Four of us
in southern Gaza
on the made-up border
surrounded by 100 snipers’ bullets
like birds about to be snared
with gas bombs falling from the sky
like the rains of January.
Hope lunged out of the smoky darkness
with her kufiyah wrapped around her neck;
like a deer
holding our flag
below the kites flying,
she came running and shouting,
“I’m coming for you, for the land!”
Then handed us the flag
to put it on the fence to prove
this land is ours and
We ran back with her
the four of us
holding each other’s hands;
like a chain of protection,
we formed a human shield
to protect her,
our hope, but
the sky was our shield
protecting us all
from the rain of bullets
at our backs.
We ran from our grief to come,
inhaling the gas and
the sound of bullets
sinking into other bodies
kept her running.
As a Jew, I am all too aware that history has been painted with the blood of individuals whose only crime was being born Jewish. The stigma of living life as a minority has forever shaped Jewish history and the histories of many other peoples. Therefore, I am always taken aback when I see any group of people who face discrimination not for their actions, but simply for being alive.
I know that Jewish leadership has made sure that any assertion of commonality between Jew and Palestinian is denied. But throughout history, from Poland to Iraq, from Argentina to South Africa, from Brooklyn to Mississippi, Jews have taken up their quest for justice, and their desire for a more just world, by joining with others in collective struggles. Jews have participated prominently in the workers’ struggle of the Depression era, in the civil rights movement, in the struggle against South African Apartheid, in the struggle against fascism in Europe, and in many other movements for social and political change.
Obviously the State of Israel’s historic and ongoing oppression of the Palestinian people contradicts and betrays these long histories of Jewish participation in collective liberation struggles.
Thus, I invite you to join me in my support for the Canadian Boat to Gaza, and its insistence on ending the illegal and immoral blockade imposed by the Israeli State on over 2 million Palestinian civilians living in the Gaza Strip.
You can find different ways to donate at http://canadaboatgaza.org/d onate
Those who can benefit from a charitable tax receipt in the US may wish to donate through the US Boat to Gaza page: https://2018boatstogaza- nonviolenceinternational.natio nbuilder.com/contribute
Please share our messages and forward them; Merci de partager et de faire suivre nos messages.
The Freedom Flotilla Coalition (FFC), an international coalition composed of civil society groups demanding an end to the illegal and inhumane blockade of Gaza, recently sent fishing materials to Palestinian fishers in Gaza. In cooperation with several Palestinian and international organisations, the FFC has responded to the increasingly desperate plight of fishers in Gaza who are unable to feed their families due to restrictions on fishing imposed by the Israeli occupiers. Materials distributed in the ports of Gaza and Deir Balah include:
Although the FFC’s primary goals are political rather than humanitarian, we recognize the dire circumstances of the over 2 million Palestinians living in Gaza and the importance of supporting its fishers and their work in feeding their communities. This is why our current campaign focuses on Solidarity with Gaza Fishers and helps bring the stories of Palestinian fishers in Gaza to the world.
The FFC is making plans to sail again as soon as possible to challenge the destructive and criminal blockade. Updates on our sailing will be released on our website, as well as via Facebook and Twitter.
Solidarity with Gaza fishers is proud to introduce an ongoing series featuring the work of these young Palestinian journalists.
The Gaza Strip is home to hundreds of unsung heroes. They are artists resisting the Israeli occupation with their brushes, poets using their words to envision a different future for their people, and teachers arming their students with the knowledge they will need to sustain an economy—if they are ever allowed to do business. They also are fishermen who sail into the Mediterranean Sea every morning, seeking to earn a living despite the ever-present risk of their boats being confiscated and their lives being stolen by Israeli bullets.
After trying to contact him for almost three days, I finally met Zaky Taroosh. He was accompanied by his youngest son, Abdul Latif, who had followed in his father’s footsteps to become a fisherman. Although I first saw them only from a distance, sitting on a scooter puffing black smoke and groaning in resistance near the Bank of Palestine in the Al-Remal neighborhood of Gaza City, I had already begun to sense the pain they have endured.
I hurried to shake their rough hands. Zaky shook my own warmly and gave me a big smile. Abdul Latif was silent due to reasons I could not determine at first.
The two were perspiring heavily in the afternoon heat, so we sat down on a broken bench in Al-Jondi Square, where most of Gaza’s bored, unemployed youths hang out. The three of us sat on that seat under the shadow of a very tall, old tree, whose shade helped us relax. We sipped a cup of unsweetened coffee purchased from a peddler.
“A year ago, Abdul Latif was fishing near Al-Waha, a region near the northern beach of Gaza, and he caught a tremendous number of fish. He was so happy he didn’t realize he was crossing the border line between Israel and Gaza!”
I held my breath, anticipating what would come next.
“As soon as my son saw the Israeli cruiser approaching like a storm, he started to paddle his small boat,” Zaky recounted.
I looked at Abdul Latif, who was sweating as if what his father described was happening in front of him. I turned back to Zaky, who took a box of Royal cigarettes from his torn right pocket, then lit one with an old lighter; I learned later it had been handed down from his father, who was killed in 1967 by the Israeli occupation forces. Zaky was just 3 years old at the time of his father’s death.
“The Israeli navy started pumping water at his small boat, so it capsized—injuring my son [with a gash to his head],” Zaky resumed,.
The Israeli forces arrested him and seized his boat. Abdul Latif was taken to an unknown place in the city now called Ashdod by Israel, where he was treated and interrogated. One day later, he was sent home through the Israeli crossing called Erez.
In Gaza, the government’s internal security department kept him in custody for about a week to investigate what he had endured and what he may have said. It is not unusual for Israeli “security” officers to try to recruit Palestinians as collaborators.
Abdu Latif finally was allowed to return home, but his boat is still in Israel until today.
About a year later, Zaky and his family lost a second fishing boat when another son, Zayed, was fishing with his friend, Mahmoud Bakr.
“Together, they had a good day of fishing; the Israelis had just decided that week to increase the fishing zone (from six miles) to nine,” Zaky explained, taking a last drag on his cigarette before throwing it down and stamping it with his black sandal.
I wanted Abdul Latif to join the conversation, so I asked him when this incident occurred. He was hesitant to talk, but then told me it was April 2016.
Zaky continued: “The Israeli army attacked their boat and arrested Zayed and Mahmoud. Their boats were stolen and they were kept in prison for three months.”
I stared at Zaky in disbelief.
“The Israeli authorities accused the two boys of attacking the army in the sea,” he continued. “An Israeli judge asked for proof, in the form of video footage from the camera installed on the cruiser. The footage was brought in and the judge found nothing that documented the accusations against them, so the two boys were finally released.”
However, Zayed’s boat was never returned.
I urged Zaki to buy a new boat to join his sons’ last remaining vessel. He laughed bitterly, telling me that one small boat costs about 30,000 shekels ($8,500).
“Even if I get a boat from a humanitarian organization, I cannot work anymore,” he said flatly.
I asked him why, since he is still young and his children can help. He remained silent for five seconds, then told me he had been injured himself by the Israeli navy when his boat was attacked, and that bullet fragments are lodged inside his body.
“The fragments hurt so much when the weather gets cool,” he groaned.
I realized then what it means to be a Palestinian fisherman living in the Gaza Strip, spending nights and early mornings being chased by the Israeli navy and afternoons knitting his tattered nets.
I decided to try one last time to persuade Abdul Latif to talk. Soon I learned he has been engaged for a year and a half and cannot marry due to lack of money. The entire family—Zaky and his wife, his unmarried daughter, his four sons and three daughters-in-law—lives together in one apartment that is barely fit for animals. The daily electricity blackouts seem to be an omen for a bleak, unknown future.
On May 15, 2017, Israeli naval forces shot dead a young fisherman from Gaza while he was in his boat. Below is an interview with Majed Bakr, the father of the victim—also a fisherman from Gaza and a member of the family of the four little Bakr boys killed by an Israeli missile while playing on the beach in 2014.
Could you introduce yourself to my readers?
Majed: My name is Majed Bakr. My four sons and I have suffered due to Israel’s [restrictions on our livelihood] since 2012 [when the first of the attacks on our boat occurred] until the 15th of May of this year. As our ability to fish becomes more complicated, each day becomes another day of suffering for us. [Note: For so-called “security” reasons, the Israeli military prohibits boats from Gaza from sailing out more than three to 9 nautical miles, depending on their whim. However, the best fish are found 11 or more miles out.]
What happened on the 15th of May?
Majed: As usual, my sons Omran, Fadi, Saddam and Mohammed sailed out to sea to fish. This is how we make a living. They were 400 meters away from the Israeli-imposed nine-nautical-mile limit. Suddenly, an Israeli patrol boat started shooting live bullets at their boat. One of them hit my son, Mohammed, in his heart. Obviously, the others who were with him are not doctors and couldn’t save his life. They shouted to get urgent help. He was already vomiting blood and his heart had swelled like a balloon by the time the Israeli navy came to take him to a hospital in Majdal, a city in occupied Palestine.
If they wanted to save him, then why did they shoot at him in the first place?
Majed: This is their policy: to ruin with the right hand, then to fix with the left. Therefore, their position looks as if it’s legal and humanitarian internationally. (Majed heaves a deep sigh.) And he died.
How old was he?
Majed: He was born on the 19th of February in 1992, and he died on the 15th of May. He was 25 years old. He has two daughters: Joud, 3 years old, and Majeda 10 months. On the day of the funeral, Joud saw his father’s dead body and said, “Dad is asleep. He went to the sea. He is not back yet.”
Do you still sail now?
Majed: I sail every day with my sons. I am a 57-year-old man and this is my life. But then one day, I said to Omran, “Son, you all are young men now. You can depend on yourselves.” Four days later, they went fishing without me and the accident happened. The Israeli navy boat was so fast; it was as if my sons’ boat was not moving. My son told me how Mohammed hugged the motor of the boat so the Israelis would stop shooting, but to no avail. We had taken out the boat as a loan in Mohammed’s name from the FATEN (Palestinian Credit and Development) Association, planning to buy it. But it was shot with seven bullets, and Mohammed died. I wish the boat was gone instead!
Why did they shoot him? Did he exceed the sailing limit?
Majed: A fisherman never intends to exceed the limit, but it happens very easily. The sea is naturally unstable. While a fisherman sails, the current pulls the boat as much as 300 meters in any direction. When we see an Israeli boat, we try to escape quickly. But the Israeli boats are free to shoot at us; sometimes they do, other times they leave us alone. This time, I was not with my sons, but the other times—since 2012—I was.
What else happened during that time?
Majed: Israel has destroyed five of my boats, in 2012, 2013, 2014, 2016 and, now, the fifth one this year. We paid only two months of the loan on the boat. We do not know how we can afford the rest now. It is a loan tied to Mohammed’s soul. (Note: In Islam, the soul is tied by any debts it has in life. When the dead person’s siblings pay his debt, his soul is liberated and becomes free from punishment.)
What does each boat cost?
Majed: It costs at least $10,000. We repaired one of the boats, which was brought back destroyed. That cost us 8,000 NIS [about $2,200].
Does fishing deserve all this sacrifice?
Majed: I adore the sea. Fishing is the profession of my ancestors. If I fish five hours a day, I earn just 30 NIS [$8]. But it’s better than working 12 hours a day as a construction worker and making the same amount. It is enough to live ok in Gaza. Here, even the employer whose daily salary is 400 NIS [$110] is in debt. Each son can never marry and have a family if they live in separate houses. So, with each one of them making 30 NIS, the total allows us to live in one house comfortably and to eat together. Only Allah blesses our days. But our lives are controlled by Israel’s mood.
Why does the fishing limit differ from one time to another?
Majed: The Israelis are not idiots. They know that the area in the sea where there are the most fish is found 11 miles or more from shore. We know this because we fished up to 14 miles before the siege on Gaza began. And not all of Gaza’s sea is open even up to 9 miles. They also prevent us from fishing in the entire sea during the reproduction season.
The fish usually stay in calm waters. So, we see the fish but we can’t fish. The Israeli navy officers say loudly in Hebrew, “The fish are ours, not yours.” But we never see any Israeli fishermen! Sometimes the Israeli navy uses water cannons to turn the boats of Gaza fishermen upside down, making the motors wet and obstructing the fishing process.
When will these attacks stop?
Majed: They will never stop. We are attacked daily. Since the beginning of the siege until now, I’ve lost six of my friends, and now my son. Mohammed is not the first martyr to the sea, nor will he be the last. Fishermen in Gaza have started losing hope. Some are selling their boats for one-third of their real cost. But we can’t stop fishing. We must go back to the sea to feed the family. To try to live is much better than to die without trying.
How is your family now?
Majed: We are all depressed. My wife wakes up crying and falls asleep crying. Mohammed’s wife can no longer live among us. I, as a man, look strong but my heart is broken. When I used to shout at Mohammed, as his father, his mother would stop me by saying, “When I gave birth to him, I lost my vision [fainted] for two hours.” And now, she loses her vision as she cries for him.
How will you live after this?
Majed: I don’t know exactly. Life is hard. One time, the wives of my sons gave me their wedding jewelry to sell so I could use the money to buy a new boat.
How do you feel now toward the sea?
Majed: I cannot look at it. I want to go to the Gaza port, but when I arrive, I turn around and go back home right away.
I have one last wish: I wish that no one has to bury his son or daughter while he is alive. No one, neither a friend nor an enemy.
Solidarity with Gaza fishers is proud to introduce an ongoing series featuring the work of these young Palestinian journalists.
I am Rajab Abu Riyala, a fisherman from an early age. I am in love with fishing and I’d l be lying if I said I would rather do another job. The sea is my “talent” and if you take me out of the sea, just like a fish, I’d die. It’s not because I come from a family of fishermen and fishing is our livelihood, no. It’s because of my love of marine life and sailing. Half of my life was spent on Gaza’s sea and the other half on paying the price of the first half.
At the age of 15, I used to work side by side with my father on his boat while studying for my school exams. When I finished my last year at high school, I wished I to further my studies in university. But the odds were not on my side. My dad was getting older and weaker, so I decided to help him and pursue my passion for fishing.
One day, at 6 a.m. during a cold winter in 2005, my father and I set out to sea off the coast of Rafah for our morning catch. We remained within the Israeli-imposed 12-nautical-mile limit (today, it is much less), but suddenly we saw an Israeli naval boat heading toward us.
“All fishermen! Stop the boats! I said stop the boats or we’ll open fire!” a soldier on the boat boomed at us through a megaphone.
We stopped our boats and what happened next was very humiliating. The soldiers commanded that we take off our clothes and jump into the water, or we’d be shot. Everyone else did, and were taken out of the water and onto the Israeli naval boat with their hands tied and blindfolded. Then they were subjected to hours of investigation, while their boats were confiscated.
But my father and I refused to take off our clothes and give up our catch. We refused to be taken It was very cold and windy; I was wearing three pairs of socks and a rubber suit, but still it felt like I was freezing my tail off.
Israeli soldiers yelled at my father: “I command you to stop the boat now!” My father kept driving our boat and the Israeli navy followed us until our boats crashed. The Israeli soldiers opened fire and I fell off of our boat into the sea. My father managed to pick me up out of the water, and I lay there in pain while still hearing the shots of the Israeli soldiers.
Then the pain worsened and I began screaming, while holding my hands to my chest. My father ripped apart my clothes and found a bullet hit my chest. Words cannot describe the way my father felt or even looked. All I can say is that he flew into a rage and began shouting and throwing stones at the Israeli soldiers while they were still shooting. My father turned on the boat again and the Israeli boat chased us for five kilometers. However, you can’t race a father running for the life of his son.
My dad managed to reach the shore and rush me to Al-Aqsa hospital in Deir Albalah, where I was immediately rushed to the operating room. Doctors removed the bullet and said I was lucky because the injury had penetrated all the way through but failed to puncture my heart. I believe I was lucky because I had a very old but very brave man at my back: my dad my hero.
I fully recovered after two months of medicine and treatment.
That is, until a few months later. This time, the allowed fishing distance was only nine nautical miles, but I remained within the limit. I was with three other boats in the sea off of Khan Younis. Again, an Israeli naval boat stopped us, commanding us to take off our clothes and jump into the water. One of our crews followed the order, but when it was my turn to do so, I remembered my father’s example. (I was in charge that day, since my dad was too ill to sail with me.) I said, “NO!” It was impossible for me to let all of our sweat and fatigue be in vain. There was no way I would return home empty-handed. So, I continued sailing and the Israeli soldiers chased me, firing toward my boat for 15 minutes until I reached Gaza. But then, all of the sudden, a bullet made it to my knee.
I felt nothing at first, but I saw blood inside my boat. I thoroughly examined myself for any injuries and I saw the wound in my right knee. I turned off the engine and stopped; I could see the shore, but the Israeli soldiers boarded and took me to their boat. A doctor on board bandaged my leg and gave me some pills, which at first I refused to take. But he said it would ease my pain until we get to a hospital, so I did. He was wrong, because the pills eased nothing and I screamed all the way to the occupied town of Asdud (a trip of 42 kilometers).
We finally reached a hospital at 7 a.m., but they chose to leave me bleeding until 5 p.m.
I could take it no more and I shouted, “If you’re going to leave me bleeding, let me go back to Gaza to be treated.” The staff put a splint on my knee, with the bullet still inside, then took me in a jeep to the Erez crossing. From there, I was transferred to Al-Shifa hospital in Gaza City. Doctors there finally removed the bullet and I recovered after five months of treatment. However, I still have some shrapnel inside. I can’t stand the pain in winter, and I limp when it rains.
On January 3 of this year, there was another incident. Now we were down to an allowance of six nautical miles. I was 10 kilometers away from the Gaza shore and my boat was filled with fish; I was overwhelmed with joy that my long hours of fishing had borne fruit. I wanted to get to land quickly to sell my catch. But then some Israeli naval boats—small, but very fast–surrounded mine and started to haphazardly shoot both live and rubber-coated steel bullets. I felt four rubber bullets graze my back; it was impossible to protect my body, because they were shooting like crazy. I only wanted to protect my face and not lose consciousness. I grabbed an empty fish box and held it in front my face, but the boat rolled and I lost balance. The box fell and I caught a bullet in my right eye.
Two days later, I woke up in an Israeli hospital. I was told that the bone under my eye was broken, my retina was destroyed and my sinuses also were damaged. But I only wanted to know if I’d be able to see after the gauze was removed. My sight is all I have.
I wanted to call my parents and I wanted to cry an ocean of tears from my one good eye. I begged for seven days to be allowed to call my parents, but I was never permitted to do so. I felt so lonely and weak. After the seventh day, Israeli soldiers transferred me to Erez crossing. There, the Hamas government forced me to stay for an investigation into what had happened that lasted the whole night. (This is normal procedure, since Israel tries to force fishermen to divulge information about the resistance in the Gaza Strip or, even worse, to become spies,)
I have one wish: Give me back my boat. It’s not just a boat to me. It’s my whole life. I spent three years building it piece by piece. I bought the fiberglass and made it with my own hands. It was very fast and strong. I made it to last forever; my wife sold her jewelry so I could finish building and we could live happily ever after. My dream cost me $12,000 and I achieved it, but the Israeli occupation stole it from me.
It’s just a dream now. Without my boat, I can’t work anymore. These days, I’m not able to afford my rent, but the landlord is patient with me. I’m 30 years and I have three children and the fourth is on its way. I love my children and I’m ready to go back to the sea over and over just to draw a smile on their faces. Just give back my life…Give back my boat.
Note: Rajab no longer sees from his right eye. You can help him and others by supporting the Solidarity with Gaza Fishers campaign, a project of the Freedom Flotilla.
An edited short version of a 2012 video (Doors to the Sea) produced by our partners at the Union of Agricultural Work Committees in Gaza (who represent Palestinian fishers), this short video shows the experience of Gaza’s fishers under blockade, confronted by Israeli warships, sharp restrictions on their areas for fishing, and the political, military and economic blockade of Gaza. Directed and produced by : Nacho García, Inés Grocin, Anxela Iglesias, Carlos Sordo.
About one billion people world-wide rely on fish as their primary protein source. Many of these people live in poverty and many of the world's 54 million fishers are also poor. Gaza, a 43km coastal strip of land, depends heavily on its inshore fishery to feed its population of nearly 2 million Palestinians.
Over the past ten years, the ability of Palestinians in Gaza to make a living from fishing has been severely undermined as a result of fishing access limits imposed by the Israeli Occupation Forces along the Gaza coast.
Out of the 20 nautical mile zone that they were promised under the Oslo accords, Palestinians are restricted to a fishing zone of just three to six nautical miles off the Gaza shoreline, temporarily increased to nine nautical miles for the southern part of the Gaza coast in early May, and then reduced again. Fishers deemed to have exceeded the boundaries by Israel’s navy are shot at, their boats are confiscated, and they are sometimes arrested or worse. Even within the restricted boundaries of six to nine nautical miles, Israeli forces sometimes open fire at Palestinians: earlier this month a Palestinian fisher was killed by Israeli gunfire inside the “permitted” zone.
Overfishing in the small area where Israel has allowed fishing over the years has depleted fish breeding grounds. In addition, the coastal areas are severely polluted by sewage that flows into the sea, often untreated because the waste treatment facilities in Gaza have been destroyed by Israeli attacks and remain unrepaired because of the blockade.
The Freedom Flotilla Coalition has launched a new project called Solidarity with Gaza Fishers, in partnership with the Union of Agricultural Work Committees (UAWC), who represent fishers in Gaza. The winning logo for this project (above) was provided by our friends at the UAWC. Our aim in the Solidarity with Gaza Fishers is to link the struggle of those under blockade and constant attacks with their counterparts in countries all over the world. Sustainable fishing is a way of life endangered by mostly political factors around the globe. We believe that by drawing attention to the situation of Palestinians in Gaza we will bring to the foreground not only the need to lift the inhuman and illegal Israeli blockade, but also the importance of respect for all fishers wherever they are.
Fishing everywhere is a difficult, often hazardous, way to make a living: for Palestinian fishers in Gaza, fishing has become extremely dangerous. We call on you to join us in this project by sharing information about the situation of Palestinian fishers in Gaza with other fishers, fishing organizations and civil society organizations close to you. Fishers and others can show solidarity by organizing events in your local community or fishing port, by flying Palestinian flags and banners of the project on their boats in symbolic protest, and by issuing statements of support. Some may even wish to consider donating part of the value of their catch to enable us to deliver fishing and boat fixing material to Gaza's fishers through an NGO that is part of our coalition.
We invite you to share the stories on our new website: sgf.freedomflotilla.org with your contacts near and far. Help us spread the word about both Palestinian fishers in Gaza and those who stand in solidarity with them in other parts of the world. If you are in touch with fishers or their organizations who want to share stories of their struggles, please put them in touch with us as well too. Together, we can end the blockade and help Palestinians win their fundamental rights.
the Canadian Boat to Gaza Team
Please follow our campaigns on Twitter @CanadaBoatGaza @GazaFFlotilla Facebook: www.facebook.com/CanadaBoatGaza/ www.facebook.com/FreedomFlotillaCoalition/ Share our messages and forward them widely!
To support our work, see our NEW contact address: canadaboatgaza.org/donate/ or contact any of our Flotilla partners working on this project: sgf.freedomflotilla.org/donate
This story was initially published in theovercast.ca
Marilyn Porter is on the steering committee of the Canadian Boat to Gaza.
BY CHAD PELLEY ON APRIL 5, 2017
Sociology Professor Emerita Marilyn Porter recently returned from a trip to Israel, where she was the sole Canadian on a team of 45 people experiencing, firsthand, how the Israeli government is harassing and displacing Palestinian farmers.
The farmers live in an area that is supposedly under Palestinian control, yet they’re constantly subject to harassment and displacement by Israeli forces. They’re even required to have permits to move from one village to another, drive on certain roads, farm, etc.
The Israeli Wall has made matters worse. The Wall is over 700 kilometres long, and it isolates thousands of Palestinians, making it difficult for them to engage economically and socially with their community.
As Marilyn explains, “The Wall dominates the Palestinian landscape, splitting many communities in two. In their day-to-day lives Palestinians are forced to travel many extra miles to farm their land or visit their relatives.”
Porter and her team were there to help families plant olive tree saplings. Olive trees are vital to Palestinian farmers, but these farmers are regularly confronted by the Israeli army, who threaten to (or do) confiscate property. It’s something Porter witnessed firsthand.
She says that Palestinian farmers whose land is close to the Wall, or close to illegal Israeli settlements suffer the most. According to the UN, 80% have seen a decrease in their yields since 2015.
In the Bethlehem area alone in 2014 (latest UN figures), “85% of the land had been taken over by the Israeli government for settlement expansion ‘nature reserves’ or military zones, and 70 Palestinian residential areas have outstanding eviction orders.”
She has witnessed the grim struggle of Palestinian farmers herself. Israeli settlers uprooted her efforts right before her eyes, destroying the hundreds of olive trees her team planted, a mere day after they were set in soil.
“The day before the Israeli settlers uprooted our trees,” she says, “they had stood around in threatening ways, and then summoned the Israeli security forces to drive us off the farmer’s land.” They were heavily armed.
Later that night, they uprooted and destroyed hundreds of olive trees. “We were advised by the local NGO we were working with that there was no recourse and, indeed, that it might be hazardous for our farmer to even report the attack.”
The UN documents attacks by settlers on Palestinians, and their land. It is on record that more than half of Palestinians (54%) have suffered physical attacks or attacks on their property last year.
“Fully armed soldiers — many of them very young — are everywhere and can, and do, demand to see papers and permits at any point. This happened one day when we were working. Our farmer had all the permits necessary, including for us to be helping him, but we were still driven off by a group of armed soldiers and had to stop our work.”
Porter has been committed for years to the plight of Palestinians “in their struggle to establish an economically and socially stable state, free of harassment and control.”
Porter was in Israel as part of the The Joint Advocacy Initiative’s Keep Hope Alive olive planting initiative. You can catch her speaking about her experience tonight at 7 pm, at Memorial University (Room A-1043). The talk is titled, “The Olive Tree Campaign: How Palestinians Resist the Israeli Wall.”