Abu-Dis, the Container 27/4/2004 Watchers: Roni H., Iris B., Aya K. (reporting) later joined by three Ecumenicals who actually live there Nakba day, or as it is commonly called by some Israeli Jews “The day of Independence(?)”. How ironic that after so many years the celebration of Jewish Independence still means (literally speaking and not only symbolically) misery (closure, curfew, further obstruction of the right to live…) for Palestinians. Abu-Dis, the Pishpash gate, 2.30 pm. Three border police soldiers, one writing down details, 40 people all blue IDs on their way towards Jerusalem waiting in line. “Why are they queuing here?” Roni asks. “And for the Interior Ministry one doesn’t queue?” “So you call this the interior Ministry?…” We left thinking they would pass eventually after the soldier finished writing what ever he was writing, but when we were already in the transit about to leave we saw a flow of people coming down hill and the driver told us they were those queuing people who weren’t allowed in… Nevertheless we left and went to the container. The streets were strikingly empty, vacant, a strange grayness like a shroud wrapped up in the air, like the heralding of the end of the world. The container, 3pm. From afar (on the Bethlehem side) we saw an ambulance standing, four soldiers, the commander Nahum sitting behind a table under a black net, a soldier next to him, another in the “turret” and another on a elevated cement block, all relaxed, involved with one another… eating… When they saw us, the commander stood up and beckoned the ambulance driver to come over, which he did. We could see that the ambulance driver was told he couldn’t pass. I asked the commander why he wasn’t allowed to pass. Overtly hostile he refused to answer. Then I asked whether I could at least go down and speak to the driver. ”Not in MY checkpoint. Speak to the regiment,” he said angrily.An hour passed during which Roni called Dahlia Bassa. Then a second ambulance joined the first one. After approaching the soldier on his initiative, the ambulance driver was told he won’t pass, we overheard the name Dahlia and that he had a permit, to no avail. This time I managed to speak to him for a bit before I was ordered not to. He said he had taken a patient an hour and a half ago home (somewhere around Bethlehem) and was on his way back to the hospital in Ramallah, and that he had received permission from Dahlia Bassa. As both ambulances were too far for us to decipher the plate numbers I asked him to read them to me. He managed to read me his before I was again ordered not to talk to him. Meanwhile a jeep arrived, more soldiers, playing with the Israeli flag as some sort of provocation towards us. “Aren’t you glad to be Israelis?” “They don’t celebrate Israeli Independence Day, they don’t belong to our country,” said another. The commander approached the ambulances. Seemed he must have received some sort of order regarding them. A jeep thundered down towards where the taxis had been waiting, far away down in the valley. They all began rushing away, escaping, the jeep after them, until all disappeared behind the curve of the mountain. A soldier with binoculars says hurriedly to the commander: “Tell him (the jeep) that they turned right.” Roni called Shlomi, the second company commander, and told him that these ambulances must be allowed to return to their home base, that they had permits, then she overheard Shlomi repeat all this to Nahum the commander ordering him to find out where was their home base. To that Nahum answered that that was what they claimed, but how would he know the truth, an answer which seemed to satisfy Shlomi who didn’t pursue the matter any further. Every now and then, we would call Dahlia Bassa, who seemed to know both the ambulances, and said she was handling it. 4.30pm a third ambulance appeared, this time from our side, in it was the driver a woman and the Beit Jalla hospital director who earlier had taken a patient to Ramallah hospital and used the opportunity to collect important medicine missing in Beit Jalla, which was now being kept in ice. I asked them if they had crossed Qalandiya, but apparently they had passed through the VIP checkpoint of Beit El. They too had had a permit and they too were known to Dahlia Bassa who seemed to be familiar with all the cases. When they first arrived, they were chased away by the soldier; they weren’t given the chance to explain who they were. When I interfered and told him to at least speak to the driver, the commander got up from his chair and hurried towards me: “If you want to be arrested go on interfering with my work,” he growled. However, he went and spoke to the driver, but this driver too was told to leave, that he wouldn’t pass. By then, we already had spoken to Ibrahim from Physicians for Human rights, and he too was trying to help. We also called the Army’s spokesman’s office incessantly, but no one answered throughout all the hours we were there. Now and then, we approached the soldiers with questions, but were rudely told that they won’t speak to us, and to move away. Meanwhile we saw we could decipher a telephone number printed on one of the ambulances far from us, so we called the number and spoke to the ambulance driver and found out that he (he was the first one that was there before we had arrived) had been there since 12.30, that he had earlier taken a patient to Hebron and was on his way back to Ramallah (not home, but to work, to take other patients etc.). 4.45pm. A fourth ambulance arrived, our side, with a doctor who works in Ramallah hospital and lives in Bethlehem on his way back home, and another ambulance appeared in the distance who came to fetch him on the other side of the checkpoint. He too, the doctor, who wanted to walk through was not allowed to pass, this time with an explanation: he was told that Bethlehem was sealed therefore there was no passage. At 5pm the taxi driver coming to collect the doctor spoke to the commander, and for some reason the doctor was allowed through. Roni called Kobbi (the governor) who rather hostile and quite plainly said there was no passage for ambulances.A stream of people start arriving from the other side all gathering under a shade, more and more arrive, around 40, obediently assembling there, waiting. It turned out they were hunted down in the valley after attempting to circumvent the checkpoint, their IDs taken and told to wait there to receive them back. Time passed. The jeeps roar by swerving and swirling, disappear then return, soldiers come and go. The soldier on the lookout, with his binoculars and a cup of coffee, now and then points out to something he had spotted to which they response with readiness, and disappear for a while leaving us with dread as to what had they spotted and what have they have done. A soldier was waving a baton, everyone’s threshold peeling further, then a man amongst the detainees is allowed through, which seemed “uncanny” in this land of the absurd… somewhat like a miracle. “How come they let you through?” we asked him. “I am the nature reserve,” he answer this somewhat “out of touch” answer. From afar we see the taxis slowly gathering back. But immediately down stormed the jeeps and again the taxis dispersed, and the jeep chasing them until all disappeared from sight. A man came over. The soldier allowed him to go to the little store on our side to buy something to drink. He told us some were beaten down in the valley with the baton. We asked whether they would want to file a complaint, so he called one, who answered they were too scared to, that a while ago one of them had in fact filed a complaint after he was hit severely with the gun’s butt on his eye and was seriously injured, but then he was “marked” and his family used to receive “calls” in the night, his children harassed, so he withdrew his complaint. 6pm. The director of Biet Jalla hospital says the medication which was kept in ice won’t survive much longer. At 6.20pm Roni called Ilan, Ezion second brigade commander. He is a high rank, lieutenant colonel. “Ambulances don’t pass because they can explode… and you can’t run the checkpoints… I don’t owe you an explanation… there are things you cannot understand… don’t know… like whether they want to blow themselves up somewhere else… I am stuck at home, what do you want me to do… if you have a problem with me turn to the army’s spokesman.”We approached Nahum the commander again. “Are the ambulances going to pass?” “No.” “Are you going to return the IDs?” “Maybe…” He did say though that he was given orders that no one can pass, that it wasn’t his initiative. 6.40pm. We call Adi Dagan from MachsomWatch who called Carmella Menashe (from Kol Israel radio station) and Amnon Regular (from the daily Ha’Aretz).7.50pm. The ambulances were finally allowed to pass. 8pm. We left. Two of the Ecumenicals stayed, vowed they won’t leave until the last detainee was released. At 10pm the last one finally was, and they left home. Abu-Dis, the gate. There was free passage except random checking, a few young Palestinian men giggling in a car, it seems they had an Israeli flag and wanted to stick it on the roof, then another guy who apparently didn’t find it funny scolded them, and somewhat embarrassed they immediately absconded with the flag and left. It was a very difficult and disturbing shift. We could do nothing. We weren’t perceived even as villains. We were no more than a fly buzzing about its inhuman non-voice, but mostly even less. We spoke and were not heard or counted. There was no one to turn to, even when we went higher in rank, not even the game they pretend to play as if someone really cares was played, no one pretended. It is true that these particular soldiers were extremely hostile, aggressive and coarse. But their behavior is a reflection of something deeper, and more ominous.