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1) Ariel Three Still Being Held Illegally: Bail Hearing Thursday
2) Palestinian Farmers Break Gate in the Wall
3) As Jayyous Struggles to Survive, Jamal Wants to Die_Ben


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1)
Bethlehem
22 Jul 03
ISM Media Office

URGENT
Ariel Three Still Being Held Illegally

Today, Israel’s Supreme Court scheduled deportation hearings
for the three ISM internationals, Frederick Lind from Denmark,
Tariq Loubani from Canada and Tobias Karlsson from Sweden
on October 7, 2003. three months after they were arrested.

Why would Israel even consider deporting peaceful
internationals? They were sitting in a peace camp in Arrabonah
in solidarity with Palestinian farmers. Why was this peaceful
sit-down even necessary? Israel is busy building a 24-foot (8
meters) Apartheid Wall through the occupied territories of the
West Bank and cutting off the land that has provided them with
crops for years.

They now languish in the Ariel police station in the illegal
settlement of Ariel near occupied Nablus. They have not been
charged with breaking any law, but they have been charged as
being a security threat to Israel just because they are members
of the ISM.

Their treatment as internationals has been tough, but not nearly
as terrible as it is for the thousands of Palestinians. Close to a
thousand Palestinians are held in "administrative detention" and
sit in detention camps with no charges against them, according
to the human rights organization, B’tselem.

These three peaceful men have a hearing at the District Court in
Tel Aviv in front of Judge Gabriel Clean on July 24 at 9:00 am to
determine if they can be let out on bail.

For more information, please contact

ISM Media Office 022774602
Or Huwaida at +067473308


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2)
Palestinian Farmers Break Gate in the Wall
Tulkarem
22 July 03
Neal Cassidy

Palestinian farmers struck a symbolic blow against Israel\'s Apartheid
Wall today, breaking open a locked gate that has prevented them from
reaching their olive groves for the past year.

[Deir Ghosoon, TULKAREM] At 9:00 am, two hundred farmers and
townspeople, as well as activists from the International Solidarity Movement
(ISM) gathered in this town of 9000 people and marched to the gate in the
wall. Israel had promised that farmers would have access to their lands,
but has recently demanded that the farmers apply for permission. Most
farmers have refused to apply, saying they should not have to seek
permission from Israel to work their own land.

Arriving at the gate, which, in this location is set into a 15-foot
fence, the young men immediately began to shake it. Within minutes they
damaged it, then broke the chain holding it shut. Spilling through the
gate, the demonstrators celebrated for a few brief minutes, before four
Israeli soldiers arrived in a HumVee jeep.

ISM negotiators attempted to secure the farmers' passage to their
land, but the soldiers refused to talk to them. Within minutes, six more
vehicles arrived, with about 15 additional soldiers. ISM members set up a
protective cordon around the Palestinians, and continued to negotiate
with the ranking officer. On several occasions, the soldiers attempted
to arrest individual Palestinians, but were blocked by the ISM
internationals.

One farmer whose land was immediately inside the wall gathered a group
of friends and began clearing the ground around his neglected trees.
The demonstrators eventually regrouped on the access road inside the gate
and stood their ground with the soldiers. The ranks of the
internationals on the front lines were augmented by the unexpected arrival of a
French delegation from CCIPPP. The Israeli military then sent an army
major who spoke with a small group of farmers who insisted that they be
allowed to tend their lands. He said, "No".

After that negative response from the major, the soldiers faced off
against the internationals and attempted to push all the demonstrators
back through the gate. Linking arms, the internationals dug in their heels
and tried to resist, but fell back under the soldiers\' insistent
pressure. Some soldiers brandished tear gas canisters but didn\'t use them.
After the soldiers closed the gate, Israeli construction workers
re-locked it.

The demonstration was declared over, and people withdrew to Deir
el-Ghosoon. However, the farmers of Deir el-Ghosoon vow they will return
again to the gate and that they will not give up or back down until their
land is free again.

A documentary film crew from England captured the day's events, and
Al-Jazeera TV arrived mid-way through the action. Local Palestinian news
reporters also covered the demonstrations.

For more information:
Arabic - +972-59-836-783
English - +972-64-309-753

ISM Office: +972-2-277-4602

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3)
As Jayous Struggles to Live, Jamal Wants to Die

Qalqilia
17 Jul 03
Ben Scribner

To view this report with the photos go to:
 http://www.bcpr.org/b2p/Ben6.html

Jayous is a northern West Bank agricultural village slowly being choked
to
death by Israel’s "Apartheid Wall or "security fence". The fence, as
it is
best described in this area, cuts well into the West Bank, wraps in
around
Jewish settlements and cuts off land from Palestinian farmers.
Palestinians
are literally awakening to find their land, homes, and even whole
villages
suddenly on the "Israel" side of an illegal, defacto border. The
fence’s
security guards say that land on the west side of the fence, with its
many
Palestinian water wells, greenhouses, irrigated citrus trees and
gardens, is
now "Israel".

The Boston ISM delegation has spent the last two weeks accompanying
Jayous
villagers through the one access gate to their land. The Israeli
government
promised unencumbered passage, but after several beatings from the
machine
gun toting private security guards at the gate, many farmers are too
terrified to approach it. As a result, the village with its 4000
inhabitants
is dying a slow death. Should the gate be closed for any length of
time,
that death will come more quickly with the resulting loss of 75% of the
village’s farmland.

Today the gate was open. Jayous, farmland, and beyond it, Israel
proper, lay
spread before the farmers passing through the fence’s construction
area.
Not needed at the gate, John, Michael R and I walked through town,
killing
time. As we passed a shop, a teenage youth named Ibrahim called us
over.
Sitting with him was another youth of the same age with tattered, dirty
clothes and dark, sun baked skin. Ibrahim said his name was Jamal, and
he
and his mother could not get home. After a few minutes of conversation
in
broken Arabic, English and gestures, we gleaned that the fence
construction
workers had laid razor wire in front of his home today. Knowing that
the
fence cuts close to but not into town, we asked to see for ourselves.
Ibrahim said he would show us. Jamal had to wait behind for his mother
who
was at the doctor.

We walked with the casual pace that is common here. Ibrahim told us
about
Jamal, that he is Beduin, and that his home is just outside the
village. I’d
been around Ibrahim a few times before and like him very much. Like
many
Paletinians he maintains a calm, undisturbed manner, even when talking
about "the situation", and, uniquely in my experience, smiles a wry,
empathetic smile when he describes things that might disturb. (photo 1)

Ibrahim led us up and down small hills through a part of Jayous I
hadn’t
seen before. A beautiful yellow evening light cast long shadows as we
entered an olive grove. A wide, rocky path took us past the village’s
most
outerlying homes, toward the security fence. I noticed that numerous
young
boys, apparently returning from work in the grove, were passing us
carrying
long metal posts. (see photo 2  http://www.bcpr.org/b2p/Ben6.html)

At the end of the path we came to a four-car-lane wide swath of bare
earth
carving through the countryside: the security fence, under
construction.
Between us and the unfinished fence were shiny new coils of razor wire
streched in an impassible barrier about six feet tall and several feet
wide,
secured by metal posts.

Ibrahim pointed across the wire toward what he said was Jamal’s home.
At
first I couldn,t see it. "It is not large, he said, trying to help me.
Finally I saw a shack, about 200 meters beyond the fence, almost the
same
color as the hills surrounding it.

Suddenly, things became strange.

I turned, and there was Jamal, who I thought had stayed behind. He
stood
gazing with a pained expression at his home on the other side of the
wire. I
asked him for a photo. As I took it his expression remained frozen on
his
face. (photo 3  http://www.bcpr.org/b2p/Ben6.html).

Other things were happening. The razor wire was trembling, and to my
left
and right I saw boys appearing out of the olive grove and pulling up
the
metal posts. (see photo 4  http://www.bcpr.org/b2p/Ben6.html).
We stood by, speechless, while the boys
worked
steadily and determinedly to loosen the posts and pull them up, all in
spite
of cuts and gashes from the razor wire. (photo 5) Ibrahim began leading
us
back toward Jayous, and gestured toward the boys who, for the most
part,
obediently followed.

Just down the fence on the opposite side stood a group of three or four
men
in plain clothes. They were the construction security guards who often
beat
and harass the villagers. They causually inspected the razor wire, and
didn’t seem to pay any attention to the children who had been
dismantling
it. Their lack of reaction made the whole scene feel absolutely casual
and
normal, as bizarre as it obviously was. And all was calm on our side.
There
was no running, no rock throwing, just a bizarre sort of tension that
hung
in the air like a shadow over our heads.

As we made our way back into town we found Jamal’s mother (photo 6),
heading
toward her home. Michael and I got the impression that she wanted us to
accompany her to her home by going around the fenced area, knowing it
could
take an hour or more. John, exhausted from the previous day, decided to
head
back to the international house in town, while we went ahead with Jamal
and
his mother.

We made our way up a gradual hill toward the olive grove. Jamal's
mother
stopped frequently, wailing to friends as she passed. For once I felt
like I
didn't need to know Arabic to understand.

It wasn't really clear anymore if Jamal and his mother were coming with
us
and they kept dissappearing. We were almost back to the olive grove
that
came just before the fence. Michael, Ibrahim and I were talking there
when a
couple of adolescent age boys, breathless, covered with dust and
seeming
exhilerated, exclaimed something to Ibrahim, who translated to us:

"There is shooting,

"Where? we asked.

"Up ahead, by the fence where we were before.

I called John to let him know about this development. Jamal and his
mother
had dissappeared again, among the many neighbors who stood around their
doorways. We were just down the crest of a low hill and protected by
the
walls of homes so I imagined we were safe from any fire coming from the
olive grove. But Michael wanted to go ahead and see what was happening.
He
began running forward, then turned and asked me if I was comfortable
with
him going.

I looked at him like he was crazy. "You’re running toward shooting"?

"I’ll walk" he responded, and after looking at me for a moment went
ahead.
Boys were everywhere but he was the only person I saw actually moving
forward.

I think we communicated well, in spite of how this might appear. My
concern
was to make sure that he was really thinking about what he was doing.
If so
I thought it was up to him whether to take a risk or not.

As Michael moved ahead, I became aware, without really paying
attention,
that Jamal was back again, out in front of our loose group of boys.
Ibrahim
spoke to me over his shoulder with his strange smile: "Jamal says he
wants
to die". I stared back, not really focusing, then I looked around at
the
people coming and going, distracted. Ibrahim spoke again, \"He wants to
die,
not Michael".

I didn’t have time to think about the sadness of those words.
Everything was
in motion and seemed like a bizarre carnival with children, gunfire,
and
strange smiles. But I was thinking about Michael, that he,d better come
back
if he is actions were being seen by local Palestinians as those of
someone
who wants to die. I started ringing him on my cell phone, over and
over. We
were still moving forward slowly as a group. A tiny boy appeared in
front of
me as I walked, stopped me, and said "Be careful".

Pop! Pop! The gunfire had a strange, harmless sound, like balloons
being
pricked. Michael, unbeknownst to me, was in an upper floor of an
abandoned
building ahead on our left with a view of the olivegrove and the fence.
Bullets were whizzing close by the window where he was videotaping. We
stood
in relative safety. Children were still everywhere. I felt safe with
Ibrahim, who seemed to be able to sense what to do, moving organically
with
the smaller boys. We moved down, backing away from the olive grove
where the
shooting had come from, and there was more gunfire. This time, everyone
really moved. Already jogging, Ibrahim looked back at me and said
"Run!" in
Arabic. At least, I felt very sure this is what he said. He was smiling
again, almost laughing, as he held his head with his hand, gesturing to
me
to keep down.

We stopped, safe again, further down the hill. I was still calling
Michael
on the cell when he simultaneously answered and came into view. The
gunfire
had either stopped or was being drowned out by a very noisy tractor
near us.
Soon Michael was with us again (John had rejoined at some point) and we
slowly made our way into the village. He was able to verify that the
men we
saw at the fence were shooting in the general direction of the
children, but
it was hard to say what or who they were targeting, though their second
volley appears to have been at Michael, who they may have mistaken for
a
sniper in the building window.

Together we wandered back, talking about strange things like the
gardens and
cactus in the beautiful valley we were crossing. Michael looked at the
huge
field of cacti and said "Man, that’s the condominium of cactuses!
Before we
were really out of the shooting area, we found a group of older men,
sitting
outside having tea. As usual in Palestine, they saw us passing and
invited
us to stop. We drank with them, and they seemed resigned and unaffected
by
the nearby shooting, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. Aside
from
keeping their children close by, they seemed unconcerned, even as they
told
us that the army would probably come in tonight.

In all this bizarre experience, I’ll never forget Ibrahim’s strange
smile,
or the deep, maddening sadness that entered my heart when I learned
that
Jamal wants to die, all because a razor wire fence was arbitrarily
placed in
front of his home, in the name of Israeli security.



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