2 May 2005Musa Isa Barhoum
In October 2003, I had taken the plane from Amman airport, where I was promptly arrested upon my arrival in Israel, after having all of my bags checked and my body searched meticulously, at the Ben Gurion airport. I was arrested, because the Israeli Airport Security's pretext was that a Palestinian must take the exact same route on both departing and arriving flights (I had departed from Amman). Anyway, that was the explanation I was given before being thrown into the airport's detention center (jail) for over six hours, and then was deported back to Amman, Jordan, the very same night. I did not know it is a "crime" to change one's travel plans or route!
When it comes to Palestinians, with a few exceptions, and especially during the latest uprising (Intifadah), which started in Septemeber 2000, it is a crime that is in fact punishable, and we are not even allowed to use any of Israel's airports.
It seems to me that I am not very lucky with the Israeli "cousins" at all! Being a peace activist, a journalist, and co-researcher with my Israeli colleagues, Professors of the Truman Institute at Hebrew University, had not exempted me from the hassle and agony that every Palestinian faces when travelling via Israel. On the contrary, it seemed as if I were a special target once the Israeli Security knew my personal academic and activist background. Or maybe, October is not my lucky month, who knows!
Again, travelling from Amman, the capital of Jordan, back to Ramallah (Palestine) in October, 2004, was just as horrendous as the journey home from the U.S.A., (through Lud/Ben Gurion airport) in 2003.
This time, in October 2004, I was faced with an entirely different kind of humiliation. It was just as distasteful as the experience I endured last year, if not worse. Before narrating what happened, it's good to give the reader, especially, the foreigner some information about an average trip from Amman/Jordan to Ramallah. The distance between Amman and Ramallah is about 50 miles. The distance between Amman and the Jordanian-Israeli border is approximately 25 miles. As a conclusion, the distance between the Israeli/Palestinian border and Ramallah is about the same, which means that the junction of the Jordanian-Israeli/Palestinian border is almost half the way between Amman and Ramallah.
Before the 1967 Israeli occupation of the West Bank and Gaza Strip, it used to take the passengers only 70 to 80 minutes travelling all the way from Amman to Ramallah, in the car of course; nowadays, if the passenger is lucky, it will take him a whole day just to travel from Ramallah to Amman/Jordan!
In my case, my brother (who lives in Amman) gave me a nice and lovely ride from Amman to the Jordanian border. It took us about 40 minutes driving very slowly, pleasantly enjoying our time chatting while sightseeing.
Around the Jordanian borders, everything went so fine, smooth and well. The Jordanians are great indeed. They treated us in a most civilized way. After checking our documents and screening our luggage, we boarded the Jordanian bus.
Our passports were first checked by the Jordanian police, and then they were checked again by the Israeli army. In order to check our passports, though, the Israeli soldiers made every passenger get out of the bus. Out of the bus, each passenger had to wait in line to show his documents to the Israeli soldier who was protected from the heat by an umbrella. Most of the Palestinian passengers were standing in direct sunlight because the umbrella is not designed to protect 60-plus passengers. After they checked all of our passports, and after searching the empty bus they allowed us to re-board.
After driving for less than a few minutes, we were stopped again at a second Israeli checkpoint. This one was an easy one. No passports or IDs were checked.
Another minute or two passed and the bus was stopped again. From the window, we could see more buses in front of our bus, maybe five buses, which were all waiting. We had to wait inside the bus. The bus was badly air-conditioned, its windows were impossible to open, and with almost torn-out curtains, the searing sun smuggled itself onto our faces on a very hot day. The temperature was 42 degrees Centigrade, which is about 108 degrees Fahrenheit. We were not allowed to get off the bus, we were jammed prisoners indeed!
This experience felt like a memory of the nightmare at Ben Gurion Airport, in 2003, except it was worse because this time I was accompanied by sixty infants, children, elderly men and women and some very heavy smokers who could not wait to light-up their cigarettes. We were all jammed and pickled like squashed sardines in a can.
Soon the past experience at Ben Gurion began to feel like a piece of cake! At least my prison inmate and I had a toilet, toilet paper, and a sink in a smoking-free cell.
Since I have the habit of only drinking water and juice when travelling, my urinary system began to make some urgent demands! I waited for minutes and minutes to hold it back and finally felt I could wait no longer. I had to use the toilet, but where is the toilet? A passenger told me there was a toilet on the bus. I looked where he pointed at, I could see it. He was right. There was one, but how to reach it with a dozen passengers crowding the middle of the aisle!
I had been sitting in one of the back seats. To reach the urinal, I needed to get through all the standing passengers, so I tried to squeeze myself through. At last I reached my destination! But I found it was out of service. The toilet seat was covered with a big carpet. What was I to do? The Israelis would prefer us to relieve ourselves anywhere, anytime, because they weren't allowing us to get out of the steamy bus. In desperation, I decided to use an empty bottle. Thus, I had to squeeze myself again through the isle of the bus to find a plastic bottle. That seemed the most reasonable solution to my dilemma. The need is the mother of invention indeed! But it was an extraordinary need.
At last I found one, my saviour the bottle. In extreme discomfort, with my urinary tract almost screaming, I made my way back through the crowds to the broken toilet once more. "Relief at last," I gratefully thought, but "no way Jose!" The door would not lock or close unless I held the door handle tightly, for privacy, using my second hand to hold the bottle. At last I made it and got rid of the charges, but I was sweating like a wet rat coming out of a hole of sewage! My, it was a great feeling of relief, indeed!
I returned to my seat with unbelievable feelings of released catharses. It made a lot of difference. The only other alternative was to wet my pants in front of all the passengers. Finally, I got back into the normal mood of talking to people around me. The difference between peeing and not peeing was significantly critical by all measures and means! I thought of the other passengers who needed to use the toilet, especially the children, the elderly, and the sick. All of us were waiting impatiently for the Israeli soldiers to order our bus to progress towards the passport building.
At last, after two hours of waiting, the bus had moved, and in less than two minutes stopped again in front of the building – for us passengers (or at least that was my feeling) this torturous trip was over, and we were surely coming closer and closer to the pre-final relief. But, no! It took about ten minutes to unload the bags from the bus, before we were then ordered to get out of it. As we finally picked up our bags to advance towards the Israeli security around the belt, a young Israeli woman ordered us all to sit on a grass-yard opposite the passport building.
It was a big yard, covered with grass indeed, but no shade or umbrellas. The trees in the yard are very small and it was impossible for most of the passengers to find protection from the heat of the sun. Several of the passengers chose to stand, but were ordered to sit down by four Israeli women and one male, who seemed to be their supervisor with the Rambo appearance and muscles almost. From time to time, the Israelis kept shouting out in broken Arabic ordering people, who might want to stand up and stretch, to sit back down. Of course, compared to the jammed, crowded and closed hot bus, the grass-yard (despite seeming more like an open-air prison) was a blessing.
While I was sitting on the grass chatting with other passengers, a Palestinian woman who was accompanied by a little girl, passed me and approached one of the young Israeli ladies, who were standing just meters close to me, as if they were keeping an eye on their herd. One of the Israeli women stopped them, but the Palestinian lady told her that the young girl needed to use the bathroom. She ordered both of them to sit back down. The Palestinian woman confirmed to the Israeli lady that she was only a little young girl, who could not wait. Maybe also she mentioned to her that the young girl doesn't jeopardise the safety of the Israeli state! But her request was turned down. Overhearing what I could of most of the conversation, I couldn't believe my ears. It was an unjust denial of the young child's minimal basic right. I thought about the United Nations' Rights of the Child, which forgot the Right to pee in the Oasis of the Middle east, and the only democratic country too!
This incident reminded me of my own feelings, only less than two hours ago, when I went through the same turmoil, and had to urinate in the bottle! Hoping the young Israeli would change her mind, I gently said: "She's just a child. Why don't you search her, escort her and let her get into the building to use the bathroom?" As if she found some logic in my request, she consulted with the second Israeli female close to her. They then called the only Israeli Rambo, who appeared to be their supervisor. I could tell he was Security from the way he dressed and especially the sunglasses. His appearance reminded me of one of Mr. Sharon's security men. He came towards them. They spoke in Hebrew and the decision was to deny the young girl's right to pee!
I couldn't believe my ears or eyes! What a painful apartheid experience. While still forced-sitting on the grass, the passengers were ordered to show the Israeli women their IDs. One of them came towards my group. She asked me to show her my ID. I showed her my passport, and then she handed it back to me. After checking everyone's ID, we thought they were finished and would release us, but instead they kept us longer.
After about 15 minutes, they ordered everyone to show them his ID again. When I once more produced my ID, one of the Israeli women asked me if I had another ID on me. I reached my hands into my pocket, and handed her my red press ID which she glanced at quickly and then, disregarding the first order, handed back my passport.
Ah, at last it seemed they had found their "prey!" -- A young Palestinian, perhaps in his twenties, was taken inside [the building], where to? The passengers were asking?!
The Jordanian bus driver was with us too. He asked them many times to release him, to let him drive his bus back to Jordan, but in vain. They ordered him to stay.
After about five minutes, we were all ordered to go towards the main gate of the building. That was a big relief indeed, after waiting nearly an hour in the burning sun talking to its heat. Finally, I thought, we will be treated like semi-humans. Yet this was not to be the last episode!
Again, my passport was checked and the Israeli authorities stamped it. I waited an hour to get my bag. Whenever I asked the Israeli authorities about my bag, they always told me to wait fifteen minutes. Well, the first fifteen minutes had already passed then the second, then the third, then the fourth, when at last they informed me to get my bag – it had taken my poor bag more than an hour to cross only thirty meters from the last bus stop to the customs department main exit of the building.
It appears very obvious to me that the Israelis systematically and intentionally misbehave in this way towards Palestinians. I think they apply Seligman's scientific experiments on dogs related to the psychological concept which is called "learned helplessness." It's defined as the tendency to give up any effort to control the environment.
Learned helplessness stemming from a sense of lost control over the environment has been associated with depression and the intensification of physical problems. Is it the Israeli occupation's main objective to teach the Palestinians to be helpless, depressed and subjecting us to physical-mental problem?
This way, the Israeli occupying authorities' message tells us, "You Palestinians are helpless. We are controlling you, will keep occupying you, terrorizing you, confiscating your lands, building settlements and expanding the old settlements. Whatever you do, you're helpless, because we are backed and protected by the Stupid White Men in Washington, D.C.!"
And this reminds me of what Mr. Moshe Dayan once said: "They either live here like dogs or leave." Of course, he was referring to the Palestinians.
Dr. Musa Isa Barhoum is the Director of the Media Center, and the Public Relations Department/Al-Quds Open University.
http://www.zmag.org/content/showarticle.cfm?SectionID=107&ItemID=7770
