BEIT IBA, Thursday 29 April 2004 PMObservers: Vera R., Dalia G., Ruthi B. (reporting) colour =red>Hundreds of men, women and children were crowded behind the fence of the exit from Nablus checkpoint. From a distance they looked like a giant mass. To one side, beside a wall, stood about 50 detainees, awaiting checking of their ID cards, and at the entry to Nablus checkpoint checking was proceeding at a reasonable rate. The division of labour among us was spontaneous, Ruthi ran towards the “mass”, Dalia to the detainees and Vera took photographs.Ruthi: My main task was to arrange priority for women with babies, or to get entire families through: father, mother and children. I “found” a wonderful soldier, of rare humanity (under those inhuman conditions) and it was as though we’d been working together for a long time. He gestured to me when and how many people to send over to him for checking and I – standing beside them – sent him the most urgent cases. Within two hours there were almost no families and children at the checkpoint. When the soldier finished his shift, everything changed. His replacement didn’t make much effort: and joked with the Palestinians, trying to be nice with foolish talk, but the line grew longer. Vera was taking pictures and he didn’t like that, wanted to send her away and asked her to stop. I told him we had the right to be there. He tried to snatch the camera but I wouldn’t let him. The atmosphere became aggressive.Beside the checking point, we saw a man sitting blindfolded and with his hands tied. We went over. Beside him was a textbook in Arabic which we leafed through it but couldn’t understand. We recognized a picture of Arafat. We didn’t succeed in finding out why he’d been tied. He was thirsty and asked for water and I gave him some from my bottle. Vera took pictures. Soon afterwards a military vehicle arrived and he was taken away, but we don’t know where.Dalia: As soon as I got there, a man came towards me with a baby in his arms: this morning he had taken his pregnant wife to hospital for the birth. Since he had no permit, he hadn’t been allowed through with his wife; but when he begged them , they agreed on condition that he left his ID card with them , to be returned when he came back. Now he was back (his wife had given birth to a daughter) and the soldier who had taken the ID card wasn’t there. He didn’t know whom to talk to. I asked a soldier to find out and he did try, unsuccessfully, to locate the soldier who had been on duty earlier. I urged him to continue to look for the missing document and sure enough it was found. He gave it to me as if it was my private affair. When I handed it over to the man waiting (with superhuman patience) with the baby, he was full of thanks and went on his way.While I was watching him go, a giant truck arrived almost on top of me. The soldier halted it. An argument started. The driver claimed he had a permit. The checkpoint commander shouted at the soldier: “Don’t let him through”. The soldier: “But he’s got a permit.” The commander: “So what? Are we going to let everyone with a permit go through?” (That’s what he said!) I asked: “Then what are permits for?” “Not for here. For somewhere else,” he said and went. A few minutes later (Ruthi’s ) wonderful soldier managed to get him through.Then I went over to the detainees sitting by the wall since the morning without shade and water. I called M., from Physicians for Human Rights, and asked them to take action for the detainees. She said she’d do what she could. Apparently she couldn’t. Meanwhile I talked to them. They told me sad and frustrating personal stories and I listened to their opinions about the peace that was melting away before their eyes.I called R., the head of the District Coordinating Office (DCO) [the army section that deals with civilian matters], and he promised and kept his promise: within half an hour a DCO officer arrived to speed up the line and the release of the detainees. But it produced only a minute, almost imperceptible change. When I went over to talk to him , he said: “You’re just interrupting us in our work!” While the DCO officer was angry and inefficient, the checkpoint commander was just tired, indifferent and insensitive. We just couldn’t connect with him. When one of the distressed detainees asked his help – he heard him out and then said dryly, yawning: “Go back and sit with the detainees until you’re called.” And to us he said: There’s nothing to be done. They’ll just have to wait.” “How long?” “It’s not in our hands.” It didn’t interest him, he stood leaning against the fence, untidy and exhausted. (I asked Vera to photograph him –“commanding officer doing his job”.)Most of the detainees were students at the university in Nablus. They study from Saturday to Wednesday. The army authorities allow them to leave Nablus for home (in Tulkarm, Jenin or neighbouring villages) on Wednesdays and to return on Saturday mornings. That’s it. Any other day – no passage. The only sin of the detainees was that today was Thursday. They were a day late, and this usually happens because of an examination on Wednesday evening or Thursday morning. For this they must be punished: the father or son won’t be going back home to spend two days with the family. They’ll wait two weeks. I tried unsuccessfully to be of help.I stood among the detainees and talked to them, and made friends with a student completing an undergraduate degree in construction engineering. He intends to go on to a graduate degree, speaks fluent Hebrew, which he never studied; he learned while working in Israel. He said that he understood that the soldiers believe that by standing here, they’re defending their country and fulfilling an important mission. That’s how he explained it to me…He told me his documents had been taken for checking, and that he hoped he’d go through. He’d been waiting five hours and it was getting dark. From experience, we know that sometimes the detainees are released at dark.. I decided to wait with them until 18.00 (release time). A soldier eventually arrived with documents. He called the Palestinians one by one and handed back documents. There was humour amid the tension and frustration. The soldiers called out: “Ahmed Yassin!” Everyone burst out laughing…and Ahmed came over and was released. “My” student was unlucky. The soldier called his name, handed him the documents and said: “ Back to Nablus!” He asked: “ But why?” The reply: “Today is Thursday…no exit from Nablus!” He had waited five hours for this answer! We look at one another in despair, both feeling helpless. It’s already nearly seven. We decided to leave and collect the watchers from Huwwara. We left behind dozens of detainees and a long line waiting for passage.The student’s perplexed face is still with me, and he was just one of many ……