Posts tagged palestine.

radicalsandfolklore:

“I wrote this poem when we were doing a direct action at my university. There were Palestinian citizens and Israeli soldiers - and I’m very petty about these things so I said I will only be a Palestinian, I refuse to be settler or a soldier

 - so I was lying on the ground and this guy came and kicked me in the guts and said ‘you deserve to be raped before you have your terrorist children’, at the time I said nothing but then I wrote this poem for this young gentleman…”

This was beautiful. 

israelfacts:

In Pictures: Gaza Strip under Israeli attack

Over the past 48 hours, the Israeli army has escalated their aerial and ground attacks against the Gaza Strip. At least five Palestinians, including children, have been killed, and more than 30 others, including 6 women and 12 children, have been wounded. 

Four of these deaths and 38 of the injuries, some of them serious, resulted from an Israeli attack in the residential neighborhood of al-Shoja’iya, east of Gaza City, which occurred on Sunday. 

Al Jazeera

(Credit for photographs: Anne Paq / Al Jazeera)

Follow israelfacts for more news from Israel

palestinianliberator:

I’m in one of those “destroy everyone that’s wrong” kind of moods

/le sigh 

(via darksatiristblogger-deactivated)

1 year ago on 11/06/12 at 11:46pm

palestinianliberator:

silly-nanners:

Today marks the 12th anniversary of the martyrdom of Mohammad Al-dura. 

The father and son were getting groceries when they got caught in the crossfire between Israeli soldiers and Palestinian security forces in Gaza, Palestine. Footage shows the 2 pinned behind a concrete cylinder and the father waving and screaming. Mohammad was crying and clinging to his father but moments later was seen slouched over on his dad’s lap — killed.

He would have been celebrating his 24th birthday had he not been caught in the violence. 


I remember seeing this on tv when I was 10. Forever traumatized. 

I was 8 at the time, and it was looping constantly on every Middle Eastern news station, and it used to scare me so much because I can remember thinking how “He’s only a few years older and even his dad couldn’t protect him”

Eventually that feeling of always being scared turned into anger at the IDF, and that little fire has been burning ever since

And now you have those Zionists trying to claim that this was all staged as another “Pallywood” production, just like EVERYTHING else that people have EVER caught on camera of the IDF

(via darksatiristblogger-deactivated)

thebengalcat:

HATE GRAFFITI AT MUSLIM CEMETERY IN EVERGREEN PARK

On August 16, 2012, a Palestinian American man went to pay respects to his deceased father at Evergreen Cemetery and was horrified to see anti-Muslim hate graffiti on a number of Muslim graves. Evergreen Cemetery is home to at least 500 Muslim graves.  Cemetery officials and the police have been notified. The cemetery is located at 3401 West 87th Street, Evergreen Park, IL 60805.

“RAGHEAD KILLER” “FUCK U RAGHEAD” 

This country is out of control. More than ever.

israelfacts:

Tourism in Israeli settlements: Practice shooting Palestinians

Summer camp, warfare style: Like a frozen turkey plunged into boiling oil, a group of American tourists descend from an air-conditioned van into the scorching heat of the West Bank. Flashing smiles all around, they march into Caliber 3, a local shooting range.

“Move it!” the Israeli guide suddenly yells. “Destroy that terrorist,” he orders them, and they charge, guns loaded, at cardboard targets.

Gush Etzion has become a hot destination in recent months for tourists seeking an Israeli experience like no other: The opportunity to pretend-shoot a terror operative. Residents of the nearby settlements, who run the site, offer day-trippers a chance to hear stories from the battleground, watch a simulated assassination of terrorists by guards, and fire weapons at the range.

Five-year-old sniper

Michel Brown, 40, a Miami banker, chose to take his wife and three children to the range with the purpose of “teaching them values.”

Upon entering the range, his five-year-old daughter (above), Tamara, bursts into tears. A half hour later, she is holding a gun and shooting clay bullets like a pro.

“This is part of their education,” Michel says as he proudly watches his daughter. “They should know where they come from and also feel some action.”

Read full article

The word used for terrorist in Hebrew is “Mechabel” (mechablim for terrorists). In Israeli discourse this is a synonym for Palestinian.

Do you feel more American, or Arab? ›

astrangerdanger:

Detained at Ben Gurion: ‘Not only do we google you, we read your emails, too!’

I am an American citizen. I went to American schools my entire life, graduated from an American university and work as an architect in New York City. Why was this happening to me? It all started with a simple question. “What is your father’s name?”

“Bassam.”

“Okay, please wait a few moments in the waiting room over there.”

Little did I know that my father’s Arab name would make me guilty until proven innocent. A “few moments” would turn into a 14-hour nightmare at Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv.

SN2
Sasha Al-Sarabi and Najwa Doughman

I was hoping they wouldn’t separate me from my friend Sasha, whom I was traveling with. We had been warned about possible interrogations and security checks but were reassured that since we were both young, female professionals from New York City with American passports, it wouldn’t be a problem to enter Israel. It was going be my third visit and Sasha’s first.

Sasha was called in to be interrogated by a bleach-blonde pregnant woman and was led into a small office to the left of our waiting room. Twenty minutes passed until Sasha came out, walking quickly back to her seat.

She attempted to reassure me. “It’s going to be fine. They just want to see if we’re lying about anything.” But she was obviously flustered.

Now it was my turn.

“Najwa, come.”

- - -

“Do you feel more Arab or more American?” she asked. I had answered the ten previous questions very calmly, but with this question I looked back at the security official confused and irritated. She couldn’t have been much older than me—her business attire and stern facial expressions did not mask her youth.

“I don’t know, I feel both. Why? Does this affect my ability to get in?”

She ignored my question. “Surely you must feel a little more Arab, you’ve lived in many Middle Eastern countries.”

I did not see the correlation. I have never felt the need to choose. “Yes I have but I also lived in the US for the past seven years, and was born there, so I feel both.” My response did nothing to convince her.

“Hm. Will you go to Al-Aqsa?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Will you go to Jewish sites as well?”

“Yes, why not? We want to see everything.”

“But you have been here two times already. Why are you coming now for the third time? You can go to Venezuela, to Mexico, to Canada. It is much closer to New York, and much less expensive!”

I realized the conversation was going nowhere. “Right, but I wanted to come back here again. Don’t you have tourists who come back more than once?”

“I’m asking the questions here,” she replied disgruntled.

“Okay, we are going to do something very interesting now!” Her face transformed from a harsh stare to a slight smirk. She proceeded to type “www.gmail.com” on her computer and then turned the keyboard toward me. “Log in,” she demanded.

“What? Really?” I was shocked.

“Log in.”

I typed in my username and password in complete disbelief. She began her invasive search: “Israel,” “Palestine,” “West Bank,” “International Solidarity Movement.”

Looking back, I realize I shouldn’t have logged in. I should have known that nothing I did at this point would change my circumstances, and that this was an invasion of my privacy. Yet all the questions, the feeling that I had to defend myself for simply wanting to enter the country, and the unwavering eye contact of the security officers left me feeling like I had no choice. I was worried I would let Sasha down if I refused and that it would be the reason for both of our denials into the country.

She sifted through my inbox, reading every single email with those keywords. She read sentences out loud to her colleague, sarcastically reenacting and mocking old Google Chat conversations between Sasha and me about our future trip to Jerusalem. I squirmed in my seat.

The Israeli authorities have a notorious reputation for denying entry to Palestinians of all citizenships, and I had received all sorts of advice, solicited and unsolicited, on how to cope with the problem. The security officer opened an email from a friend living in Jerusalem who had advised me to remove myself from internet searches. “They are heavy on googling names at the airport recently,” he had written. “See if you can remove yourselves, not crucial but helpful.”

The security guard found this especially hilarious. With a laugh, she called her blonde colleague over and reread the sentence mockingly. “You can tell your friend, not only do we google you, we read your emails, too!”

I was beyond uncomfortable, uncertain of how else they would try to humiliate me. “Okay, I think you’ve read enough,” I said. “Is what you’re doing even legal? Can you please log out now?”

The guard became even more defensive. “You could ask me to log out, but you know what that would mean, right? Tell me to log out,” she dared me.

I was speechless. I felt completely helpless, furious, and exhausted; I was now entering my fourth hour of interrogation.

After reading several more emails, they wrote down every contact name, email, and phone number they could find. Finally, the interrogator said, “Okay you can go.” But before I could even feel the slightest sense of relief she added, “Good luck getting into Israel.”

Three more hours passed. A large bald man eventually approached us holding our passports. “Come with me,” he ordered. We walked straight across the hall to another waiting room, in front of two small offices.

“As of right now, you have been denied from entering Israel.” Despite the looming feeling I had after walking out of the interrogation room that my hours in this country were numbered, the words still stung with disappointment, frustration, and anger.

Sasha had had it. “Okay, I want a lawyer,” she said. “And I want to call the American embassy, now.”

The guard was not fazed by her requests. “Yes, yes, call whoever you want, after you do procedure.” He turned his back and walked away.

We peered into the office. A stout woman in uniform, about fifty years old, was taking pictures and fingerprints of a man sitting in front of her. Sasha was called in next. The woman told Sasha to sit in front of the camera.

“Wait, before you take my picture, can you tell me why we have to do this?” Sasha asked.

“This is procedure. This is how we do things in Israel,” the woman responded, looked back to her camera.

“You’re treating me like a criminal! I don’t want you to take my picture,” Sasha said. “We’ve already been denied. Why are you doing this?”

“You will take a picture and then wait in a facility until your flight.”

Sasha was persistent. “What facility? Our flight is in nine days! Why were we denied? We need to call the embassy now!”

“You will call after you take your picture. I don’t know why you were denied. My job is just to do procedure. When I go to America, the same happens to me. I get denied from America,” claimed the woman.

“No,” replied Sasha, “No, you don’t.”

After our pictures were taken, we officially felt like criminals. It didn’t help that two new female guards were now assigned to watch us at all times. The most humiliating thing was each guard couldn’t have been more than twenty years old. Everywhere we went, they were right behind us. Even when Sasha went to the restroom, the security guard went with her. After about 30 minutes, six more security guards surrounded us to walk us to another room across the airport. It was as if all the shepherds had come to herd two small sheep.

We had not committed any crime. Our only sin was being born to Arab parents. It was then that we realized what a sheltered life we had lived. We had always read about racial profiling and heard accounts from family members and friends in college. We always sympathized and were infuriated by it, but never had we felt it first hand.

Sasha and I paced back and forth with anxiety while we were made to wait in the hallway. At one point I turned my head and noticed the female guards pointing at our attire and admiring Sasha’s pants. It hit me then, for the first time, that these guards were actually young girls, interested in fashion and trends, like we were. Under different circumstances, could we have actually been friends?

They led us into the next room, which was painted white and had an intimidating, large “Explosive Detection” machine. The guards proceeded to open our luggage. They picked through every single piece of clothing and every tube of makeup. They inspected my laptop and Sasha’s iPad, wiped each item with a cloth, and ran them through the machine. They x-rayed and scanned everything—twice.

After they had gone through every one of our belongings, they proceeded to the body search. I was taken to the back of the room with one male and two female security officers. The room was smaller and closed off with a curtain. The older woman seemed to be training the younger one. She would murmur directions in Hebrew as the younger officer patted me in different places. The man stood right outside the half-open curtain. They scanned my body with a metal detector, and it beeped at the button on my jeans. “Take off your pants,” said the older officer immediately.

I lost my last nerve. “NO,” I responded. “We’ve already been denied. You searched everything. Why do I need to take my pants off after you’ve denied me? I will not take my pants off.”

“This is how we do things in Israel,” the woman snapped back. “You have to take them off.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then someone will make you.” They all walked out of the room.

I began crying and shaking as my mind went through a million different nightmares. Were they going to get more people to hold me down? What the hell is going to happen to us? I wanted to see Sasha and not be alone for a minute longer, but was too afraid of the consequences of leaving the room.

The guards returned a few minutes later with shorts taken from my luggage. “Fine,” they said. “Wear these.”

I struggled into them with tears streaming down my face. I stood ashamed and mortified as she patted me down all over again. I had never felt so humiliated, so degraded, and so violated.

Once my “security search” was over, I changed back into my jeans and returned to the white room. It was Sasha’s turn to be searched.

When this was over, two men from immigration services approached us holding our passports.

“Now you will be taken to a facility.”

“A facility? You mean a jail? Are we arrested? How long are we going to be there?”

“This is not jail. It’s a facility. This is where everybody goes that is denied entry from the State of Israel.”

They took all of our luggage and our phones and drove us about five minutes away from the airport to a gated, white building. All of the windows had double bars on them, and none of the doors had doorknobs. We walked through the dark halls and passed by open rooms filled with bunk beds.

“You can call your parents from my phone, not yours. Leave your phones here. But if it is an international call, use yours. Your flight back is at 8 am tomorrow morning.”

We called our parents, and he took us to our room on the second floor. Inside were ten bunk beds, four sleeping women, a sink, a bathroom, and a shower.

We both stared at the beds for a minute before lying down. The mattresses looked like they were made of duct tape, the room smelled of urine, and there was a grey, furry sheet on each bed. We folded my sweater in half to use as a pillow, and lay in the three-foot-wide bed together, looking up at the bottom of the bunk above us. “FREE PALESTINE, I Shall Return—Maryam 2006” and “21 Gaza Peace Activists detained” were scribbled on the wood. Reading those sentences over and over gave me an odd sense of peace, and we drifted into a restless sleep.

At about 5 am, the guard came to wake the Spanish woman in the bed beside ours. “Wash your face,” he told her. She sprung up, splashed water on her face, and waited for him to come back and unlock the door. We sat up anxiously in the bed waiting for our turn to leave.

At 6:15, a guard came and told us that the US embassy was phoning for us. My parents had called them from Virginia after our two-minute conversation to inform them of what was happening. Sasha answered the phone. “Oh, thank God, we’ve been trying to get in touch with you! This is Sasha. We’ve been through a lot the past few hours.”

“As I told your friend’s parents yesterday, there is really nothing we can do. I’m just glad that you’re going to be able to get on the next flight.” the woman said dispassionately.

“This is ridiculous. They went through my friend’s email. Is that legal?”

“Well, they can do whatever they want. There is nothing we can do. They are their own country, and they make their own rules.”

“If only you could see the conditions we are in. I just wish you could come and smell the room.”

“Oh, I’m really sorry, but at least you’ll be getting on the next flight,” her voice was annoyingly monotonous.

“I can’t believe we are funding this system. I understand the special relationship between America and Israel, but there is clearly something wrong with the way we are being treated”.

“Well, there’s a lot of things wrong with a lot of systems.” She clearly wasn’t going to help us.

“You are right. We should all just sit here and be complacent like you. Well, thanks for your call.” And Sasha hung up.

We had been desperately waiting for this call, and the amount of frustration we felt after receiving it was overwhelming. We had demanded over and over to be able to talk to the American embassy, hoping that being American would give us some sort of protection or a little sense of security. There is no difference between every citizen in America, we thought naively. Surely the US Embassy would rescue us and demand that we be treated like human beings. Surely they would reprimand the Israelis for their appalling practices and demand that they act like the democracy they claim to be.

If we were two American citizens in a Syrian or Iranian “facility,” would the American embassy’s reaction be the same? Would Obama himself not have made a statement by now, demanding our release? If we were Americans of Polish or Chinese descent, would we have been treated this way? American citizens are usually given a three-month visa upon arrival. Why were we an exception? There are a lot of things wrong with a lot of systems, but when we are funding one with billions of our tax dollars, this means that we are supporting it.

An hour later, which seemed like an eternity, the guard showed up. It was now 7:30 am, which was only thirty minutes before our flight. This turned out to be no problem, as we were driven straight to the steps of the airplane. Our passports were given to the captain of the Air France flight. When we arrived in France, three policemen waited for us at the door of the plane, took our passports from the captain, and led us down the stairs of the airplane straight into their police car.

“Does this happen often?” Sasha asked.

“Every day,” replied the officer.

(via darksatiristblogger-deactivated)

israelfacts:

Israeli military shoots 14-year-old protester in face with rubber bullet

Today during the weekly Friday demonstrations in Nabi Saleh, family members of political prisoner Bassam Tamimi were wounded with rubber bullets by the Israeli military. 14-year-old Izz al-Abdul Hazfith Tamimi was shot in the face and Usama Bilal Tamimi was shot in the leg. Today’s protest against the wall was also in dedication to Bassam Tamimi, who was arrested one year ago, and hunger striker Hana Shalabi.

(via fajrarmy)

verbalresistance:

Death toll climbs after Israeli raids on Gaza

Medics say at least 18 Palestinians have been killed and a dozen injured after Israeli air strikes on the Gaza Strip.

A 12-year-old boy been killed in a fresh Israeli air strike on the Gaza Strip, bringing the death toll from Israeli attacks to 18 since Friday, according to Palestinian medical sources.

At least one more Palestinian was wounded in the early Sunday raid in the eastern part of the Gaza Strip, the sources said, after armed groups fired 100 rockets into Israel.

A Palestinian riding a motorcycle was killed and two others were wounded on Saturday afternoon in an Israeli air raid close to the southern town of Rafah near the border with Egypt .

Two men also on a motorbike were killed earlier the same day in another raid on the town of Khan Yunis, medics said.

In a statement on Saturday, the Israeli army said: “The targeting is in direct response to the rocket fire at Israeli communities in southern Israel.

“Over the past 24 hours, over 45 rockets have hit communities in southern Israel- injuring four people, one severely, one moderately and two lightly.”

An air raid late on Friday struck down three Palestinians after an Apache helicopter fired rockets that hit a house and a car, medics told Al Jazeera …

The Palestinian Authority condemned the strikes, saying it had created a “negative environment” that would “escalate the circle of violence in the region,” according to a statement released by the official Palestinian WAFA news agency …

Hamas, which rules the Gaza Strip, has maintained a tacit truce with Israel, but other armed Palestinian groups regularly fire rockets and mortars across the border, which often prompts air raids in response.

“The recent Zionist escalation is an unjustified crime, it comes as a part of the destabilisation of a stable security situation in the Gaza Strip” the Hamas-run Gaza government’s interior ministry said in a statement.

“We hold the international community fully responsible for the attacks.”

Before Friday’s airstrikes, Israeli army radio quoted what it called “senior military sources” as saying the army “does not intend to allow the firing to continue.”

Read Whole: Al Jazeera

(via darksatiristblogger-deactivated)

(via radicalstellnotales)