I finally visited Palestine. This is my experience in the Israeli prison after my arrest and the arrest of my colleagues in the “Resilience Flotilla”...
Written by Dr. Lina Al-Tabbal, Lebanese academic and researcher/France
... Yes, I finally visited Palestine, a painful and beautiful visit, a crossing between two wounds..
I saw the Negev desert stretching out before me in endless stillness. I watched it for two hours from a narrow opening in a closed metal truck, not even suitable for transporting damaged goods. However, the occupation decided to test our ability to remain silent under pressure, the intense heat, the cold and noise of their air conditioners… But seeing the land of Palestine made time stop and there was no more of the occupation’s favorite torture rituals… And when the truck stopped in front of the airport to deport us, they threatened to re-arrest us if we raised the victory sign…
A heavily armed army, the fourth largest in the world, and a nuclear state afraid of raised fingers! What kind of power is this that would be terrified by a symbol??
We left quietly, our heads held high, singing a quiet song about Palestine, and chanting slogans and victory signs.
Then I saw the mountains ahead of me... the Ramon Mountains stretching to the horizon. That moment was one of stillness, calm, and a spiritual feeling like nothing I'd ever experienced before...
And I assure you, yes, seeing Palestine...is worth everything.
Search for Mount Ramon on Google, then close your eyes... and imagine them in front of you.
We are a group that wanted to set sail and break the siege of Gaza on a non-violent humanitarian mission. We carried flour, medicine, and what remained of our conscience and humanity. You know the rest of the story: We were kidnapped in international waters, under the sun and at sea, but we approached Gaza. We saw Gaza at dawn: yes, we saw it while we were kidnapped, and above us was the sky of Palestine.
The interception operation was “professional,” as the Israeli military likes to describe its crimes, meaning illegal, inhumane, but justified, as usual.
They took us to the port of Ashdod, and there the usual Israeli show began: insults, threats... the same hatred that hadn't changed for decades, the same language, the same arrogance, and the same racist depravity.
They threw us into trucks… those that were not fit to transport anything, not people, not even damaged goods. A policewoman pushed me into a metal cell no more than a meter and a half, barely large enough for four human breaths. I banged my head against the metal wall of the truck, and for a moment I thought she'd shot me… Sitting next to me was Rima Hassan, the European Parliament member. She turned to me and said, “They beat me too. They'll probably put us in solitary confinement, but at least we're together.” We laughed, because fear, when it tires, turns into cold sarcasm.
A short while later, the policewoman threw a seventy-year-old Algerian woman named “Zubaida,” a former parliamentarian, into the cell, along with “Sirine,” a young activist.
Four women from three continents in one cage, barely large enough to hold their breath. The atmosphere was stifling, and the air the truck exhaled was a mixture of violence and threats. Our bodies were drenched with sweat, and when the heat burned them completely, they decided to turn on the air conditioning, not out of mercy, but as part of a precise engineering of torture. The occupation is an expert in torture: they alternate the temperatures from cold… then hot… then cold.
They took us to the detention center, to our rooms in sections 5 and 6… The women were divided into 14 cells. As for me, I was placed in cell number seven. A nice number, but it brought me bad luck on the first night, specifically at four in the morning, “Itamar Ben Gvir,” the Minister of Evil Spells, entered. He said, with all his stupidity, “I am the Minister of National Security.” He came with his army and police dogs to the middle of the cell to threaten sleeping women. He asked me about my nationality, I remained silent. What if I said Lebanese? No… I would rather sleep now than start a fight.
Didn't I tell you, Ben-Gvir, before you move or speak, consult artificial intelligence? It at least has "intelligence."
If your stupidity were renewable energy, it would illuminate the entire Negev desert, and perhaps the darkness of your mind as well.
In the morning they woke us up for a repeated count: 14 women, yes every morning and evening and every time they counted the number did not change... They came again but the number did not change, they insisted on counting a lot, especially at night... We would laugh at every count and go back to sleep.
Food is almost non-existent, water is non-existent, and the threat of death and gas are ever-present. We have no rights, no lawyer, no doctor, no medicine. Not even paracetamol is available.
Every day, we were taken to the cage, which resembled the cages in Guantanamo. It was 15 square meters, and around 60 women were crammed into it under the Negev sun for five or seven hours, under the pretext of going to see a judge who sometimes never showed up. Once, a policeman pointed his gun at my head because I wouldn't put my hands behind my back. "I'll kill you," he said with pitiful seriousness. I smiled at him.
Our favorite game was to challenge them as one: “Come on, kill me!”… “Kill us”… Words with which we extinguished fear as one would blow out a candle and then relight it. The Israeli police didn’t understand which planet we came from??? We tired them out. We sang and chanted “Long live Palestine”, and stared straight into their eyes with a steely gaze and a smile that perhaps made them ashamed of themselves… One of the policemen told me, “What you are doing is good.”
I don't deny my fear: I was scared, nervous, and tired throughout my detention, and the possibility of the worst-case scenario was ever-present. But he who has the right is not afraid to demand it again and again, right, my friend?
We kept screaming and chanting, then they would come with weapons, tear gas and dogs, and as soon as they left we would start again.
The most beautiful thing I've ever read was written on the walls of this prison's cells... names engraved with fingernails and a bullet from a pen that we found behind the window... Abu Iyad, Abu Mamoun, Abu Omar, Abu Muhammad from Beit Lahia, Jabalia, Hayy al-Amal, Shuja'iyya, and northern Gaza. They wrote the dates of their arrests on the walls, the last of which was September 28th. They said they deported us from here today... perhaps they emptied and prepared the cells for us.
In cell number 7 was Judit, the youngest of us, a young German woman no more than eighteen years old; alongside Lucia, the Spanish parliamentarian; Marita, the Swedish activist; Jona, the American politician and singer; Zoubida, the Algerian parliamentarian; Hayat, the Al Jazeera correspondent; Patty, the Greek parliamentarian; Dara, the Greek filmmaker, and others. All of us, from different cultures, became one voice behind bars: “Long live Palestine!”
I decided to deal with the jailers as a human rights lawyer deals with facts: first by documenting, then by classifying. There is the “good one,” the one who smuggles news to me as if it were secret messages—the date of release, the consuls’ visit. Then there is the “evil one,” the one who fires fire with his eyes every morning to remind us that hatred exists. And finally, the “indifferent one,” the one who neither hates nor loves, who simply carries out… He is a kind of administrative robot that revolves around without a conscience.
Then came the time for cultural entertainment: They forced us to watch a propaganda film about “October 7.” We simply refused and shouted, “Stop the genocide in Gaza.” They went crazy, and we refused again and shouted again. This was our last little battle, and we won it too.
I forgot to tell you that we were in a detention center called the Negev. In Hebrew, they call it "Ketziot," and during the first intifada, it was called "Ansar 2 Detention Center." My cell window overlooked a playground, and there was a giant billboard of destroyed Gaza. Under it, they wrote "New Gaza." On the wall was a huge, arrogant Israeli flag.
This was my visit to Palestine: a party of torture, threats, and temporary imprisonment in an occupied territory. But I saw the mountains, I saw Gaza from afar, and I saw Israeli fear up close.
Yes, finally... I visited Palestine,
There's more to the story... Wait for us in December, the ships stop for a while but keep sailing.
The brilliantly told story of Dr. Al-Tabbal, a Lebanese/French researcher who bravely joined the Sumud flotilla with humanitarian aid to Gaza, the rest is self explanatory, plus the news, media and social media coverage. A humanitarian message focused on reducing suffering, protecting human dignity, and promoting action in times of crisis. The message emphasizes the courage of aid volunteers and workers and calls for greater protection for them, respect for international law, and an end to impunity for those who harm them.
As always, my many thanks to all.
No comments:
Post a Comment