Hassan (That's not his real name, although he is very real.) spends quite a bit of time looking out for CPT and Operation Dove's needs and comfort, since members of each have been living in his village. I'm talking about At-Tuwani, the tiny Palestinian agricultural community situated in the south Hebron hills, which has been suffering from marauding, mauling, often wounding attacks by violently militant residents of the nearby Israeli settlement of Ma'on ever since it was established twenty two years ago. In fact it was Hassan who--on behalf of the villagers--worriedly contacted CPT and Operation Dove in September, asking the two organizations to provide accompaniment for five understandably apprehensive children from the nearby village of Tuba. The kids had been running a potentially more dangerous than ever gauntlet of settler physical attacks and verbal abuse as they tried to walk to and from Tuba each day in order to attend primary school in At-Tuwani.
Hassan had not exaggerated the severity of the problem. Within days of commencing the accompaniments, the kids survived hair raising attempts to hurt them by masked bat and chain wielding settler youths, while some CPTers and an Operation Dove volunteer ended up in hospitals with serious injuries inflicted on them when they reflexively (as they had been trained) put themselves between the attackers and the kids. (See December 4, 2004 From The Inside Looking Our Report-40: CTSD!).
Such experiences are sad examples of what I call CTSD (Current Traumatic Stress Disorder) as opposed to PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). The better known PTSD presumes an end to stress at a point in time, which, therefore, can provide a potential opportunity for healing. Not so, if one is afflicted with CTSD, which also has been labeled Chronic Traumatic Stress Disorder. Because of the unending, relentless diminishing, and damaging nature of the occupation, Palestinian young, middle-aged, and old are suffering simultaneously and literally nonstop from both current and chronic traumatic episodes. As a result, they can also expect the inevitability of FTSD (Future Traumatic Stress Disorder).
The other day Hassan mentioned that parents of twelve other primary school age kids from Tuba (who had been pulled out of the At-Tuwani school after the stepped up settler menace began in September) were beginning to think of allowing their kids to return to At-Tuwani next semester. Because of their fear of more attacks, the parents had worriedly made the Hobson's choice of sending them on a two hour walk each day to and from a primary school serving Bedouin communities a few miles south of At-Tuwani. The route although considerably longer is "safer" than the much shorter course between Tuba and At-Tuwani.
But now, Hassan said, the parents were daring to hope that the daily Israeli military and police escort of the five remaining primary school age youngsters--walking apprehensively each day from Tuba to school in At-Tuwani in the morning and then home again at noon-- might make the difference. The escort began as a result of international attention CPT and Operation Dove were able to get focused on the issue after those attacks that sent their observers to the hospital. Now those Tuba parents, Hassan told us, were thinking that the settlers will stop trying to get at the kids, now that they know the Israeli police are protecting them.
No such luck.
The very next morning a CPTer and an Operation Dove volunteer took their customary positions on a ridge about a quarter of a mile from a hill top over which the small procession from Tuba would first appear. (Part of the deal occupation authorities struck with the villagers is that CPT and Operation Dove can't accompany the kids, only monitor their progress from several hundred yards away.)
It didn't take long to realize that the next few minutes were more than likely not going to be trouble free. About ten minutes before an Israeli Army jeep, followed closely by the walking children and then a Police car, were expected to appear at the top of the hill, a few youthful voices, hidden from view on the other side could be heard singing loudly--very loudly--in Hebrew what seemed to be a robust Israeli marching song. It was hard to tell how many boys or very young men were singing, but it seemed pretty certain that they were quite near the route the children would be following. It runs close by the edge of an evergreen forest covering the Ma'on settlement outpost of Havot Ma'on, which is situated a hill top closer to At-Tuwani than the settlement itself.
A perfect hiding place for settlement bullies.
After a couple of minutes the raucous singing stopped and the area became eerily silent. The noise of the brattish ensemble had been enough to silence birds that had been chirping sweetly away before the unseen boys, who seemed to be pumping themselves up emotionally, began their intrusive singing.
The time when the procession was expected to pop into view passed. The Operation Dove observer clutching a pair of binoculars kept them anxiously trained on the spot where they were expected to first be seen. Five minutes passed, and still no procession could be seen, and the silent stillness, which now seemed ominous, continued.
Then suddenly a dog, on the far side of the hill, unseen but heard, began barking excitedly, then another, and another. The trio of angry dogs (or was it a quartet?) kept up their yelping for another minute. Then again silence.
At last after another minute an Israeli army jeep, moving uncharacteristically fast, appeared over the lip of the hill and started scurrying down the near side. Behind it moving equally fast were not the children, but the Police jeep, which was stirring up a cloud of dust as it moved briskly past the thickly forested edge of the outpost. Suddenly there was the loud crash of something hitting the side facing the trees of one of the vehicles. Then silence again; the vehicles too far away for the sound of their engines to be heard.
They kept moving swiftly along the bumpy road toward the place at At- Tuwani where they end their run each morning. The CPT and Operation Dove observers, hoping that the kids--all safe--would be in one of the vehicles, could only wait and watch as the procession rolled on for six more minutes.
When the vehicles finally stopped at the drop off point, all five kids did get out of the Police vehicle and head off to school. "That figures," the Operation Dove observers said, assuming that some incident had taken place on the other side of the hill. "The Army never does anything to stop the settlers when they make trouble. The Police, if they are really going to help, are the ones who must do it."
There is, of course, rightly or wrongly, an explanation for that. Israeli soldiers are not allowed to lay a hand on recalcitrant settlers, while Israeli police can and sometimes do. Also recently, after the attack on the CPT and Operation Dove accompaniers, one of the left leaning Israeli newspapers ran a story to the effect that the Army admitted it may have gone too far at times in its deference to settlement leadership to the point that mid-level army officers in the West Bank have been taking their orders from settlement security coordinators. The story mentioned the well known fact that many army officers live in many of the most virulent settlements. So there seems to be a problem with respect to who runs things in the occupied territories—the army or the settlers--that has gotten out of army control.
Ten minutes after the children were seen walking safely from the drop off point to the school, the CPT and Operation Dove observers were there getting the story of what happened from the kids. As the procession approached the last hill before At-Tuwani, which runs very close to the tree lined edge of the outpost, the kids could see a vehicle belonging to the settlement school parked there; and they could also see a woman sitting and waiting inside the cab. Suddenly two students brandishing thick wooden staffs came rushing out of the trees straight at the kids.
By the time the army jeep came to a stop, the settlement toughs had gotten within thirty five or so yards of the frightened youngsters. A policeman jumped out of his vehicle and hurriedly herded the frightened kids into it. As soon as they were in, the vehicles tore off over the top of the hill and into view of the observers. A student said that the crashing sound the observers had heard was one of four five rocks that had been thrown by someone or some ones hidden out of sight in the trees.
Discussing the incident later that day Hassan said that one of the village leaders had called the local occupation administrator to complain. "Don't worry," he said the administrator told his friend. "We will solve the problem."
As he related that response Hassan snickered.
"What about those parents in Tuba who are thinking of letting their children go back to school in At-Tuwani next semester," Hassan was asked. "Do you think they will still want to take the chance?"
"Only if they can get seventeen in the police car," was his reply.
In telling this story, it's important to comprehend that At-Tuwani is not atypical of Palestine. What has been, is, and will be happening to At-Tuwani's beleaguered careworn families, and nearby Tuba's, and those in the Bedouin communities a few miles to the south is a story that has been, is, and you, can be sure will, continue to take place in and around every West Bank village, town, and city.
CTSD!