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July 1, 2002
Norman Madarasz
Brazil's
Triumph
June 28/30, 2002
Kathleen Christison
The True Story of Resolution
242 or How the US Sold Out
the Palestinians
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Death,
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Tarif Abboushi
Bush's
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N.D. Jayaprakash
Seething
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Michael Yates
Taking
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Stephen Zunes
Bush's
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for Peace
Walt Brasch
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Strikers
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June 27, 2002
Ralph Nader
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Neve Gordon
Jerusalem
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Robert Jensen
Alternative
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Darryl Kile's
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Gary Leupp
The Loya
Jirga Joke
Rahul Mahajan
Arafat
Says US Needs New Leadership; Calls for Fair Elections
June 26, 2002
Robert Fisk
Sharon as
Bush Speechwriter
Mokhiber / Weissman
Brokerman
June 25, 2002
Dave Marsh
The RIAA,
Library of Congress and the Web Pirates
Uri Avnery
Reform
Now!
Bahour / Dahan
Bush:
Off with Arafat's Head
Walt Brasch
Bush:
the Compassionate Exerciser
June 24, 2002
Bernard Weiner
Talkin'
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David Bates
Portland
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Cheney Does Oregon
Jo Freeman
Will
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Tom Gorman
The Only
Thing "Generous" is the Propaganda
Bezhad Yaghmaian
Caught
Between Borders
in a Borderless World
Ben Sonnenberg
Ted
Hughes' Spell
June 22/23, 2002
Douglas Valentine
Sex,
Drugs & the CIA
June 21, 2002
Norman Madarasz
Brazil
Over England:
The Gaucho's Wild Ride
John Borowski
Stossel
and Disney's Crimes Against Nature
Chris Floyd
Southern
Cross: The US Takes Aim at Brazil
David Martin
Of Lies
and Oil: an interview with Rahul Mahajan
James T. Phillips
Serbian
Reservations:
Kosovo 2002
June 20, 2002
Chris Kromm
The South
at War: a Tour of the US Military/Industrial Complex
Jacob Levich
The War
on Terror is
Not a Suicide Pact
Mark Weisbrot
What
are They Doing to Argentina?
Jeffrey St. Clair
and Alexander Cockburn
Fire
Walk With Me:
Terry Lynn Barton and the Flames of Colorado
June 19, 2002
Gary Leupp
Red Targets in Terror War
Lenni Brenner
The Road
Forward for the
Palestinian Movement
Bernard Weiner
Inside
Cheney's Diary:
Cakewalking Through Minefields
Alexander Cockburn
The
Incredible Shrinking President
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July
2, 2002
Ramallah Occupied
Uninvited Guests Become Neighbors
by Sam Bahour
I am the General Manager of the Arab Palestinian
Shopping Centers. We are trying to build a chain of modern shopping
cetners in the midst of the Israeli re-occuption of Palestinian
cities. Below are two personal accounts, one today and one from
4 days ago, of life under Israeli military curfew.
Today is June 27th. We finally had a
house visit of our cities uninvited guests. Sixteen fully armed
Israeli soliders entered our home as part of the house to house
searches that they have been carrying out for 4 days now in Ramallah,
while we sit under 24-hr curfew.
Our home compromises of 3 flats. My in-laws
live on the ground level, we live on the 1st floor and my parents
on the 2nd. My wife, Abeer, and oldest daughter, Areen, spent
all day baking to fill the time while under house arrest (in
international law they call that "collective punishment").
It was 7:30pm when Areen wrapped a tray of the sweet "Haresah"
that had just come out of the oven and was excited to send it
to her grandmother in the flat below. When we are under curfew,
like now, we use a basket and rope from our front porch to send
things below since we are not allowed out of the house. When
the basket swings into the door my in-laws know that they should
open to see what we have lowered. This time Areen was alone on
the porch and started lowering the basket when she saw a soldier's
helmet at her grandmother's doorstep after the basket was half
way down. She hurried and pulled the basket up and in and left
the window wide open. She came running saying the soldiers are
in our house. She was scared, more than she has been since we
became under curfew. I had just got off the phone with Corky,
a New York Daily News reporter, and was at my computer.
I went to the front window to see a lot
of soldier's kneeling in front of the stone fence in front of
our house. My dad happen to be with us at the time. As we sat
to see what was going to happen our doorbell rang. When my wife
answered via the intercom it was her mom saying that the soldiers
are here and we should open the door. When we did no soldiers
entered, only Fadwa, Abeer's mom. I met her in the stairway and
she advised that they want one of us only to come downstairs.
I proceeded to go see what was up. When I reached the doorsteps
of my in-laws I looked in to see their porch packed tight with
fully armed soldiers kneeling in a full alert position.
One soldier was kneeling at the doorway
and trained his rifle on me as I approached. I greeted them and
asked what is needed. He asked me if I spoke Hebrew and I told
him English or Arabic. He proceeded in perfect English and asked
who was upstairs. I answered that my family and father were there.
He demanded that everyone come outside in front of the house.
I asked if the children should come too because the weather was
a little cool. He snapped back and said "everyone".
I yelled upstairs and asked my family to come down and bring
their ID papers with them. As I waited the soldier asked my mother-in-law
where was Marwan Barghouti, as if she should know. I told him
that although my mother-in-law has the same last name they are
not related. I told him each are from a different village. He
said, sarcastically, "no this is Ramallah". I answered
back and advised him that he was in Al-Bireh not Ramallah and
that my in-laws are from Dir Ghasannah and Marwan was from a
village called Kober. He seemed to be confused so I just answered
his original question and told him Marwan was in "your jail".
He smirked and seemed to accept the answer, which is true.
My wife was now approaching with my daughters
and father. Areen, my oldest daughter was shivering with fear.
I held her and bought her in front of the soldiers who were absolutely
crammed in the doorstep and porch all in the kneeling position,
weapons pointed. I told her, "see they are just like us,
they don't scare us." My father tried to comfort her too
and told her the same. My father was itching to engage the soliders
but we convinced him to pass this time so no one ended up sleeping
in prison. Areen relaxed a bit, but did not say a word as the
soldier in the doorstep demanded that my wife open the car garage.
I told him the key was upstairs and she would need to get the
key. He approved and as we sat waiting for Abeer I told the soldiers,
" we have a long way to go yet." No one answered but
2 or 3 of the soldiers, young boys, shook their heads in agreement.
We sat their looking at them, each looked as if they were fearing
for there lives. They were in a foreign land in a stranger's
house and had a whole Palestinian (that is terrorist) family
in front of them. They just stared at us as we hugged our children
trying to relax the shock and shed the fear.
As Abeer came with the key to the garage
two soldiers asked her to open the garage (in international law
they call that being "a human shield"). As she opened
our empty garage, the soldiers, full of fear, entered step by
step guns ready to fire. I could not tell if they were disappointed
that they fund only dust or if it was a relief to them.
As the the two soldiers returned to the
house, as we sat outside in the cool breeze, one soldier extended
his hand with all of our ID's. My mother-in-law spoke to them
in Arabic, she said, "maybe one day you will come back in
time of peace and not be so scared". No one answered.
The lead soldier called for the soldiers
to exit the house. On his way past us he quickly said "bye",
as if he knew had did something wrong by violating our life.
They left, one by one, in full alert. It turns out they had searched
and taken refuge in every home of the house not just the porch.
As they exited gunfire could be heard a little way up our street.
It was another Israeli unit for sure but they took no chances
moving slowly and cautiously back to the street. As the walked
past us, one by one, each with a heavy weapon or radio equipment
or backpack, my daughter just hugged me tight. As the last soldier
left the house my father-in-law emerged and stood at the top
of the steps. Frustrated, he bid them farewell and told them
in broken English, "Be sure to come back tomorrow."
After they left we learned that they
checked each room and closet of the first floor.
We returned to our home and Areen was
much more relaxed. She came to us and said, "you know I
used to be scared of them but not anymore." She went on,
"you know, some of them look like nice people. I feel sorry
for them with all those jackets and gloves and helmets, they
must be so hot, maybe that's why they did not talk to us."
I assured her that I'm sure they are nice people but Sharon forced
them to come. I am struggling to make sure she does not view
every Israeli, even those that violate the security of our home,
as the enemy.
At last, the fear of those helmeted,
armed soldiers running free in our streets has been broken. I
was hoping for this day so my daughter will not live in fear
of our future neighbors. Nadine my 2 year old daughter can hardly
speak but she imitates the whole above episode in the most cutest
accent and body language ever.
As we settled down after our daily dose
of occupation, we joked that they could have stayed since we
had some of the best sweets in Al- Bireh to offer. More seriously,
tonight we will give our girls an extra hug and kiss good night,
because we know how today could of ended if one of the soldiers
in the street saw Areen lower a basket above the head of the
soldier entering the house.
God help the next house they went to
search.
***
Today is July 1st. We enter our eighth
day under Israeli military curfew (house arrest). We were rudely
awaken at 7:20am by someone pressing and the holding the doorbell
of our home. My wife, who was sleeping with my two daughters
(who have not been able to sleep alone ever since the Israeli
army entered Ramallah and tanks started roaming our streets)
answered the ring through the intercom. The answer was "jaesh"
(army in Arabic).
I sprang from my sleep to see what was
happening. My two daughters were now wide awake and already at
their mother's footstep. Nadine, my 2-yr-old could hardly open
her eyes. The Israeli soldier asked for someone to come down
from our first floor flat to meet him. It was only 4 days ago
we went through the same routine. At that time, my father-in-law,
Abu Hazim, bid the soldiers that with a "Be sure to come
back soon". It seems they took that literally.
I walked down to our front door and opened
the door to find five fully armed Israeli soldiers, all with
their weapons trained on me. I was still half asleep myself.
They demanded that I call everyone in the house to exit. I tried
to explain that they army had already been here, but it did not
matter. I called for my wife to come down with the girls and
I called for my father to wake up and come down as well.
We all exited the house and stood on
our front door porch, above the garage. The soldier then proceeded
to call more soldiers from the street. It turns out that two
fully loaded armored personnel carriers (APC) were parked in
front of our house. About 12 soldiers in all gathered at our
doorstep. One checked our ID's while one stood guard at the entrance
to our home and 10 proceeded, alone, to search our house. As
we waited for this ordeal to end I engaged the soldier that stood
guard. I asked him if he was enlisted or part of the reserve
army. He said enlisted. I asked him if any reserves were with
them. At first he did not understand what reserves meant but
then remembered and said no. I started to ask if humiliating
a civilian population was worth it or would picking to be a refusenik
be a better choice. The second soldier with us did not give him
a chance to answer. They spoke in Hebrew and both moved away
from where we stood, question unanswered.
While the search went on my 2-yr old
yelled out to her sister who was standing just 1 meter away.
"Areen, give me a kiss", Nadine said as she leaned
forward from mom's shoulder preparing her cheek. She said it
so loud that the two soldiers took notice, without making a wrinkle
in their straight, unshaved faces. Areen, who now is considered
an expert in dealing with such situations, comforted her sister
with a kiss. My wife glanced at me and just shook her head.
After 15 minutes or so the soldiers filed
out of the doorway one by one. A few were talking into walkie-talkies
while others seemed to mope along with the flow. Without a word,
they all left to the street. They did not tell us to enter or
to stay put. Areen was hesitant to just go back upstairs because
she said maybe not all had left. We sat outside for a few minutes
until all the soldiers were in the street before going back upstairs
to evaluate the situation. As we walked upstairs one of the APC's
rolled away. The soldiers of the second one went across the street,
to Abu Mohammed's house, and rang their doorbell.
We went through each room in our home
and, other than a few open closets and drawers, all was in place
and again we were lucky not to have any damage (other than mentally)
done. As we gathered on our front porch of our flat to see what
was happening to our neighbors a loud rumble came up our street.
Five APC's, a jeep, and a Merkava tank all rolled up and parked
in front of our house. Two soliders walked back toward our house
and knocked my in-laws front door downstairs. When my mother-in-law
came to the door they told her to come out. She said that "you
were just here, ask them", pointing to the soldiers across
the street who had just left our house. They looked embarrassed
and walked back to the street without a word.
Nadine now is glued to the porch window
watching, absorbing every move. She can barley talk and with
all the excitement she studders and sometimes stalls mid-sentence
while trying to tell us that a tank came and "Umo"
(arabic for uncle) came out or an APC's backdoor opened and soldiers
emerged. If only I could video my daughter to show to the Israeli
citizen sitting in the comfort of his/her office in Tel Aviv
what kind of generation they are creating. Areen sits quietly
at my side as we watch events unfold trying to convince me, and
herself, that they are only going to take our neighboors house.
I can only agree since as a father I must try to bring order
to this chaos.
The search group of 12 soldiers continued
to knock on all of our neighboors one by one. Called everyone
out of the house and searched. Aboud (9-yrs-old), Areen's friend
across the street, came out in his pajamas holding his two kittens,
one in each arm, as he filed through the dozen soliders which
formed two rows at his doorstep. After about 30 minutes all the
soliders gathered at the APC at our doorstep. They unravelled
a huge map colored map and went into deep discussion. The plastic
coating on the map sparkled with every bend as the morning sun
intensified. After 10 minutes they nodded in agreement and called
out to each other in Hebrew. By now the APC's had unloaded and
our quiet neighborhood was a military outpost. A few dozen Israeli
soldiers, the smell of diesel fuel, the rambling and squeaking
of the tank moving left and right. The sound of the motor moving
the tank cannon in circles. The squelching sound of radio communications,
all in Hebrew. The joking and laughing of soldiers. It was a
picture out of the movies. But the movie was yet to begin.
They went to the 3-storey home across
the street again. But this time one soldier had a sledge hammer.
They had already checked the ground floor, Abu Mohammed and Areen's
girlfriend, Asel's, grandmothers apartments. Um Khaled's flat
is the on the first floor but she is away visiting her son in
Egypt. We know that Asel's grandmother has a key and most likely
they searched Um Khaled's flat the first time around. That left
the 2nd floor flat. It's empty and is owned by Haj Waleed, the
mayor of Al-Bireh. We heard the pounding of metal for a few moments
then Areen remarked "they opened it". We asked how
she knew since we could not see what was going on directly. She
heard the soldiers laugh and say "yeah" when the door
gave way. She was right. A few minutes later two soliders appeared
in the 2nd floor flat porch, the one that is smack across from
ours. It took less than 15 minutes before every soldier marched
to his APC or tank or jeep and started to unload duffle bags,
sleeping bags, green, torn sponge-like mattresses, etc. One soldier
brought a TV out of the APC and took it to the flat. Others carried
what looked like boxes of food.
Everytime we would comment amongst ourselves
of what was happening, Nadine would try and recreate in full
body motion, hands waving and all, the actions of the soldiers.
My father just keeps repeating in total disgust that the world
has accepted Israeli occupation and should be ashamed of itself.
He asks himself aloud if Bush would have made his infamous speech
if the issue was Texas not Palestine and Bush's home was violated
as ours has been.
After all was emptied from the armored
vehicles they moved all of the APC's and tanks and jeeps into
position around the entrance of the house they now occupied.
As the moved these huge armored cars two soldiers, one in front
and one in back, gestured to the driver how the driver should
manoeuvre in order to work his way around our narrow street.
I'm sure the zoning board of Al-Bireh did not build this street
for so many armored vehicles at once. Nadine picked up every
move. Like the person who makes arm gestures to planes taxing,
Nadine started to move her hands up and down as if she was guiding
the tank. After all was in place they turned off the engines
on all the vehicles and quiet came back. It was around 9am by
now.
A few minutes later more soldiers appeared
in the porch window, now topless. No helmets, no flak jackets,
no olive green army clothes, no rifles, just a man. A man no
better and no lesser than I. Only difference is this man allows
himself to be part of an occupying force, something I will never
do.
Today it was announced that we would
have the curfew lifted from 9- 2am. Those that have started to
venture out of their homes to buy the needed food and necessities
can now be heard. The kids in the neighborhood are starting to
gather near the tank. One young boy actually went up to the tank
to touch it, as if he was in a war museum. All the soldiers,
except two, are now in the house that was occupied. The two soldiers
that stand guard are stopping those that are walking on the street
and demanding that they turn around and use a different route.
Cars coming up our street, not knowing of today's adventure,
hit the brakes as they come face to face with a tank. The soldier
signals to the drivers by moving his finger in a circle that
they should turn around. Our trash man, Abu Hassan, who is over
70-yrs-old came up the street pushing his three, age-old black
trash barrels on his rusted metal cart. The soldier standing
guard yelled out for him to stop and turn around. Abu Hassan
can't hear when we yell in his ear from one foot away so I knew
he could not hear. He took another step toward our house. The
solider cocked his rifle and yelled louder and gestured for him
to leave. Abu Hassan now understood. He yelled back in Arabic
saying that he wanted to pick up our trash. The soldier did not
understand and Abu Hassan was determined to do his job. At the
end of this standoff, the gun won and Abu Hassan turned around
and slowly pushed his cart away in disgust.
The mayor, Haj Waleed, has now arrived.
He is telling the soldiers that this is his home and he wants
to enter. They debated him at the door and after a few minuites
he leaves, inhaling his cigarette in frustration. We just learned
that they told him "we need two days to shower".
As I write, a car coming from Jerusalem
road in front of the National Insurance Building turned to come
up our road, saw the tank in front of our house and hit the breaks
only to be hit by an oncoming car that was heading South. A minor
distraction to the re-occupation of our city and lives.
So chaos, fear, anger reigns our home
and neighborhood. The kids gather to explain to a reporter that
came to see what's happening. I can hear them give a frame by
frame account of how they were told to leave their homes and
how the tanks came and how they came out when the curfew was
lifted and how the soldier almost shot Abu Hassan, and, and.
All this while our uninvited neighboors proceed as if the house
was always theirs. We can only hope their stay is short and will
be the last.
In the meantime, my girls have forgotten
that the real soldiers and tanks are outside. They are playing
hide and seek in the house. Nadine is the Palestinian and Areen
is the Israeli soldier. Nadine hides under my desk as I type
and when Areen knocks on my office door we all have to go and
wait in the hallway as Areen checks the room. We even have cardboard
passports to give Areen. Do average Israelis understand what
kind of generation they are creating! Do they feel more secure
that their kids are tormenting a civilian population?
I just heard Abeer yell out to Abu Hassan.
He saw only one soldier now outside and has just returned to
pick up our trash. He smiled as his wrinkled and tired face looked
up as he took away our trash bags. For the soldier this was probably
his first encounter with Abu Hassan. For Abu Hassan, he has entered
year 36 facing Israeli military occupation.
I guess the gun has lost, again.
Sam Bahour is
a Palestinian-American living in the Palestinian City of Al-Bireh/Ramallah
in the West Bank. He can be reached at sbahour@palnet.com
Today's
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Dave Marsh
John Entwistle's
Heaven and Hell
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