Gaza Unsilenced Read online

  Every time he told us about what he was doing, I would think of shy little Hamada who never looked at a camera until he was a teenager.

  His newly developed public speaking and acting skills won him the role of Karkour, the most famous television character in the Gaza Strip. Karkour, a mischievous chicken, was the star of Al-Aqsa TV’s program “Tomorrow’s Pioneers,” which hosted children from all over the Gaza Strip.

  Hamada’s character attracted an audience from all over Palestine and even the Arab world, where kids would call to protest Karkour’s jaywalking, shouting over the telephone, and other such annoying behaviors, and suggest to him more well-behaved alternatives.

  Early this year, Hamada won a small role in another TV show that started airing this Ramadan but was stopped due to the ongoing Israeli onslaught.

  The death of my brother will come as a shock to the large numbers of children whose favorite part of Friday was watching Karkour misbehave and helping him change into a better Karkour, thanks to their advice, only for him to relapse at the start of the next episode into other anti-social behavior.

  By killing my brother, Israel has surely killed a promising talent, and deprived thousands of children of a funny and educational program.

  Martyr Number 26

  Hamada got married five years ago and had two children, Raneem and Hamza. And everyone, his wife and kids included, still called him Hamada. He was still living in my parents’ place after he got married; he worked very hard to build his own flat in the same building, which he finished last year.

  He was never able to move up to it, however, because the siege on Gaza, which became even tighter over the past year, made it very difficult for him to furnish the apartment.

  Like all Palestinian victims who fell to Israeli terror and aggression, Hamada leaves behind a loving family. My brother will be martyr number 26 in my extended family; five of them were killed last week and had their bodies dug out of the rubble during Saturday’s twelve-hour “humanitarian ceasefire.”

  When I spoke to my mother, who lost two nephews years ago, she was stronger than I ever imagined. My father was calmer than ever before.

  They both told me about the tremendous destruction Israel left in Shuja‘iya—whose name means “the land of the brave.” They told me about the families that lost five, ten and even twenty members.

  “We Are Steadfast”

  Hearing my parents’ reaction, I breathed a sigh of relief. I know how devastating it will be for them to lose a dear son. But their resilience, among so many other bereaved families, did not come as a surprise to me.

  When I heard about the twelve-hour lull, I was afraid people, seeing the total destruction Israel left everywhere, would be shocked and give up their support for resistance, undoubtedly a goal of Israel’s merciless attack. But I was wrong.

  Israel intended to bomb people to surrender by randomly destroying houses and killing people in the streets. But to the contrary, what Israel’s actions are doing is bringing Palestinians in Gaza to a position of “we have nothing to lose.”

  “We are patient. We are steadfast. We are believers. God will surely end this aggression,” Mom kept assuring me.

  “They can’t beat Shuja‘iya. They just can’t,” my father told me.

  We now live at a time in Palestine when a son lost, two kids orphaned, a young wife widowed must be compared to those who have lost ten or twenty family members at once. There is a clear attempt to ethnically cleanse Palestine, to make us leave and never come back.

  Wild Rhino

  Israel has been acting like a wild rhino let loose in a field of lavender. Palestinians have been acting as they should: resilient, steadfast, and even more determined.

  We understand that we are not only fighting our own battle but also fighting a universal battle for justice and human rights against barbarity and occupation.

  And now, like hundreds of kids who survived the horror of Israel killing either or both of their parents, Raneem and Hamza will be without a father for life. Nothing we can do will replace the warmth and the love of the father they had to lose because Israel wanted Hamas leaders to see the destruction of Gaza.

  Raneem and Hamza will live to be witnesses to Israel’s war on civilians. They will live and grow in an unjust world where their father can be killed because he is in his own house and the killer will not even be brought to justice because he is an Israeli soldier.

  But before that happens, we will continue the struggle against Israeli ethnic cleansing of Palestinians, in the hope that before Hamza and Raneem are old enough, Israeli apartheid will be abolished forever.

  Live Forever

  When my brother passed away, everyone was lamenting the death of “Mohammed.” No one called him Hamada. He is again Mohammed.

  But I didn’t shout at them. I came to the realization that I have to finally let go and let Hamada grow into Mohammed.

  Israel’s barbarity to murder people in Gaza and to sever the connections between people and people, and between people and land and between people and memories, will never succeed. I lost my brother physically, but the connection with him will remain forever and ever.

  His memories, his tales, his jokes, his innocent smile will live forever through us, through his two beautiful children, and through the thousands of children who loved him on TV and in real life.

  The Electronic Intifada, July 28, 2014, http://bit.ly/1zmMreE

  The Boy Who Clung to the Paramedic: The Story Behind the Photo

  Belal Dabour

  Thursday night, July 17, was the heaviest yet since Israel’s bombardment of Gaza began almost two weeks ago.

  Dozens of people arrived to Gaza City’s al-Shifa hospital, where I was on shift that night. Some arrived torn to pieces, some beheaded, some disfigured beyond recognition, although still alive and breathing.

  Seemingly indiscriminate artillery fire, a new element in Israel’s assault, had exacted a heavy toll on civilians.

  The medical staff were lucky to get a break of less than half an hour. Some spent it watching the flares and bombs Israel was raining on the eastern neighborhoods of Gaza City, while others refueled with coffee or lay down for a few moments.

  The relative calm did not last long. At around 3 a.m., about eight or nine casualties arrived at the emergency room all at once. The last to come in were four siblings—two of them little children, both about three years old, with relatively superficial wounds. But it was clear they were pulled from under rubble, their faces and clothes covered in dirt and dust.

  Then came the older of the four siblings, a boy in his early teens. His head and face were covered in blood and he was pressing a rag to his head to stanch the flow. But his focus was on something else: “Save my little brother!” he kept screaming.

  The last to arrive was his brother, the child in the photo (opposite) that circulated around the world. “I want my father!”

  He was carried in by a paramedic and immediately rushed to the intensive care unit, which is right next to the ER. He clung to the paramedic, crying, “I want my father, bring me my father!” until he had to be forced to let go.

  As I stood by, alert for orders, a group of four medical personnel immediately started to treat the boy. But he kept kicking and screaming and calling for his father.

  His injuries were serious: a wound to the left side of his head, which could indicate a skull fracture and a large piece of shrapnel in his neck. Another piece of shrapnel had penetrated his chest and a third had entered his abdomen. There were many smaller wounds all over his body.

  Immediate measures had to be taken to save his life; he was sedated so the medics could get to work.

  Severely injured child screaming for his father.

  Photo by Ezz Al Zanoon.

  Upon carefully examining the wounds, it appeared that the explosion from the artillery round sent flying small pieces of stone from the walls of his house, and that some of his wounds were caused by these high-velocity projecti
les.

  He was extremely lucky: his neck injury was just an inch away from a major artery, his chest injury penetrated all the way through but failed to puncture his lung, and his abdomen was struck by shrapnel that just missed his bowel.

  Luck

  He had a stroke of luck denied to many that night.

  The medics performed heroic measures in a remarkably short time, and the little boy’s life was saved.

  Meanwhile in the emergency room, the elder brother was stitched up and the younger two siblings were washed and thoroughly examined for possible hidden injuries.

  Somehow, despite the horror and the pain, they were sleeping. I don’t know how they did it, but I felt envious and grateful for the divine mercy that found its way to them.

  Their brother with the most serious wounds will almost certainly survive, but with many scars and a difficult recovery period, both physical and psychological.

  Too many casualties came in that night, too many for me to get this boy’s name, to know whether he was reunited with his father, or even what became of the rest of his family.

  But there’s one thing that I know for sure, which is that hundreds of children just like him suffered similar or worse injuries, and up to the moment of this writing, nearly eighty children just like him have been killed as Israel’s merciless attack goes on.

  The Electronic Intifada, July 20, 2014, http://bit.ly/1yJFvYG

  My Son Asks if We Are Going to Die Today

  Ghadeer al Omari

  Ghadeer is the mother of two small boys and works as a media officer for a human rights organization in Gaza City. Hikmat (8) is now living through his third offensive on Gaza. Ahmad (6) was born shortly after “Operation Cast Lead.” In conversation with Voices of Gaza this morning, Ghadeer expressed deep anxiety about the ongoing attacks, saying, “Things are getting worse and worse here. Last night was the worst ever. Wallah, I’m speechless.” Below, she describes the impact of the situation on her children.

  Inside our weary bodies and souls, something will stay broken.

  I’m a mother of two little boys, Hikmat (8) and Ahmad (6). Like any normal mother in this world, all I want is to keep my boys safe and happy but, unfortunately, it seems that this wish is just impossible. Why? Simply and briefly, because I’m a Palestinian and I live in Gaza.

  To be a Palestinian from Gaza means that you can be under attack from Israel at any time. It means that you are just a postponed target, and all you can do is wait to face your destiny. This is how we live in Gaza, both with and without war. I have experienced three wars in the last six years. During the first war on Gaza, in 2008–2009, my apartment was destroyed when the Israeli occupation forces targeted the Palestinian government complex. At the time, I was seven months pregnant, and I had been decorating my baby’s room! In the second war, which took place in November 2012, I learned exactly what being homeless really means. Israel targeted the building where my family was living and in which I was staying. We evacuated the building and went to stay at my sister’s house.

  During war, the days are too long. Every single hour that passes feels like a whole year. Since the beginning of this war, I’m living the worst days and nights ever, as the peaceful moments are so few. As we are fasting, every day we have our morning and evening meals, listening to the bombing outside and asking God to keep us and the people of Gaza safe. Israeli airplanes are shelling houses. Many houses have been destroyed over the heads of children and women. These children and women are human beings. They have names, dreams, and beloved ones. The photographs of those victims are heartbreaking, and I can’t stop my mind from drawing awful pictures of me and my family with our house over our heads just like them.

  Our bodies shake and our hearts sink with every single airstrike. I try not to freak out so my two little boys won’t either but sometimes I’m just a big failure! During daylight hours, all of us gather together in the same place, a room, or a corner, listening to the shelling, trying to figure out which are the targeted areas, and following the news second by second. I keep the boys inside the house all the time. I can’t even let them go out into the backyard or to the rooftop. I’m doing my best to keep them away from this insanity, but how can I when it’s everywhere?! I wish I could cover their ears so they wouldn’t hear the sound of bombing. I feel like I’m dying, as I see the fear in their eyes.

  At night, things are much harder. I spend every night moving my boys from one room to another, looking for safety. I’m too frightened to sleep, not only because of the loud noises caused by the continuous bombing, but also because I think I need to be awake, monitoring the situation around in order to decide, according to the sounds of the shelling, whether to keep my boys in this room, or to move them to another one. We have had no electricity for three days now and I guess you can imagine how it feels without electricity in circumstances like those we are facing in Gaza during this war.

  The Israeli crimes committed against civilians in Gaza undermine my faith in international law and international bodies. It seems like these bodies were created to defend Israel and cover up its crimes against the innocent people of Palestine. A massacre was committed last night in Al-Shuja‘iya neighborhood, in the east of Gaza. The reality here is so bloody and what is happening is so much more than any human can bear. Hundreds of artillery shells are falling on houses even at this very moment. The photographs of the victims are more than horrendous. People are running out of their houses, dead bodies are in the streets, and ambulances can’t reach those who have been murdered. Every single picture reminds me of the Nakba.

  I guess that we Palestinians should only believe in the law of power. We face death every moment of every day, and the whole world is silent. When they speak, they tell us about Israel’s right to self-defense! Why? I need someone wise to tell me why. We are under occupation and Israel is the occupying force. These are not two equal sides.

  This morning, Hikmat and Ahmad woke up to the sound of a huge explosion. I hugged their shaking bodies, asking them not to be afraid. Hikmat, who is 8, said, “I hate Israel. I hate all the Israeli people.” I asked him, “Why, sweetheart?” He answered, “Don’t you know why, Mum? Don’t you see what they are trying to do? They want to kill us.”

  The Israelis claim that we teach our kids hate, but we don’t. This is how Palestinian children start to feel hatred toward Israel. After 13 days of war, my two boys are able to know the difference between F16s and Apache helicopters, and they play guessing games together, distinguishing between tank shelling and airstrikes. This is how our kids spend their summer!

  Ahmad, my younger boy, asks me every morning, “Mum, we are not going to die today, are we?” Hikmat answers, saying, “Don’t worry, Ahmad. Mum and Dad will protect us.” This sentence makes me speechless. I don’t know what to say or what to tell them. I would die for my kids but I’m afraid because I know that I am helpless. There is no way to protect my boys and, except God, no one knows what will happen in the next second. The war is still taking place over the Gaza Strip. There will be an end, but inside our weary bodies and souls something will stay broken.

  Voices of Gaza, July 20, 2014, http://bit.ly/1oYySuE

  “Wake Up, My Son!” None of Gaza’s Murdered Children Are Just Numbers

  Ali Abunimah

  Sahir Salman Abu Namous was just four years old, soon to turn five.

  “Everyone who saw him loved him because he was always smiling,” his first cousin Diaa Mahmoud recalls in an email he sent me from Gaza.

  “One month before Sahir died, his father was sitting and talking to the boy’s aunt,” Mahmoud says. “He looks so clever,” Mahmoud remembers the boy’s proud father saying, “even more clever than his siblings.”

  Sahir was killed on Friday afternoon when an Israeli warplane bombed his family home in the Tal al-Zaatar neighborhood in northern Gaza

  “He was playing and smiling next to his mother when missile shrapnel divided his head,” Mahmoud writes.

  “His fath
er took him to the hospital screaming ‘Wake up, my son! I bought toys for you, please wake up!’”

  The photo that Mahmoud sent of Sahir with little left of his head, cradled in the arms of his anguished father, Salman Abu Namous, is too graphic to show here.

  But Mahmoud sent me some other photos of his cousin Sahir in happier times.

  “He was just a kid who wanted to play and be happy,” Mahmoud says, “he wasn’t just a number.”

  Since Monday, Israel has targeted hundreds of private homes, banks, social institutions and mosques with relentless bombardment.

  Sahir Salman Abu Namous was one of 21 children who had been killed in the onslaught by Friday.

  Two Disabled Women Among Dead in Unrelenting Massacre

  By Saturday, the toll had exceeded 130 people killed and more than 1,000 injured, almost 80 percent noncombatant civilians.

  In a particularly horrifying attack, Israeli warplanes last night bombed a home for people with disabilities in northern Gaza, killing two women, Suha Abu Saada, 47, and Ola Wishaa, 30.

  Residents of the home “were barely mobile,” neighbors told the Guardian, “spending their time in bed or in wheelchairs, and could not escape the building.”

  None of them are just numbers.

  The Electronic Intifada, July 12, 2014, http://bit.ly/1q6ivCG

  Devastated Family Remembers Cheerful Boy Cut Down by Israeli Fire on Gaza Beach

  Rami Almeghari

  The day before he was killed, “Ismail came home carrying fresh fish and began joking with his brothers and sisters. He seemed unusually cheerful and happy,” his mother Sahar Baker told the Electronic Intifada at her home in Gaza’s Beach Camp just twenty-four hours after her son’s brutal slaying.