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Few days ago, soldiers destroyed
Eyad's stand. Because Eyad said no.
Since the year 2000, Eyad Shawamrah is being asked to collaborate. Since
the year 2000, he refuses. First they froze the 'family unification' he
applied for, then they hinted that would harm his wife and said they
would arrest her, then they put him on the GSS blacklist (prevented from
obtaining any kind of permit) because he refused yet again, then they
threatened to destroy his stand, again and again, and stole his scales
several times, and tied up his workers, and sent a collaborator to stab
him.
On Wednesday morning they crushed his food-stand to the ground, and
whatever they didn't manage to break, they took.
Because Eyad said no. Again.
The pressure on Palestinians to collaborate and betray their own people
is deep and vile and as old as the State of Israel. Physicians for
Human Rights have published a terrifying report lately, describing
Gazan Palestinian cancer-patients in life-threatening condition, sent to
hospitals elsewhere that can offer them treatment not available in Gaza.
They (and their escorts) are required to collaborate with Israel against
their own people in order to obtain permission to travel, and if they
refuse, they are sent home to their near-certain death.
Palestinians living under Israeli Occupation since 1967 have practically
no fundamental human rights, as are anchored in international
conventions to which Israel, too, is signatory. Rights that Israel
denies the Palestinians as a matter of course.
The denial of Palestinians' rights is usually a-priori and inherent, so
that in order to obtain them – the right to health, for example, or
education or freedom of movement or livelihood or the saving of lives –
they have to pay. Betray.
In other words, many of these inaliable rights often lie at the far end
of a 'talk' with the General Security Services officer.
They came at eight, began demolishing
at ten, and at half past ten they were already gone. About twenty
soldiers, two DCO jeeps, a Hummer, a bulldozer and a truck. Something
like that. First they loaded stuff. The containers which we fill with
watermelons, worth about 2000 NIS. Confiscated, as it were. Then they
broke everything else.
Eggs broke by the hundreds. And all the vegetables. And the cash
register, crushed. And the refrigerator, smashed. I paid 2000 NIS for
it. It contained food for my worker Imad who used to sleep here.
I wasn't here when they destroyed everything, but my worker was here,
sleeping. He heard them speaking Hebrew. He was curled up in his
blanket, in the back. When they started demolishing the stand, he
realized what was happening. He leapt up, broke a plank in the ceiling
and ran off. If he hadn't, the stand would probably have been demolished
right on top of him.
Thank goodness he saved himself. He has his family to feed, poor guy.
He's from Jabba'. Luckily he got away alive.
I've had the stand for three years now. They came a long time ago and
handed me instructions to dismantle it. So I left it, for a long time, a
year and a half.
Then a poor guy came along and said, I want to make a living. A guy with
no money at all. He asked if he could use my stand. So I decided to try
and get back to work, I like it when I earn a living and others do too.
So I worked and worked and no one said anything.
Then they started threatening me. They said I have to move back a bit,
not by the roadside. That it's a disturbance. So I moved my stand back.
Here I am, behind the pillar. It doesn't bother the municipality, or the
soldiers. Just for the sake of it. And that big sign over there, that's
Abu Mazen's son, Tareq. He gets a lot of money for it. Here's the
pillar, and I am behind the pillar, because I moved the stand. And he is
right on the roadside, but I'm the one whose stand they demolish. Not
because it's close to the road. Because it's Eyad.
So suddenly a few months ago the soldiers came and took my scales.
That's worth about 600 NIS. They took them once, twice, the third time
they came around, they had a pain-clothes-man with them, an officer out
of uniform. This officer has already come around several times. In a
white car. Here's his name, written on this piece of paper. But every
one of those guys has three names. They're GSS.
What's the story? I asked the officer. What do you want? Why are you
guys after my stand? I moved it. I'm clean. I'm married and have
children. My worker has children. And another poor guy who works with us
and has kids.
So the GSS guy tells me: I'm from Beit El (the Civil Administration HQ,
another word for the GSS). Come to Beit El. We'll talk there. See what
we'll do.
I said, Beit El is far for me, I can't make it.
I didn't go and I am not willing to go there. I know their answer:
they'll tell me to work with them. That's their answer. Collaborate with
us and keep your stand. Here's a blue (Jerusalem) ID. Collaborate and
get your family unification. They want Eyad to be their eyes and ears
here at the junction. Tell them who comes in, who goes out. Fuck them,
and their authority. All I want is to make my own living.
About two days after that guy came, it was the very first day of
Ramadan, there were exactly five workers here. Soldiers came along, got
them into the stand, tied up their hands, blindfolded them and took them
away in jeeps to Ramah army base. That's across the way over there, not
far from here. I just got here and saw them tied up. I kept my distance.
Stood over there and asked people about it. They didn't know why those
five were picked up. It was two minutes before the breaking of the fast.
After they went away, I came to the stand. I stood around and waited. I
was worried about the guy from Gaza who is not registered at A-Ram. Poor
guy, just got married.
I waited and waited, for hours. Then the first guy came. I asked him
what happened. He said, I don't know but I cried and cried and they let
me go. The second guy came along. What happened? He said he didn't know.
That was the guy from Gaza. He was released. But they're looking for
you, Eyad, he told me. Eventually they were all released and came to the
stand. The last one to arrive said he was told: Tell your boss that if
we catch him here, we'll show him what's what.
That's me, they're talking about.
See? They picked them up and tied them up like dogs. Why? What have they
done? Throw stones? What were they, terrorists? Fuck the army.
Just because they want me. You know what those guys were told over
there? "Nice holiday we gave you, huh?" On purpose and all. And how they
threw them there, like dogs. Tied up. And the workers told them: We've
been fasting all day. We'd like some water. And they were told: wait.
You've fasted all these hours, can't you wait another two hours now?
What kind of bastards are these?
I waited for two days. I stayed in the stand the whole time. This old
guy from Gaza came. Sat with me here. I decided to go to the landowner
and get me a signed paper from him that he leases his land out to me.
Because I keep having trouble with the soldiers. And a lawyer friend
told me, get a document from him. I get back and the guy from Gaza tells
me, the soldiers had just been here with their jeep, photographed the
paper, photographed me and told me I better not hang around with Eyad.
Let them come to my house, it's just a few meters away. Let them come
and arrest me. Why don't they come to me? They know where to find me.
They know where I live. But they don't want to arrest me. They want me
to collaborate with them. But I don't want to. They've been trying to
get me to work with them since 1998. Even more so since 2000. I don't
want to. Why should I burn myself out for them? They think I'd turn
informer? I'm no informer.
They want us to keep our noses in the ground. They want us to shit in
our pants the moment we see an army jeep.
My brother, they stabbed him here in the stand. The army sent the guy
who did. He's a collaborator, works with them. He stabbed him. It's not
the first time they're looking for me.
The Palestinians are prevented from making a living, not just as a means
to pressure them into collaborating. Methodically, strategically.
At all the checkpoints, throughout the years, throughout and along the
roads, soldiers of different units harass the vendors and keep them from
working.
The stands keep getting demolished time and time again in the same area
by soldiers.
The official reasons keep changing:
because it disturbs other Palestinians, when it is obvious that it does
nothing of the kind, and since when does Israel care about Palestinians.
Because a British Mandate law (dating from the 1940's at the latest)
forbids vending by the roadside. And sometimes because of rules from the
Ottoman Empire period (until 1918).
And at times because it conceals something. Or reveals something.
And at times because it's prohibited, period.
The reasons vary, but the purpose is always the same. To deny
livelihood.
And so, because the soldiers have been thus instructed, or just to
satisfy their occasional urges, the soldiers can destroy the
Palestinians' sources of livelihood in an ever-repeating routine.
And the soldiers can prevent them from working, as in Eyad's case, to
get them to collaborate.
It all begins and ends with the fact that a Palestinian is not human.
Not really.
If he were, it would not happen.
A day before my stand was destroyed they stuck a note on it. Imad was
sitting inside, they didn't see him. They came in, took pictures,
photographed the goods inside, and put a note on the stand.
I'm here near the stand, sitting here with the guy from Gaza, and kids
were throwing stones from behind. Do you think it was really the kids'
idea to go throw stones at night? It was a collaborating bastard who
told the kids, here, take some money and go throw stones. To get me in
trouble.
So I went, and in the morning they came and ruined everything.
Look at the eggs they broke. Fifty cases. And the vegetables, look how
they trashed them. Isn't it a pity? I'd take them out and give them to
the poor. Such a pity.
And why don't they close that guy down? Look over there, that stand on
the road. Because that guy works with them. He told me so. A few times
when the soldiers took away my scales, he went up to them right there in
the middle of the road, and took the scales off their jeep, and gave
them back to me.
What does that mean?
It means that they want Eyad.
I just want to feed my children. Not to build any fancy houses. Just my
own little corner. To feed my children and live in peace.
Now I'm a goner, Aya. Don't know what to do. Many people live off this
stand. Not just me. Seven or eight families live from this stand.
They grip every person where it hurts. Here, it hurts me not to live
with my family, to care for the stand. They know just what is most
important for us and then they make sure to grab it. To apply pressure.
There was a Qur'an in the stand, and it got ruined. Why? Don't we
respect your Torah? I once saw a stolen car that had a Bible and
phylacteries inside. I took them and gave them to a Jew I know. Ask him,
he's still alive. Why, do I hurt your Torah?
God willing, things will work out.
The stand is ruined. Crooked, broken piece of
metal. Wooden planks. Hundreds of smashed eggs and rotting vegetables
and garbage and bits of photographs and crushed cans. People pass along,
crying out: What happened here? And Eyad says: the army. Lots of
bumblebees buzz around the spoiled food. The air reeks, putrid. Eyad and
his workers sit on the ruins, idle. Once in a while someone says
something, another curses, they sit down again. One of them suddenly
gets up, moves something with his foot, a piece of torn mattress or some
other thing, then sits down again. Sometimes someone stops his car and
joins them and asks and they tell him a little bit and chat and then he
leaves.
What shall I do, Aya? What have I done to them to be treated this way?
Soon snakes will come here. This used to be a good spot. Lit up all
night. The neighbors liked having light. They could walk in the field
without fear. I would clean here every day, go home at noon, take a
two-hour nap and be here the rest of the time. It was a good place. Good
for people. And there was some money.
Jews used to get lost around here and I would tell them how to get back,
through Hizma. We all had a living. I gave leftovers to the poor. You
won't believe how poor people have gotten. I gave them eggs and
vegetables. They have nothing. Absolutely
nothing. What am I going to tell that man who has nothing and whom I
used to give food? That I haven't got any? What am I going to tell him?
They will not leave me alone. They will ruin and take everything that is
important to me. They've burnt me down, Aya. They just won't leave Eyad
alone.
And we sat some more with Eyad and some of his friends and his brother.
And in spite of everyone around us fasting, they offered us glasses of
Coke and we drank.
And time went by. Again and again people stopped and asked what happened
and why. And after they heard, they cursed the army and some soldiers in
a Hummer drove by a few times, loudly and demonstratively, sporting the
trappings of their violence and domination with disturbing pride.
I'll build, Eyad suddenly said. No matter how many times they demolish,
I'll rebuild.
You know, I got a note a while ago, turning down my application for
family unification. Enough. That does it.
But I'll not collaborate. My children will say they had a good father.
They will never say their father was a collaborator. An informer. Me
name is not something anyone can take away from me.
September 2008
Translated by Tal Haran |
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