Behind the Wall - 'Back in Tents Once More'
 

When the UNRWA established Palestinian Refugee Camps around 1950 they were intended as temporary or short term accommodation. They are still considered 'temporary' as no-one believes this to be the final destiny of the refugees; they are still waiting for their Right of Return to be enforced. But sadly, 'short-term' the camps have proved not to be. The camps were originally full of tented accommodation, over the years this has changed and now, nearly 60 years later, people live in cramped, but high, concrete structures. There is no room to expand horizontally so houses extend precariously upwards towards the sky. Not all Palestinian Refugees still live in the camps, this would be demographically and physically impossible. Some have managed to move out of the camps into the surrounding areas, but they are still very much refugees. They still yearn for the return to their villages.

In a simple three storey house about 100 metres from the borders of Balata Camp live one such family, or at least they did until 10am on Wednesday.Walking round the house now, just a few days later, it still contains all the signs of family habitation. Beds, wardrobes, clothes and food are all still in the house, but it is no longer habitable. It no longer has a south facing wall.

Just before 10am on Wednesday the IOF launched a huge invasion into the area. No less than forty-seven jeeps full of soldiers and two military bulldozers surrounded the house. The family of thirteen people who lived in the property were ordered outside. They found all neighbouring houses Occupied by the IOF, as were all the surrounding streets and the small lemon grove which sits adjacent to the house.

All family members evacuated the house as they were ordered to and it was then, almost immediately, that the military assault on the building began and artillery began to reign down on it. One of the sons of the family, Hazim, asked the IOF Commander what was going on

"What's wrong with you? What are you doing? Do you want to destroy our house?"

The reply he received was frank:

"No, we want to kill your brother!"

The brother in question was suspected of being involved with resistance against the Occupation. He was not in the house. The family repeatedly told the soldiers there was no-one in the house but their words fell on deaf ears, not deaf because of the flurry of shooting but deaf simply because the IOF didn't want to listen. The invaders were clearly hell-bent on destruction, and looking round the house now it is clear that they were successful in achieving these ends.

The siege on the building lasted more than eight hours despite the fact that it was empty. Every single room is now littered with bullet holes and several larger holes from missiles and bombs. These holes range from two or three centimeter bullet holes to others probably fifty centimeters diameter, these larger holes being from missiles. These missile holes pass straight through the thick concrete walls as though they are paper.

As the family show me around the house these scars of occupation and invasion are everywhere, but there are also many smaller details that remind me that this is not a battle ground but a family home. One of my hosts, Hazim, picks up his a wedding suit, still on its hanger:

Look at this, my brothers wedding suit.""

The smart black jacket has been ripped to shreds by the lethal ammunition of an M-16.

"What are my children meant to think? How are my children meant to feel when they see this.?"

On the floor nearby lie a pair of old sports shoes, likewise perforated with huge holes. The mirrors on the wardrobe doors have four large round bullet holes and the cracks spread out like tentacles across the glass - does this mean seven more years bad luck for the family? In another room bullet holes again scar all the walls. Above the smashed windows through which the initial gunfire entered the room is one of the few things which remains undamaged, a framed photo of Abu Amar (Yasser Arafat), he looks to be smiling proudly. It makes me think he is smiling not at the devastation itself but at the strength of this family, who refuse to either run or hide in the face of such inhumane brutality. In the kitchen on a small table are arranged an array of herbs and spices. There is zatar, mint, paprika, salt and pepper, and a bottle of delicious zeit (Olive Oil). This table is the only thing remaining intact in this room; the walls around it are littered with holes. On another wall only a bare tap remains, its' sink and pipes have been blown off the wall and in their place is now a huge missile hole about 50cm wide. The refrigerator, or at least its skeleton remains, has been moved into another room that now has a huge vista onto the lemon grove below where the walls used to stand. Thick metal reinforcement tubes have been put in their place to prevent the ceiling collapsing. The walls themselves where demolished with a military bulldozer whilst all the family were forced to stand by helplessly watching

The IOF had already sent dogs in to thoroughly search the premises well before they demolished the walls. They knew the house was empty and the man they were seeking was not around. For them this was just a demonstration of power, of their physical domination over a people. Such actions are legally termed 'Collective Punishment' and are totally illegal according to International Law. Sadly International Law plays little part in the strategies of the Occupation authorities.

After showing me around the house the family takes me downstairs, carefully sidestepping the huge bomb crater in the stairwell. We go to sit in a small basement room to drink coffee. As one of the young boys brings a silver plated tray out filled with miniature coffee cups the others in the room start to laugh:

Look, even the tray has holes in it!""

At one side of the metal tray is a single unmistakable hole, courtesy of the M-16s of Occupation.

Outside the house other family members gather and receive guests in a tent, they no longer have a sitting room, so guests must now clamber over the rubble to sit inside a tent again, much as this family did all those years ago after they were forced from their village near Yafa.

Less than one hundred metres from this tent, on Al Quds Street which runs right along the western border of Balata Camp, are more canvas reminders of days refugees thought they had left behind; two small tents sit amongst the rubble of another former home.

In April 2002 a seven story apartment block was bombed by the IOF on this site with one press of an Israeli button. Around eighty people were made homeless by this disgusting act, including twenty-three children. The fifteen families who used to call this building 'home' have never been given any reason as to why their building was targeted.

Shortly after this inhumane incident Abu Amar came to visit the families and assured them that the PA would rebuild their apartments. It is now five years since the demolition, and the affected families have still not been re-housed. They are still living with supportive friends, or members of their extended families. They are still waiting for somewhere they can once more call 'home' themselves.

April 2002 was the same month as the infamous IOF massacre on Jenin Refugee Camp, and in which the attack on Ramallah's 'Mukarta' continued which had begun in late 2001. The Mukarta is the headquarters of the Palestinian Authority and at that time Abu Amar. When he visited Nablus he had also been to visit the rubble of Jenin Camp. By September of 2002 the IOF siege on the Mukarta continued, Abu Amar would not leave it again until he was eventually flown to a Paris hospital on October 29th 2004. On November 11th, less than two weeks later, Abu Amar sadly died in Paris. Looking back, many Palestinians believe that with his death also died their hopes for a secure Palestinian state, there is no other leader who people believe can unite Palestine as Abu Amar did.

Five days ago family members finally decided they had had enough and that it was now time to take more pro-active action. They brought two canvas tents down to the site of their former homes, and erected them once more amongst the rubble. On top of the tents, as with the tent erected at the other damaged house, Palestinian flags fly proudly in the brisk wind. This is always done after a house demolition; it is a way of saying that whilst Israel may destroy Palestinian houses they will never succeed in destroying the spirit of the people, or Palestine itself. There are also two photographs attached to the exterior, one of Abu Amar, the other of current Palestinian President Abu Mazen (Mahmoud Abbas). Next to the photos a large banner has been erected. It is written in Arabic but it roughly translates as:

"Five years of Occupation in Nablus and you don't care for us! Enough! We want our rights!"

This highlights how the families feel. This is not so much a protest aimed at Israel, but at what they feel is a lack of support under Occupation provided by the Palestinian Authority. A family member explained this to me as we talked over coffee in their cramped little tent:

"Israel destroys our houses and the PA doesn't help us to rebuild. We are just left here, stuck in the space between the two of them. No-one asks about us, no-one helps us, no-one will rebuild our home. We had a beautiful house, now we must stay with friends and rent rooms, this is not life! We have no money, we can't pay anything, we have no choices."

The family has appealed to the PA, and to Abu Mazen himself many times since Abu Amar's death, but to no avail. The PA did actually start some work on the site last year, the foundations and most of the ground floor are in place, but then they stopped work saying there was no more money:

"Abu Amar would have rebuilt our house! But Abu Mazen says there is no money and that there is nothing he can do."

So this is why the family came back here and erected their tents on the site again, they are trying to stir someone into action. Al Quds Street is the main road from Huwara Checkpoint into the city of Nablus so everybody entering the city this way sees their tent and their protest. They have received many visitors and quite a lot of media attention. On Thursday the families are all going to see the Mayor of Nablus and appeal to him for help. They are taking friends with them and all the people who used to call this apartment block 'home'. Local TV stations and media have also been invited in an attempt to raise the profile of their case.

My host doesn't fully explain how all this has made the family feel, instead he simply says:

"If you want to know how this makes us feel you can write that from my mother's eyes."

I look up at his mother who has been sitting silently in the back of tent. She wears a grey traditional dress and white hijab. Her eyes are a sparkling blue. But whilst her lips smile softly at me, I can see that her eyes are not smiling. They look back at me strongly and without flinching, but reflect only deep sadness.

These families are not sleeping the nights in this tent. They go back to the houses they are staying in with friends every night, and return here the following morning to continue their protest. I ask how long this protest is going to last. The answer I receive is nothing less than I have now come to expect from a typically resilient Palestinian family:

"Until they rebuild our house! We will come here everyday until they do so, we are going nowhere!"

Sitting in the tent with the family as we talk I am reminded how fragile this style of living is. This piece of land sits above Balata Camp on higher ground, and is therefore very exposed to the elements. A gust of wind hits the tent and the pieces of wood holding the canvas in place collapse. The tent immediately starts to fall in on itself. The urgeela (water pipe for smoking tobacco) which has just been painstakingly prepared is sent flying, coffee cups go up in the air, and the little boy sitting next to me screams. I stand up quickly and manage to catch some of the wood before it crashes onto the heads of my hosts. Within a minute or two we are able to erect everything again with the help of a couple of large rocks for added stability. When I turn to look at the man who has been explaining everything to me for the last few minutes everybody starts to laugh, he is now wearing the contents of my coffee cup! Laughter aside this demonstrates something about how life in Palestine's camps must have been all those years ago when people had nothing but canvas to protect them from the elements. It was a fragile and precarious existence. Life has changed in the camps now as people have constructed concrete accommodation for themselves and their expanding families but this has brought with it more severe overcrowding. The land that Balata Camp was originally intended for has not expanded. In 1950 around 5,000 people lived in tents on this piece of land, there are now about 25,000 living literally on top of each other. But for some families, such as the two described here, they find themselves back in tents once more.