Essay by Edward Mast - Gaza CPDS Non-Fiction

The Center for Political and Development Studies (CPDS) organised a contest a year ago on Prisoners and Nakba and recieved these submissions. [….] They are sent to Gaza.scoop.ps exclusively.

Yousef Aljamal, CPDS.
Gaza

Our friend Majd is still in Israeli prison. He is 26 years old, having served 6 years of his 30 year sentence. Early in his sentence, the only family member who could visit him regularly was his youngest sister Hurriyeh, because she had not come of age and a loophole in the ID regulation enabled her to travel through the system of barriers from Ramallah in the West Bank to Majd’s prison in the south of Israel. Hurriyeh lost that privilege when she turned 16. The family was reduced to seeing Majd at rare intervals, usually a few times per year.

Recently, for whatever reason or lack of reason, Majd’s mother Lutfiyeh and his other sister Raya have have been granted ongoing visitation permits. Unlike father Mahmoud and youngest sister Hurriyeh, Lutfiyeh and Raya are not considered “security threats” for a period of one year. This allows them to visit Majd on assigned days, twice each month. This sounds like good news. However, Lutfiyeh’s health does not allow her to make the trip at every opportunity because it takes her several days to recover from each visit. I had not heard till now in detail what families in the West Bank must go through to visit their fathers and brothers and sons in prison.

On the assigned day, family members with the necessary permits must arrive at the Ofer checkpoint near Ramallah at 6 AM. For Lutfiyeh and others living in Ramallah, this means they leave their homes sometime after 5 AM. For those living in villages outside, they have left as early as 3 AM. Before this day, they must all have purchased bus tickets, which are inexpensive, at the Red Cross office in Ramallah. For Ramallah residents, this is no problem. For some villagers, this is an extra day and night spent coming through other checkpoints to Ramallah for this errand.

The checkpoint will open at the whim of the Israeli military staff. Until then, all stand and wait to begin their day’s journey through gates and courtyards and rooms. (When Lutfiyeh tried to describe this to me, I quickly lost count of all the gates and holding places. She had to draw me a map.)

First they have their papers -- ID, security permit and bus ticket -- checked by a Red Cross staff. The Red Cross participates, apparently, both to assure that no ill-treatment is given to Palestinians, and to assure Israelis that no terrorists are entering. After passing by this person, the travelers wait in an outdoor area -- only partially covered by a small roof.-- until they are allowed to pass through the first gate. There are no chairs or benches.

All the gates are the revolving metal interlocking spoke/cage type which are familiar from NYC subway stations and elsewhere. Too much crowding can cause injury.

Through this first gate is another outdoor holding area where people wait until allowed, one by one, to pass through another metal-spoked gate. Still no places to sit other than the ground or floor. Each of these waiting times is variable: “maybe half an hour, maybe an hour, maybe more” for no visible reason. When several people have been allowed through this second gate, those are allowed to enter an area resembling airport security: bags and possessions on a moving belt to be x-rayed (this station also staffed by Red Cross), then people through a metal detector into a large room. All the while they are watched by soldiers and staff on the other side of large windows. Once through the metal detector they may one by one approach a different window where they must hold up and display their ID and then pass the ID through a slot, where a rubber-gloved Israeli official will take it away. Then they wait in the room for the IDs to be checked and approved by phone and computer.

If anyone has misunderstood the rules and brought any opaque liquid like yogurt or coffee, that person is taken aside and locked in a small side vestibule while the opaque liquid is carefully examined. The vestibule has a thick glass window, through which no sound passes. It has no roof. When Lutfiyeh herself brought yogurt, she was forced to sit in this vestibule and be soaked by rain, with no one responding to her pounding on the thick glass.

If all goes well, their IDs are returned to them at a separate window and they are allowed to pass through the third metal-spoked gate, outside to where the buses are.

This has taken 3 to 5 hours, so it is 9 or 10 or maybe 11 AM. Here outside the buses they have their first opportunity, since before 6 AM, to use a restroom. But the single restroom outside here is never cleaned -- never -- and most find it too disgusting to use. Their next opportunity will be some three hours away.

They board several buses, and wait on board until a police car arrives to lead them. Some of the buses veer off to Ramle prison. Several travel together to Ramon and Nafcha prisons, all down in the Negev desert. There is no restroom on the bus, and the drive is about three hours. No stops are allowed, no one must set foot off the bus. Lutfiyeh reports that one time an elderly woman really needed to go the bathroom, but the driver was not allowed to stop. The woman was in such crisis that the driver phoned and negotiated with the police or security forces, and they granted a one-time permission to stop and let the elderly woman step off the bus and use the side of the road. But by the time the negotiation was complete, it was too late and the woman had soiled herself.

After the three hour drive they arrive at Nafcha prison, usually two buses worth of passengers. They are let off to wait outside on stone benches, and here there are usable restrooms for men and women. It is usually about 1:30 or 2:00 pm. This will be their only opportunity to use a restroom until they return to Ramallah that night.

In that yard they wait, for varying amounts of time. Then they are moved into a room where they hand over their papers once again, this time to rubber-gloved hands and shouting voices behind an opaque counter so faces are never seen. If their papers pass inspection this third time, their names are called one by one over a loudspeaker -- called once only, so they must pay close attention -- and they pass through another metal-spoked gate to another room where their papers are returned. If they have brought clothing or books for their family member in prison, they drop them here. They are only allowed to bring clothing if the prisoner gives back an equal amount of clothing. Same with books, though books may be turned away, for any reason or no reason. In this room they may also buy cigarettes at an inflated price.

Then to another security room, where they pass through another metal detector. Then to another room where men and women are led to separate cubicles and their bodies are metal-wanded, women by female officers. Then to another room where they wait. In this room there are benches. This wait is usually 30-60 minutes.

Finally the visit happens. By then it is usually late afternoon, 4 PM or so, 10 hours or more since they left home. They are allowed 25 minutes to speak by telephone to their family member who sits on the other side of a glass wall.

Then they are taken back outside directly onto the buses. The buses must then travel to the Ramon prison nearby and they must sit on the buses while family visits are completed there. They are not allowed off the bus during this time.

When all visits are complete and all visiting family members are aboard the buses, they are driven back to Kalandia checkpoint, the usual exit/entrance from Ramallah to the south. During the three hour drive, no stops are allowed. If the bus drives through a passenger’s village, that passenger must still drive to Kalandia and find a way home.

In the late evening, 9 or 10 or 11 PM, the buses drop everyone at Kalandia checkpoint, They all find their way home from there, using regular cabs or shared servees. For Lutfiyeh this means riding into Ramallah and catching another vehicle to her house; maybe half an hour. For those who live in villages, it is a longer journey. Reaching home after midnight is common, having had one bathroom available in the early afternoon.

To Beersheva prison, though it is closer than Nafcha, the trip is longer. More buses go there, more visitors are squeezed into smaller waiting rooms. Lutfiyeh estimates that one room in particular commonly has 55 visitors waiting in a 15 foot square unventilated space. Dizziness and fainting are common. Only one bathroom is available for what can be 8 buses full of people. Sometimes prisoners in Beersheva tell their families not to come visit, because they can’t stand seeing their families treated like prisoners themselves.

The younger daughter Hurriyeh made this trip, across Israel in these conditions, once a month by herself when she was 12 years old. It is not uncommon to see younger children, even 3 year olds, making the trip, because it is the children’s only chance to see their family members. Once there was a family in which no one was allowed to visit the prison except the 4 year old daughter; so she had to make the trip by herself. All the other travelers did their best to take care of her, but she cried all day and all night. They saw her another time, when other family members had been given a permit; but the little girl screamed and refused to get on that bus again, even with her parents.

Older daughter Raya submits herself every two weeks to this 16-20 hour trip through gates, metal detectors, ID checks, metal-wanding and a single bathroom. Lutfiyeh has recently suffered something like a small stroke. She can’t make this trip every time, and instead is miserable for missing any chance to see her son.

There are 11,000 Palestinians in Israeli prisons. One woman’s husband has been in prison for 10 years. He was pursued into hiding one month after they were married, and then arrested. She has seen him once, when she was granted a permit after 9 years. She spent the 25 minute visit in tears, and wanted to go back at the next opportunity; but at the beginning of her second attempt, her permit was torn up by the first Israeli guard who checked it. No reason has been given for revoking her security clearance.

Lutfiyeh’s husband, father of Majd and Raya and Hurriyeh, is a labor organizer, so spent much time in prison during the First Intifada when his children were very little. He was gone long enough that when he came home, very young Raya didn’t know what to call him. She did the best she could and gave him a special name for a while. She called him “Ahmo Baba” which means "Uncle Daddy".

As to Majd himself: Lutfiyeh is glad to report that Majd is one of those who are reviving the spirit of the First Intifada, when Israeli prison was a time for study, learning Hebrew and other languages, passing high school and college tests, and developing political skills and networks. Majd is so busy arranging study and opportunities for others that his mother has to berate him for missing his own study time. Majd has been selected as one of the youngest members of the prison population to participate in a nationwide virtual political conference. His early time was grim, but now Majd seems to be building some life and hope for himself and others.

Majd thinks that the Occupation will end within two years. It’s not impossible.

Edward Mast

ENDS

© Scoop Media