Palestine Speaks, page 5
I had a friend from HRW in Jerusalem, and she took me for a ride. She wouldn’t tell me where we were going, but we kept driving up and up. Suddenly, out my window I saw the Dome of the Rock.13 I started screaming like an idiot. This was an image that I saw on posters or framed pictures in every house in Gaza when I was growing up, on all my school notebooks. And here it was, right in front of me.
But being in Jerusalem was a strange experience. One amazing thing was that other Palestinians in Jerusalem were seeing a Gazan for the first time. I remember going into a hotel in East Jerusalem. I wanted to tell everyone I met I was from Gaza, and I talked to the receptionist at the hotel—a Palestinian man. He was shocked. Then he made a dumb joke and asked me if I had any bombs in my pockets or something like that. Then the next day I got to take a bus ride to Ramallah, and I made small talk with a man on the bus who was from Bethlehem. When I told him I was from Gaza, he was as surprised as the receptionist. He said something like, “No way you’re from Gaza, you’re cute and smart!” The trip out of Gaza was really eye-opening for me.
IT WAS GOOD THAT I STAYED HOME
In 2012, I got a scholarship to go to Sweden for six months. My father wasn’t ready for me to travel that far yet. He was worried. So he wouldn’t let me go, and I cried for days. But it was good that I stayed home, because it led to one of my first big breaks.
During the first Israeli strike on Gaza, I was still doing my training, so I was reading news all the time. But in the second strike, in November 2012, I was already a professional journalist, so it was a bit different.14 By this time I was only focusing on how to get news. My only fears were about making deadlines.
I used to go out into the street immediately after the air strike happened. I got used to seeing bodies: corpses lifted out from under the rubble. I would go into the hospital as well.15 In the hospital, I was always watching the entrance. And cars would speed in so fast after a strike. Everyone outside would scream to back up, to give the arriving passengers more space. And I’d stay in my spot, watching women, and then men, and then children, and then old women—people of all ages and all different backgrounds—come in with all sorts of injuries from the air strikes.
And during the strikes I would be outside my home most of the day, and I even slept outside my home. The strike lasted eight days, and then afterward, I thought, I was under the rockets and I didn’t even cry. It was the most important phase in my life, because I wrote for the biggest newspapers in the world, and I used to have my voice on international radio. I was turning in reporting for the Guardian in the UK and Al Jazeera. Ha’aretz in Israel hired me, because they weren’t legally permitted to send journalists to Gaza to cover the strikes. I thought, This is my real start.
And after, I felt like I had all of these experiences to deal with, all of these feelings, but I didn’t have time to even think about what I’d seen. It was insane. I felt like I needed a break just to process what happened, but there was no time. I got a lot of new opportunities to cover stories about the aftermath of the strikes, and there was just no chance to get away. I wanted to do something for the Palestinian cause itself, and I wanted to be a journalist, and I knew Gaza was the best place for me to be a journalist. But it was hard to keep working here without a break.
HEY, IT’S NOT ROCKETS ALL OVER GAZA
I’m studying again at the Islamic University of Gaza, where I got my B.A. in English Literature. I’m studying Hebrew because I want to learn a third language besides Arabic and English. There’s nothing much I hope to do with Hebrew. I just want to speak the language and listen to Israeli news and Hebrew news, because some of what comes out of Israel is better news, when it comes to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Honestly, you’re more likely to hear the truth from a few of the good Israeli sources than from Hamas sources. After my work for Ha’aretz, Hamas announced that Gazan journalists would no longer be allowed to work for Israeli media. I contacted them to ask why, and they told me I better just go along with the ban without complaining. I said, “I would understand if you stopped Israeli or American journalists who are totally pro-Israeli. I would understand if you banned them from working here. But I don’t understand when you ban me, as a Palestinian who works for Israeli media—which I actually consider a kind of resistance.” It was my pleasure just to sit down with a laptop and just write things to the Israeli audience. It was a kind of resistance, addressing the Israeli community and being credible at the same time. I would say exactly what’s going on and convince the Israelis of how misled they are about Gaza by most of Israeli media.
But people around the world have the wrong idea about Gaza, not just Israelis. My mission in life is to destroy the stereotypical image about Palestinians in the media, so I keep taking photos of things that people don’t think exist in Gaza. This is what I do in my news, and my reports, and my feature stories. In my Facebook and in my Instagram. So when I take photos, I try to take photos of girls without hijab, or young girls wearing shorts and stuff like that. And the beach. Hundreds, thousands, going to the beach just to swim, thinking of nothing. No fucking occupation, no fucking Hamas, nothing! They just want to have fun. I go to the market, take photos of mannequins with short dresses. And it’s something normal to see a young girl with hijab, but I would try to avoid catching photos of her, because Western people in Europe and America, they already know about these people, and they are not my concern. I would rather focus on the type of people Western media never heard about. I also take photos all the time of fancy hotels and fancy restaurants—like hey, it’s not rockets all over Gaza. We have cafés, restaurants, clubs, gyms, whatever you can think of. So this is my main mission.
I would love everyone—not only in the U.S.—to know that Gaza is not Afghanistan. We have educated people and people who have nothing to do with the ongoing clashes. They should give themselves the chance to see the picture from outside and stop having this preconception when it comes to Gaza, because we have everything here, and the Western media always intend to prove the preconceptions people have. They would see that for most of the people, they are harmed by what’s going on rather than being a part of it.
The thing is that I’m an Arabic-speaking journalist who writes in English, not my mother tongue. If I write in my mother tongue, then I will be addressing Palestinians themselves. And why would I address Palestinians themselves? Palestinians know that they were occupied, and they know their rights, they know their duties, they know everything. I’m writing in a second language, so I need to use that, because few international writers come regularly to Gaza. Usually, these people come with a preconception, the preconception of what they hear. And they come to prove what they have in mind, not to rectify it.
Still, being a Gazan journalist is not always easy. Every time I write something sensitive, I keep my phone with me because I’m waiting for someone to call me from the government offices in Gaza. I’m strong enough to face it. Every time I write something sensitive, I read the story ten times because I attribute every controversial quote to someone who actually said it, not anonymous sources, so I won’t be accused of making it up. So even though I like to cover daily life in some of my work, I also want to uncover what’s really happening in Gaza. I don’t think you are doing anything unless you are risking something. I’m not going to consider myself a real journalist if I’m just covering the openings of new shopping malls in Gaza City.
With time, my relationship with the government has become fine. I have good relations with the government members and ministers and everything. I think they decided, Sure, that Abeer is a journalist who talks a lot, but she never makes up stories. It’s true that I write about the government, but it’s true also that I write about the Israeli occupation. There is a big difference if you are focusing only on Hamas or on Israel or the Palestinian Authority. I write everything. But it’s not my fault if the Hamas government commits five human rights violations in a row and I write about the five violations.
I DO STUFF THAT GIRLS HERE DON’T USUALLY DO
To help cope, I try to live a non-traditional Gaza life as much as that’s possible. I wake up in the morning, go to the gym, hang out with friends, spend the night out. Now I’m applying for a swimming class. I do stuff that the girls here don’t usually do. I’m learning a third language, just because I want to stay as busy as possible. Also because I don’t want to feel the occupation is limiting things I can do. I’m busy 24/7, but that doesn’t mean that I’m working 24/7. I have some specific hours of work and specific hours of fun—sport, swimming, hanging out, sleeping. But I never had a time of thinking, I can’t do anything.
I feel like my society does not accept me, but I always say, “It’s their problem, not mine.” I pray for them—that they will have enough awareness and education to understand what I’m trying to do. Society wants me to get married when I’m twenty years old and wake up at six a.m., cleaning, and serving my men. This is not the life I want to live.
There is a word that means “against the feminine.” Patriarchy. I hate it, and I feel like I’m totally opposing this idea in my life. I want to prove that I can do whatever men can do. And I can do it better than many of them. I see men looking at me, but I don’t give a shit because me being a girl doesn’t mean that if you look at me, I’m a bad girl. No. If you look at me, then it’s your problem. You have a problem with controlling your desire. Then I go to do my work in places that are usually occupied with men, and when I enter, everyone’s like, “You can’t be here because you’re the only girl.” And I’m like, “So what? Does it mean that you will all rape me? Because I’m the only girl here?” You know, this is the main obstacle in my life. I’m here now just because I want to prove to myself I can go out at a late time and go back home, and no one will ever talk to me or do anything bad to me, because my brothers do it and they know no one will make trouble for them.
IF PALESTINE WASN’T OCCUPIED, EVERYONE WOULD WANT TO VISIT
I always say, if Palestine weren’t occupied, then everyone would want to visit. I’ve been to the West Bank, and it’s like a heaven. They have everything—mountains, hills, deserts, ancient cities. In Gaza we have the sea and a beautiful beach. But Palestine is this small besieged territory, and even the residents here can’t move around freely. All of this powerlessness over movement leaves Palestinians feeling very dependent on other countries, as though we can’t be independent.
I belong to this place for many reasons, because I was raised here. The apartment where I was born is my grandfather’s family house. And my family is originally from Gaza, so I do belong to this place. And I love it. I love everything about it.
I’m a journalist, and I want to have my name get bigger and bigger. I will never have a better place than Palestine in general to achieve this dream. I would love to leave Gaza for a month a year, just to explore around. Just to meet new people, to make new relationships, and work on improving my writing. I would like to do assignments abroad. Like if I can be sent to Turkey or Egypt, I would love to do that. But I’ll always return to Gaza. I’ll never live outside this country. Never.
Starting with reports of bombing on July 8 2014, Abeer covered the invasion of Gaza for Ha’aretz, Los Angeles Times, New York Daily News, +972 Magazine, BuzzFeed, as well as through social media outlets such as Twitter and Instagram. Abeer investigated the shelling of UN schools, visited the morgues, and wrote a passionate open letter to Israeli citizens that was published in Ha’aretz. She posted on social media on August 3 that she had just woken up from her first night of sleep in over three weeks.
1 In 2006, Hamas won parliamentary elections in Gaza and largely took control of the government through democratic means. However, in June 2007, Hamas clashed with the Palestinian Authority, and its leading party, Fatah, in a series of armed confrontations. Following the armed conflict, Fatah and the Palestinian Authority withdrew from Gaza. For more information, see Appendix I, page 295.
2 Gaza City is the largest city in the Gaza Strip. It has over 515,000 residents. The First Intifada was an uprising throughout the West Bank and Gaza against Israeli military occupation. It began in December 1987 and lasted until 1993. Intifada in Arabic means “to shake off.” For more information, see Appendix I, page 295.
3 Eid Al-Fitr and Eid Al-Adha are the two major feast days of Islam. Palestinian custom is to purchase new clothing for the feast days, when family members exchange visits.
4 In 2000, there were seventeen Israeli settlements in Gaza and a little over 6,200 settlers.
5 The hijab is a garment that covers the head and neck and is worn by many Muslim women throughout the world.
6 In 2005, Israel announced a unilateral withdrawal plan from the Gaza Strip. For more information, see Appendix I, page 295.
7 The Islamic University of Gaza is an independent university system in Gaza City. It serves just under 20,000 undergraduates.
8 Gilad Shalit was an Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) soldier who was kidnapped in Israel in June 2006 by Gazan militias affiliated with Hamas. He was released as part of a prisoner swap in October 2011.
9 Human Rights Watch is a non-profit organization based in the U.S. that investigates human rights abuses around the world. HRW conducts fact-finding missions with the help of journalists, lawyers, academics, and other experts.
10 The strikes on Gaza in 2008 lasted around three weeks, from December 27, 2008, until a cease-fire on January 18, 2009. The invasion was named Operation Cast Lead by the Israeli military. For more information, see the Glossary, page 295.
11 In January of 2011, millions of protesters throughout Egypt gathered to demand the ouster of Egypt’s president, Hosni Mubarak, who had been in power for three decades.
12 The Rafah border crossing is the sole border crossing from Gaza into Egypt, and since Israel imposed a blockade on Gaza in 2007, the Rafah crossing is often Gazans’ only accessible point of exit from the Gaza Strip. The crossing is often closed as well, however, and since 2007 it is very difficult for Gazans to leave the Gaza Strip.
13 For more information on the Dome of the Rock, see the Glossary, page 304.
14 Operation Pillar of Defense was an eight-day assault by the Israeli military starting November 14, 2012. For more information, see the Glossary, page 304.
15 Al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City is the largest medical facility in Gaza.
WEST BANK FARMER WITH ISRAELI SETTLEMENT IN BACKGROUND
LAITH AL-HLOU
Farmer, day laborer, 32
Born in Bethlehem, West Bank
Interviewed in the West Bank
The first thing we notice as we drive to Laith Al-Hlou’s home southeast of Bethlehem is the challenge presented by the roads. Some roads are almost too steep to climb, and others almost too muddy or rocky to navigate. The bottom of our car crunches and scrapes as we creep along toward his village.
Eventually we reach the compound where Laith lives with his family. Laith’s house, the family’s olive trees, and two other houses belonging to his extended family are surrounded by a short rock wall topped with barbed wire. When we pull up in our car, a dozen or more kids come spilling out to greet us—Laith’s children and nieces and nephews. Some wear cracked plastic shoes, some wear no shoes at all.
Laith is a skinny thirty-two-year-old with a wife and five young kids. The seven of them sleep in a twelve-foot by twelve-foot room that includes a wardrobe, a crib for the baby, and twin bunk beds piled with blankets. This is the main room of the family’s living space. They also have a small kitchen and toilet, all of which is on the second floor, above a chicken coop.
After a tour of his house, we sit with Laith on plastic chairs outside, and he tells us about the ways his community has changed since 1996, when Israeli settlers first moved near his home. His wife stays close by, and even though she is hard of hearing, she interjects periodically with her own stories.
Laith is one of up to 300,000 Palestinians living in Area C—the roughly 60 percent of the West Bank that is still under full military and administrative control by Israel following the Oslo Peace Accords of 1993.1 Area C also contains many of the West Bank’s Israeli settlements, a collection of villages established by Israeli citizens following the occupation of the region in 1967. Today, there are 400,000–500,000 Israeli settlers in the West Bank outside of Jerusalem.
The guard tower of a nearby settlement looms above Laith’s property as we sit and talk. He tears up as he tells us that pressure from the settlements may force him to someday relocate his family.2
THE DAYS THAT HAVE PASSED ARE BETTER THAN THE DAYS THAT ARE NOW
I was born in Bethlehem in 1982, but I’ve lived here in my village southeast of Bethlehem for twenty-five years, since I was a little boy. My grandfather brought his whole family here from Bethlehem—my father and my uncle and their wives and kids. My extended family had land here going far back, and my grandfather inherited a piece of it. We have paperwork going back to 1943 that documents our right to these twelve acres and three houses.
The days that have passed, they are better than the days that are now. I remember how much fun it was as a child, taking care of my family’s farm and chasing animals in the wilderness nearby, and just living on the land. We went on picnics. It was nice. It was normal. We worked and moved easily with no restrictions. We were happy, with a simple life.
Then, when I was around fifteen years old, the settlers came onto our land. There had been settlements in the area since I was a boy, but none so close. First, we started seeing roads going in sometime around 1996. That same year, the first settlers showed up in trailer homes. There were maybe fifteen to twenty trailers that appeared near our village. These first settlers were just a few families. But they were never without guns—AK-47s, big guns. The first thing they did was come to the village to see if they would have any trouble. They were pretty rough. There were some clashes at first over land. I remember one old man whom the settlers struck on the head—he almost died. They also started building a fence around the settlement and some of our farmland right away. We had a fence around most of our property, and that helped keep the settlers from building directly on our land, but they took the land where our sheep graze outside the fence, about a thousand square feet of grazing land. They also took some of my father’s sheep. And they took other villagers’ land and sheep when they could.
