The Road to Liberty: Keep Smelling like Skunk, Keep Smelling like a Thawri

Call it superstition, call it chance, call it LUCK if you will but there was no denying that the skunk water was after us this Friday at Nabi Saleh. We were even planning from a week before to bring a change of clothes; we were sick of running whenever the skunk truck reared its dreaded aim at us.

So this morning in Nabi Saleh began with a “friend” of ours -whom we wished to avoid for…trustworthy reasons- requesting that he interviews us. We absolutely refuse but eventually decide to join as an unlucky friend was kind of forced to do the interview. Therefore we joined for “emotional support.”

Questions like “What do you wish to achieve from these demonstrations?” and “What is the purpose of these demonstrations, week after week?” are questions that cannot be answered comfortably in a filmed interview with a very untrustworthy human being as the interviewer. The reason for that is mainly because this certain human being was only looking for his own good advantage (as proved at the end of the interview as he tried to fabricate our words to make it seem as if teargas was an occasional thing at Palestinian popular resistance demonstrations, and that skunk water was merely…"water".)

We have no hopes that that interview will ever go just the way it was recorded; it is only logical to think that our words will probably be twisted and turned to suit that certain deceitful human being's..views.

But questions like that, from a pro-Israel normaliser, do nothing but disgust us. Read his views on what it means to be pro-Israel here and here. 

Obviously the ultimate reward, liberty from occupation, did not come that afternoon in Nabi Saleh. Nor will it come tomorrow, or the day after. Yet the fact that victims of the occupation are standing up, resisting, therefore existing, is a wonderful fact: The oppressed are not passive.

"When you don't oppose a system, your silence becomes approval, for it does nothing to interrupt the system." --Mumia Abu-Jamal

And then, one full of disbelief and doubt when it comes to matters of resistance may ask, “But what is the point? Did you free your land? Did you [in the case of Nabi Saleh] manage to get the spring back and halt the settlement? No. So what is the point?”

Whatever happened to having a voice? More importantly using that voice?

Whatever happened to waking from the dangerous lurks of silence and rising beyond the oppressor’s will?

To rise, to wake up, to prove one’s existence, to emphasize one’s complete and utter rejection to the vile oppressor’s loathsome tactics of degrading basic humanity is directly the road to liberation from the criminal occupation, which calls itself…a security measure.

No, it will not come in a day, or a week, or a year…but it will come.

As long as we stand firm on our existence, it will come.

And so when we were chanting at the IOF, the skunktruck proceeded to rear its ugly bulls-eye on us. Its menacing aim missed us, but barely a few times. It jeers at us, takes aim like a sniper, then releases an extremely foul acid, the epitome of the occupation itself.

And so later, when that same “friend” of ours asked us why we kept coming back to Nabi Saleh despite being hosed in such filth, inhaling and suffocating from teargas (and risking our lives as teargas canisters are aimed at head and abdomen level by the oh so moral IOF) keeping watch out for ammunition (whether they be rubber coated or live), we took his question more personally.

Why do we keep coming back, Aziz, despite risking our lives every time? The answer is simple. We have a voice, and we will not put it to waste. 

Mustafa: Pray We Won't Let You Down

“Isn’t that what Mustafa fought for? Didn’t he fight for his land, and this spring? And that’s what we’re going to do.”

Ibrahim’s eyes were flashing with a determination emerging from deep within. Emerging from years of being humiliated, stripped of his basic human rights, from witnessing colonization and the ethnic cleansing of his home village, Bil’in. Years of being harassed and attacked for wanting basic human rights, for wanting freedom. Gesticulating widely, he told us of today’s plan:

To head and reach al-Kaws spring. Not only will we attempt. We will.

Simple, right?

Wrong.

In any other country in the world, heading to a water spring would be as casual as a walk in the park. It is a natural phenomenon, after all, in which water from underground gushes to the land’s surface; clean natural water that can serve an entire village.

But we are in Palestine. Something as heading to a spring of water can be a life-threatening experience, with extremist illegal settlers living in Jewish only communities and Israeli “security” forces ready to attack (or as they believe, defend).

God’s chosen people.

When the illegal* settlement of Halamish was built right on the village of Nabi Saleh, al-Kaws spring, which was the village’s main water supply, was seized by fascist arms, adding that incident to a list of offenses carried out by the Zionist entity. Our attempts of rightfully drawing water from the spring, or going anywhere near it for that matter, are met with brutality and violence by IOF (Israeli Occupying Forces), whom make it their duty to guard and protect any thieved settler possession. Even if that means to attack, injure, and in the case of Mustafa Tamimi, kill anyone who attempts to defy such illegal actions.

“International! International! Ya jama3a!”

Ibrahim’s voice sounded above everyone else’s.

“All together now, all of us, down to the spring!”

A few eager demonstrators, Palestinian, Israeli and international, followed suit.

“Last time we were only 15! We need all of us to go now! All of us! 3annab3a, 3annab3a! To the spring!”

A few more activists joined. Many others stayed on the street. I honestly don’t know why. 

What is the point of demonstrating in Nabi Saleh? Is it just to get a few good pictures, gloat to friends of teargas and skunk water, and to say that you stood unarmed in front of a military jeep?

I thought of Ibrahim’s determined face the morning of the demonstration. “Isn’t that what Mustafa fought for? So we’re going to go down to the spring, and put his picture on it. That is what we’ll do today. That is our goal.”

I can only hope that a revolutionary change will come to Palestine, one confiscated village at a time. To do that, we must not run. We must not flee. We must not hesitate. This Friday was in honor of Mustafa, in honor of a hero, a Palestinian martyr that lost his life for a cause..a free Palestine, where heading to a spring is nothing more than a walk in the park. Where basic human rights exist, to everyone. Where Palestinians can live in peace and harmony without worrying where the Israeli soldiers will shoot next. Without worry of being arrested and treated as a criminal. Yes, the IOF inhumanely attack us with teargas canisters aimed at head level, but aren’t we all Mustafa? Aren’t we loyal to him? Won’t we show him that his death wasn’t in vain? 

We must be fearless. We must march forward. We must resist. We must become the revolution.

To all activists, Palestinian, Israeli, international, please make use of your time at Nabi Saleh. We must head toward our stolen spring, our dispossessed land, in hoards, in crowds of hundreds, thousands, millions.

I thought of those of us who managed to get closest to the spring before IOF began their usual brutal "Gas the Arabs! And all those who stand with them!" policy. We were a maximum of twenty. I thought of how together, we formed a human chain to resist physical attack from IOF. I thought of activists that actually reached the spring, and were arrested one by one. I thought of Jonathan Pollak’s last words as he was being dragged to an Israeli military jeep following his arrest..”revolution until victory!” I thought of sacrifices one has to make for the ultimate prize we so eagerly yearn for…freedom from oppression.

If Mustafa did it, why can’t we?

Dec.17.2011

*"International humanitarian law prohibits [an] occupying power [from transferring] citizens from its own territory to the occupied territory (Fourth Geneva Convention, article 49). The Hague Regulations prohibit the occupying power [from undertaking] permanent changes in the occupied area."

Mustafa: Truly Chosen

Mustafa Tamimi a martyr that will continue to live on.

Iremember just Friday morning, walking the streets of Nabi Saleh, all
activists and villagers alike gather to begin the weekly demonstration
against occupation. This Friday however was special, it was the Friday
commemorating 24 years since the first Intifada, as well as the second
year since demonstrations against the occupation, began in Nabi Saleh.
I remember walking alongside my friend and a few of the villagers as
we remarked on the foul smell of the "shit water" that Zionist Israeli
soldiers sprayed around the village a few days earlier. I remember
joking around with everyone. I remember looking into the eyes of
everyone there and seeing resistance and hope. I saw Palestine in the
shiny glimmer in their eyes. Every Friday that we go to Nabi Saleh we
have an expectation of what we will be subjected to as unarmed
demonstrators. No matter how peaceful we are, we know that we will be
teargassed excessively, adults and children alike. We expect to be
shot at with metal coated rubber bullets. We expect the "scream
machine" which has been recorded to cause people to faint. We even
expect to be injured, to have our bones broken, to be beaten up and
arrested. Yet never did we expect to die, or one of us to die.

However we stood corrected on Friday December 9th 2011. This Friday
that was supposed to commemorate the 24th year since the first
Intifada and the second year since the beginning of demonstrations in
Nabi Saleh, now also marks the day Mustafa Tamimi 28 years old was
shot in cold blood straight in the head with a high velocity tear gas
canister. Never did we expect this Friday to be the Friday that Nabi
Saleh has its first martyr fall. Never did we think we would witness
such horror.

I remember walking the streets of Nabi Saleh and the first sight that
would come to mind, was ruthless soldiers pointing and shooting at
unarmed demonstrators, that are asking for basic human rights. I
remember that the first smell that would come to mind was the smell of
tear gas and "shit water." I remember the first sound was the sound of
the "scream machine" and the pop pop pop from the guns used to aim and
injure us. I remember when I heard the word resistance the image of
youth holding the Palestinian flag high was the first image to come to
mind.

Now after December 9th, after Mustafa Tamimi has become a martyr. The
first sight that comes to mind when I walk the streets of Nabi Saleh
will be Mustafa in his white button up, and the pool of blood he lay
in. The first sight will be a pool of red, a pool of a heroes blood.
How he was carried away in a Ford and how his injured body was held up
by Israeli Zionists before he was taken to a hospital. I will remember
how his sister was denied to see him. How his mother had to get
permission from the very soldiers that shot him to go with her beloved
son to the hospital. How his father was denied entry to accompany his
son while he bleeds excessively. The first sound will not be the
"scream machine." It will be his sister Olla Tamimi yelling at the
soldiers that shot her brother in cold blood demanding to see him
"BIDEE ASHOOFO!" (I WANT TO SEE HIM!) The screams of Olla will be
engraved in my mind forever. The sounds of a young female fall apart
as her bleeding brother is but a few meters away and she isn't allowed
to see him. I will no longer remember how it rained teargas in Nabi
Saleh, I will remember how the eyes of the young shabab that face
their occupiers with such courage are now raining tears, how their
eyes cried blood from grief and sorrow.

Next time I walk the streets of Nabi Saleh I will remember how Mustafa
stood up with such courage to a group of armed soldiers, I will
remember his bravery and his voice which he used for a free Palestine.
Mustafa might be gone, but his voice will continue to live on, it will
live on in the streets of Nabi Saleh and within us. We will use our
voice to echo his.

Now, when someone speaks of resistance, I will not think of youth
holding the Palestinian flag high. I will think of that one
Palestinian flag that was held up so high, which was covered in
Mustafa's blood. That flag resembles Palestinian resistance.

To Mustafa I say, you will live on and we will continue to go to Nabi
Saleh and we will continue to embody your courage. We will not forget
nor will we forgive. May your beautiful beautiful soul rest in peace.

Palestinian flag drenched in our beloved martyr Mustafa Tamimi's blood

                                               * * * * * * *

The following was written before word of Mustafa Tamimi’s death was announced. Now that he is blessed with martyrdom, there are honestly no words to express the emotions we try to compress. There are only the memories we posses, memories of his sister Olla screaming to see her brother, memories of his mother with that gaunt look on her face, memories of the IOF saying, “Yes, I killed him, and I’m proud.”. May his soul be eternally blessed, and may his spirit continue to guide us in our struggle for human rights and liberty.

Restiam Umani.

Waiting.

                Waiting for the right words to fall into place..

“The trauma we face after Mustafa’s injury is……

“Is……..

There can’t possibly be a word.

It’s difficult to fall asleep.

                Will there be a funeral soon in Nabi Saleh?

Oh Lord, we have but you. Save him.

                      Save him, Lord.

My heart physically aches. There is a dagger wedged in my ribcage.

                “There is nothing wrong with him, “ IOF said.

“is3aaaf…is3aaaf” “ambulance! ambulance!”  was heard like thunder from the hill.

                Trauma is why many children in Gaza stare with empty eyes, souls aching. Trauma is why children who watched their friends die before their eyes feel no point in going back to school.

                It is a physical force, an energy that compresses the soul, squeezing life out of every morning, every sunrise and set.

It is Palestinian.

                How many martyrs died in your class? One used to sit next to me. Now there is a very empty chair.

It is childhood.

                Lord, bring Mustafa back to us a survivor.

                        Lord, we have but you…

                            Lord..