paved road. The troop carrier
then disgorged 20 soldiers; one came up to us and wanted to talk.
He and Feras ended up having a long conversation. I found the
picture of these two beautiful young men talking together, face
to face, similar age, height, colouring, features and eyes, very
moving. One, ready to kill, armed with the latest in designer
guns; completely deluded that the Palestinians "will kill
all of us if we don't do this", and failing to understand
even the tiniest facet of the reality. The other, with a perfect
overall grasp of the historical and political realities of the
situation, unarmed and risking his life every day of the year,
to preserve life or to bring it into the world.
At the hospital were crowds of frightened
people begging to be taken home, but the situation here is so
tense that Feras does not dare to do so--we feel that anything
could start the shooting. After last night--the first time I
felt the gut-wrenching fear of standing alone in the rubble-blocked
streets of a city under curfew--the agony of leaving them behind
is terrible. Later we took a mother, grandmother and new baby
girl from the hospital to the 'New Askar' Refugee Camp. What
a monstrous construct--a new Askar, where a NEW lot of refugees
are forced to exist. The three generations of this family were
born in the Askar camps. It was a very emotional hour in the
ambulance, giving this beautiful little creature her bottle and
watching her fall asleep on my lap--it is very difficult to keep
oneself on the stretcher in the rear, not to speak of holding
a baby too! A couple of tears forced their way past my closed
lids, which Feras saw. He urged, "no crying Anne, or I not
bring you again". Later, I told him that they were only
two very small tears, because the baby moved me so much; he,
of course, said he understood and that I can always come! The
rejoicing when we arrived at what passes for a home in Askar
was a lesson in survival in Palestine. The whole street turned
out!
Our Doctor told me how the lockdowns
(curfews) are intended to destroy family relationships. Whole
families are penned indoors for weeks at a stretch, imprisoned
with the windows closed and the curtains drawn--they do not dare
to open them. They will be shot if they can be seen inside--inside
their own homes, in their own land, having done nothing to deserve
such punishment. Often the Israelis will shut off the water and/or
the electricity so that they cannot flush the lavatory or listen
to the radio or TV. Although this puts enormous strain on the
families, somehow they gather all their strength and survive
even this. Because here in Palestine the family structure is
very strong and is sustained by mutual love, caring, and affection.
Thanks to this, violence does not break out, and they do not
abuse each other. It is a testament to their immense courage
and closeness that they emerge from this intolerable confinement
triumphant. But for how long, as the curfews go on and on? The
spirit dies a little each time: can their natural love and respect
withstand these endless onslaughts, not only unprecedented but
never heard of in human history?
Now it is 7.30 in the evening in Nablus,
and I am waiting for the Ambulance to come back so that I can
go out with it again. The young volunteers had to be taken home
safely first! We have been to the shop opposite, whose door is
closed except to those who know, and bought eggs, corned beef,
Jordan almonds, falafels, milk and rice. Muntaser is making a
delicious meal. He is still here, unable to take up his first
job as an Ambulance Driver in Jenin, because of the lockdown.
We will miss his cooking, and him, when he leaves. The eggs here
are especially good--all the food produced here would be considered
premium organic in the US or the UK! The quality is superb.
Tonight there are crowds of youngsters
on the streets, armed with stones and staying close to the doorways.
I wonder what power these kids have which enrages the Israelis
so--can it only be their courage? I hope against hope that none
of them will be shot. Today Feras and I had many conversations
with soldiers; I had many yesterday too. More and more, I am
puzzled and fascinated at the unprecedented level of indoctrination
that has produced these young people--without a clue about the
world around them. Don't they feel stupid repeating the same
mantras endlessly and getting nowhere? ("We must defend
our land"; "they are terrorists!") It is very
hard to see how this has happened, given Israel's access to international
media, the internet, and ready contact with other cultures. I
am going to take every opportunity to speak with these men--hoping
to see the tiny chinks in their hard-coating.
Anne Gwynne,
Independent International, is currently working with the Union
of Palestinian Medical Relief Committees in Nablus. She can be
reached at: gwynne_anne@hotmail.com
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