Behind the Wall - 'The Pain of the Prisoners'
 

I have heard one answer given many times by Palestinians when asked ‘why’ they, or their sons, daughters, or other family members were in Israeli prisons:

“Because of the Occupation”

This is sometimes said very matter-of-factly, other times with a mischievous smile knowing that the person asking the question was seeking more information. But the simplicity of this answer should not disguise its relevance. The eleven thousand-plus Palestinians currently incarcerated in the Occupation prison system would not be there without the Occupation itself.

The number of prisoners continues to rise daily but over the last month or so Aida Camp has also welcomed back three or four prisoners. Whilst talking to an eighteen year old recently, Sa’id, who had just been released a few weeks earlier, and his family about his time in prison, I found out that he had a twin brother who was also in prison. Abu Sa’id explained the sadness at seeing his children taken away and locked-up:

“I have another son, Sa'id's twin brother Hamza, who is also in prison. He was sentenced to thirty months… It is very difficult to be without your sons…”

The family celebrated Sa’id’s return from prison but they knew the real party would be when Hamza was also released and the twins could be back together again.
Hamza’s release was scheduled for April 17th, Palestinian Prisoners’ Day.

Hamza had served two and a half years, both he and his brother had ‘celebrated’ their eighteenth birthdays in prison. For the last six months of his sentence Hamza was in Al-Damoun Prison near Haifa.

In the nights leading up to his release Hamza hadn’t been able to get much sleep:

”I was thinking about seeing my family again but also sad to leave friends behind. I hadn’t been able to sleep thinking about everything”.

The night of April 16th, the night before the release, none of the eight young men locked up together in that cell in Al-Damoun got any sleep, they didn’t even try to. There was another young man from the cell also being released with Hamza, and on the last night all the young prisoners just sat talking together until about 5am which, they decided, was time to start the party. They put music on in the cell and danced and laughed together whilst they still could; people form incredibly strong bonds in prison and it is hard to see people left behind. At 7.30am the guards came to Hamza’s cell:

“I hugged all my friends. At that stage I didn’t want to leave… I didn’t want to leave them behind. I was sad to leave people. We were crying, ‘manaha’…”

The term ‘manaha’ refers to a very deep emotional form of collective crying between very close friends or family members. After kissing all his friends goodbye one last time Hamza was taken from his cell and held until around 10.30am in a small waiting room. He signed his release papers during this time.

Around the same time in Aida Camp the children were already out in the streets preparing for Hamza’s homecoming. Hamza is a member of the leftist PFLP movement and their trademark red flags were flying in the streets near his house. A huge red banner had been placed over the front of the house, higher up Palestinian flags flew and also flags of other factions. Posters of Ahmad Sa’adat, the imprisoned leader of the PFLP, adorned the nearby walls, and a hand painted Che Guevara flag fluttered from a high wire crossing the narrow street. The children were bringing plastic chairs outside to line up along the front of the house, many carried their own flags, all carried a rare glimpse of excitement in their eyes.

As Hamza was put into a van at 10.30am and finally taken away from prison he was still full of mixed emotions having to leave so many people behind. He was taken to Jalama Checkpoint which is near Jenin. Hamza was with four other released prisoners waiting at the checkpoint.

Before Hamza had been released one of his friends had told him:

“You will be able to see the God without looking through a fence!’

It was not being stuck at another checkpoint, or which side of the checkpoint he was on, or what papers he was carrying, or the monitoring guards that controlled Hamza’s thoughts, it was just being able to look-up without seeing fences, or bars, or roofs, and see the blue sky again:

“When I saw the sky I felt that I was free!”

It was 4pm by the time Hamza was finally allowed through Jalama Checkpoint. Once through the checkpoint he found friends from Nablus there waiting for him. They took him to see more friends in one of Nablus’ Refugee Camps, before taking him on to Huwara Checkpoint. Hamza had to wait half an hour or so to get through Huwara. When he did pass though he found that many of the taxi drivers had collected some money to pay his onward fare to Qalandia Checkpoint near Ramallah. At Qalandia there was a special taxi waiting to bring him back through to Aida Camp, a journey of around one to one and a half hours drive depending on checkpoints.

By 6pm the atmosphere was building up in the streets of Aida Camp. The sound system was being tested, flags were flying everywhere, and young boys were running around excitedly. People got into, and on top of cars. Young boys were arguing because their big brothers wouldn’t let them get into cars. There were only about ten cars at first and far more people than could possibly fit in. More cars began to turn up. More children began to try ingenious ways to get into cars. On one taxi I counted nine people squashed together precariously on the roof. The cars were all driving down to Beit Sahour, only ten minutes or so from Aida Camp, to wait for Hamza’s taxi back from prison. By the time we set off many other cars had joined the procession. Flags were flying from all the car windows, horns were blaring. As the assorted cars, taxis and vans pulled up in Beit Sahour I watched as the occupants emptied, then people got off the roof, then the car boot would open and out would come even more people baring excited smiles and flags. Fireworks were being released into the night sky and the rhythmic beating of drums added to the tangible excitement and anticipation in the air…

After Hamza’s taxi passed through ‘Container’ Checkpoint and drove towards Beit Sahour it soon met his fathers taxi which had driven down to collect him and take him back towards Aida Camp. When Hamza’s taxi finally entered Beit Sahour with flashing lights and screaming horns the two to three-hundred gathered men, shebab (youth), and young boys mobbed the taxi and a barrage of fireworks exploded. Red flags, Palestinian flags, and red kafiahs were waving from all cars and from the passengers hanging on the roofs. Hamza was sat on the roof of his taxi surrounded by his family again, smiling, and waving at the assorted members of his welcome committee:

”I didn’t believe I was free. I didn’t believe what had happened. In a long time I hadn’t seen anybody close to me. To see everybody (in Beit Sahour) made me feel that a lot of people cared and asked about me. I was happy to see everybody.”

The convoy of vehicles then toured the Bethlehem area. Many people came out of shops or houses to watch and wave, motorists sounded their horns and flashed their lights. The convoy eventually reached Aida Camp where it was received by the hundreds of other people who had not been able to get down to Beit Sahour. More fireworks were set off, and then Um Sa’id, Hamza’s mother, took the microphone and began to sing a series of short verses about her son’s homecoming. Whilst the narrative flow of these short verses is lost in translation their meaning is still clear, one began:

"Your return for me is like the moon in the sky…”

This simple sentiment explains Um Sa’id’s joy at seeing her son again. The second part of the verse explains that her joy is tinged with heartache:

“…If all relatives came back it would be more beautiful than the moon in the sky."

Even amongst the celebrations no-one can ever forget those who are left behind.

When Hamza was raised aloft above the crowd on a chair he was holding a red PFLP flag. As he was being lifted up he shouted down to friends below to pass him more flags, he wanted three more, a green flag, a yellow flag and a black flag. As he resumed his position in front of, and above, all the gathered people he was holding a flag representing each of the political factions. His message was simple - ‘We are all Palestinian, and we are all together.’ An assortment of flags was being waved in the crowd, an assortment of colours on display, and music of each party was played. The dancing and singing went on until late in the night. When Hamza lay down to sleep he was almost asleep before his head had touched the pillow:

“I didn’t think about anything that night. When I lied down it was like I had ‘died’.”

Hamza fell straight into a deep and much needed sleep, for once undisturbed, and back in his own bed.

Hamza is remembered as a very good footballer. People tell me he was maybe the best footballer in the Camp when he was arrested. He grew up playing football with his friends on the piece of land which is around fifty metres from his house, the land that during Hamza’s time in prison has disappeared behind the Apartheid Wall:

“I had seen the Wall on TV whilst I was in prison…”

As he talks about the Wall, Hamza pauses, struggling to find the words to clearly explain what it means, before finishing off succinctly:

“We all now live in a total prison!”

Hamza’s house is full of family members, friends and assorted well wishers. The door constantly opens as more guest come round to welcome Hamza back. Each comes in and shakes the hands of everyone in the room and kisses Hamza on each cheek. Each guest is then offered, without fail, coffee, tea, and an assortment of delicious sweet cakes and chocolates. Some will themselves bring small gifts of sweets or cakes. Visitors stay for five or ten minutes to talk with Hamza and his family, to thank his safe return, and then leave as more visitors arrive. Many visitors ask Hamza for news about their relatives or friends who are also locked up in the Occupation prisons, ‘Have you seen my son?’. This continuous flow of well wishers and visitors can go on for days sometimes.

To see how much joy is brought to so many people when just one prisoner is released serves as a stark reminder of how much pain is caused by the Palestinian Prisoner issue across the country. It seems everybody has been affected in some way either having themselves being arrested, or seeing it happen to family members and close friends. Everybody has a story, many people have enough stories for several books. The return of people from prison is always marked with some kind of celebrations but also filled with memories, stories, and thoughts for those left behind. One family was recently telling me about their emotions at preparing for the impending release of a close relative whilst still having other family members in prison:

“We will have friends and guests round (when the relative is released) but there will be no singing, there will be no singing until all the family is back together again.”

It’s good to see Hamza back with Sa’id again, and to see Abu Sa’id proudly sitting between both his sons once more. And to know that ten year old Munder doesn’t have to wait until another prison visit so he can sing his favourite pop songs to his big brothers.

On the same day Hamza was released from prison another child was arrested by the IOF in Aida Camp. On the same day Abu Sa’id welcomed his son back another father was grieving less than one hundred metres away after having watched his child being dragged away into the night. Another family scarred, as it seems is virtually every family in this country, by the Pain of the Prisoners.