The Israeli army's iron-fisted approach to the Balata refugee camp only serves to make martyrs out of Palestinians who dream of freedom
Seth Freedman
According to tradition, the Palestinian city of Nablus is set near two mountains famed for their role in the Biblical story of Balaam and his donkey. Balaam, a non-Jewish prophet, set out for Israel determined to issue a curse over the people of Israel, but - thanks to divine intervention and revelation - ended up blessing the infant nation instead. His change of heart is still cited today, with supporters of the Zionist state claiming that all of Israel's detractors would in fact sing its praises to the high heavens if only they saw the country for themselves.
I have, and yet I don't. At least, not when faced with the consequences of Israel's "me first" policy, which has caused such devastation and heartache to the Palestinian people, as I witnessed yet again in the Balata refugee camp on the outskirts of Nablus. To argue about whether it is a camp or not, as many do, is utterly irrelevant. Yes, the refugees live in houses rather than tents, but given the atrocious conditions they are forced to exist in, it's of little comfort to them that their prison cells are made of bricks and mortar instead of canvas.
According to our guide, "the residents aren't allowed to build outside the camp's perimeter, so the only way is up" - and it shows. Alleyways between houses barely wider than a person, bars on the windows of adjacent houses literally touching across the divide, and raw sewage flowing unchecked down the broken pavement; this is the harsh reality of life behind the barricades.
Pockmarked walls bear the scars of the almost daily incursions by the IDF, whose stray bullets do more than just damage the facades of the houses, as the overflowing cemetery bears testament to. "The army doesn't give a damn about civilians getting caught in the crossfire," said Muhammad, who led us around his neighbourhood with a grim determination to drill home the horror of life under military rule.
"However," he said, "you can never truly know what it's like till you've lived here yourself. Every family's either had someone killed, wounded or arrested by the IDF; dozens of houses have been smashed apart during raids." He spoke of his childhood friends who have "ended up underground," saying that more than 20 of his peer group died "a martyr's death" resisting the occupation.
As we toured the camp and saw the scores of memorials erected in honour of fallen shaheeds, it was clear that whatever security reasons are cited for the army's iron-fisted approach to Nablus, it is having the opposite effect in terms of crushing the resistance. Children swagger round in bomber jackets in chilling imitation of the posters of gun-toting fighters plastered on every available surface. T-shirts bearing the images of Sheik Hassan Nasrallah, George Habash and other militant leaders are on sale in the crowded casbah in the old city section of town.
http://commentisfree.guardian.co.uk/seth_freedman/2008/02/life_under_military_rule.html