Prison Gaza
I look out the window at night with my host mother as the sound of gunshots echoes from the sea. Lights line the horizon – at least 50. Israeli navy ships. They fire randomly at fisherman, arbitrarily. Somtimes when they are 100m from shore, sometimes at 1 km, sometimes at 3km. Apparently they have been waging this campaign of fear against the fisherman for years but recently its escalated. The 1994 Oslo accords gave the fisherman 12 miles legally, but the navy recently stated 3 miles only no-shoot zone. Unfortunately they don’t even respect that. We watch as one navy ship comes in close to shore – maybe 200m out. It shines a bright spotlight across the waters, searching for fisherman. Unverified reports are that 14 fisherman have been killed since January and many more have been kidnapped for several days at a time. This brutal harrassment has meant that those remaining in the industry are forced to over-fish the spawning grounds close to shore – these days the fish are getting smaller and less plentiful.
I ask my host mother if its ok to take a photo. Reluctantly she agrees but no flash. “They are watching, they see everything at night”. She looks nervous as i get my camera out and fiddle around. She starts explaining that during the last attacks her relative, a photographer, was doing exactly this – he was taking photos out his apartment window and was targetted by a sniper, killing him and his mother-in-law. Shocked, I gasp and cover my mouth. My camera goes back in its bag.
I decide to stay a few days longer than planned, in part because a friend is hosting a hip hop show with live video link-up to Ramallah. 15 palestinian hiphop crews will rap 1 song each and 2 breakdancing crews will compete for the gig. We arrive and 2 laydees are on-screen rapping live from Ramallah. They are awesome, and the rest of the shows are too, i wished i understood the lyrics! The crowd’s pumped and as Gaza takes over, city-pride erupts in chants with the MC at the lead. The shows kick-off on stage with a 4-man crew, arms go up, applauds, whistles. Some technical difficulties interrupt the second show, and half-way through the third people start exiting in droves. A photographer pretends to take a photo of the rapper up close and then swiftly shifts his camera to the crowd, taking quick snaps of those in attendance. Noone around me really knows whats going on, the rapper keeps rhyming, people keep leaving, quickly, quietly, eventually only our side of the stage is still seated. Before the rapper can finish the sound is cut, video out, we get up and move out. 9 people have been killed in the last few days from infighting in the West Bank and we’re not sure if its about to start here, or if the show is somehow politically aligned or what. My 12 year old host sister is scared. We stand out front waiting for the taxi, Hamas men on the edges, watching. A uni student who’s friends with my host family tells us in hushed voice that Hamas don’t like rap shows, they regularly shut them down. I tell my host sister not to worry, its fine, theres no problem, we’re just going to go home now. She smiles, unconvinced. My heart is racing. We make it home. The next night we go to visit Black Unit Band – one of the crews that rapped along with Aiman who hosted, he’s a member of PR – the most famous Gazan rap crew. We talk politics for several hours. They explain how they’ve been invited to rap overseas but can’t get out, how one of them was arrested and badly beaten after a show, accused of touching a girl’s shirt. How the seige has meant that PR make songs now via the internet – 1 member in the US unable to get in, 2 stuck in Gaza unable to get out, and another in Egypt. How Aiman lost his father in the last attacks – their apartment targetted and completely burned out. But how despite all this, even if he had the choice theres no way he would live anywhere but Gaza. Asked why Hamas don’t like hiphop he replies “because they see it as an intrusion of American culture, they dont understand. But we don’t rap about ‘bitches’, we rap about our country and whats happening here. I bet if i could sit down and explain it to them, then they’d probably like it.” And Khaled from Black Unit, less certain that they would come around, tells me “words can destroy more than bullets or rockets, words are our nuclear weapon”.
I wake up late. As i walk into the kitchen sleepy-eyed, i see my host father on the phn worried, trying to get information while the family stand around tense – listening in and watching nervously. They tell me their sister’s father-in-law was shot while working his land close to the border. The father rushes off to hospital. When he gets back a few hrs later he explains how lucky he was – the exit wound was millimeters from the spine. He says the hospital is terrible – lack of nursing care, no pillows, no aircon in Gaza’s 35 degree sticky summer-heat. He dressed the wounds himself. Israel dropped flyers a few wks back stating that anyone within 300m of the border was within firing range. That 300m zone comprises about half of Gaza’s most arable farmland. Now farmers and landless labourers working for as little as $5 a day are forced to chose – abandon your livelihood and relinquish your land or risk being shot. A group of internationals doing farmer accompaniment work tell us 3 farmers have been killed and 15 injured just since the “ceasefire”.
The time comes for me to leave despite ongoing protests from my host mother convinced i should marry and stay in Gaza : ) I am eager to join the push of Israeli and American peace activists who will try to get through the Israeli crossing and the ’10 Days Against the Seige’ convergence near the border that will follow. Its funny, untill a couple of months ago i never imagined i would ever go to gaza and now i’m definate that i’ll come back. With that in mind goodbyes aren’t so hard. But i still have to get out and thats not as easy as i naively thought. I arrive at the border at 12.30pm after a Gazan freind who does youth peace organising arranged my crossing from the Palestinian side. There are 2 french people also trying to exit. Our passports are stamped immediately and we sit on the surprisingly plush couches in the palestinian terminal with 5 Hamas security for several hours waiting for the other side. They keep assuring us that the egyptians have agreed that we can cross, they just told us to wait. The clock ticks over. One security guy begins telling us how he thinks many people misunderstand islam, so he explains in a somewhat perverse tone about how having boyfriends or girlfriends is not permitted, “you know what i’m talking about” over and over with much eyebrow-raising, “they should be killed if there are enough witnesses, but here in Gaza we just put them in prison”. I think he’s on the wrong path to alleviating misconceptions. More hours pass. He keeps reassuring me personally not to worry, asking if i’m ok, telling me i look nervous. yes he is making me a little nervous. he wants my email address, i refuse. more nervous, very releived by the presence of the frenchies. Its very strange, there is no phone calling happening, they all just sit around and (thankfully) give us tea for hours. At 6 they get out some phn numbers and tell us to call them – some egyptian beuraucrats, too late for them to help. 6.30pm the borders will not open, we return to Gaza city hungry, frustrated and enraged by the egyptians abuse of power & process. Perhaps a very minute taste of what its like for a Gazan. My host mother laughs and tells me again that i shouldn’t leave. She says she did the same for 4 days before she could go to egypt to see a specialist, forced to wait for the entire day at the terminal with no gurantee of passage, no food, while the egyptians know in advance full-well who you are and whether they will let you pass.
The next day i have more luck. The french embassy in egypt applies pressure, we all pass in less than 3 hours despite a cpl of hiccups by way of my non-french presence. The australian embassy does nothing despite my repeated requests – “the process for us to intervene generally takes 2 weeks… don’t hold your breath”. They report me to the emabassy in israel who call after i’m thru and tell me i shouldn’t have gone to Gaza, never to go back “because, because, [thinking of PC reason] because you might get stuck there for a very long time. And I suggest you read the Australian government travel guidelines”. thanks mate.
I arrive at the camp 2 days late – about 60 American and Israeli peace activists in large meetings & eating vegan food amoungst rammed-earth shacks and composting-toilets. It reminds me of home. They have already been refused entry for the last 2 days but the morning will see joint demos on both sides of the erez crossing calling for the borders to be opened. I dress as a clown and take on my character along with my clown army friend from tel aviv-jaffa, we can’t fly our kites properly and make even the border guards smile. We blow up baloons and give them to the 2 children, really sick, who enter from Gaza today to receive medical treatment. We write letters and tie them to the fence. We imagine our friends on the other side and wish we could see their faces, or atleast their kites flying high over the walls.
