SARRA, BEIT IBA, Sunday 20 March 2005 PMObservers: Alix W., Drora S., Susan L. (reporting)Guest: Isabella L.colour=red> 15:10 – 17:30 Sarra and Beit Iba SarraAs we left the ” Israelis only” road at Jit Junction and drove up the hillto the checkpoint at Sarra, we were greeted by an army Hummer coming slowly and surely straight at us. A jeep followed close behind, sealing us in, as a head popped out of the Hummer, telling us we were “in a closed military area.” We asked if there was still a checkpoint ahead. No, but there was an army position ( manned sometimes) at the top of the hill. We were not to be allowed to do our Machsomwatch duty to bear witness to its existence. While we waited for the army to make way for us to turn around and go back toBeit Iba, the soldiers locked the gate barring the entrance to Sarra, andthere was no way to get up there that Sunday afternoon.Beit Iba New at the checkpoint was a blue and white flag strung acrossthe checkpoint pillbox. Also new to us was a sign, in English and Hebrew, on one of the small cement huts at the top of the hill above the checkpoint,which proclaimed it as a “humanitarian post” ( it apparently belongs to the army medical corps, but there was nobody there). Electrification work was going on in the area where the soldiers stand outside the pillbox and there were three border police in addition to the usual unit of soldiers.15:45 — Long before we reached the actual checkpoint we saw three border police, throwing their weight around. As we walked past a group of shouting and gesticulating men, the border policeman in charge threw some car keys to the ground with a resounding thud. We soon learned from the angry taxi drivers – for that is what they were — that their ID cards and keys had been taken, and that they’d been told that it was forbidden to stand on the side of the road. “How am I to know?” lamented one, distressed at this latest ruling. Suddenly, names were called out, and ID cards returned. This entire incident took about five minutes. 16:00 —There were 10 non-student detainees in the detainees’ compound, plus a student in a wheel-chair outside (we were told he’d been detained for over an hour already). . [Detainees are, typically, men aged from 16 to 30 or 35 who have no passage permits; sometimes, young women, too, are detained. The detainees’ ID details are phoned through to the General Security Services (GSS, also known as the Shabak or the Shin Bet, the Hebrew acronym for the GSS) for checking against a central list of security suspects and the answers are then relayed back to the checkpoints. This cumbersome process can take considerable time, and that can be prolonged even more if the soldiers wait to accumulate a batch of ID cards before passing them on to the GSS , or if they behave in a similarly tardy manner at the end of the process, waiting until they have a batch of GSS clearances before they release individual detainees. Meanwhile, the detainees are virtually prisoners at the checkpoint where the soldiers retain the ID cards until the entire process is completed]. The noise level at the checkpoint was enormous and very hard to bear. Three electricians were working inside the soldiers’ area, putting in electric lines and points, drilling into the concrete and adding to the commotion typical for this time of day when people are on their way home from Nablus.The officer in charge was G. of whom we had bad memories fromprevious visits some months ago. He tried not to notice us and to ignore our requests to talk to him, ordering a soldier to tell us where not to stand. 16:00 -16:30 — The detainees were taxi drivers, held here for the past four hours. The details of their case and of the student in the wheel-chair were already known to the Centre for the Defence of the Individual, whose staff had already contacted the army’s “humanitarian” hot-line. Just as the student’s details were being phoned through, he was released. The taxi drivers, too, were let go, finally. The border police were now positioned at the turnstiles, and physically holding them taut, so that hordes of men, coming out of Nablus, could not easily pass through [these are not simple turnstiles such as one finds in a subway station, but high , revolving gates made of steel bars: each segment is barely large enough to admit one average-sized person; there is virtually no room to spare for anything that person may be carrying , whether a child or a parcel; passage for pregnant women or for the elderly is extremely difficult and frightening]. No wonder one frustrated Palestinian called out to us, “And all you do is look.” And indeed, we felt helpless. A young woman with a squalling infant and a toddler was in a wrong line. We tried to take her up to the pillbox with her ID, but were stopped. She was sent to the back. It was allso senseless and cruel. 17:00 — It was quieter now, but several students had meanwhile been detained: it was usual story of their passing through the checkpoint every day, and today, arbitrarily, being held. We asked G whether perhaps he was in the middle of doing something about the students. “You want me to badger the GSS?” he asked, banging on the phone. “Yes,” we answered. He did so (wonders never cease), and the students were released a couple of minutes later. 17:15 — We asked why the border police were there: it was so noticeable that they threw their weight around more than the soldiers, and were physically more cruel. “They’re supposed to help us,” was the laconic reply from G: “They’re still learning.” 17:30 — As we left, taxi drivers and stand-owners outside thecheckpoint approached us complaining about the latest harassments which further hamper their efforts to earn their living.