NABLUS (West Bank) - In Rafidia Hospital last night there were two
sets of people in two different hallways displaying two different
emotions. Sameh and I were in the first hallway where Jamal Shadeh
Hamdan (21) from the Old City in Nablus was lying in critical
condition. His friends and family were in the hallway, wet eyes and
slouched forms. One friend recalled how just the night before they
had been joking with Jamal, when a friend had stopped them and said,
seemingly out of the blue, "We can't joke like this, we have to
respect ourselves even if no one on the outside cares."

Jamal was downtown at 'the duwar' last evening, at around 18h30,
when the Israeli military came into the Old City firing live rounds
and tear gas to disperse a crowd of rock throwing youth. From two
occupied houses, military snipers where targeting people in the
crowd seemingly at random. Jamal was shot in the back by a live
bullet. We were just returning from a photography exhibition put on
by the Women's Union - about the destruction imposed on the Old City
by the Israeli military in April 2002 - when we arrived upon the
scene. There were no armed men visible, only stone throwers, some
press people and a handful of medical volunteers. At 23h43, the
announcement was made over the loudspeakers at the Jamaah Kbire (Big
Mosque) that Jamal had joined the ranks of Nablus' innocent civilian
martyrs. 12 hours later Jamal was buried at the local cemetery near
the Old City.

Despite this, Haaretz correspondent Arnon Regular - who was nowhere
near the clashes, let alone Nablus at the time - recounted the
incident today in the following terms:

"In the West Bank city of Nablus, troops shot dead 22-year-old Jamal
Hamdan, who was participating in stone-throwing attacks on Israeli
soldiers on Saturday. The military said soldiers in a patrol vehicle
identified the man as being armed and fired towards him, but
Palestinian witnesses said the man was unarmed and was shot by
troops who took position in a nearby building to observe the
clashes."

The paragraph itself is revealing of the inherent biases of the
Israeli media. The euphemisms employed underscore how the reality of
the situation here on the ground is often masked from mainstream
Israeli society by even 'liberal' dailies like Haaretz.

Thus it is not the Israeli soldiers entering Palestinian cities who
are the aggressors, but the symbolic resistance of the Old City's
youth with rocks that is portrayed as initiating "attacks on Israeli
soldiers." The IDF goes around in 'patrol vehicles' and not armored,
stone-proof military jeeps and hummers. Likewise, Israeli military
snipers, who were firing into the unarmed crowd, are instead
described as "troops who took position in a nearby building to
observe the clashes." Such a cumbersome euphemism for the
word 'sniper' isn't the product of journalistic convention - which
normally seeks to minimize long-winded expressions - but of a desire
to hide the reality from the Israeli public of who the real
aggressors are.

HOSPITAL OVERFLOWING

In the hallway parallel to that were Jamal's family and friends
where huddled, there were distinctly different expressions. Two days
ago Zeiad and I had come here to visit the family of Ahmed Samir Abu
Fidah (10) who lives next to the Tulkarem refugee camp. The boy had
been shot in the head during a bloody Israeli military raid on the
city that left at least three dead. Parts of his brain had to be
held together by first aid medical personnel as the boy was
evacuated to Rafidia Hospital in Nablus, 2hrs away (including
checkpoints), for a craniotomy. Many of the casualties from this,
and other raids in Jenin and Qalqilya in the past week, have been
evacuated to Rafidia given the specialists for various forms of
injury and trauma on hand.

When I first saw Ahmed, he was completely unconscious and in
critical condition. Jihad Bani Ouda, the Staff Nurse at the
Intensive Care Unit of the hospital, explained to us that if Ahmed
survived he would be paralyzed on the right side of his body, would
have a speech impediment and memory troubles, all probably for the
rest of his life. According to Ouda, Ahmed would have to be
transferred to Beit Jala for rehabilitation if his condition
stabilized - this would mean further separation from his family.

Yet today, Rami, a friend from Tulkarem, who was injured in the hand
and was also brought to Rafidia Hospital, is beaming with joy. He
takes me to Ahmed's family. His father, whose expression was blank
when I first met him, is now smiling warmly. We go together to visit
the boy's bedside. Rami tickles his feet and Ahmed moves his left
leg. What seemed impossible a few days ago is now a reality. The boy
faces a hard road to recovery, but everyone is momentarily relieved
that he will live.

As we leave the Intensive Care Unit, we pass by the body of Khaled
Kharawish (30), also from Tulkarem, who is still in critical
condition. Rami doesn't say anything, not wanting the good mood to
dissipate. Khaled was targeted for assassination by the Israeli
army; he is now lying in a coma. The words of Khaled Mattour, the
director of the Rafidia Hospital echo in my head, "We are under
funded, overworked, understaffed. We have skilled personnel but we
have so many cases it's often hard to deal. We service the whole
northern West Bank for so many things, we have great doctors but
it's too much to cope with. The occupation is overburdening our
health workers."

Evidence of this was everywhere last night. From the trauma ward for
children shot by soldiers, to that for older men lying in hospital
beds, bloodied hands, legs, etc. wrapped in bandages. We meet
Mohamed (8) from the village of Jamoun in the Jenin Governorate, who
was shot in the leg a few days ago. Today the boy is smiling big
smiles with his round eyes. He is happy he gets to go home soon. He
shakes my hand and we talk, while his mother looks on relieved. In
another room, we talk to older men, some from Balata, some from
Tulkarem, one from Jenin. They were all brought here by the bullets
of the Israeli military. They have all become friends over the last
few nights. Intense moments of pain shared collectively between the
injured and their worried families. I return to the hall where
Jamal's friends are worrying.

The doctors can't save everyone these days, not all families are
so 'lucky' as Ahmed's, and the casualty toll mounts as the hospital
beds fill out. A few days ago, the Palestinian National Information
Center released a report claiming that 3531 Palestinians have been
killed by the occupation forces since the beginning of the Al-Aqsa
Intifada and over 40,000 have been injured. The casualties of the
last few days of stepped up Israeli military activity in occupied
Palestine will add more numbers to the toll.

I think back to the 'shaheed'/martyr pictures from the exhibition
put on by the Women's Union. For some reason I keep going back to
the installation of a red-died waterfall surrounded by roses and
candles, symbolizing the blood of those killed in Nablus, which
struck me as odd and out of place with the poignancy of the rest of
the photographs and installations at the exhibit. Today, there is
dust kicked up by shuffling feet in the sunlight during the Jamal's
funeral procession. Flags and chanting among the Old City walls,
amidst butcher shops and falafel stands. The rhythms of the
occupation continue unabated as Jamal's body is silently lowered
into the brown earth of the grassy cemetery. The men are praying,
they wipe their faces with both hands, and disperse quietly.

For more information contact:

Kole - 059737118 / 066458978
Sameh - 059325257

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