devilke
20 april 2006, 13:38
een dag in het leven van een ambulancier :/
http://washington-report.org/archives/april_2006/0604026.html
MUNTASSER came close to death today. At 9 in the evening of Wednesday, Jan. 18, I got a call from Muntasser Abdel Rahim, the young PMRS (Palestine Medical Relief Society) ambulance driver from Jenin (see May/June 2005 Washington Report, pp. 24-27). His voice betraying his stress level, Muntasser told me about his day.
He had left home with his ambulance at 7:30 in the morning, calling briefly at the PMRS Center to receive today’s assignment from its manager, Dr. Jamil. He is to pick up a cardiac patient, Fallha Muhammad Abu Roub, who has now been diagnosed with a serious cancer and needs to go to Ramallah for cancer treatment. There may be difficulties, because no one from Jenin or Tulkarm may go to Ramallah. Since Fallha is a woman and 60 years old, however, it just may be possible.
http://washington-report.org/images/April%202006/gwynne_02.jpg http://washington-report.org/images/vertrule.gif The ambulance shows damage from Israeli bullets (Photos A. Gwynne).
From Jenin to Ramallah is a distance of some 40 miles; in normal times, it takes an hour. But these are not normal times, of course. Between the two cities there are three major roadblocks: the first, outside Shaffi Shamron colony and military base, is manned by some of the most aggressive IDF soldiers I have ever encountered in my work with the PMRS. On those occasions when we were allowed through, it was never without threats and humiliations. Today, because it is early, Muntasser must wait while the Israeli soldiers conduct a minute scrutiny of IDs, accompanied by a few insults, and a search of the ambulance.
Next is Zattara’, a totally urban construction over a massive site. Clearly permanent, the checkpoint has 10-lane approaches and international frontier-style installations, X-rays for people and luggage, and computer banks. It can be a wait of four hours or more here, in lines of trucks, cars, buses and ambulances stretching farther than the eye can see—often only to be refused permission to pass by armed “settlers.” Today it is again a very long wait but, mercifully, after an incredibly long inspection of the ID cards and a search of the ambulance, Muntasser is permitted to pass with his patient. (Recently he was told the ambulance could go through the Qalandiya checkpoint, without the patient!)
The last of the permanent installations today is Beit Il, a huge military base surrounded by Jewish-only colonies. Here it’s another wait, more minute scrutiny and another search of the ambulance, but he is allowed through. All this waiting, of course, ties up invaluable ambulance time.
As they draw up to the hospital a clock strikes noon. The 40-mile trip to the nearest cardiac hospital has taken four and a half hours!
Under Israel’s tight closure and lockdown of Tulkarm, Jenin and Nablus, the sick are often denied access to medical treatment, or not allowed to return home from the hospital. So, when Muntasser learned that another cardiac patient he brought here a couple of weeks ago will be seeing her consultant at 6 p.m. for what she hopes will be her discharge from hospital, he waits, so that he can take her home. They both understand that it is very, very dangerous to be out on the roads late, but it’s her only chance to get home to Jenin. In addition Fallha, exhausted from the day’s journey and treatment, is ready to return with Muntasser.
He also takes two female medical staff with him: Fatmah Daraghmeh, in her 40s, who works in the cardio-pulmonary resuscitation unit and with the disability support group, and Bahaiyya, in her 30s, who works with the Patients’ Support Society.
The first leg of the return journey is relatively uneventful: the same waits, the same ID scrutiny, the same searches. Two extra “flying checkpoints” (which pop up at random) have made the journey even longer. The five are very tired by the time they reach Shaffi Shamron at 9 p.m. The ambulance stops at gunpoint. The ensuing exchange—in Hebrew, because the soldier speaks no other language—between Muntasser and an Israeli soldier is so bizarre that I record it here:
http://washington-report.org/images/vertrule.gif http://washington-report.org/images/April%202006/gwynne_03.jpg The Israeli military checkpoint at Shaffi Shamron (Photo A. Gwynne).
IDF soldier (M16 pointing at Muntasser’s chest): Where have you come from?
Muntasser: I have come from Ramallah. I am taking these patients to Jenin.
Where are you going?
I am taking these patients to Jenin.
Give me the IDs.
(Muntasser gives him the five ID cards.)
Who is this woman?
She is ……..
Shut up! Shut up!
She …
Shut up! Shut up! (Pushes him around to the other side with the gun—points to medic sitting by window.)
What are you doing here? Why is she sitting here?
(The nurse doesn’t understand Hebrew, so is silent as Muntasser replies:) She is a nurse: they are both nurses. These two nurses are accompanying the patients.
Who these nurses?—not nurses—passengers—this is taxi—go back to Ramallah.
They are nurses looking after the patients.
What is in the back?
Two women patients.
(The soldier opens the ambulance doors and looks in, looking the patients up and down. Poking Fallha with his gun, he demands:)
What is this?
“This” is a heart patient.
This is not a patient—she is passenger.
She is a cardiac patient—I have all the hospital and doctors’ certificates.
Shut up! Shut up! (slams back doors shut) What’s this? (kicks ambulance)
This is an ambulance and I am the driver.
This is a taxi! You are taxi driver. Go back to Ramallah—or anywhere! You are not allowed to go to Jenin.
Why not? I work and live in Jenin. I always go through this checkpoint.
You may do, but you will not go today because I am here. This is a taxi—go back to anywhere.
Why? What happens in Israel? Do you call ambulances taxis there?
No! But our ambulance is ambulance (now shouting very aggressively). You don’t have ambulances in the West Bank—you only have taxis!
(Muntasser gets in the ambulance and moves it 5 yards.)
You can’t enter—go back!
No!
Well, you can’t stay here!
No, but I have entered this checkpoint and I want to exit it. I will call my manager. (He does, but no one can do anything—the IDF is above all law.)
I don’t care who you are or who you call—I kill you. (Heshoots through the rear doors of the ambulance.)
Get me the commander of this checkpoint!
I am the commander! Go back, go back! Go back or I will kill you—go back 100 meters! (Shoots at ambulance again.)
(A large troop carrier has by now pulled up. Its cargo are standing around, and, in Muntasser’s words, “every soldier is very happy and smiling at what is happening, and all of them start shouting encouragement.”)
I kill you now—go back! (kicking ambulance).
No, I will not—she is a heart patient and she must go to Jenin.
(Kicks ambulance, shrieking) Go back, go back—I want to kill you.
No, I will not—it is my right to take my patient in my ambulance to Jenin.
We will kill all of you now—go back.
No! I can’t! I won’t! I want to go to Jenin.
No, you will go back because I say so! (Cocks gun and puts it in Muntasser’s face, finger on trigger.)
No! Shoot me if you want!
(Now patients and medics, terrified of the gunfire, are begging Muntasser to go back.)
No, I won’t. I can’t. They can shoot me.
Muntasser backs up about 15 more feet, playing for time. Now many soldiers gather round, threatening Muntasser, kicking the ambulance, and ordering him to go back. The soldiers are very pleased at the thought of an execution and are laughing excitedly.
The patients, both cardiac cases, by now are extremely distressed and begging him to leave from there, so Muntasser decides to reverse 100 yards to call the doctor and ask him to contact the IDF district commanding officer, who can order the soldiers to let him go through. But the doctor says it is too late to do anything by now, and that Muntasser is unlikely even to get into Nablus, 3 miles away, as he probably wouldn’t get through the Beit ’Iba checkpoint. He would have to, however, if he were to try the long way ‘round to Jenin over mountain roads, through Al-Baddaan Spa.
Although they are only 30 minutes from home, it is looking grim for the patients. A night in an ambulance in the bitter January cold is not an option, but they are imprisoned between two checkpoints, with no way out. Yet Muntasser is not just courageous, he is a particularly resourceful young man as well, so he reluctantly turns the ambulance around toward Nablus and somehow manages to convince the Beit ‘Iba troops to come and open the checkpoint. He will soon be on the other side of the city and heading home—if he can just get through the soldiers positioned in a lay-by halfway down the lonely mountain road to Al-Baddaan, in the middle of nowhere, a place where anything could happen.
As he starts the long descent from Masakken Al-Shabiyya, the five are alone in the pitch-black night, with not a glimmer of light anywhere. Hardly daring to hope, he drives around the sweeping left-right S-bend to the checkpoint—and, ilhamdu lillah, there is nothing there tonight! When he called me that night, he was just passing Al-Farra’a refugee camp, with Jenin still a winding, demanding 90 minutes away.
At 11:30 p.m., Muntasser delivered his two patients to their worried, and very grateful, families. It had required 16 hours of precious ambulance time to complete a round-trip which should have taken half a day. And tomorrow, as on most days, Muntasser will be back at that terrible roadblock for more of the same.
This is part of a continuing story which the outside world rarely hears—despite the fact that the above incident constitutes a breach of the Fourth Geneva Convention and the First Additional Protocol of the Geneva Conventions. But there was nothing particularly unusual about that day; on the contrary, it is typical of most days in the life of the heroic PMRS ambulance drivers—very special people who always answer the call and will go where no others dare, their courage and dedication playing a vital part in the struggle for a free Palestine.
Anne Gwynne, an elected member of the International Federation of Journalists and the National Union of Journalists (UK), writes from occupied Nablus, where she has worked with the Palestine Medical Relief Society (PMRS). She can be contacted at <[email protected]>.
SIDEBAR
PMRS and the Red Crescent report that, from September 2000 to October 2003 (PMRS) and to November 2005 (Red Crescent), Israeli occupying forces have killed 25 doctors and medics, injured hundreds, and damaged or destroyed 165 ambulances in 342 separate attacks.
Sources: Palestinian Medical Relief Society (PMRS) and Palestine Red Crescent Society (PRCS).
http://washington-report.org/archives/april_2006/0604026.html
MUNTASSER came close to death today. At 9 in the evening of Wednesday, Jan. 18, I got a call from Muntasser Abdel Rahim, the young PMRS (Palestine Medical Relief Society) ambulance driver from Jenin (see May/June 2005 Washington Report, pp. 24-27). His voice betraying his stress level, Muntasser told me about his day.
He had left home with his ambulance at 7:30 in the morning, calling briefly at the PMRS Center to receive today’s assignment from its manager, Dr. Jamil. He is to pick up a cardiac patient, Fallha Muhammad Abu Roub, who has now been diagnosed with a serious cancer and needs to go to Ramallah for cancer treatment. There may be difficulties, because no one from Jenin or Tulkarm may go to Ramallah. Since Fallha is a woman and 60 years old, however, it just may be possible.
http://washington-report.org/images/April%202006/gwynne_02.jpg http://washington-report.org/images/vertrule.gif The ambulance shows damage from Israeli bullets (Photos A. Gwynne).
From Jenin to Ramallah is a distance of some 40 miles; in normal times, it takes an hour. But these are not normal times, of course. Between the two cities there are three major roadblocks: the first, outside Shaffi Shamron colony and military base, is manned by some of the most aggressive IDF soldiers I have ever encountered in my work with the PMRS. On those occasions when we were allowed through, it was never without threats and humiliations. Today, because it is early, Muntasser must wait while the Israeli soldiers conduct a minute scrutiny of IDs, accompanied by a few insults, and a search of the ambulance.
Next is Zattara’, a totally urban construction over a massive site. Clearly permanent, the checkpoint has 10-lane approaches and international frontier-style installations, X-rays for people and luggage, and computer banks. It can be a wait of four hours or more here, in lines of trucks, cars, buses and ambulances stretching farther than the eye can see—often only to be refused permission to pass by armed “settlers.” Today it is again a very long wait but, mercifully, after an incredibly long inspection of the ID cards and a search of the ambulance, Muntasser is permitted to pass with his patient. (Recently he was told the ambulance could go through the Qalandiya checkpoint, without the patient!)
The last of the permanent installations today is Beit Il, a huge military base surrounded by Jewish-only colonies. Here it’s another wait, more minute scrutiny and another search of the ambulance, but he is allowed through. All this waiting, of course, ties up invaluable ambulance time.
As they draw up to the hospital a clock strikes noon. The 40-mile trip to the nearest cardiac hospital has taken four and a half hours!
Under Israel’s tight closure and lockdown of Tulkarm, Jenin and Nablus, the sick are often denied access to medical treatment, or not allowed to return home from the hospital. So, when Muntasser learned that another cardiac patient he brought here a couple of weeks ago will be seeing her consultant at 6 p.m. for what she hopes will be her discharge from hospital, he waits, so that he can take her home. They both understand that it is very, very dangerous to be out on the roads late, but it’s her only chance to get home to Jenin. In addition Fallha, exhausted from the day’s journey and treatment, is ready to return with Muntasser.
He also takes two female medical staff with him: Fatmah Daraghmeh, in her 40s, who works in the cardio-pulmonary resuscitation unit and with the disability support group, and Bahaiyya, in her 30s, who works with the Patients’ Support Society.
The first leg of the return journey is relatively uneventful: the same waits, the same ID scrutiny, the same searches. Two extra “flying checkpoints” (which pop up at random) have made the journey even longer. The five are very tired by the time they reach Shaffi Shamron at 9 p.m. The ambulance stops at gunpoint. The ensuing exchange—in Hebrew, because the soldier speaks no other language—between Muntasser and an Israeli soldier is so bizarre that I record it here:
http://washington-report.org/images/vertrule.gif http://washington-report.org/images/April%202006/gwynne_03.jpg The Israeli military checkpoint at Shaffi Shamron (Photo A. Gwynne).
IDF soldier (M16 pointing at Muntasser’s chest): Where have you come from?
Muntasser: I have come from Ramallah. I am taking these patients to Jenin.
Where are you going?
I am taking these patients to Jenin.
Give me the IDs.
(Muntasser gives him the five ID cards.)
Who is this woman?
She is ……..
Shut up! Shut up!
She …
Shut up! Shut up! (Pushes him around to the other side with the gun—points to medic sitting by window.)
What are you doing here? Why is she sitting here?
(The nurse doesn’t understand Hebrew, so is silent as Muntasser replies:) She is a nurse: they are both nurses. These two nurses are accompanying the patients.
Who these nurses?—not nurses—passengers—this is taxi—go back to Ramallah.
They are nurses looking after the patients.
What is in the back?
Two women patients.
(The soldier opens the ambulance doors and looks in, looking the patients up and down. Poking Fallha with his gun, he demands:)
What is this?
“This” is a heart patient.
This is not a patient—she is passenger.
She is a cardiac patient—I have all the hospital and doctors’ certificates.
Shut up! Shut up! (slams back doors shut) What’s this? (kicks ambulance)
This is an ambulance and I am the driver.
This is a taxi! You are taxi driver. Go back to Ramallah—or anywhere! You are not allowed to go to Jenin.
Why not? I work and live in Jenin. I always go through this checkpoint.
You may do, but you will not go today because I am here. This is a taxi—go back to anywhere.
Why? What happens in Israel? Do you call ambulances taxis there?
No! But our ambulance is ambulance (now shouting very aggressively). You don’t have ambulances in the West Bank—you only have taxis!
(Muntasser gets in the ambulance and moves it 5 yards.)
You can’t enter—go back!
No!
Well, you can’t stay here!
No, but I have entered this checkpoint and I want to exit it. I will call my manager. (He does, but no one can do anything—the IDF is above all law.)
I don’t care who you are or who you call—I kill you. (Heshoots through the rear doors of the ambulance.)
Get me the commander of this checkpoint!
I am the commander! Go back, go back! Go back or I will kill you—go back 100 meters! (Shoots at ambulance again.)
(A large troop carrier has by now pulled up. Its cargo are standing around, and, in Muntasser’s words, “every soldier is very happy and smiling at what is happening, and all of them start shouting encouragement.”)
I kill you now—go back! (kicking ambulance).
No, I will not—she is a heart patient and she must go to Jenin.
(Kicks ambulance, shrieking) Go back, go back—I want to kill you.
No, I will not—it is my right to take my patient in my ambulance to Jenin.
We will kill all of you now—go back.
No! I can’t! I won’t! I want to go to Jenin.
No, you will go back because I say so! (Cocks gun and puts it in Muntasser’s face, finger on trigger.)
No! Shoot me if you want!
(Now patients and medics, terrified of the gunfire, are begging Muntasser to go back.)
No, I won’t. I can’t. They can shoot me.
Muntasser backs up about 15 more feet, playing for time. Now many soldiers gather round, threatening Muntasser, kicking the ambulance, and ordering him to go back. The soldiers are very pleased at the thought of an execution and are laughing excitedly.
The patients, both cardiac cases, by now are extremely distressed and begging him to leave from there, so Muntasser decides to reverse 100 yards to call the doctor and ask him to contact the IDF district commanding officer, who can order the soldiers to let him go through. But the doctor says it is too late to do anything by now, and that Muntasser is unlikely even to get into Nablus, 3 miles away, as he probably wouldn’t get through the Beit ’Iba checkpoint. He would have to, however, if he were to try the long way ‘round to Jenin over mountain roads, through Al-Baddaan Spa.
Although they are only 30 minutes from home, it is looking grim for the patients. A night in an ambulance in the bitter January cold is not an option, but they are imprisoned between two checkpoints, with no way out. Yet Muntasser is not just courageous, he is a particularly resourceful young man as well, so he reluctantly turns the ambulance around toward Nablus and somehow manages to convince the Beit ‘Iba troops to come and open the checkpoint. He will soon be on the other side of the city and heading home—if he can just get through the soldiers positioned in a lay-by halfway down the lonely mountain road to Al-Baddaan, in the middle of nowhere, a place where anything could happen.
As he starts the long descent from Masakken Al-Shabiyya, the five are alone in the pitch-black night, with not a glimmer of light anywhere. Hardly daring to hope, he drives around the sweeping left-right S-bend to the checkpoint—and, ilhamdu lillah, there is nothing there tonight! When he called me that night, he was just passing Al-Farra’a refugee camp, with Jenin still a winding, demanding 90 minutes away.
At 11:30 p.m., Muntasser delivered his two patients to their worried, and very grateful, families. It had required 16 hours of precious ambulance time to complete a round-trip which should have taken half a day. And tomorrow, as on most days, Muntasser will be back at that terrible roadblock for more of the same.
This is part of a continuing story which the outside world rarely hears—despite the fact that the above incident constitutes a breach of the Fourth Geneva Convention and the First Additional Protocol of the Geneva Conventions. But there was nothing particularly unusual about that day; on the contrary, it is typical of most days in the life of the heroic PMRS ambulance drivers—very special people who always answer the call and will go where no others dare, their courage and dedication playing a vital part in the struggle for a free Palestine.
Anne Gwynne, an elected member of the International Federation of Journalists and the National Union of Journalists (UK), writes from occupied Nablus, where she has worked with the Palestine Medical Relief Society (PMRS). She can be contacted at <[email protected]>.
SIDEBAR
PMRS and the Red Crescent report that, from September 2000 to October 2003 (PMRS) and to November 2005 (Red Crescent), Israeli occupying forces have killed 25 doctors and medics, injured hundreds, and damaged or destroyed 165 ambulances in 342 separate attacks.
Sources: Palestinian Medical Relief Society (PMRS) and Palestine Red Crescent Society (PRCS).