Palestine 2012: Captivating. 

So. It’s been a rather busy few days. I’ve had a few new experiences…I’ve been beaten, arrested, taken to court, most likely blacklisted from returning to Israel and threatened with rape and deportation. Well that’s a few things to tick off the ol’ ‘Life Goals’ list I guess…

Went to a demonstration at Kufr Qaddoum on Friday the 21^st September for the second time – a slightly more manic experience this time. Within a few minutes of arriving, the tear gas was free flowing, and we had already run away from the soldiers once, when they chased a group of us down the road – I can only assume to catch us for the terrible crime of walking in a Palestinian village. Eventually the soldiers retreated slightly further out of the village, allowing the protesters to take their desired route, towards the road to Nablus which is now only allowed for Israeli settlers – Palestinians are not allowed to use it. 

During the demo on several occasions I saw soldiers raising their guns to shoot – whether this was tear gas, rubber bullets or live ammunition, I don’t know. Me or the other internationals stepping into their line of sight, with a raised camera made them lower their guns – this may have got on their nerves a little. Demonstrations are always more restrained when internationals are present, so we were probs hampering their ability to have a really good firing range session.

The soldiers, just pre- them chasing us for the first time.

After some to-ing and fro-ing, GB and I made our way to the front. We thought the demonstration had pretty much finished, but saw that a bulldozer was being brought into the village, so were keen to document any damage that it did. We were taking pictures, when we heard the call of the shabab, who were suddenly running. They called for us to run as well...but a line of soldiers already loomed ahead of us.

Ducking down a side-road, we ran into someone’s front garden, choked with tear gas. Peering over a wall, we saw soldiers breaking the windows of a house – seemingly for no reason, as they walked away straight afterwards. It was then that they spotted us….

Three soldiers broke off from the main group. They ran. We ran - through rubble-filled and muddy olive groves. I could hear the soldiers gaining behind me but didn’t dare turn around. I was fuelled only by the hope that they would be too heavy and slow to catch us (all those guns must weigh you down!) Eventually though, they gained enough and I felt hands land on me. 

GB, gentleman that he is, did not continue running (needless to say, he was ahead of me at this point. Note to self: do more sports). He came back for me and we executed a perfect de-arresting strategy, grabbing hold of each other and dropping to the ground, in an attempt to stop them from taking us. They immediately started grabbing at my camera and GB’s phone, prying at our fingers. They were absolutely focused on removing these from us – I can only say that if you’re that desperate to hide evidence of what you’re doing, you must KNOW THAT IT’S WRONG.

I don’t know how long we lay there. It’s a blur of kicks, punches, hands all over me, my keffiyeh being dragged tight around my neck, my hair being pulled, glimpses of GB’s face as they tried to strangle him. At one point I looked up and saw a foot being raised above my head – the effort of self-control that the soldier seemed to have to make to draw back his foot without stamping on my face terrifies me.

During my training to come to Palestine, we were taught to scream in situations like this, to attract attention of people nearby who might be able to help, and to try and stop the attack. We did practice screams – at the time, mine was decidedly a scream. Muted and tamed, it was hardly audible. Turns out however, that under the right circumstances, I can SCREAM (the pain in my throat and GB’s ears the next day is a testament to this.) The soldiers did not like this, but unfortunately no one was near enough to come and help us, or at least to document what was happening.  

Eventually though, they grabbed my camera and GB’s phone. They succeeded in dragging us apart and made us stand up, pushing us back up towards the road where their mates were waiting. The soldier who was my ‘escort’ told me “you know, I like women, I don’t want to treat them like that” – err, easy solution to that. Just don’t. GB’s soldier was telling him “you must really care to be here” – too late to make friends now guys. Friends don’t beat other friends while they’re lying on the floor begging you to stop.  

We were taken to a military jeep – inside waiting for us were two other ISMers and two young Palestinian men. Bad news. Sure it’s bad that GB and I and the other two ISM women were arrested. But the real bad news is for the Palestinians. 

While we tried to keep our spirits up, the two men, Majd and Abdelateef, were quiet. They kept their heads down. Their hands were tightly ziptied – I had been asked as I got into the jeep if I was going to make any trouble – replying that I was not, my hands had been left free. I asked for water and was given it. I asked questions of the authorities and demanded to know where my confiscated property was – I was answered (sure, the answers were entirely unsatisfactory, but still, they deigned to give me a response at least.) The Palestinians were given nothing, told nothing. They seemed small and defeated – knowing I’m sure what is in store for them.  

More and more, the unequal treatment materialised. The Palestinians were blindfolded – we were not. The Palestinians were made to sit apart from each other – we were not. The Palestinians were made to sit in the burning hot sun – we were not. The Palestinians were deprived of food and water – we were not.

I hope that our intervention made some little difference – the men were moved from the sun after our continuous complaints. We offered them our water and food, to the anger of the soldiers. At one point the soldiers ordered take-away and then took great relish in throwing away their substantial leftovers in front of us all. We were given a plum each – generous. Better than the big pile of nothing that Majd and Abdelateef were offered.  When I tried to give one of the guys a plum, the soldiers yelled at me immediately.

We were fingerprinted, interrogated and photographed. We were told that we had knowingly been in a closed military zone (this is when the Israeli army decide that any area, whether it’s a Palestinian village or not, is closed for access except for the military. They’re such land hogs – come ON Israel, can’t we all share?) – when I had asked the soldiers about this, they had refused to show me any paperwork backing up the claim. One guy eventually waved a sheet of paper vaguely in my direction, saying ‘oh, it’s all in Hebrew’, refusing to show me a date on it, or a map of the actual closed area or any indication that they were talking anything but absolute bollocks. In fact he seemed pretty damn keen to stop me looking at it at all – entirely against their own bloody rules (which I challenge the basis of anyway, but hey.)

The next accusation was that we had thrown stones at soldiers. I’d like to see some proof of that, it’d have to be a pretty good photoshop job, as the last stones I recall throwing were into Coniston Water in the Lake District, and unless the Israeli army were there masquerading as fish under the water, I’m pretty damn sure I’ve never thrown a stone at a soldier. Also, as my friend Paul knows, my poor brittle bones would crumble under the weight of the stone as I tried pitifully to lift it from the ground.

After many hours, we were all taken away to different places. The Palestinians to one prison, the women to another and poor GB all on his own to a third prison. As we were suddenly posing a pretty terrible threat, they decided to shackle us all hand and foot. Imagine my pride in British industry when I examined the handcuffs and found that they had been made in back in Blighty. Also as a warning to other possible miscreants, do try not to get leg shackled EVER. It is PAINFUL.

We were searched regularly, strip searched occasionally, our belongings were pored through and listed, we were deprived of sleep, passed through a ridiculous system of bureaucracy that was entirely inefficient, humiliated and then more than anything, BORED. Hours would go by without anything happening except a million more cockroaches coming to visit.

Until in the middle of the next night, we were taken to court – our hearing was held in Hebrew – which I know one word of, which is ‘shalom’ – meaning ‘peace’, or ‘hello’. Surprisingly enough, I didn’t hear much of that word being used. Thankfully, an Israeli activist was willing to translate for us, so we didn’t come out entirely clueless. The conclusion was that we were to be held in prison for another night, and then if they needed more time to investigate all our naughtiness, we were to be held under house arrest for one week, not somewhere within the occupied territories.

So. That’s where I’m writing this from – a flat in Tel Aviv, very kindly donated by another Israeli activist, as were clearly deemed dangerous enough to warrant further investigation. Yet another activist has acted as our guarantor – if we poke even our little toes outside of this building, he’ll be billed three thousand pounds by the Israeli authorities. Another activist brought us food, and yet another took our documents on a memory stick to be emailed out to the world, as we haven’t had regular internet. We’ve been treated with such kindness and generosity by the community here, especially members and friends of Anarchists Against the Wall.

But while we’ve essentially been here in the lap of luxury, Majd and Abdelateef are still in prison. They’re waiting for a hearing in a military court - which naturally all Palestinians are sentenced in, rather than a civil court. We’ve been told that the evidence presented against all six of us is exactly the same. However, while we’re likely (INSHALLAH) to be released rather than deported at the end of this week of house arrest, the Palestinian men are likely to receive at least five to seven months in prison. Before trial, they can also be held indefinitely under a system of ‘administrative detention’ (another gift from the British mandate, THANKS) – this can last for years with no charge, with no evidence produced, with no chance to appeal their imprisonment.

Our lawyer told us that if we’d been Israeli we wouldn’t have even been placed under house arrest. The racism implicit in this system is appalling.

The arrests of Palestinians are just another way to quash any sort of resistance to the occupation – what better way to stop a demonstration than by putting all the attendees in prison. In Kufr Qaddoum and most of the other demonstration villages, there are regular night-time raids, where youth are snatched from their beds by soldiers. Not the nicest wake-up call, a soldier looming over you, helmeted, smeared in camouflage paint, pointing a gun at you and ordering you out of your home.

I would really appreciate if anyone could write to the Israeli authorities about what is happening to Majd and Abdelateef – You can write to the Minister of Public Security, Yitzhak Aharonovitch, at sar@mops.gov.il, and the Military Advocate General, Brigadier General Danny Efroni at avimn@idf.gov.il, calling for:

• The immediate release of Majd Obeid (23) and Abdelateef Obeid (25), or for them to be promptly tried in a hearing which meets internationally recognized fair trial standards;
• An end to ill-treatment of Palestinians in detention;
• An end to the harassment and arrest of international and local human rights defenders.

If you can, you can also make a donation to ISM here or Anarchists Against the Wall here. The legal fees to keep activists safe in the West Bank are crippling, and for the organisations to continue their uber-important work, they need help.