Huwwara North and South

HUWWARA , Sunday 12 December 2004 PMObservers (at Huwwara South): Yehudit B., Ra’aya Y. (reporting) (at Huwwara North):No’a P., Hen (a new observer), Naomi L. (reporting)) colour=red> Huwwara SouthThere was almost no traffic through the turnstiles [these are not simple turnstiles such as one finds in a subway station, but high , revolving gates made of steel bars: each segment is barely large enough to admit one average-sized person; there is virtually no room to spare for anything that person may be carrying , whether a child or a parcel; passage for pregnant women or for the elderly is extremely difficult and frightening. The operation of the turnstiles is remotely controlled by the soldiers who stand at some considerable distance away]. The cars were checked slowly; a car with a medical team was held up and checked for a quarter of an hour. We made our own random check to see how long it took a taxi which had been waiting for an hour, when the line was very short indeed. It was finally let through at 15:50, and at that point another 20 cars were waiting. This was all a routine check, with no special focus. A tender loaded with goods was not allowed through. The driver claimed that the Awarta checkpoint [normally used for goods vans] was closed. The checkpoint commander phoned to Awarta, and said that it was open, and sent the tender there.Huwwara North 15:20 — From a distance we could see the stationary line of cars held up at the Awarta checkpoint.The soldiers greeted us with great glee: it was a pity we hadn’t come five minutes earlier, they had just caught an old man trying to cross the checkpoint with an explosive belt; cause for a celebration which lasted the whole shift.The computers with which the soldiers had been busy the previous week for a whole shift had disappeared. One of the soldiers told us: “They weren’t worth anything.” Four of the five checking stations were manned, and the checking was done quickly. There were no tremendously long lines, either.Twelve young men were detained in the "pen". [Detainees are, typically, men aged from 16 to 30 or 35 who have no passage permits; recently, young women, too, have been detained. The detainees' ID details are phoned through to the General Security Services (GSS, also known as the Shabak or the Shin Bet, the Hebrew acronym for the GSS) for checking against a central list of security suspects and the answers are then relayed back to the checkpoints. This cumbersome process can take considerable time, and that can be prolonged even more if the soldiers wait to accumulate a batch of ID cards before passing them on to the GSS , or if they behave in a similarly tardy manner at the end of the process, waiting until they have a batch of GSS clearances before they release individual detainees. Meanwhile, the detainees are virtually prisoners at the checkpoint where the soldiers retain the ID cards until the entire process is completed]. One of the detainees had been released from hospital yesterday, and had documents with him saying that he suffered from gallstones; he also had X-rays and ultra-sound pictures – a whole medical file. The representative of the District Coordinating Office (DCO) [the army section that handles civilian matters; it generally has representatives at the checkpoints ostensibly to alleviate the lot of the Palestinians] said: ‘We’ll soon get the replies.’ We showed him the man's hospitalization permit, dated yesterday. ‘This checkpoint only works on today’s date’ he responded . We got in touch with R. [head of the local DCO] who promises to deal with the matter, and phoned his representative at the checkpoint. He checked the documents, pounced on one dated a few weeks back, consulted the checkpoint commander , and between them they decided that the permits were out of date, and that the young man could wait. The DCO man claimed that he had the right to detain anybody who went through the checkpoint, even those who didn’t fit the usual definition of a potential detainee. ‘I decide here whom I send to be checked, and when I let him go.’ He was very angry with us because we'd contacted R. In the end he said: ‘Don’t ask me for anything any more.’ Meanwhile, the sick young man was trembling with cold. One of the other detainees took us aside and told us, quietly, that the young man had blood in his urine. Again we showed the DCO representative the permits with yesterday’s date. ‘Why didn’t you show me this before?’ he asked, and sent the young man home after a few minutes. 15:39. Another young man arrived with medical certificates attesting to his illness. The DCO officer sent him to the detainees’ area. His mother, who was with him, asked us to help release him. We showed the DCO representative his papers, and he sent him home at once.16:14. A muffled explosion was heard from a distance and the soldiers burst into cries of glee, as if they had won some big prize. They clapped each other on the shoulder, as if they were embracing the lucky winner. Today the existence, and the location, of the checkpoint had been justified.If anybody's ever wondered how a television unit arrives at the checkpoint a second after something worth photographing has been found, this is the way it works: 16:45: A team sent by the army spokesman arrived: eight photographers, a television camera, video-cameras and digital cameras. 16:58: A Hummer jeep with the company commander arrived. They stood him in front of the TV cameras, told him what to say, and, after a few rehearsals, did five ‘takes’. They were in a hurry to finish, so as to get into the mid-evening news. ‘Today,’ he said, ‘the importance of the Huwwara checkpoint has been proven. The (muffled) explosion could be heard all over the East Bank.’ One of the delighted audience remarked to us: ‘This is the answer to the violin.’ [A few weeks ago, the Israeli and international media were up in arms over a photograph – taken by a Machsomwatch observer –of a Palestinian playing his violin at the checkpoint after having been asked to do by the soldier checking the violin case.]We were furious, but still managed to ask them why they hadn’t come to photograph last week, when hundreds of men, women and small children were crushed between the bars of the wonderful barriers and turnstiles , and stood in line for hours freezing with cold. Ra’aya used her initiative, and asked the company commander for his personal telephone number. At first he refused, and then asked why we needed it: we could always complain to the army spokesman. ‘Sometimes we need to get in touch with someone more mature and responsible than the soldiers at the checkpoint, so as to let him know what we see here.’ In the end he changed his mind, and gave her the number.When we asked at what time the checkpoint would be closed we were told: at 19:00, after that nobody would be allowed through, except for ‘humanitarian’ cases. Last week I was told that citizens of Nablus had free entry all night, and, similarly, that the villagers were free to leave. Let’s see what they say next week!