Nablus
A cold grey windy day is a good day to visit the Hawara checkpoint that restricts access to and from the West Bank town of Nablus. It is a cold drab miserable installation and the weather compliments the mood. Of all the places in the West Bank, resistance to the Occupation is probably strongest in the towns of Nablus and Jenin. Restrictions are tighter and military incursions more frequent in these areas.
Checkpoints are always unpredictable and fickle, depending on the mood of the army at the particular time, on that particular day. The checkpoint at Nablus consists of large high mesh fences which serve to segregate and channel the pedestrian traffic – those entering Nablus have free access, those trying to get out, must pass through turnstyles, searches, questions, long queues and delays – frustration and humiliation – common tools of the Occupation. Whilst waiting in line a Palestinian man walks up and down serving coffee from a large silver pot which he pours into plastic cups tucked into his thick winter shirt. His clientele aren’t going anywhere in a hurry and the only impediment to the success of his business was the complete absence of any toilettes!
There is a watchtower by the side of the road draped in camouflage netting and you can just detect shadows moving around behind the tinted glass windows. The two lane highway at the checkpoint is divided by large concrete barriers. Everywhere are soldiers with M-16 machine guns pointed in all directions whilst army jeeps come and go. Now and then a Palestinian will be taken from the crowd and placed by the side of the road, his hands usually fastened behind his back with plastic ties. Usually it is because he has the wrong permit, or is perhaps “wanted” – but as is pointed out, most people are “wanted” in the Occupied Territories, otherwise how else could 700,000 Palestinians have been imprisoned since 1967?
The only fully enclosed area in the shed giving protection from the bitter wind blowing down the valley is a small cubicle where women can be strip searched – strip searches, I am told, are even more humiliating for Arab women, although I’m not sure how this could be measured. Assuming Palestinians have a pass that permits them to leave Nablus, this is how they must get in and out of town, no exceptions.
From time to time you look up and see an ambulance waiting in line to pass through the checkpoint – lights flashing. Some time passes, perhaps ten minutes, you look up again, the ambulance hasn’t moved, lights still flashing. It is not uncommon for Palestinians to die in ambulances like that one, waiting in queues at checkpoints. Ambulances are given priority, but it’s all relative. To pass the time you wonder what drama is taking place behind the dark windows of this ambulance and whether you will read in tomorrow’s newspaper that somebody died in an ambulance on Saturday at the Nablus checkpoint. It is not uncommon for women to give birth at checkpoints either, and sometimes the mother or child, or both, die from complications. I look up again, the ambulance has gone, it has been replaced with another one – on it goes, this queue doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. There appears to be no urgency among the soldiers, this is the way it goes. Two days ago a 16 year old boy was shot in the leg by the IDF trying to clime a fence at the Qalandria checkpoint, on the outskirts of Ramallah. An ambulance was not called for two hours – the boy died from blood loss before it had arrived.
A professional photographer who doubles as a bodyguard for President Abbas was displaying photographs on the fence at the Nablus checkpoint to protest the Occupation which turns 40 this year. (http://www.palgallery.com/) This was the reason for being there. The photographs showed typical scenes – old men being questioned by young men with guns; a child crying; boys throwing stones; barbed wire; tear gas, smoke bombs and anguish. Some soldiers came up to see what was going on, cameras clicked, soldiers grew angry. Arguments broke out between Israeli protestors and the soldiers – “What are you doing here? Why are you protesting? We are doing this for you, we are protecting you, you should be grateful” said the young soldier to the old Israeli woman. Her older friend took another photograph whilst her younger friend held a microphone closer to catch all that was said. The soldiers left but returned five minutes later with a superior officer – some Palestinians in the group were called over and taken away and put in the back of a jeep – apparently there was some irregularity with the number plates of the car they had been driving. With administrative detention they could be jailed for 6 months, maybe more, without charge or trial, a popular tool to discourage active discent, whether it be political, peaceful or violent – still, maybe there was an irregularity with the number plates, after all there is a flourishing black market trade in stolen cars between Israel and the West Bank, so I’m told.
Once back through the checkpoint it is into a taxi for the hour long drive back to Ramallah via two more checkpoints, more I.D. checks, more questions, more guns, more delays, more frustration. On approach to checkpoints there is always a quiet collective groan amongst the Palestinians. After a month or two in the Occupied Territories, you find yourself groaning too – it becomes oppressive. At the final checkpoint the I.D.s of the Palestinians in the taxi caused some amusement amongst the soldiers as they hand them around, one to the other, whilst their machine guns remain pointed into our vehicle, fingers on triggers - I hope the safety catches are on – apparently they were amused by how similar the photographs were on three of the I.D.s - it must get boring standing at a checkpoint all day.
Meanwhile the eight passengers in the taxi sit patiently in silence, each thinking our own thoughts.
A cold grey windy day is a good day to visit the Hawara checkpoint that restricts access to and from the West Bank town of Nablus. It is a cold drab miserable installation and the weather compliments the mood. Of all the places in the West Bank, resistance to the Occupation is probably strongest in the towns of Nablus and Jenin. Restrictions are tighter and military incursions more frequent in these areas.
Checkpoints are always unpredictable and fickle, depending on the mood of the army at the particular time, on that particular day. The checkpoint at Nablus consists of large high mesh fences which serve to segregate and channel the pedestrian traffic – those entering Nablus have free access, those trying to get out, must pass through turnstyles, searches, questions, long queues and delays – frustration and humiliation – common tools of the Occupation. Whilst waiting in line a Palestinian man walks up and down serving coffee from a large silver pot which he pours into plastic cups tucked into his thick winter shirt. His clientele aren’t going anywhere in a hurry and the only impediment to the success of his business was the complete absence of any toilettes!
There is a watchtower by the side of the road draped in camouflage netting and you can just detect shadows moving around behind the tinted glass windows. The two lane highway at the checkpoint is divided by large concrete barriers. Everywhere are soldiers with M-16 machine guns pointed in all directions whilst army jeeps come and go. Now and then a Palestinian will be taken from the crowd and placed by the side of the road, his hands usually fastened behind his back with plastic ties. Usually it is because he has the wrong permit, or is perhaps “wanted” – but as is pointed out, most people are “wanted” in the Occupied Territories, otherwise how else could 700,000 Palestinians have been imprisoned since 1967?
The only fully enclosed area in the shed giving protection from the bitter wind blowing down the valley is a small cubicle where women can be strip searched – strip searches, I am told, are even more humiliating for Arab women, although I’m not sure how this could be measured. Assuming Palestinians have a pass that permits them to leave Nablus, this is how they must get in and out of town, no exceptions.
From time to time you look up and see an ambulance waiting in line to pass through the checkpoint – lights flashing. Some time passes, perhaps ten minutes, you look up again, the ambulance hasn’t moved, lights still flashing. It is not uncommon for Palestinians to die in ambulances like that one, waiting in queues at checkpoints. Ambulances are given priority, but it’s all relative. To pass the time you wonder what drama is taking place behind the dark windows of this ambulance and whether you will read in tomorrow’s newspaper that somebody died in an ambulance on Saturday at the Nablus checkpoint. It is not uncommon for women to give birth at checkpoints either, and sometimes the mother or child, or both, die from complications. I look up again, the ambulance has gone, it has been replaced with another one – on it goes, this queue doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. There appears to be no urgency among the soldiers, this is the way it goes. Two days ago a 16 year old boy was shot in the leg by the IDF trying to clime a fence at the Qalandria checkpoint, on the outskirts of Ramallah. An ambulance was not called for two hours – the boy died from blood loss before it had arrived.
A professional photographer who doubles as a bodyguard for President Abbas was displaying photographs on the fence at the Nablus checkpoint to protest the Occupation which turns 40 this year. (http://www.palgallery.com/) This was the reason for being there. The photographs showed typical scenes – old men being questioned by young men with guns; a child crying; boys throwing stones; barbed wire; tear gas, smoke bombs and anguish. Some soldiers came up to see what was going on, cameras clicked, soldiers grew angry. Arguments broke out between Israeli protestors and the soldiers – “What are you doing here? Why are you protesting? We are doing this for you, we are protecting you, you should be grateful” said the young soldier to the old Israeli woman. Her older friend took another photograph whilst her younger friend held a microphone closer to catch all that was said. The soldiers left but returned five minutes later with a superior officer – some Palestinians in the group were called over and taken away and put in the back of a jeep – apparently there was some irregularity with the number plates of the car they had been driving. With administrative detention they could be jailed for 6 months, maybe more, without charge or trial, a popular tool to discourage active discent, whether it be political, peaceful or violent – still, maybe there was an irregularity with the number plates, after all there is a flourishing black market trade in stolen cars between Israel and the West Bank, so I’m told.
Once back through the checkpoint it is into a taxi for the hour long drive back to Ramallah via two more checkpoints, more I.D. checks, more questions, more guns, more delays, more frustration. On approach to checkpoints there is always a quiet collective groan amongst the Palestinians. After a month or two in the Occupied Territories, you find yourself groaning too – it becomes oppressive. At the final checkpoint the I.D.s of the Palestinians in the taxi caused some amusement amongst the soldiers as they hand them around, one to the other, whilst their machine guns remain pointed into our vehicle, fingers on triggers - I hope the safety catches are on – apparently they were amused by how similar the photographs were on three of the I.D.s - it must get boring standing at a checkpoint all day.
Meanwhile the eight passengers in the taxi sit patiently in silence, each thinking our own thoughts.
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