This report comes from Occupied Palestine from someone whose identity I must protect. They wrote this article - I merely forward it. It tells of what an ordinary Palestinian mmother has to go through to visit a son in an israeli jail, and the chicanery and deliberate tactics used by the Israeli Army to ensure that visiting time is short indeed. Please post feedback if you wish to read further eyewitness reports on other aspects of life that the manistream media are simply not interested in. Thank you.
Behind the Wall – "(All this)…For Just 30 Minutes"
It is clear talking to Aisha that two things stand head and shoulders above
anything else in the ranks of importance in her life. One is her children,
the other her village, the village her family fled during Al Nakba (the
'Catastrophe' in 1948). Her Hazel eyes have a sparkle to them, and her face
a gentle, reassuring smile, but when discussing either of these two issues
her eyes take on new life, her smile broadens. For a few minutes last week
Aisha was able to relish both of these sentiments again, and telling her
story, Aisha's energy, and deep love for both, radiates out from this face
that has witnessed and shared in so much over the years.
Aisha's eldest son, Ameer, was another of Aida Camp's child prisoners, he is
no longer, sadly not because he has been released yet, but because he
'enjoyed' his eighteenth birthday in an Occupation prison called Nakab, he
entered manhood inside prison. Ameer was arrested in September 2005 from a
relatives' house in Ramallah, he was 17 at the time. Since this time Aisha
has seen her son just once, at his court date in September last year, on
that occasion she was not allowed to speak to or touch Ameer but as he was
led from the court Aisha made a dash for him, pushing soldiers aside and
embracing her son before being pulled away by his captors. Her husband, Abu
Ameer, has not seen his son in nineteen months now.
When Aisha and her daughter Amira woke at five in the morning last Tuesday
their weariness from a lack of sleep was offset by the excitement of their
day ahead. They knew this would be a long day; they were going to see Ameer
in prison.
The two women first needed to go to the Red Cross office in Bethlehem.
Prison visits can only be arranged through the Red Cross and relatives must
also travel on their busses to the prisons, for which they are only charged
1NIS (about 25c US):
"There were many people at the Red Cross office, well over one hundred. Men,
women and children of all ages. Everyone was excited thinking about meeting
their sons and brothers again. Everybody boarded the busses and we set off
about 6am."
The bus had reached Tarkumia Checkpint, near Al Khalil (Hebron), by 6.30am,
it was here the travelers would cross into Israel. Everybody was made to
wait on the three Red Cross busses for one and a half hours as the IOF
checked everyones ID and permission papers:
"They then took us off the busses and through the checkpoint to the Israeli
side where three more busses were waiting for us. We all got on the busses
but Israeli Army jeeps drove around all three busses and surrounded them,
they wouldn't let us leave. They stayed there for another one and a half
hours before they finally let us leave."
It was 9.30am by this time, already four and a half hours after Aisha and
Amira had awoken but their spirits were still high with anticipation. The
atmosphere on the bus was bubbling, everybody was talking about seeing their
relatives again. Some women sang songs, food was being shared. The three
busses made their way south towards the Egyptian border as the heavens
opened and the rain began to pour from the skies. Nakab Prison is very close
to Israel's southern border with Egypt, maybe just five or ten kilometers
north of the border:
"It was 12pm by the time we reached Nakab. They took us of the busses and
made us stand outside. The rain was pouring down and their were some small
shelters but not enough to keep all of us dry. The gifts we had brought with
us for Ameer were taken from us by the soldiers and taken away to be
checked. We had taken some underwear for him."
For such gifts to be taken to the prison at all the prisoner himself must
first request them in writing through the authorities and the Red Cross. The
Red Cross will then pass the information onto the family members before
their visit. Anything that has not been requested in writing in advance
through this system is refused by the prison authorities. Amira then
explains how they must also be careful what colour underwear they take for
Ameer:
"They don't let us take anything blue because the prison guards wear blue.
What do they think, that he will escape disguised in just blue pants!!!"
Amira and her mother both laugh at this comment, but their tone changes as
Aisha describes the search procedures:
"The soldiers then took us one at a time to be searched. They took me into a
very small room and I was made to take all my clothes off by a female
soldier. I was totally naked. They checked all my clothes, even my shoes
went through a machine (x-ray and explosives check). It all made me so
angry, so mad!"
Aisha shakes her head in disgust remembering the humiliating experience.
Amira, sitting next to her mother as they talk, looks down at her feet as
she talks:
"Its just disgusting being made to undress like this, in front of
soldiers…even after this they still run a machine over our bodies."
Eventually at 4pm the two women were taken into a room, there were two
chairs, one for each of them, in front of a table with a telephone and a
think plate of reinforced glass. Ameer was brought to the other side of the
glass where he also had a telephone. This was how they would communicate.
When I ask Aisha how Ameer looked after nearly a year and a half in prison
her big grin returns, and she slaps her face as she sighs:
"Oh!!! He has become even more handsome…"
The two women had just thirty minutes between them to share the phone and
talk to Ameer, they didn't talk about anything in particular:
"We asked how he is, if he is ok? If he needs anything else? Just stuff like
this. He asked how everybody is in the Camp. And he asked about you Rich, he
said Salaam."
I remember Ameer fondly from his time before prison, I miss him and all the
other friends I have seen disappear during my time in Palestine, but my
feelings can't come close to those of his family. Aisha explained her
frustrations at being forced to see him through thick reinforced glass:
"I wanted to smash all that glass between us, but I couldn't, soldiers were
watching us all the time. I just wanted to touch his face again, to hold
him, to hug him like a mother should…"
It was hard for the women to leave the when the time came. Their allotted
thirty minutes had seemed to vanish in a matter of seconds, but they had at
least seen him, and spoken with him again, it had been a long time as Amira
explained:
"I was so happy to see him again, I miss him so much. I didn't want to leave
him, I wanted to bring him home…"
But both Aisha and her daughter knew their visit was over, and it was time
to board the bus again for the long journey back to Aida Camp. The bus was
full of talk again for the journey back, stories being swapped, and the last
of the days pre-prepared sandwiches being finished off. But not everyone had
been so 'lucky' as to see their loved ones:
"Some people had been through all this, all this traveling, this
humiliation, and still hadn't seen their sons. The Israelis had refused them
for one reason or another."
The bus journey back followed the same route but whilst nearing Tarkumia
checkpoint the busses got held up in a traffic jam. Out of the bus windows
Aisha saw a sight which made her heart race. There was a small sign
alongside the road, it read 'Beit Jevreen'. Despite the name change both
women knew where they where, but Aisha didn't need road signs to remind her.
Despite the fact she had not visited her village of Beit Jibreen in almost
twenty years, Aisha still recognized it as though it was yesterday:
"There was a new gas station there, an Israeli one, I hadn't seen this
before. But I saw our grass, our land, our trees. I wanted to jump out off
the bus and lay their on our land, amongst the cows, I didn't care, I just
wanted to be there again. I wanted to smell the air of my village, and taste
its fruit once again. I wanted to stay there for ever…"
When the traffic cleared and the busses began to move again Aisha was
banging the windows, and shouting for the bus to stop, but the IOF escort
kept them moving. As she tells me the story she isn't looking directly at
me, more through me, as though still picturing her beloved village…
Aisha and Amira eventually arrived back in Aida Camp just after 9pm that
night, they had been gone nearly sixteen hours. They were both exhausted but
also full of smiles. They had succeeded in seeing Ameer, even if only for
thirty minutes, and they had got an unexpected fifteen minute glimpse of
Beit Jibreen. Aisha knows why it is made so difficult for them:
"They put us through all this traveling, and humiliation, to try to make us
not want to go through it all again. To make us feel it is too much hassle.
It makes me so angry that I have to go through all this just to see my son
for thirty minutes, and I couldn't even hug him. We do all this to support
the prisoners and cheer them up. We must be strong! They will never stop us
seeing our children…"
Aisha stops for a minute as though she has finished. Then she looks up at
me, and smiles:
"…and our villages!"
It is clear talking to Aisha that two things stand head and shoulders above
anything else in the ranks of importance in her life. One is her children,
the other her village, the village her family fled during Al Nakba (the
'Catastrophe' in 1948). Her Hazel eyes have a sparkle to them, and her face
a gentle, reassuring smile, but when discussing either of these two issues
her eyes take on new life, her smile broadens. For a few minutes last week
Aisha was able to relish both of these sentiments again, and telling her
story, Aisha's energy, and deep love for both, radiates out from this face
that has witnessed and shared in so much over the years.
Aisha's eldest son, Ameer, was another of Aida Camp's child prisoners, he is
no longer, sadly not because he has been released yet, but because he
'enjoyed' his eighteenth birthday in an Occupation prison called Nakab, he
entered manhood inside prison. Ameer was arrested in September 2005 from a
relatives' house in Ramallah, he was 17 at the time. Since this time Aisha
has seen her son just once, at his court date in September last year, on
that occasion she was not allowed to speak to or touch Ameer but as he was
led from the court Aisha made a dash for him, pushing soldiers aside and
embracing her son before being pulled away by his captors. Her husband, Abu
Ameer, has not seen his son in nineteen months now.
When Aisha and her daughter Amira woke at five in the morning last Tuesday
their weariness from a lack of sleep was offset by the excitement of their
day ahead. They knew this would be a long day; they were going to see Ameer
in prison.
The two women first needed to go to the Red Cross office in Bethlehem.
Prison visits can only be arranged through the Red Cross and relatives must
also travel on their busses to the prisons, for which they are only charged
1NIS (about 25c US):
"There were many people at the Red Cross office, well over one hundred. Men,
women and children of all ages. Everyone was excited thinking about meeting
their sons and brothers again. Everybody boarded the busses and we set off
about 6am."
The bus had reached Tarkumia Checkpint, near Al Khalil (Hebron), by 6.30am,
it was here the travelers would cross into Israel. Everybody was made to
wait on the three Red Cross busses for one and a half hours as the IOF
checked everyones ID and permission papers:
"They then took us off the busses and through the checkpoint to the Israeli
side where three more busses were waiting for us. We all got on the busses
but Israeli Army jeeps drove around all three busses and surrounded them,
they wouldn't let us leave. They stayed there for another one and a half
hours before they finally let us leave."
It was 9.30am by this time, already four and a half hours after Aisha and
Amira had awoken but their spirits were still high with anticipation. The
atmosphere on the bus was bubbling, everybody was talking about seeing their
relatives again. Some women sang songs, food was being shared. The three
busses made their way south towards the Egyptian border as the heavens
opened and the rain began to pour from the skies. Nakab Prison is very close
to Israel's southern border with Egypt, maybe just five or ten kilometers
north of the border:
"It was 12pm by the time we reached Nakab. They took us of the busses and
made us stand outside. The rain was pouring down and their were some small
shelters but not enough to keep all of us dry. The gifts we had brought with
us for Ameer were taken from us by the soldiers and taken away to be
checked. We had taken some underwear for him."
For such gifts to be taken to the prison at all the prisoner himself must
first request them in writing through the authorities and the Red Cross. The
Red Cross will then pass the information onto the family members before
their visit. Anything that has not been requested in writing in advance
through this system is refused by the prison authorities. Amira then
explains how they must also be careful what colour underwear they take for
Ameer:
"They don't let us take anything blue because the prison guards wear blue.
What do they think, that he will escape disguised in just blue pants!!!"
Amira and her mother both laugh at this comment, but their tone changes as
Aisha describes the search procedures:
"The soldiers then took us one at a time to be searched. They took me into a
very small room and I was made to take all my clothes off by a female
soldier. I was totally naked. They checked all my clothes, even my shoes
went through a machine (x-ray and explosives check). It all made me so
angry, so mad!"
Aisha shakes her head in disgust remembering the humiliating experience.
Amira, sitting next to her mother as they talk, looks down at her feet as
she talks:
"Its just disgusting being made to undress like this, in front of
soldiers…even after this they still run a machine over our bodies."
Eventually at 4pm the two women were taken into a room, there were two
chairs, one for each of them, in front of a table with a telephone and a
think plate of reinforced glass. Ameer was brought to the other side of the
glass where he also had a telephone. This was how they would communicate.
When I ask Aisha how Ameer looked after nearly a year and a half in prison
her big grin returns, and she slaps her face as she sighs:
"Oh!!! He has become even more handsome…"
The two women had just thirty minutes between them to share the phone and
talk to Ameer, they didn't talk about anything in particular:
"We asked how he is, if he is ok? If he needs anything else? Just stuff like
this. He asked how everybody is in the Camp. And he asked about you Rich, he
said Salaam."
I remember Ameer fondly from his time before prison, I miss him and all the
other friends I have seen disappear during my time in Palestine, but my
feelings can't come close to those of his family. Aisha explained her
frustrations at being forced to see him through thick reinforced glass:
"I wanted to smash all that glass between us, but I couldn't, soldiers were
watching us all the time. I just wanted to touch his face again, to hold
him, to hug him like a mother should…"
It was hard for the women to leave the when the time came. Their allotted
thirty minutes had seemed to vanish in a matter of seconds, but they had at
least seen him, and spoken with him again, it had been a long time as Amira
explained:
"I was so happy to see him again, I miss him so much. I didn't want to leave
him, I wanted to bring him home…"
But both Aisha and her daughter knew their visit was over, and it was time
to board the bus again for the long journey back to Aida Camp. The bus was
full of talk again for the journey back, stories being swapped, and the last
of the days pre-prepared sandwiches being finished off. But not everyone had
been so 'lucky' as to see their loved ones:
"Some people had been through all this, all this traveling, this
humiliation, and still hadn't seen their sons. The Israelis had refused them
for one reason or another."
The bus journey back followed the same route but whilst nearing Tarkumia
checkpoint the busses got held up in a traffic jam. Out of the bus windows
Aisha saw a sight which made her heart race. There was a small sign
alongside the road, it read 'Beit Jevreen'. Despite the name change both
women knew where they where, but Aisha didn't need road signs to remind her.
Despite the fact she had not visited her village of Beit Jibreen in almost
twenty years, Aisha still recognized it as though it was yesterday:
"There was a new gas station there, an Israeli one, I hadn't seen this
before. But I saw our grass, our land, our trees. I wanted to jump out off
the bus and lay their on our land, amongst the cows, I didn't care, I just
wanted to be there again. I wanted to smell the air of my village, and taste
its fruit once again. I wanted to stay there for ever…"
When the traffic cleared and the busses began to move again Aisha was
banging the windows, and shouting for the bus to stop, but the IOF escort
kept them moving. As she tells me the story she isn't looking directly at
me, more through me, as though still picturing her beloved village…
Aisha and Amira eventually arrived back in Aida Camp just after 9pm that
night, they had been gone nearly sixteen hours. They were both exhausted but
also full of smiles. They had succeeded in seeing Ameer, even if only for
thirty minutes, and they had got an unexpected fifteen minute glimpse of
Beit Jibreen. Aisha knows why it is made so difficult for them:
"They put us through all this traveling, and humiliation, to try to make us
not want to go through it all again. To make us feel it is too much hassle.
It makes me so angry that I have to go through all this just to see my son
for thirty minutes, and I couldn't even hug him. We do all this to support
the prisoners and cheer them up. We must be strong! They will never stop us
seeing our children…"
Aisha stops for a minute as though she has finished. Then she looks up at
me, and smiles:
"…and our villages!"
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