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‘A hidden universe of suffering’: the Palestinian children sent to jail

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This is an edited extract from A Day in the Life of Abed Salama: A Palestine Story, published by Allen Lane on 3 October and available at

Huda Dahbour was 35 years old when she moved with her husband and three children to the West Bank in September 1995. It was the second anniversary of the Oslo accords, which established pockets of Palestinian self-government in the occupied territories. Jerusalem was still relatively open when they arrived in East Sawahre, a neighbourhood just outside the areas of Jerusalem that Israel had annexed in 1967. Huda was able to send her children to school within the city. They were under the age of 12, and Israel allowed them to enter without a special blue ID. But over time the restrictions grew, and from one day to the next Jerusalem was closed off to Palestinians by checkpoints, roadblocks and a tightening of the ever-more elaborate permit regime. On one occasion, the school bus was blocked from bringing the students home to Sawahre. Huda and half the parents of the neighbourhood spent the afternoon searching for their children, who finally showed up at sunset, after walking for several hours. Huda immediately took them out of their Jerusalem schools.

It was a fateful decision. Until then, her eldest son, Hadi, had lived up to the meaning of his name – “calm”. He was a quiet boy who rarely got into trouble. That changed when he had to start a new school, this one in Abu Dis, which was home to al-Quds University and the site of frequent clashes between local youth and Israeli soldiers. During the second intifada, the bloody 2000-2005 Palestinian uprising against the occupation, Israel cut off Abu Dis from Jerusalem by erecting an 8 metre-tall concrete wall, the “separation barrier”. It was a disaster for Abu Dis, whose businesses relied heavily on customers from the city. Shops closed, land values dropped by more than half, rental prices by nearly a third and those who could afford to moved away.

Israeli troops were stationed outside Hadi’s school practically every day. To Huda, their presence seemed designed to provoke the students so they could then arrest as many of them as possible. The soldiers would stop them on their way out of classes, line them up against the wall, frisk them and sometimes beat them, too.

In her work as a doctor with UNRWA, the UN relief and works agency for Palestinian refugees, Huda saw things that made her afraid for her sons. She had witnessed a soldier shoot a boy who threw a stone at a tank. The soldiers stopped her from going to help him as he fell to the ground. At home in Sawahre, listening to the nightly news of West Bank killings and closures, she had trouble sleeping. She knew Hadi was out throwing stones.

The stress began to show in her body. It started with headaches that became severe. Then at work one day she had the sensation of cold liquid inside her head. She had double vision and difficulty walking. When she got home, she took a nap and woke up 24 hours later. Huda understood that she had been in a coma, a sign that she might have a cerebral haemorrhage.

She needed an operation, but the Palestinian hospitals in the West Bank and East Jerusalem weren’t equipped to perform it. She couldn’t afford treatment in Israel. Finally, she obtained a letter from the Palestinian Authority – from Yasser Arafat himself – promising to cover 90% of the 50,000 shekels (then around £6,000) in costs, and brought it to Hadassah hospital in Jerusalem.

The surgery was a success, but the stress that had possibly caused the haemorrhage only intensified. One Sunday in May 2004, when Hadi was 15, he and his friends were shot at by Israeli border police. Eyewitnesses told the Israeli human rights group B’Tselem and the AFP news agency that the boys had not taken part in any hostilities. Hadi told his mother that they had been minding their own business, drinking Cokes, when the soldiers started to fire at them. One of the bullets hit Hadi’s friend, who was sitting right beside him. The boy was killed immediately.

After that, Hadi confronted the soldiers with new determination. Huda would see him and his friends in the street, recognising him despite the black-and-white kaffiyeh covering his face. She kept her distance, though, not wanting the soldiers to see that she was his mother so that they would find out where he lived, and then come to their home to arrest him at night. But less than a year after Hadi’s friend was shot, Israeli jeeps and armoured vehicles surrounded Huda’s home at 1.30am. Troops approached from all sides and banged loudly on the door. Huda knew why they had come.

Huda wanted to delay the inevitable, to have a few more seconds with her boy, so she ignored the banging, opening the door only when the soldiers began kicking at it. They had their weapons trained on her as she quietly asked what they wanted, tears running down her face.

“We want Hadi,” one of the soldiers said. Huda demanded to know the accusation. “Your son knows,” she was told.

“I’m his mother. I want to know,” she said. They ignored her.

Hadi’s younger brother Ahmad, who was 13, came with her as she led the way to Hadi’s room. Ahmad told his mother not to cry; it would only make it harder for Hadi. Huda tried to contain her fear, knowing that any attempt to stop the soldiers from taking Hadi could put his life in danger. She imagined them killing him there in front of her, saying that it was in self-defence.

Huda wanted to hug her son, but she knew if she touched him she would fall apart. She asked the soldiers to let him take a winter coat. It was still cold. Where would she be able to find him, she wanted to know. She was told to come see him in the morning in the nearby settlement of Ma’ale Adumim. She watched them put zip ties around his wrists, pushing him out the door and through the garden toward one of the jeeps. It felt as if her heart had left with him.

For two weeks, Huda drove from one detention facility to another in search of Hadi, from Ma’ale Adumim to Ofer prison to the Russian Compound in Jerusalem to the Gush Etzion settlement bloc, using her UNWRA work permit to pass checkpoints and enter settlements barred to most Palestinians. But she never saw Hadi, and was unable to learn where he was being held. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t laugh, couldn’t smile. She couldn’t bring herself to prepare any of the dishes that Hadi liked. She didn’t want to leave her house or go anywhere she might be forced to carry on a normal conversation, as if she weren’t in the deepest grief, as if Hadi were not gone.

Huda retained a Palestinian lawyer, who charged $3,000, but she told me that Ismail, her husband, refused to pay. He blamed Hadi and Huda for the arrest. Why had Hadi been out throwing stones and not at school? Why hadn’t she stopped him?

This was more than Huda could bear.

Huda had met Ismail in Tunis, soon after she finished medical school at Damascus University. Her father had suggested that she join the Red Crescent in Tunisia, where her uncle, who was a senior official in the Palestine Liberation Organisation (PLO), would be able to look after her. The PLO’s headquarters were in Tunis at the time, after the organisation had been forced out of Lebanon in 1982.

Ismail had come to her clinic with tonsillitis while on a visit from Moscow, where he was completing his doctorate in international relations. He was also the head of the Palestinian student union there, a fast track to national political leadership, and was in Tunis for a meeting of student union activists from around the world. Five years older than Huda, Ismail looked a bit like a hero in an action movie, with a mane of shaggy, sandy brown hair and a thick moustache.

Huda had three conditions for any potential mate: he had to be educated, a member of the Fatah faction of the PLO – which to her meant a person of moderation, like her father – and, unlike most of the men she knew, not intimidated by a successful, intelligent woman. In concrete terms, that involved supporting her plan to go back to medical school to become a specialist. Ismail met all three. They were engaged five days after they met, and then Ismail returned to Moscow. Huda joined him the following year, living in the university dorms. She loved Moscow and Russian culture, and was impressed with how literate and well educated the people were.

After learning Russian, she began studying paediatrics, but soon got pregnant, and it changed her in ways she hadn’t expected. She could no longer bear the sight and sound of children in pain. Huda was ready to switch fields when Ismail learned that Arafat had appointed him to a diplomatic posting in Bucharest. She talked to one of her teachers about staying alone in Moscow to complete her training. The teacher advised against it: husband and wife are like a needle and thread, she said – where the needle goes, the thread must follow.

In Bucharest, Huda had to start again, learning Romanian and applying to a new medical school. She took it as an opportunity to change her speciality to endocrinology. She enjoyed the logic and critical reasoning that the discipline entailed and, more practically, thought there would be no emergency work, so that after her child was born she would not be called away at night.

They named their baby daughter Hiba, “gift”. The birth put a strain on the marriage. Hiba was difficult, crying all the time, and Huda said she received little support or sympathy from Ismail. She was single-handedly nursing and taking care of Hiba, studying endocrinology, serving food to poor Palestinian students in Romania, and hosting dinner parties for diplomats, visiting Palestinians and Romanian officials.

A few months after Hiba’s birth, Huda became pregnant again. By the end of her third trimester, she was worn out from a year of soothing Hiba’s relentless crying, so she chose an aspirational name for the second baby – Hadi, “calm”. She travelled to Syria to give birth, where she had the support of family. Back at home, she recalled, Ismail maintained that the stress was of her own making: she was the one who chose to stay in medical school while raising two young children who were just a year apart. If she wanted to pursue her speciality, he had no objection. But he would not be helping with cooking, childcare or hosting; she was free to study when all of that was done.

Somehow she managed, learning Romanian, finishing her training, raising her children, hosting dinners and even having a third child, Ahmad, in 1991. Though exhausted and unhappy in her marriage, she appeared to be fortunate and content: a successful doctor with a distinguished husband and three young children.

After Israel and the PLO signed the 1993 Oslo accords, thousands of exiled PLO cadres were able to return to the new autonomous areas. Though Huda wasn’t eligible to go on her own, not having worked for the PLO, she could do so with Ismail. But he didn’t want to leave Bucharest, an elegant riverside capital lined with Beaux-Arts buildings, dubbed the Paris of the east. He enjoyed the life of a diplomat. Huda insisted on leaving, however. She knew how Israel operated, she said: if they didn’t go now, they would not be allowed to enter Palestine later. Privately, she had another reason for wanting to go. She dreamed of having a child born on Palestinian soil. This was her chance to replant a seed in the land from which her family had been uprooted a half century earlier.

They arrived in September 1995. A year later, Israel halted entry of PLO personnel. Huda gave birth to their fourth child, naming the girl Lujain, which meant “silver” and came from the opening line of one of her favourite songs by Fairuz, the iconic Lebanese singer. It was the peak of what was called the peace process. Prime minister Yitzhak Rabin had just concluded the second Oslo accord, known as Oslo II, which delineated all the islands of limited Palestinian autonomy in the occupied territories. Huda felt it was meaningless.

Rabin was emphatic that there would be no Palestinian state, no capital in Jerusalem, more settlements annexed to Jerusalem, more settlement blocs in the West Bank and that Israel would never withdraw behind the boundaries it had prior to the 1967 war, even though they comprised a full 78% of historic Palestine. Somewhere within the West Bank and Gaza – or the part of it that Israel hadn’t settled, annexed or set aside for permanent military control – the Palestinians would be granted “less than a state”, as Rabin called it. But even these crumbs were too much for some Israelis: Rabin was assassinated by an Orthodox Jewish nationalist a little over a month after Huda and Ismail and their children crossed into the West Bank. Hearing the news at his home in Gaza, Arafat wept.

The Palestinians who came to the occupied territories under the terms of the Oslo agreement were known as returnees. Huda thought the label was silly. She was a refugee in Syria, an expatriate when briefly living with her parents in the Gulf, an immigrant in Romania and now a returnee. She was on Palestinian land, but to what had she returned? Not to anywhere she or her father or uncle or grandmother knew. Huda’s husband was not allowed to return to his family’s home in Jabal Mukaber, because it was within annexed Jerusalem. He and Huda moved instead to part of neighbouring Sawahre, just outside the municipal boundary. Sawahre and Jabal Mukaber had once been a single village but, after Oslo, Palestinians from eastern Sawahre needed permits to visit their relatives in Jabal Mukaber, and even to bury their dead in the cemetery. Later the separation wall ran through the middle of Sawahre.

Huda felt out of place there. The villagers seemed rough-mannered to her, as though out of another time. Their dialect was hard for her to understand and she was embarrassed not to comprehend the basic speech of fellow Palestinians. Her neighbours struck her as hardened, too. They were mountain people, nothing like the cosmopolitan city-dwellers of the stories she had heard from her grandmother, who had been forced to flee the coastal town of Haifa in 1948. Even Haifa itself, when she was finally able to visit, bore no resemblance to her grandmother’s descriptions.

As a returnee, Huda felt a growing distance from the society around her. The returnees who had come with Arafat filled the senior positions in the new authority, the sulta, at the expense of the local Palestinians who had led the first intifada. It was only due to the sacrifice of the local population, the “insiders”, that the outsiders were able to return. But the lives of the insiders only got worse after Oslo. On top of greater restrictions on movement, employment plummeted as Israel replaced Palestinian labourers with foreign workers, recruited mostly from Asia. The year after Huda arrived, almost one in three Palestinians was out of work. Nearly every returnee, by contrast, had a job in Arafat’s expanding patronage network.

Ordinary people came to resent the returnees, holding them responsible for the constrictions of Oslo, the collaboration of the Palestinian security services with Israel, and the corruption of the sulta. The figures close to Arafat pocketed tens of millions of dollars of public money, much of it funnelled through a Tel Aviv bank account, and some even profited from the building of settlements. Arafat tried to make light of the matter. He once told his cabinet he had just received a call from his wife reporting a thief in the house; he assured her it was impossible because all the thieves were sitting right there with him.

Joking aside, Arafat knew he was threatened by the widespread unhappiness with Oslo – and with the authoritarian regime it had created. When 20 prominent figures signed a petition against the sulta’s “corruption, deceit and despotism”, more than half of them were detained, interrogated or placed under house arrest. Others were beaten or shot in the legs.

Huda was most troubled by the sulta’s security cooperation with Israel. Ismail worked in the Interior Ministry, which, relying on a wide network of informants, oversaw the surveillance and arrest of Palestinians who continued to resist Israel’s occupation. Huda was horrified by how many Palestinians were betraying one another. Even among her own staff at the UNRWA clinic, there were informants who reported on their co-workers, which led to visits and interrogation by Israeli intelligence. Huda refused to change her behaviour or censor herself, however, remaining defiantly political at work. For her, the job at UNRWA was never only humanitarian. It was always nationalist, too. Treating refugees meant she was doing something for her people.

Hadi’s arrest brought the marriage to breaking point. If Ismail refused to pay for a lawyer, Huda felt, he was no longer willing to act as a father, and she no longer wanted him in her life. Quoting a passage from the Qur’an in which Khader, a servant of God, parts with Moses, she asked for a divorce. If you refuse to grant it, she said, I will tell everyone that you’re not a nationalist and you won’t support your son. Huda saw that she had frightened him and Ismail agreed to give her the divorce.

After two weeks, the lawyer called to say that Hadi was being held at a detention centre in Gush Etzion, south of Bethlehem, and would soon have a hearing at the military court at the Ofer prison, between Jerusalem and Ramallah. He was lucky to get a hearing so early, she was told. Other parents waited for three, four and five months before their children were brought to trial and they could see them.

Huda was instructed to come early for a thorough security check. After waiting for several hours, she entered a cramped courtroom. Only the military judge, the prosecutor, Hadi, his lawyer, a translator and a few soldiers and security officers were present. The chances of Hadi being released were nonexistent; the military court’s conviction rate was 99.7%. For children charged with throwing stones, the rate was even higher: of the 835 children accused in the six years following Hadi’s arrest, 834 were convicted, nearly all of whom served time in jail. Hundreds of them were between 12 and 15 years old.

Just before the hearing began, Huda learned that Hadi had confessed to throwing stones and writing anti-occupation graffiti. She was told that it was forbidden to speak to Hadi or attempt to touch him – the judge would throw her out if she tried. When Hadi was brought into the courtroom, he was chained at the leg to another prisoner. Huda managed to stay silent, but gasped as she saw a large burn mark on his face. Now crying, Huda stood up and through the translator demanded a halt to the proceedings. She was a doctor, she said, and could see that her son had been tortured.

The Israeli military judge barked at her to be quiet and sit back down. Huda refused, insisting that Hadi lift his shirt and lower his pants so the court could see that his confession had been extracted under torture. The judge allowed it. Hadi’s body was covered with bruises, as if he had been beaten with batons. Huda shouted that the soldiers who tortured him should be tried. As the judge adjourned the hearing, Huda rushed to her son, ignoring the yelling of the guards, and gave Hadi the hug she had suppressed on the night of his arrest. She imagined she could warm him with her hug, before his stay in the cold prison cell. The judge bellowed: this would be the last time she would touch her son until he was released.

Hadi’s lawyer, who encouraged the family to take whatever deal was offered, brought a proposal for 19 months in jail, with a reduction to 16 months for a fee of 3,000 shekels, then around £360. The sentence was lighter than that received by some of Hadi’s friends and classmates; about 20 of them, ranging in age from 12 to 16, had been arrested at the same time. A number of the students had blue IDs, unlike Hadi. This allowed them freedom of movement in Jerusalem and throughout Israel, and their sentences were roughly twice as long as the others. There was a condition attached to Hadi’s deal: Huda had to drop any claims against the soldiers who had tortured him. In any case, the lawyer said, there was no chance of the soldiers being prosecuted. No one would testify against them. Hadi took the deal.

He was transferred to a remote tent prison in the Naqab desert, where Huda visited him as often as she could. Whatever she brought for Hadi, she would bring for the other inmates as well. They were teenage boys, many of them quite poor. On her UNRWA salary, she could afford to give them gifts that their parents could not. She brought books, hoping they would help keep up the boys’ spirits. Hadi’s friends would tell her the names of the girls they loved, and she came back with grains of rice that had been inscribed with the girls’ initials. On one holiday, she arrived with a tapestry of a blue sky and stars for the roof of their tent.

Huda spent nearly 24 hours travelling for each 40-minute visit. The relatives would sit on one side of a glass partition, the prisoners on the other. Some inmates were not permitted visits by their wives or parents or children over 15, and others were forbidden visits altogether. The prisoners and their relatives would speak to one another through a small hole in the glass, the voices barely audible on the other side. Only young children were allowed to make physical contact. Huda would watch as mothers pushed reluctant boys and girls to embrace fathers who had become strangers. The children cried and the fathers wept, too.

Hadi’s year-and-a-half in prison was the hardest stretch of time in Huda’s life. It opened her eyes to a hidden universe of suffering that touched nearly every Palestinian home. A little over a year after Hadi’s release, a UN report found that 700,000 Palestinians had been arrested since the occupation began, equal to roughly 40% of all the men and boys in the territories. The damage wasn’t only to the affected families, each of them grieving lost years and lost childhoods. It was to the entire society, to every mother, father and grandparent, all of whom knew or would come to learn that they were powerless to protect their children.

Article link:
Article source: The Guardian | Nathan Thrall | 21 Sep 2023

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Palestinian prisoner dies in Israel after hunger strike

A Palestinian Islamic Jihad leader has died in Israeli custody after an 87-day hunger strike, the first such fatality in more than three decades, and tensions around the Gaza Strip spiked as the faction swore revenge.

Khader Adnan, who was awaiting trial, was found unconscious in his cell on Tuesday and taken to hospital where he was declared dead after efforts to revive him, Israel’s Prisons Service said. He had refused any medical assessments or treatment, it added.

Hundreds of people took to the streets in Gaza to rally in support of Adnan and mourn his death, and the Israeli military said three rockets were fired into Israel from the strip.

Since 2011, Adnan had conducted at least three hunger strikes in protest at detentions without charges by Israel. The tactic has been used by other Palestinian prisoners, sometimes en masse, but none had died since 1992.

Disputing the Prisons Service account, Adnan’s lawyer Jamil Al-Khatib and a doctor with a human rights group who recently met him accused Israeli authorities of withholding medical care.

“We demanded he be moved into a civilian hospital where he could be properly followed up (on). Unfortunately, such a demand was met by intransigence and rejection,” Al-Khatib told Reuters.

Adnan, 45, was from Jenin in the Israeli-occupied West Bank. Islamic Jihad sources said he was one of its political leaders. The faction has a limited West Bank presence but is the second most powerful armed group in Hamas-ruled Gaza, where Israeli forces fought a brief war against it last August.

Lina Qasem-Hassan of Physicians for Human Rights in Israel said she saw Adnan on April 23, at which point he had lost 40 kilograms and was having trouble breathing but was conscious.

“His death could have been avoided,” Qasem Hassan told Reuters, saying several Israeli hospitals had refused to admit Adnan after he made brief visits to their emergency rooms.

The Prisons Service said hospitalisation had not been an option as Adnan had declined “even a preliminary inspection”.

“Our fight is continuing and the enemy will realise once again that its crimes will not pass without a response,” Islamic Jihad, which preaches Israel’s destruction, said in a statement.

Three rockets launched from Gaza toward Israeli border communities fell in open areas but set off sirens which sent residents rushing to shelters, Israel’s military said.

Israel said it was cancelling a military drill that had been planned for the Gaza periphery “pursuant to a situational assessment”, and was putting staff in security prisons on heightened alert. In the West Bank, Israeli authorities said a man was hurt in a shooting near a Jewish settlement.

There was no immediate claim of responsibility for the Gaza rockets reported by Israel or the West Bank incident.

According to the Palestinian Prisoners Association, Adnan had been arrested by Israel 12 times, spending around eight years in prison, mostly under so-called “administrative detention” – or detention without charges.

Israel says such detentions are required when evidence cannot be revealed in court due to the need to keep intelligence sources secret. Palestinians say they deny due process of law.

This time, Adnan was arrested and indicted in an Israeli military court on charges that included links to an outlawed group and incitement to violence, the Prisons Service said.

Australian Associated Press

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Article source: Canberra Times

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Longest-serving Palestinian prisoner released from Israeli prison

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Karim Younis, 66, has been released from Israeli prisons after serving 40 years for the killing of an Israeli soldier.

Occupied East Jerusalem – The longest-serving Palestinian prisoner, Karim Younis, has been released after serving 40 years in Israeli prisons.

Israeli prison authorities released Younis, 66, from Hadarim prison just north of Tel Aviv at dawn on Thursday morning.

He was arrested in 1983 and charged in Israeli courts with the killing of an Israeli soldier in the occupied Syrian Golan Heights three years prior.

Younis hails from the Palestinian village of Ara within Israel, where large crowds of relatives and friends greeted him on Thursday.

Younis spoke to Al Jazeera shortly after his release, comparing it to a “military operation”.

He said that he had been moved between different police cars before being dropped off at a location that turned out to be a bus station in Ranana, a town north of Tel Aviv. There, he was able to get in contact with his family, with the help of a passer-by.

Reporting from Ara, Al Jazeera’s Imran Khan said Younis was released at 5:30am (02:30GMT) and that people had poured into the streets of his village to welcome him.

“He was a key figure in the Palestinian struggle,” said Khan. “He is seen as somebody who was a rising star within Palestinian politics when he was arrested and charged with murder.”

While the vast majority of Palestinian prisoners in Israeli jails are from the occupied West Bank, Younis is a Palestinian citizen of Israel.

“The Palestinians say he was simply resisting the occupation, the Israelis say this was an internal Israeli matter. He was originally sentenced to life, which was then commuted to 40 years. He is being released simply for the fact that he served his sentence,” added Khan.

Israeli military intelligence visited Younis’ family prior to his release and “told them not to mark it”, said Khan. However, it appears that the family and villagers in Ara have disregarded those instructions.

Younis said that officers came to his cell in the early hours of the morning and told him he was to be released. “I wanted to shower and get ready, but they prevented me,” he said.

Younis was eventually picked up by a relative and brought to his hometown of Ara.

Israeli authorities have not commented on the reports.

Upon his release, Younis visited the grave of his mother who died eight months ago, with images of him emotional at the grave shared by local and international media outlets.

There are some 4,700 Palestinian prisoners currently held in Israeli prisons, including 150 children and 835 people held without trial or charge.

Article link:
Article source: Aljazeera

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Sick and hunger striking Palestinian prisoners need your support

by Admin

An advocate from the UK has made contact and asked for our support in this urgent matter. I have used their text with some minor corrections and additions.

I am contacting you about sick and hunger striking Palestinian prisoners, so that there can be urgent action taken especially for the cases of Nasser Abu Hamid and Abdel-Baset Maatan as they are both critically ill and should be immediately released. Actions such as statements, open letters, letters to the foreign minister, bringing it up in parliament to put pressure on the occupation so that there is intervention done for their release and proper medical treatment that they need and for the call to end administrative detention as we all know it is against international law and a violation of human rights. Details at the end of this post.

Nasser Abu Hamid from the Amari Refugee camp, has been detained since 2002 and sentenced to seven life sentences and 50 years. A cancerous tumour was detected in his lungs in august 2021. The prison stalled his treatment causing his health to decline, and now he is in a coma in the ICU for the past 5 days with his hands and feet shackled. Nasser Abu Hamid was the victim of a medical mistake during the implantation of a tube to empty the air from his lungs because the one who implanted the tube was not a specialised doctor and implanted it in the wrong place. The doctor confirmed that acute inflammation in his lungs, which was caused by a bacterial infection, led to the collapse of the work of his lungs and immune system, which led to him falling into a coma. From the family of Nasser Abu Hamid “The time allotted for our visit was only ten minutes, and the guards refused to let us approach Nasser on the grounds of the coronavirus. And when we were finally allowed to get a little closer, we could barely diagnose Nasser because he was lying on his stomach with his head connected to various tubes of life giving-devices near his bed”. It was also said how the occupation threatened to take Nasser off the medical equipment after “claiming” he wasn’t responding to it. There must be urgent intervention so that he will get the medical treatment he needs and to be transferred to a Palestinian hospital.

Abdel-Baset Maatan, 49 suffers from 2 types of cancer and has reached its final stage. He was detained without charge or trial since October 2021. The occupation refuses to provide him with the medical treatment he needs. The prisoners club say there is a real fear that the cancer has spread to his lung.

Prisoners affairs authority: Ofer prison administration continues to deny the prisoner suffering from cancer, Abdel Baset Maatan, the necessary treatment for his difficult and worrying health condition. After his arrest, the jailers confiscated the medicine he took with him from the house and gave him other medicines claiming they were similar to those he was taking. 

Quoting from the family of Abdel Baset Maatan: “The situation of cancer sick administrative detainee is difficult and it is getting worse day by day. His health is deteriorating and may reach the same stage as Nasser Abu Hamid. His court date was held on December 20th 2021, but the verdict was postponed for a week until examinations and x-rays will conduct. Unfortunately until today there is no examinations, no x-rays have been done, and no new court date has been set” 

Fikri Mansour who is on hunger strike over 50 days, no recent news about him. “The prisoner Fikri Mansour has been on hunger strike for 56 days, rejecting the abuse and the policy of constantly transferring him to solitary confinement.”

⁦‪Eyad‬⁩ ⁦‪Hrebat‬⁩ is a prisoner living in difficult and complex health conditions and needs surgery. He has been detained since September 21st 2002 and is sentenced to life imprisonment, plus 20 years. ‎Eyad contracted a prostate infection, which led to his inability to excrete urine. He was subsequently transferred to the hospital, and an external tube was installed to remove the urine. ‎Upon his return to prison, the tube ruptured, which led to a laceration in the bladder and prostate, after which he was transferred again to Soroka Hospital. Eyad needed real medical treatment and care. ‎Since his first surgery, Eyad underwent more than 6 surgeries. The doctors discovered he contracted a bacterial infection, caused by improper treatment of the cyst on his prostate, which spread all over his body including lung. Eyad cant speak, can’t talk, can’t sleep due to severity of the pain, he has open and bleeding wound from previous surgery. He also was shacked in hand, leg and neck!

What can you do to help:

Here are examples of tweets that can be tweeted, don’t use these ones as they are just examples, just make sure to use the hashtags for the respective person:

Critically ill Palestinian prisoners such as Nasser Abu Hamid are medically neglected under the occupation which is a crime, and administrative detention is a violation of international law. He must be released and transferred to a Palestinian hospital to recover #FreeNasser

Abdel-Basset Maatan suffers from cancer and he must be immediately released and be treated with the proper medical treatment he needs. The occupation medically neglect palestinians as an act of slow killing. This is unlawful and must be stopped #FreeThemAll #StopAD 

Letters and phone calls to:

Lidia Thorpe: (03) 9232 8140, (02) 6277 3353
Ken O’Dowd: (07) 4972 5465, (07) 4982 4266
Adam Bandt: (03) 9417 0772
Janet Rice: (03) 9381 1446
Mehreen Faruqi: (02) 9211 1500
Maria Vamvakinou: (03) 9367 5216, (02) 6277 4249

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Prisoners’ escape inspires Palestinian protest across West Bank – Updated

by Admin

Update: Four of the six fugitives, including Zakaria Zubeidi, were reported to have been captured in northern Israel on Sept. 10-11 since this post was published.

Israeli forces are hunting the West Bank for the six Palestinian prisoners who made their escape nearly five days ago, leading to angry protests over the military occupation of Palestinian land. A Palestinian doctor was reportedly shot to death in Jerusalem today.

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