Home Occupation, Tanks stoned at Balata
Trip Start
Jul 10, 2002
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11
50
Trip End
Aug 30, 2002
Nablus, Palestinian Territory
Sunday, July 21, 2002
Then we visited the occupied family. A family of about twelve crammed into two rooms of their comfortable home so that the Israelis could foul the rest of the house. The house was situated at a strategic high point ideal for surveillance and artillery etc. firing to the town below. [add details]
That evening I returned to the Balata refugee camp where most of the rest of our original group were staying
01 Directions to today's objective
. It was the home of a family whose home was designated for destruction because their teen age son had carried out a suicide bombing. If Internationals are in such a house, the Israelis will defer the carrying out of illegal collective punishment. It's not the moral suasion but the preference to minimize bad publicity that works.I spoke with a ISM young lady who was trying to comfort the mother of the suicide bomber, a boy in his late teens. She was inconsoluble. "I did not raise my son to kill himself to kill Jews." She told the events leading up to her son's act. His oldest brother main support of the family, had been maimed by the Israelis and unable to work. He himself had been apolitical and not an activist. But his cousin and best friend had been engaged in protests against Israel. He had not just been killed by the IOF but his body mutilated. The cousin went silent for several days then committed his rash act of martyrdom. I heard several more such stories that led to suicide bombings. Is it justification? Perhaps not but it might be part of the explanation. Use what weapons one has. How should one interpret the Old Testament legend of Samson bringing down the Philistine temple?
Shortly after dark, aout 6-8 ISMers lodged in Balata went 'downtown'
02 Palestinian home occupied by Israeli Army
. Many residents were out in the streets. There were some stirrings but no confrontations. Matters seemed calm so my fellow ISMers retuned to their lodgings. Curious as ever I remained behind. Meanwhile many Palastinians were gathereing along the main thoroughfare and around the Main gate to the Balata camp. Their chief mosque was at the entrance marked by an arch to the Balata complex. Just outside the mosque and gate was a main road along a down hill road. Electricity was in the atmosphere. Among the Palestinians, swarming like bees to defend their queen, there was a tall, attractive young lady, to be clear not their queen. I spoke briefly to her. Her name was Quivaa [phonetic for Irish Coihemy ?.....] She grasped a 'lethal' stone in each hand and affirmed that 9 months of frustration in Jenin entitled her to hurl them at the Israeli tanks whose characteristic rumble could be heard approaching. Palestinian youngsters thrust lovely stones into my willing hands. I grasped them, eager to hurl. Strangely then I recalled my signature to the ISM vow of non-violence. Was a stone against a tank, Violence? To my mind, No. But it might be interpreted as so. So with great reluctance, I dropped the stones. But I would be a witness, and a marginal participant!Then there was the rumbling of the tanks moving along the road just outside Balata. At the Balata gate and mosque the Palestinian youths were swarming, ready to confront the power of the oppressors. The slogan, not unlike New Hampshires "Live Free or Die!" doubtlessly in the minds of many, "I'd rather die on my feet, than live on my knees." Seared into the engrams of my memory neurons are the next 20 or so minutes. First as the tanks rumbled down hill past the gate and mosque, a terrorist about 12 year old armed with a lethal rock in each hand broke ranks and dashed dead center not 20 feet from the Mavica tank guns to hurl, like David?, his impotent missles against the impregnable tank armour
03 The Dentist and part of his family
. [See photo 5.] Inspired, other young men 12 to 25+ attacked and flung their stones, gathered from the rubble of buildings destroyed by Israeli bull dozers and tanks. It must be conceded that the Israelis, secure in their fortress tanks were restrained in this instance from firing their guns and cannons. This was not always the case. Such confrontations often resulted in Palestinian casualties often young children. The ratio is more than three to one in deaths and far higher in injuries, the Israelis often preferring to maim than kill. More of a reminder and burden to the survivors. The tanks continued downhill past the gate and mosque followed by the rebellious Palestinian youths hurling impotent rocks against the impregnable fortress tanks, funded by USA. My adreniline was flowing. I ran with the boys down hill as they pelted their pathetic weapons against the invader/occupier. Then the tanks stopped, reversed and attacked uphill. They restrained their fire but it was at any second immanent. The boys scattered and ran. And me? I ran uphill and was being outdistanced by youth and the tanks. I ducked into an alley way till the tanks passed by. There was no gun or cannon fire that night but often there is.
There had been a goodly infusion of exhilarating adrenaline into my system
04 Susan & Ethan on return frm Dentist's
. Perception and reality. How much danger had I really been in? What had been my perception of it? Very interesting questions. Was it existential combat? Or a game of chicken? -- with the odds very heavily stacked. Since there never was any gunfire, I was never in any real danger. But since I was well aware that under similar circumstances guns and canons had been fired into crowds and Palastinians killed, and I nevertheless chose to run with the lads, what does this say about me? My judgement, my courage, my lack of restraint. If the opportunity ever again arises, I might choose to hurl the stones! Or remain prudently hidden. Not too much later, matters seemed to cool down. I found my way back to the Balata home where my collegues were lodging to learn that loyally they were out searching for me. Marty contacted the group via cell phone to inform them I was safe and back 'home'. Shortly they returned and did not chastise me for my independence. We were not supposed to go off alone. That night rather than return to the UPMRC, I slept there on the floor crammed in with four or five other male ISMers. The females were upstairs.
It might be noted here that Coihmey Butterly had been in Jenin during the brutal assault, carnage and destruction a few months earlier. Some months later she took a bullet in the thigh from an Israeli M-16 while trying to protect a little Palestinanian girl. More recently in messaage from Voices in the Wilderness it seems she showed up in Iraq known to the children as the Western lady who speaks Arabic.
