February 1992, Page 33, 83

Special Report

Creating "Martyrs for Palestine" In the Nablus Casbah

By Stephen J. Sosebee

At the entrance of the casbah of Nablus, a crowd of boys and older women have squared off against seven soldiers in full battle gear. As the sounds of stones against the ancient pavement of the Old City are answered by shots and concussion bombs, I venture to another entrance to watch the game of cat and mouse from a location other than behind the soldiers. Inside the casbah, youths bravely skip up to the mouth of the alley where the soldiers are standing and blindly throw stones around the corner. At best, the stones only roll to the feet of their targets.

After 10 minutes of watching the standoff, while merchants and mothers with small children skirt the potentially dangerous area with a combination of caution and indifference, I decide to leave to meet friends at the nearby UNRWA office. Just as I turn around, three soldiers run up behind me, pass, and then call me back to ask me what I am doing here.

"I have 15 minutes to kill in Nablus and I'm bored," I tell them in the most innocent manner I can muster. I don't want to be seen talking to the soldiers for too long, lest Palestinians conclude that I have a connection with the Israelis.

"If you're bored, go to Tel Aviv," says a young soldier with a headset stuffed into his helmet.

"You think Tel Aviv is more exciting than the casbah of Nablus?" I reply with a smile. It is not really a question, and he can only look at me in disbelief. The casbah of Nablus, I'm sure, is the last place on earth that he wants to be.

My purpose in Nablus on this August, 1991 day is to pick up medical papers from the father of a sick boy from Tulkarem, and to visit the family of Ghazi Yamin, 21, who was shot dead in the casbah yesterday by soldiers.

As we drive to the martyr's house, we pass the cemetary where soldiers shot dead eight unarmed Palestinian civilians in what is now known as the Black Friday massacre in December of 1988; the school where I had to run with a crowd of children after they stoned an Israeli troops carrier last spring; and the entrance of the casbah, where two other foreigners and I intervened to break up the potential beating of three youths by soldiers in the Old City nine months earlier. A visit to Nablus is rarely without event.

Ghazi Yamin lived in a modest home overlooking the Old City. As we walk up the steps into the home we stoop under a string of small Palestinian flags draped over the entrance. Inside, a larger flag provides a backdrop for two dozen somber-faced men sitting in the living room, while a hidden stereo plays solemn music. The boy's father sits with a black and white keffiya over his shoulders, under hand-made posters in Arabic proclaiming his son a martyr for Palestine.

After I ask to hear how Ghazi was killed, a polite man of about 30 sits down next to me and, in excellent English, tells me the story:

"A lot of people come to Nablus on Saturday from neighboring villages, so the Old City was very crowded yesterday. Before the killing, there were no clashes. As people shopped, a group of soldiers came running from the El-Khan quarter to raid shops, and this caught everyone by surprise. When people see soldiers acting like this they become fearful and run away. The streets were very crowded and people started to run to escape the shooting and catching and hitting that is always the behavior of the army here.

"At the time Ghazi was entering the casbah from the main street. He didn't know what was going on and he didn't do anything to provoke what happened next. Suddenly, and without warning, the soldiers began to shoot and Ghazi was hit in the back with a live bullet as he tried to escape. The soldier who shot him was only 15 meters away.

"After he fell, neighbors called an ambulance to come and help him but the soldiers threatened to shoot anyone who tried to go near him. He was alive then, and the people were finally able to get Ghazi into the ambulance. But the soldiers took him out and began beating him. After a few minutes of hitting him like the Nazis hit the Jews, they beat him into unconsciousness. Old people, women and young men then came and threw stones to make the soldiers run away. The people then took Ghazi to the hospital, but he was already dead." The man's explanation is interrupted by gunshots coming from the Old City. He pauses, and then continues:

"The youths refused to turn the body over to the army and took it to the mosque. The soldiers went to the mosque last night and started shooting. This morning the soldiers went to many houses near the mosque to order the occupants out of their homes because people were calling 'Allahu Akbar' (God is Great). The beat some youths and took many people's identification cards."

"Ghazi was never in prison," another man explains in Arabic. "He had just finished his tawjihi (high school diploma) and wanted to study as an undergraduate at Bir Zeit University. He wanted to be a pharmacist. He was the only son and has nine sisters."

I ask the father about his son. "What the soldiers do is the same as the Nazis," he says in Arabic as he begins to cry softly. "God will punish them." He pauses, then asks: "Where is the world to see our problem? Where are the Arabs to help us? Where is the law and justice for us? Are we less than human?"

Ghazi was shot in the upper back near the heart at very close range. He is one of more than 100 unarmed civilians who have been killed in Nablus since the intifada began in December 1987.

"These conditions are not new," says the English-speaking man. "Every day in places all over the occupied territories events like this happen."

"Last night the Israelis said on television that Ghazi tried to stab a soldier with a knife. This is not true. Every time something like this happens they make an excuse for why they kill. They want to punish people until we obey their orders without question because they want to take this land from us and not lose it for any reason. Killing young men is something they can do easily. No one outside cares."

He pauses to collect his thoughts. Everyone in the room is watching and listening.

"We have no choice but to resist. It is our right and it is our only hope for a future in Palestine. The killing of our young men like Ghazi only deepens our determination to stay and protect this land that we love and for which they died."

Back in Jerusalem later that evening I see a report on Jordanian television that another boy, 14 years old, has been shot with "plastic bullets" during clashes with Israeli soldiers in the Nablus casbah.

Stephen J. Sosebee is a free-lance writer and president of the Palestine Children's Relief Fund.

 

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