Nablus, Palestine - Freedom Summer 2002
I see alot of messed up kids when I substitute teach in Boston. But I saw a new level in Old Askar refugee camp, in Nablus. Askar is the poorest place I visited in Palestine. The occupation is a harsher reality in Askar; (the wide main street makes it easier for the Israeli tanks, very unusual for a refugee camp). The anger at the occupation is fierce. Children lead the charge with a wave of stones, (which i never saw come close to hitting a tank). The kids are the majority. Many have escaped parental control.
When 6 days a week have a 24-hour curfew, there is no school. More so in
Askar, the boys see this as more time available to chase tanks. Tank
chasing is a rush. Hitting a tank with a stone must be a mega-rush.
The
stone throwers have an intense look in their eye. They are hyped up on
adrenaline. Fights amongst themselves are rare. But when they happen,
stones are often thrown. When a Palestinian truck drives up to a
checkpoint, stones are sometimes hitting the truck. Come to Palestine to
work with at risk kids. They are desperate for attention.
The first time i was in Askar, four of my fellow internationals were
buying food for people living in an occupied home. A strategically
located house occupied on the top floor by the Israeli army. (Israel
using Palestinian civilians as human shields).
I was outside the shop
entertaining kids with silly tricks and my 30 words of Arabic. They were
roaring for more. (Palestinian kids are the easiest crowd I've ever had).
When we left the shop up the main road they were trying to drag me back.
They were not used to having fun. I broke away and jogged laughing to the
front of our group. About two minutes later, Gabe (USA), was hit in the
head with a stone. There was no blood, but he was clearly hurt and upset.
We walked down the road to a shop, bought some cola, and complained about
this to the shopkeeper. He said he had watched me joking with the kids.
He said I should have been more careful.
He was the first Palestinian who told me that these kids were out of the
parents' control. The reason they threw rocks was because they wanted the
entertainment to continue. I experienced this a few times in Nablus.
Twice, i was hit with small stones, (in the head only!) when walking away
from my scores of conversations with stone throwers.
We walked past the open sewer, and out of the camp, to the 4 story
occupied house nearby. It was near 2 big open fields, and was covered in
camouflage netting. We crossed the field with arms out, holding the food.
We came around to the front of the house, where the family waved for us
to come past the main entrance and inside. We paused, knowing the
Israeli soldiers had seen us. Five seconds later, two soldiers came out. They
told us to give them the food and go. We talked to them for 2 minutes.
The Palestinians apologized for the rude neighbors upstairs in broken
English and sign language. We all smiled at the ridiculous situation. But
their stress was great. They had heavily armed soldiers watching their
every move. They could not break curfew. The people of Nablus love to
break curfew! Prison is harder to bear when you are not let out of your
cell.
On our return into Askar camp, We saw an Armored Personnel Carrier and 4
Israeli soldiers. One was kneeling and aiming his automatic rifle at the
kids shouting at them in the distance. Others in our group yelled
"Stop!" and "What are you doing!" at the soldier. He turned his head
with a "Who are you?" look in his eye. But he got up and took out the
clip and emptied the bullet from the chamber. We walked by. The soldiers
said nothing.
As we approached the about 40 kids, they started throwing rocks in our
direction. The Internationals in front tried waving and saying no, no! But
Gabe taking out his Palestinian headscarf brought 5 of the kids running
to meet us. We talked to them for a while, and decided three of us would
stay. We moved to the other side of the main street and tried to separate
ourselves from the kids. After a few minutes, a tank came, and all the
kids scattered. The tank, followed by the APC came down the street to
where the kids were and turned left, driving right next to us on the
corner. The tank kept its gun trained on us, (hands outstretched looking
innocent and concerned), as it drove up and by. I was very scared, and
moved a little towards a large pole. As the tank drove away, Kota
(Japan), told me never to hide. They will shoot you if you hide.
Ten days later, i was used to tank guns pointing at me. There was a
demonstration against the occupation and for open schools. The planned
route was for the same walk from Askar to the occupied house. There were
about 100 kids, 50 Palestinian adults, and 12 internationals, (Freedom
Summer was over, our numbers are thin). In all we made about 10 big signs
in Arabic, English, Hebrew, and Japanese. We got started late, and lost 2
of our 4 local press people who showed up. At first, only Palestinian
women and girls were to march. Later, boys were told they could march
with us if they put on the light blue shirts they wore to school. In the
end, the whole stone throwing school skipping boys and young men were
with us. As we marched down the street, i took the role of peacekeeper.
Most of the kids liked me and if i asked min fadlak, (please), most would
move behind the internationals in front. A few of the most brazen would
get around me and to the front, where the Palestinian women organizers
would come get them and escort them back. Things were under control, and
the demonstration was getting festive when an Israeli tank roared across
a field to cut us off. It drove within 5 meters of us and belched out
thick white exhaust fumes out of its left side (only). We people towards
the front could not see our eyelashes. I stepped back 1 meter and was
clear and could see that a few of the kids were jogging away, but most
everyone had held their ground. I took a deep breath and went back in.
The tank didn't move and made smoke for almost a minute. It was toxic.
(Many of us had headaches all day). When a jeep pulled up the tank moved
away and stopped belching the smoke. I had to work very hard to prevent
kids from coming out to watch the tank and the soldiers from the jeep,
about 15 meters away. We all sat down and falafel sandwiches were passed
out. We chanted and sang songs. 2 Palestinians and an American negotiated
with the soldiers. They said we planned to march to the occupied house.
The soldiers said we would force them to shoot kids in the legs if we
passed.
We stayed for 40 minutes. It was becoming impossible to keep the stone
throwers from coming around the front of the demo. At one point i gave up
and just put myself in between the tank gun, which was pointing at the
kids. It moved a little, i moved a little. Back and forth and up and down
i danced with the turret operator. Many of us were laughing, (i think
even the soldier pointing the tank gun), until i was told to stop
taunting the tank by an American. So i told every body i couldn't control
the side of the demo, and was going to the rear, and try to bring some of
the most hyped up kids with me. About 20 of the stone throwers came with
me. I sat down exhausted, and frustrated, so they pulled my hair. These
kids really liked me. But they had trouble showing it. After about 5 more
minutes of talking and occasional hair pulling, we marched back to Askar.
Askar was the only place in Palestine where it was common for kids to
beg, and demand candy. It was the only place I saw anyone try to steal,
(though half-heartedly). It is the only place I felt disappointed by kids in
Palestine. But the kids were very interesting and philosophical. I would
love to be their teacher.
Askar has more bikes than other places. I rode on about 10 bikes in
Palestine, about half in Askar. Every single one of them had major
problems. I most regret that I didn't bring some simple bike tools to fix
some breaks and true some wheels. Palestine needs a Bikes not Bombs
giving away mountain bikes, (for the terrain is rough with rubble in
urban Palestine), that kids learn and build themselves.
Peace and Love, Terry