Dear Friends,
The following is my PERSONAL account of the March Against the War that
took place today, so if it contains a lot of "I did, I said, me,
me, me", that's why. You are free to pass on all or part of the
following.
For those of you who expressed their concern, I can say that I got
home in one piece, suffering only from tear gas inhalation and some
exhaustion after the day's events. We had 3 people arrested, a few dozen
beaten with clubs and batons and some unfortunately trampled (not too
badly, thankfully), as people tried to escape from the tear gas and
stun grenades.
At the meeting point in Tel-Aviv this morning, it was immediately obvious
that this was not going to be just one more protest by the Israeli left
(and by this I mean Israeli Jews and Palestinian citizens of Israel).
A full 15 minutes BEFORE the meeting time, two full busses had already
left for Jerusalem, one was filling up and organizers were contacting
bus companies to charter 2 more busses; ultimately, dozens of private
cars also filled up and joined the procession. The organizers had initially
chartered
20 busses nationwide and we ended up needing 35 busses, in addition
to the cars.
What is most amazing is, that originally, the march was proposed as
a protest by Physicians for Human Rights (Israel), against the human
rights abuses; at that point, ten days ago, a few dozen participants
were expected!
I have previous sent you notices with the names of the organizations
participating, of which there were more than ten, effectively
covering the entire spectrum of the peace camp to the left of Peace
Now.
On the busses, organizers read out instructions: no confrontation with
the police in Jerusalem, who have been working overtime for months with
no extra pay and whose tempers were at the boiling point already; the
march was to be led by women only (cheers) and only women who were appointed
in advance were to negotiate with the army concerning the transport
of the trucks with the supplies (only food and medical supplies); we
were to be absolutely nonviolent and were not to respond to any provocations.
We had a meeting point in Jerusalem to join up with the busses from
other places and with Jerusalem residents, then continued to an empty
parking lot in Beit Hanina to join the Palestinian participants (and
a few internationals from the peace campaign). Only at that point did
it become clear that we numbered about 3,000 people.
As we started walking out of the parking lot towards the checkpost
at al-Ram, I think we looked like a strange group of refugees: the requirement
to wear white had people digging out their summer clothes, while the
weather was definately wintery, with almost constant rain and cold winds.
A typical protester wore thick pants, shirt, sweater and jacket, with
white summer clothes stretched over everything.
A lot of Women in Black, defiant and stubborn as always, wore black
and held their famous hand-shaped black signs. The Gays and Lesbians
Against the Occupation wore white, with pink armbands and destinctive
pink and white triangular signs. Physicians for Human Rights marched
in their white lab coats. There were even a few participants from the
Islamic Movement, with their green flags.
It was a slow procession towards the checkpost, since we were waiting
for the supply trucks, intending to accompany them to Qalandiya, where
the supplies were to be handed over to the Ramallah Salvation Committee.
We chanted and sang in Hebrew, Arabic and English, stopping every few
yards. Naturally, some of the men could not stay out of the women's
lead contingent, even when it meant that we were volunteering to be
the first to be hit and gassed.
In any event, once we came into sight of the checkpost, it was obvious
that none of us would reach Qalandiya: police, border police and soldiers
(young conscripts, mostly Ethiopian and Russian immigrants) stood in
lines 4 thick across the road, barring our way. We stood before them,
about 2 meters away, still chanting and singing endless choruses of
Give Peace a Chance, as our first truck approached. It was greeted with
cheers, ululating and clapping and negotiations began as to what and
who would be allowed to
cross the checkpost.
When the truck was stopped, protesters grabbed sacks of rice, flour
and sugar and tried to approach the checkpost bearing the
supplies (I guess this is what the Israeli radio referred to, when they
announced that "a violent protest took place at al-Ram, where demonstrators
tried to storm the checkpost...").
Most of us were still singing, some of the organizers were being interviewed
by the masses of reporters who accompanied us, when suddenly we heard
the explosions of tear gas grenades. The gas was fired directly into
the crowd and at demonstrators. As we were fleeing, the first line of
soldiers and police advanced with clubs in the air and I heard the shout
"Give it to them!". They started running towards us, clubbing
people indiscriminately (some of the women in the lead were grandmothers,
one was in a wheelchair).
Wet towels, onions and scarves were produced to provide some protection
from the gas, although some people had to be carried away. It took us
a few minutes to stop choking, regroup and head back. This time, people
were more observant of the 'women first' rule and we advanced, holding
our hands in the air to signal that we were unarmed, waving white cloths,
chanting peace slogans.
It was harder going back after that first round of tear gas, since
we knew what to expect, but I'm proud to say that everyone who was able
to walk, proceeded once again towards the checkpost and the line of
soldiers who were reloading their guns.
The second round was much more violent. For one thing, there was a
large space between contingents, so the soldiers were everywhere, firing
again and again, and this time, they also used stun grenades. Some young
men were cornered and set on by groups of police, who beat them long
after they were lying helpless on the ground. A lot of people slipped
in the mud, fell and
were beaten. Sky News broadcast this part over and over: people fleeing
and the soldiers firing at their backs.
This was also when they started to arrest people and we were unable
to release them. I tried to appeal to 2 soldiers who were dragging away
a young man and was pushed away, into a cloud of gas. When I recovered,
he was already in the van. People
spontaneously chanted "shame, shame, shame".
About 100 demonstrators who fled to side streets were trapped: they
could not go into Palestinian neighborhoods and endanger the residents,
and the police and soldiers stood along the main road, clubs in hand,
waiting for them. Some youths tried to come back to the main road and
started shouting at the soldiers: fascists, nazis. It was obvious that
a lot of people would be seriously hurt if more people came down to
join the main body of the march.
I was standing behind the soldiers and a bit to the side, with a few
other women, and decided to act. I took a loudspeaker from someone and
started to speak to the soldiers: "Soldiers, policemen, we are
nonviolent peace activists, we are unarmed. You are our sons, our spouses,
our fathers; we are your mothers, your wives, your neighbors, your daughters.
We came here to save lives - the lives of the children in Ramallah and
your lives. The government is willing to sacrifice you for the sake
of the settlements, but we want to keep you alive. We are unarmed, nonviolent
demonstrators, We are not endangering you. The orders you received are
war
crimes. Don't let Sharon and Peres take you with them to the Hague."
I went on like this for about ten minutes. The other women stood around
me, saying "Yes, go ahead, talk to them" and not letting anyone
come near. When I got hoarse, they gave me water and onion to sniff.
I don't know if I managed to touch them, if they got an order or if
it was the sheer psychological torture of having to listen to me for
so long, but like a not very graceful line of ballet dancers, the line
of soldiers suddenly retreated to the checkpost, enabling the demonstrators
to come down from the side street and join up with the others.
As they did, I tried again to speak to the soldiers: "Come home
with us, your mothers are waiting at home. Come out of the Occupied
Territories and come home." No one responded, but I was glad to
see some of them hanging their heads and staring at their boots.
At this point, we regrouped again, tended to the people who were hurt
and decided to go back to the parking lot and the busses, since the
physicians seemed to be successfully negotiating the entrance of the
trucks, which was our major concern. But even as we were retreating,
the soldiers and border guards fired at us yet again, tear gas and stun
grenades.
A lot of people fled into a field, where they fell in mud, but still
the border guards kept firing. This is when we had most of our injuries.
Palestinians from the neighborhood threw onions into the crowd to help
or placed onions on cars that were parked in the street. At some point
I was blinded and choking and just reached out and gasped "onion"
and someone gave me some. I was them
able to help a young woman who was sobbing and gasping "I can't
breathe!".
Two grenades had exploded right next to her and her face was burning.
A man helped me bring her out of the gas (luckily, a strong wind helped
disperse the gas) and we took care of her. She had enhaled so much gas,
that when she exhaled, smoke was coming out of her lungs. After ten
minutes she was breathing normally and she immediately started cursing
at the soldiers. I
assumed that she was okay and continued towards the busses. Later, I
learned that she was an aide to a Knesset Member, who probably thought
that she would accompany him as he was interviewed on CNN and would
then go home.
In the parking lot, we had some down time. Palestinians brought us
pita breads and we shared what we had. I introduced a Palestinian student
to my slightly burned matza brie and I'm afraid that he will never be
sympathetic to Jewish people, although he said that it was "interesting,
not too bad".
My tendency to pack too much finally paid off: I had an extra sweatshirt
for a friend who was covered in mud and freezing, painkillers for some
of the injured, coffee to share with those in shock, food and cigarettes
to share with those who didn't have any and amateur medical advice from
my work at the free clinic.
I know that this is a very lengthy report about just a few hours in
one day and I apologize. This was the first civil disobedience that
I was able to do in years, since I couldn't risk arrest while I was
caring for my father-in-law. It was also the first time that so many
Israelis participated in this kind of action.
Us older folks reminisced about the first protest we held in the Territories,
against the closure of Bir Zeit University in 1981. Now, many of us
had grown children with us. One middle-aged woman that I helped after
she collapsed begged me to help her find her mother: "She has white
hair and she's short" was the only description she gave, and there
were several dozen women who fit.
When I called home from the bus, my partner told me that he'd seen
us on the news (only foreign stations). I asked if our son Tom was worried
about me. "Not at all, he's happy and proud."
I might have felt the same, if I hadn't seen the evening news: Christian
clerics barred from entering Bethlehem, fighting in Manger Square, firing
at churches, a Palestinian doctor shot dead as she attended the wounded,
children alone in homes with the bodies of their parents, unable to
leave or get help.
And the "good news": Dubya (*) has a vision!
All the best,
Rayna
(*) "Dubya" is the American nickname for president
George W. Bush.