"When the soldiers come, I will invite them in. We have nothing to hide."
by Jordan Flaherty
Thursday, April 11, 2002
Al-Azzeh/Beit Jebrin Refugee Camp, Bethlehem, Palestine
Hey Everyone,
What is it like to live in a Palestinian refugee camp while under a military
invasion? At first it's terrifying.
There's the gunfire and explosions all day and night, and the anxiety of
never knowing what will come next.
The second night I stayed in the camp, I was up all night, listening as the
explosions came closer, hearing the tanks roll just outside the camp. The
family we were staying with were all prepared. The father was in his best
suit. "When the soldiers come, I will invite them in. We have nothing to
hide."
Still, like everyone else in
Palestine, he knew that being innocent
of any crime is not enough. All of the men in this house were arrested
during the first intifada. They were held for a year, in a prison in the
Negev desert. They were never charged with any crime. Last month, the
soldiers came and detained all the men between 16 and 45. Everyone in
Palestine knows people that were arrested and never returned.
All night long, the father smoked cigarettes (he had recently quit) and
fiddled with the worry beads in his hands. His grown sons, who live
upstairs, spent the night with us. During the last invasion, in March, the
tanks parked just outside the village and fired shells in. The upper floors
of all the houses are just too dangerous. So, we all crowded into the
downstairs apartment. Fifteen of us, sitting, waiting.
The next day, the power was cut. No one in the camp stepped outside. The
previous night, there had been a lot of sniper fire. It was too dangerous.
Even inside, several times we all hurried out of the living room and into
the kitchen, when the gunfire and shelling became too close.
Now, after a week, there's a certain numbness. The first night, it was
shocking and terrifying to get shot at. Now, its just another day.
Routine. Tanks shelling, bullets flying, explosions in the distance. I can
sleep through all of this. It doesn't even interrupt conversations anymore.
We just go on with what we were saying. Sometimes with a comment like,
"that sounded close".
My new friend Merna shows me her room, pointing out the bullet holes in her
wall, laughing, joking. Because sometimes laughter is all we have left.
Most of my thoughts actually have nothing to do with the tanks rolling by
outside. I think of the Palestinians trapped in the Church of the Nativity,
in nearby Manger Square. I don't worry about running out of food, or being
shot. Its the much more mundane thoughts, about needing a shower, or
wishing I had more space to be by myself and think (a rare luxury in a
refugee camp). I also wonder how I can ever leave this family, who I feel
so close to, or this camp, which has been my home for what feels like years,
but has only been days.
Its hard to convey what its like here. Yes, we're angry that we have been
shot at. We don't want to die. But its so much better for us than for
locals. We point out how frequently we've been shot at to drive one point
home: everyone is at risk. Its sometimes reported that Israelis have killed
many, but its only to get at criminals and suicide bombers. But, the truth
is, just to be in Palestine is to be a criminal.
There are 16 international observers in this camp, mostly from the US and
Europe. The number goes up and down as some of us have to leave, and others
arrive. Sharon, from Australia, had to leave because she was shot in the
stomach. The bullet lodged in her stomach is a "dum-dum" bullet, which are
outlawed by international treaty. It was fired at her by Israeli soldiers
while she was engaging in a peaceful, non-violent, march through Bethlehem.
This is how the Israeli military treats international observers, while
surrounded by press. Imagine what it means to be a Palestinian.
Somehow, everyone we've met has retained their humanity, despite living
under these conditions. Evenings are spent telling stories, showing
pictures, playing with the kids. Everyone here has been so friendly and
kind. Last night, we watched Mohammed and Rana's wedding video. Despite
the curfew, no one worries about running out of food, but there's a lot of
talk about running out of cigarettes.
This is after a week, I can't imagine what it must be like to live here. I
don't know how our hosts have remained so generous and sweet. I feel so
angry with our government for supporting these crimes. Sometimes I feel
helpless and tired and lost. All day long, everyone is watching the news.
In Jenin, the slaughter increases daily. At least 200 dead, by most reports.
There are no international observers there, and little to no press, so we
are all acutely aware that the world is, largely, unaware of this massacre.
Our hosts are aware, but they have so much more hope. They are grateful for
our presence. They ask nothing of us, but on their behalf, please, spread
the word. Or, if you can, come here yourself.
For more info:
www.jerusalem.indymedia.org
Press contacts, Phone:
In Bethlehem:
Heather: 011 972 67 270 398
Kristen: 011 972 56 622 017
Liv: 011 972 56 880 249
In Jenin:
Sofia: 011 972 55 851 896
In Ramallah:
Huwaida: 011 972 52 642 709
US contact: email: adream@mindspring.com