I have been angry for the last week. Angry about the injustice of occupation, the brutality of attacking civilians with anti-tank missiles and Apache helicopters, and angry at the world for not intervening to end to carnage. Angry that so many lives have been taken, so many futures cut short. I am still angry today, but mostly I am sad.
The numbers are staggering: Israel has massacred 66 Palestinians in the past 6 days. Sixty-six human beings; fathers, sons, daughters, sisters, brothers. Over half are under 20 years old. They are shooting to kill: the vast majority of those shot were hit in the head and chest where the bullets can cause maximum damage, tearing into the hearts and minds of innocent men, women and children. And they aren't only shooting people in demonstrations either. Israeli snipers shot at two young men standing by the side of a settler road linking the settlements around Bethlehem with Jerusalem. They weren't doing anything, just standing there. They were not armed. There were no clashes in the area. One was killed, the other critically wounded. People here are saying they were shot to avenge the death of an Israeli soldier killed outside Beit Sahour. And everyone is predicting more revenge attacks by Israeli soldiers and settlers around Bethlehem.
So we wait. And we will see what this evening brings. More clashes are predicted after prayers this afternoon. That means more dead, more families in mourning.
Protect me Daddy!
The image of little Muhammed (Rami) al-Dura cowering behind his father is stuck in my head. Ihmeeni ya Ba! Protect me Daddy! Those were his last words. A little 12 year old shot dead in cold blood. Why?
And President Clinton says blamed his father claiming he should have kept his son away from the danger. Funny, so did Barak and the Israeli military establishment - after they finally admitted that it was their bullets that had taken little Rami's life.
So Jemal al-Dura should have kept his boy away. But how could he? Where are Palestinians safe from Israeli bullets when settlements are soldiers are everywhere? As Palestinian refugees with no state, no rights and no freedom, Jemal and Rami had nowhere else to go.
This week interviews with Jemal were published in the Arabic Press. He told us about Rami last words. He added, '[In] all my life, I will never forget that sentence.'
Neither will we, Jemal. Neither will we.
We won't forget Muhammed Jabareen either. Muhammed was one of ten Palestinian citizens of Israel murdered here this week. He was 24 years old. On Monday a group of us from Haifa went to his funeral in Um al-Fahem. I watched the men march past as they accompanied Muhammed's body from his home to the cemetery, angry and hurt as they spat out the same tired slogans
'Bi-roh, bi-dam, nafdiq ya shaheed/ya Aqsa/ya Filasteen! '(With our Spirits and our Blood , We sacrifice for you, oh Martyr/ oh Alqsa/ oh Palestine!)
'La illaha ila Allah, wa as-Shaheed Habeeb Allah' (There is no God but Allah, and the Martyr is God's Beloved).
And I wondered how many times Palestinian mourners had offered the same words to their dead.
And then the coffin appeared. Carried above the heads of his loved ones, Muhammed made his way to his final resting place. I followed him with my eyes and he because blurry as my they filled with hot, angry tears. I watched as the men around him waved the Palestinian flag defiantly and called out to anyone who was listening, 'Ya Barak! Ya Sharon! Hatha Watanna wa Ihna Hun!' (Barak! Sharon! This is our homeland and we are here!).
Yes, they are here in their homeland. But the state established on their land doesn't blink an eye before it takes their lives; its policemen shoot to kill.
The funeral procession continued, the women following the men. I walked with them, listening silently as they repeated the angry chants. Some wept. I felt numb as we processed to the home of the dead man's family. It was draped in a black flag. We stopped outside and the slogans continued as if to persuade the family in mourning that the community was with them in their hour of greatest sorrow. That their son did not die in vain. That their boy was a hero and would be remembered as such. That their child, a young man with so much to live for, a man who had recently told his father excitedly about his plans to get engaged to a local girl as soon as he had saved enough money for a house, would be remembered. That Muhammed, whose smiling face was plastered on posters around the town, was a martyr for Palestine, for freedom, for justice.
And I thought what a small consolation that must be for a mother who would never again kiss her child or hear him say her name.
Protect me Daddy! Oh Jemal, how my heart aches for you!
The pictures are everywhere. Every newspaper here has pages and pages of photographs of the dead, the wounded, the grieving, the desperate. And behind every face is a story of agony: the agony of a life without hope, of a world without freedom.
After a while you start to recognize their faces. There is Muhammed Jabareen from Um al-Fahem smiling out at us. He has a strong, manly face. I bet he was popular with the girls. And there's Ahmed from Ma'awiya. And two pictures of Muhammed Khamasee. In one he stares back at the camera looking bored. In other, he is dead. Aseel is another of the smiling youngsters grinning out from the covers of newspapers. He was only 18 when he was hunted down, beaten and shot dead because he tried to come to the rescue of a friend hit by police bullets. Aseel's father was there too. He saw his injured son hide behind some trees. He saw the soldiers chase the wounded boy. And then he heard the shots that took his child's life.
Some say the police that killed him were Arabs, that the Israelis put Arab policemen on the front lines so it is they who would kill.
Aseel is probably the best know of the martyrs from '48 Palestine because he was a participant in the Seeds of Peace program which sends Palestinian and Israeli children to summer camp in the States so they can get to know each other as people, outside of the context of politics and oppression. Aseel was universally popular with his ready smile and eagerness to befriend. And now his Israeli friends are torn between support for their government and grief for a friend taken from them too soon. In America they could be equals. Back home, one of them was shot dead by police, murdered in cold blood.
And Aseel's story has been repeated over and over again in the English language press. I can't decide what to think. Part of me wants the world to hear about him, how his commitment to peace and his eagerness to befriend his Jewish neighbors couldn't protect him, how brutally his life was stolen. But another part of me is angry. Is he only a story only because he had Jewish friends? The rest of the dead are just numbers to the journalists here. But Muhammed had friends too. So did Ahmed, and 'Ala from 'Arabeh, and Rami from Jatt. But their friends are Palestinians; is their grief less important?
I wonder if I will become sensitized to the images of broken bodies, of grieving families. I wonder if soon I will think of the dead only as numbers, not as people. Part of me hopes so, because right now my heart aches.
And there doesn't seem to be an end to this nightmare.
My friend N. just called from Gaza. He sounds awful, as he has done for the past week. The situation there is just horrible and you can hear the tension and depression in his voice. One of his brothers, a policeman in Ramallah was shot yesterday. He's alive, but not good. Right now he needs his family, and he called N. begging him to find a way to get him home. But there isn't a way. He is in Ramallah and his family is in Gaza. A one hour drive. They may as well be separated by oceans. Israel has closed off both areas; it is impossible for him to return home to be near his family or for them to travel to Ramallah to be with him. N. hasn't told his mother about her injured son yet. What's the point? She can't go visit her wounded child, she can't nurse him through his pain. She can only sit in Gaza, imprisoned by a government with no respect for life or human dignity. This despite the 'peace process' and Israel's guarantees that the West Bank and Gaza would be treated as one unit joined by a 'safe passage route'. They are such liars.
It's no wonder there has been so much violence. Palestinians have reached breaking point. They are not rioting because that murderer Sharon defiled the Aqsa mosque with his grotesque display of military might, although that was certainly the spark that lit the flame. No, it is too simplistic to blame only Sharon. And to do so lets Israel off the hook. It is the occupation that is to blame: the settlements that continue to grow, the closures, the imprisonment without trial, the torture, the home demolitions, the water shortages, the denial of freedom of movement, the arbitrary arrests, the constant humiliation, the fact that 7 years after the signing of the 'Declaration of Principles' Palestinians still have no rights, no freedom, no autonomy and no hope.
No wonder the words 'peace process' sound so dirty.
When will it end? The latest news is that 5 more Palestinians are dead and scores more are wounded. Seventy-one dead and literally thousands wounded. In terms of sheer numbers, the human toll has been higher now than during the Intifada.
Will all these dead have died in vain? Is there any hope, any hope at all, that in their deaths they give life to freedom and justice? That in their sacrifice they will give their people hope for the future and the right to dream?
I don't know.
And that is why I am so sad.