martedì 29 marzo 2016

Hebron : Estrema destra contro l'operatore palestinese e i suoi familiari: "ti bruceremo come abbiamo bruciato Dawabshehs"



The video camera allowed us to document attacks. The whole family started to film, and much of the neighbourhood. As Palestinians, we try to do things and speak for…
opendemocracy.net




 Sintesi personale

  Il mio nome è Imad Abu Shamsiyya e sono un attivista locale  Ho girato il video che mostra l'esecuzione extragiudiziaria di un Palestinese da parte dell'IDF . .
Da quando ho girato  questo video , sono un uomo segnato. Alla stazione di polizia mi hanno avvertito che i coloni  si sarebbero vendicati  «Non hai paura? ' mi hanno chiesto. 'Perché dovrei aver paura?' Ho risposto. 'Io non sono assassino.La notte successiva, il telefono ha squillato . La voce all'altro capo ha detto : "'noi bruceremo te, proprio come abbiamo bruciato i Dawabshehs' - Il giorno dopo una folla di coloni ha cercato di prendere d'assalto la  mia casa, gridando insulti osceni. Non usciamo di casa e cerchiamo di dormire  tutti nella stessa stanza.
E 'difficile avere molta speranza per il futuro in Palestina. Sogniamo la libertà e un paese nostro, .ma  la soluzione dei due stati è morta. e dopo quello che abbiamo vissuto sotto i militari e i coloni, rende un sogno irrealizzabile il pensare di vivere in un unico stato laico  . Nel frattempo molte persone stanno chiedendo una forza internazionale per proteggere noi. Ogni ingiustizia che documentiamo ci fa compiere un  piccolo passo verso la libertà . Abbiamo grande rispetto per B'Tselem,ma riteniamo che sia importante , come palestinesi, cercare di agire  e di parlare in prima persona . Il video ha ottenuto un sacco di copertura e ha generato molte discussioni in tutto il mondo.  Spero che  questo video mandi  in frantumi ogni illusione sui  soldati israeliani che continuano a parlare di auto-difesa o  di regole di ingaggio , ma uccidono  i nostri bambini e i nostri giovani a sangue freddo e senza un briciolo di giustificazione.
Il video  racconta  di un palestinese  assassinato tre volte - una volta quando è stato colpito , una volta quando gli è stato negato il primo soccorso e la terza volta quando cinicamente è stato freddato con un colpo alla testa .
Noi  palestinesi non ci sentiamo mai sicuri . Viviamo in un paese dove ci fanno sentìre così :  siamo sempre nel posto sbagliato al momento sbagliato,non abbiamo alcun potere sulle  forze che controllano il nostro destino,  abbiamo sempre la fastidiosa sensazione  di dover abbandonare la nostra casa  che potrebbe essere demolita 
Ci siamo trasferiti - mia moglie ed io - a Tel Rumeida nel 2009. A quel tempo vivevamo con i miei genitori, ma volevamo essere indipendenti    Nel 1950 il mio prozio aveva costruito una casa  a Hebron ,una città  prospera con una industria calzaturiera di fama mondiale.
Nel 1967 iniziò l' occupazione militare della Cisgiordania  Nel 1984 un piccolo gruppo di fondamentalisti ebrei creò un insediamento  di roulotte proprio nel cuore della città     tra Tel Rumeida e   Shuhada Street ,  la strada principale della nostra città  che conduce al santuario di Ibrahim  o di Abraham. Hebron è un luogo sacro per gli ebrei  e per noi musulmani. I coloni fondamentalisti non vogliono vivere in una città fiorente  Vivono in un sogno dove noi non  esistiamo.
Nel 1993un colono radicale americano ,Baruch Goldstein ,entrò nella moschea di Ibrahim con una mitragliatrice e ucciso 29 persone. Lo Stato di Israele ha colto l'occasione per chiudere il centro della più grande città della West Bank alle imprese palestinesi e al traffico, espellendo  la maggior parte dei palestinesi.
Tel Rumeida  è ora oggetto di intenso controllo militare. La casa  di mio zio è stata abbandonata  visto che  l'esercito israeliano vi ha costruito un osservatorio sul tetto. Io e mia moglie avevamo bisogno di un posto per vivere e abbiamo pensato   di rivendicare un piccolo pezzo di Palestina  sotto il naso degli occupanti. Gli Israeliani non ci hanno permesso di portare una macchina nella zona, così abbiamo dovuto portare i mobili pezzo per pezzo,ma  alla fine ci siamo riusciti.
Dopo poco tempo abbiamo avuto il nostro primo incontro amaro con la realtà di Hebron . Madeleine, la nostra figlia maggiore  si stava recando a scuola, i coloni in piedi sul nostro tetto hanno  gettato un sasso colpendola  in faccia.
Ho incontrato così il gruppo israeliano per i diritti umani B'Tselem. Stavano  distribuendo telecamere, incoraggiando i palestinesi a  filmare gli attacchi . Avevo lavorato in passato come fotografo di matrimoni, quindi non  avevo davvero bisogno di formazione.
Col passare del tempo gli attacchi contro la famiglia sono continuati .Alla nostra figlia più giovane, Marwa,  hanno dato fuoco ai capelli . Saleh, il bambino della famiglia, è stato accoltellato in una mano. Il nostro figlio maggiore, Awni, è stato  arrestato in numerose occasioni.
Poi ci sono stati gli attacchi contro tutta la famiglia. Circa un anno fa mi sono svegliato dopo la mezzanotte e mi sono reso  conto che era stato appiccicato un fuoco all'esterno della casa  . Le fiamme  stavano  raggiungendo  una delle camere. I vicini si sono precipitati per aiutarci . Due mesi dopo, per una fortunata coincidenza, mi è capitato di vedere un colono sul nostro tetto. Stava cercando di avvelenare il nostro serbatoio di acqua.
La videocamera   ci ha permesso di documentare questi attacchi.  Con un amico attivista locale, Badia Dwaik, ho fondato un'organizzazione  :  difensori dei diritti umani. Cerchiamo di produrre e diffondere video  in modo simile a B'Tselem.
. I coloni non potranno mai rispettarci,ma temono le telecamere  . Quando si dispone di una macchina fotografica in mano, possiamo fare qualcosa  per prendere il controllo di una situazione  e superare l'impotenza 


'We'll burn you like we burned the Dawabshehs' - life as a video activist in Hebron

The video camera allowed us to document attacks. The whole family started to film, and much of the neighbourhood. As Palestinians, we try to do things and speak for ourselves.
Isaeli army and border police troops stop Palestinians entering Al-Shuhada ( Martyrs') St., Hebron, during the demo on the twent Israeli army and border police troops stop Palestinians entering Al-Shuhada ( Martyrs') St., Hebron, during the demo on the twentieth anniversary of the street's closure in 1994. Wikicommons/Mustafa Bader. Some rights reserved.Last Thursday, a video emerged, shot by ‘a local Palestinian activist’, which showed a Palestinian youth called Abdul Fatah al-Sharif being shot in the head.
If you haven’t had the unpleasant experience of watching that video, here is what it shows. There are two young Palestinians lying on the ground, having recently been shot after one of them inflicted a light knife wound on an Israeli soldier.
Two Magen David Adom ambulances rush to the scene (Magen David Adom is Israel’s branch of the Red Cross). They offer no assistance to the two critically injured Palestinians (one of them was in fact probably dead at this point), and do not even attempt to assess their situation. All their efforts focus on the soldier, whose condition can be easily seen (and has subsequently turned out to be) far from critical.
At this point another soldier – an army medic, as it turns out – walks forward a few paces, hefts his rifle, and casually shoots the still moving Abdul Fatah in the head.
Nobody present appears to be surprised or disturbed in any way by what they have just seen.
But I was present. And I was disturbed. My name is Imad Abu Shamsiyya. I shot that video. I was the local Palestinian activist.
We have huge respect for B’tselem. But we feel it is important that, as Palestinians, we try to do things and speak for ourselves.The video has got a lot of coverage and generated a lot of discussion worldwide. For my own part, I’ve spent much of the past few days giving interviews for some of the big news networks. I’m pleased my work has had an impact. I had hoped this video would be a ‘media bomb’ that would shatter any illusion that Israeli soldiers – for all their talk of self-defence or rules of engagement – do not routinely kill our children and young people in cold blood and without a shred of justification.
The video isn’t about me as an activist. It’s about a Palestinian who was murdered three times – once when he was first shot, once when he was denied first aid and for the third time in which he was callously executed on the ground; and it’s about the army who murdered him. But I do feel that I’m part of the story. Because I’m not an anonymous fly on the wall. What I film is also what I live.
As Palestinians, we never feel safe. We have lived all of our lives in a country where we are made to feel that we are always in the wrong place at the wrong time; where we have no stake at all in the forces that control our destiny, and where each of us has always had to deal with the nagging feeling, sometimes waxing, sometimes waning, but always there, that we, or those we love could any day be shot down. My great uncle’s house had long been abandoned, while the Israeli army had built an observation post on its roof.
We moved – my wife Faiza and I – to Tel Rumeida, the street where all this happened, in 2009. At that time we were living with my parents but eager to find somewhere for ourselves. That was when the idea occurred to us: why rent a new house, when the family already owned one? Back in the 1950s, my great uncle had built a handsome town house in what was then the thriving centre of a prosperous city with a world-famous shoemaking industry.
But that was back then. First came the military occupation of the West Bank in 1967. In 1984, a small group of Jewish fundamentalists set up an ad hoc settlement of caravans right in the heart of the city, overlooking Tel Rumeida and Shuhada Street – the grand high street of our city, which leads down to the shrine of Ibrahim – or Abraham. Hebron is a sacred place to Jews, as it is to us Muslims. But the fundamentalist settlers don’t want to live in the bustling city as it is now. They live in a dream in which we don’t exist.
Then in 1993, a radical American settler called Baruch Goldstein walked into the Ibrahimi Mosque with a machine gun and killed 29 people. The Israeli state seized the opportunity to close off the centre of the West Bank’s largest city to Palestinian business and traffic, and to expel most of the Palestinians from it.
Tel Rumeida, just above Shuhada Street was now subject to intense military control. My great uncle’s house had long been abandoned, while the Israeli army had built an observation post on its roof. Two months after that, by a lucky coincidence, I happened to see a settler on our roof. He was trying to poison our water tank.
Some people must have thought it was a crazy idea to try to set up in such a place. But we needed somewhere to live, and we liked the idea of reclaiming a small piece of Palestine for ourselves from under the noses of the occupiers. The house wasn’t in great condition after being left uninhabited for so long, and the restrictions placed on us by the army made things more difficult. We weren’t allowed to bring a car into the area, so we had to bring the furniture in piece by piece. But in the end we managed it. 
It wasn’t long after we had moved in that we had our first bitter taste of the reality of living cheek by jowl with the occupier. While Madeleine, our eldest child – then in tenth grade - was walking to school, settlers standing on our own roof threw a rock which hit her in the face.
That was when I got involved with the Israeli human rights group B’tselem. They were distributing cameras, encouraging Palestinians to film the attacks we experience. I had worked in the past as a wedding photographer, so I didn’t really need the training. But I did need a camera. They also provided training in how to stay safe while filming – the regulation number of metres distant we had to be from checkpoints and so on.
As time went on, the attacks against the family continued. Our younger daughter, Marwa, had her hair set on fire. Saleh, the baby of the family, was stabbed in the hand. Our eldest son, Awni, was hassled by soldiers and police and arrested on numerous occasions.
Then there have been the attacks against the whole family. About a year ago I woke up after midnight and realised that there was a fire burning outside of the house which had already reached one of the rooms. The neighbours rushed to help us put it out. Two months after that, by a lucky coincidence, I happened to see a settler on our roof. He was trying to poison our water tank.
The video camera meant we were able to document these attacks. And by this time the whole family had started to film, and much of the neighbourhood. With a local activist friend, Badia Dwaik, I helped found a local grassroots organisation, Human Rights Defenders. We try to produce and disseminate videos to get the word out in similar fashion to B’tselem. We have huge respect for B’tselem. But we feel it is important that, as Palestinians, we try to do things and speak for ourselves. From about 2010 I started training people in how to make activist films in my turn.
Faiza and I now work very much as a team. Whenever there is trouble, people call on us to come round with our cameras. It has helped a bit. The settlers will never respect us. But sometimes they respect the cameras and back off. It’s also symbolically important. When Faiza stands filming, fearlessly, in front of a gang of violent settlers, it helps to show that we still have our resolve. When you have a camera in your hands, you feel that there is at least something you can do to take control of a situation in which you can easily feel powerless.
A photo contrasts life in a busy Hebron market (1999) with life on that street since the centre of Hebron was closed to Palestin A photo contrasts life in a busy Hebron market (1999) with life on that street since the centre of Hebron was closed to Palestinians. Wikicommons/ Trocaire. Some rights reserved.
Since I filmed that recent video where the Israeli army was caught red handed carrying out an extra-judicial execution, I’ve known that I’m a marked man. At the police station where they took my testimony, they warned me that the settlers would have their revenge. ‘Aren’t you afraid?’ they asked me. ‘Why should I be afraid?’ I replied. ‘I’m not the murderer’.
To me, that exchange felt like a threat. But it wasn’t long before the real threat came. The next night, the phone rang. The voice at the other end said ‘we will burn you just like we burned the Dawabshehs’ – a family that was completely wiped out, but for one horribly injured infant – in an arson attack carried out by radical settlers last summer. The next day, a crowd of settlers tried to storm the house, shouting obscene insults. We’ve been frightened before, but not like this. We try not to leave the house. We’ve started sleeping all in the same room.
It’s difficult to have much hope for the future in Palestine. We dream of freedom and a country of our own. But it looks more and more like the two state solution is dead. And what we have experienced from the settlers and the soldiers makes the idea of a just, secular regime for everyone feel like an absurd pipe dream. In the meantime, many people have started calling for an international force to protect us. But each injustice we document feels like a small step to freedom all the same.


Dear Emad Abu Shamsiya,We know you are facing violent intimidation for filming the murder of Abed al-Fattah Yusri al-Sharif in the streets of Hebron, and we are standing by your side. Your courage reminds us of the commandment in the…
actionsprout.io

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