I promised I would write about the action that happened in At Tuwani on August 2. When I think about that day, which was actually a really successful action for Palestinians in the area, the first thing that comes to mind is a young girl named Amira. She’s the same feisty girl I wrote about in June who declared that she didn’t like At Tuwani because of the incursions by Israeli soldiers and settlers. Amira is a very interesting little girl, at times really aloof and at other times extremely intense and focused.
One ridiculously hot afternoon in July, Joy and I were working on a piece of writing when Amira showed up. We were intent on finishing the document before the computer battery died and she was intent on convincing us she needed to take our bottle of bubbles to her house. I tried a million ways to tell her she had to use them at our house (as every kid in a radius of two miles would be banging down our door to do the same if we let her take them), a million ways to tell her we could talk to her after we finished writing, but she wasn’t having any of that. She tried pleading, peering over our shoulders, playing with the keyboard, staring us down, speaking loudly with another girl from the village about how unfair we were being to her; she was relentless. Joy remarked at one point, “She’s driving me crazy, but this girl is going to make a great resister.”
One ridiculously hot afternoon in July, Joy and I were working on a piece of writing when Amira showed up. We were intent on finishing the document before the computer battery died and she was intent on convincing us she needed to take our bottle of bubbles to her house. I tried a million ways to tell her she had to use them at our house (as every kid in a radius of two miles would be banging down our door to do the same if we let her take them), a million ways to tell her we could talk to her after we finished writing, but she wasn’t having any of that. She tried pleading, peering over our shoulders, playing with the keyboard, staring us down, speaking loudly with another girl from the village about how unfair we were being to her; she was relentless. Joy remarked at one point, “She’s driving me crazy, but this girl is going to make a great resister.”
Well, Amira got to test out those resistance skills on August 2 as she and her neighbors tried to march from At Tuwani to villages her classmates come from, villages she has never before seen in her life though they are just a 20 minute walk from her house. The Israeli police and army refused to let us march the route on which the children and CPTers had been attacked by Israeli settlers a week earlier. In fact, they proceeded to push the marchers back, attempted to arrest others, and one soldier even went as far as choking my teammate Tarek as he pinned Tarek down on the ground. Things were at a stand still. In the end, they Palestinians negotiated with them and gained permission to march on the road between Havot Maon settlement outpost and the settlement of Maon. As I mentioned before, no Palestinian has stepped foot on that road in the past eleven years except for the children from the villages of Tuba and Maghayer el Abeed who are escorted by the Israeli military to school. The simple act of walking on this road was a miracle in and of itself.
I was one of the last people to arrive at the final agreed-upon march route, and as I reached the crest of the hill overlooking the marchers I saw Amira walking slowly towards me.
“Sarah, I’m scared,” she muttered.
“You’re scared?”
“Yes."
For some reason, I didn’t hesitate in my reply. I merely said, “Don’t be scared, Amira. We are all together, right? We are much stronger together. It will be ok.”
She nodded her head and took a hold of my hand as we made our way down toward the road. I don’t remember seeing her join the group of 150 or so Palestinians who set off with drums and banners, nor did I see her after she returned, but I know she was able to catch a glimpse of the place her classmates’ call home for the first time in her eight years of life. She was able to participate with her community in letting those who had threatened and beaten her neighbors know that this community wasn't going to run away in fear. It was such a tiny victory, but it brought me tremendous joy.
I will never forget the elation of seeing people I have come to call friends march to see their neighbors that day and I will never forget Amira’s panicked face as she said, “Sarah, I’m scared.” As a result of realities surrounding the Israeli occupation, Amira is being forced to grow up very quickly; her world is not the carefree world I knew when I was her age. So, for me, August 2, 2008 is a bittersweet memory, but one I will hold onto for a very long time.
One of my young neighbors getting ready to march.
Palestinians trying to convince the Israeli police to let them march.
2 comments:
Sarah, what a great story! I think she drives -everybody- crazy, but I also think you're absolutely right about your assessment- she is already a great resister.
- Amy K
sarah - i've taken awhile to read this, but it's simply brilliant. thank you for writing it. and it continues to be inspiration to me as i continue to contemplate a future with CPT (i have my first interview with jessica on monday).
-brooke, the short blonde chick from the may/june delegation.
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