The Telltale Leaflet: From Palestine to Stockholm

By Dawood Kaloti

This book is a political and literary work as a Palestinian-talking document. It’s a testimony to the history of the struggle and defence of the Palestinian issue. The book reveals the false narrative the Palestinian people have exposed to, whether it came from the supporters or the enemies of the Palestinian issue. This book is an explanation of my autobiography, and I made a pledge to myself that I would reach for the independence of Palestine and liberate every atom of soil in its lands. Some may think that this dream is elusive, but I can confirm that this dream is very close through my coexistence of the issue and knowledge of all the details from my childhood to this day.

This literary work covers a political struggle starting from Palestine, specifically from Bab Al-Amoud. The incident changed my life. It then moves through Lebanon and most of the Arab countries until the struggle brings me to Stockholm. All this is so that every Palestinian and every human being feels safe and respectful in order to build and develop societies in all fields, establishing natural relations between countries and their people.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546297512

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Copyright © 2018 Dawood Kaloti. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/14/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9752-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9753-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-9751-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

To …

My wife, the one who endured a lot to see the birth of this book.

My grandchildren.

Nour, who illuminated my heart with laughter.

Dawood, my heir and successor.

Yasmeen, the fresh rose in my desert.

Those unknown soldiers, who still contribute in spreading the values of justice, peace, and freedom around the world.

CONTENTS

Introduction

Part 1: Road to Stockholm

Chapter 1: In Bab Al-Amoud: The First Shock

Chapter 2: Drastic Changes

Chapter 3: Gain the Swedish Public Opinion

Part 2: International Silence

Chapter 4: Foreign and Arab Silence

Chapter 5: New Mission

Chapter 6: On the Road to Oslo

Part 3: The Role of Diplomacy and International Organisations in the Palestinian Cause

Chapter 7: Why Don’t the Arab Jews Return to Their Countries?

Chapter 8: The Beauty of the African Continent

Appendix No. 1

Appendix No. 2

Appendix No. 3

Appendix No. 4

INTRODUCTION

This book is a political work of literature which is considered a witnessing, telltale document on the history of the Palestinian struggle, adopting the defending status from my childhood till the writing of this book. The struggle continues with the point of exposing the reality of the Palestinian people’s situation to the entire world, whether by fellow Arabs or the enemies of the Palestinian case. The book is an autobiography and a witness of the marathon I pledged to reach the end of, which is the independence of the entire land of Palestine. Some might think this is a far-fetched dream, but from my own experience with the case, I assure them it is very close.

This work of art, or this political struggle, starts in Palestine, in Bab Al-Amoud. To be more accurate, it starts with the accident that changed my life, passing through Lebanon and most Arab countries until I reached Stockholm to continue fighting. All this was to help each Palestinian, and more precisely each human, feel safe and respected. I seek to help develop communities and establish a natural relationship between people and countries.

I chose the name The Telltale Leaflet—From Palestine to Stockholm, and I wrote what I witnessed, collecting numerous quotes and parables like Gostav to the writer. Condemning the conspiring politician is the end of his status and power.

This book consists of three parts, divided as follows.

Part 1: Road to Stockholm

Chapter 1: In Bab Al-Amoud. Deals with the accident that changed my life and expectations, my first demonstration, and the following events.

Chapter 2: The changes in the area, the birth of the twins (Jordan and Isreal), and the drastic changing events after World War II in the entire world in general but specifically in Palestine and the Middle East. The results of the weakness planted in Middle East branched and prospered in Palestine, where you find loss of self, land, and honour.

How Jordan and Israel were born like twins with one birth certificate, numerous authorities with the same oppression, the events in Malmo’s airport, the Arab and Western sympathy with Jews, the first steps of the Palestinian-issued marathon, why the major forces occupied Palestine, the crime that rendered the Palestinian people homeless and touched all Muslims and Arabs in a severe and essentially unsolved case until now, and my memories in beautiful Swileh.

Chapter 3: The struggle to gain the support of the Swedish public opinion, the role of Ibn Fadlan in Sweden, my first demonstration in front of the Israeli embassy in Stockholm, and the concept of right. It is not enough to be right in order to gain the world’s support, because they don’t know we were the victims of Britain, France, and some Arabs who lost their status in the Arab Pininsula’s interests. We need to urge those neutral parties to be with us as well. The concept of right for the European people is misled by their leaders, and it contains the concept of interests, even though it never benefits individuals. The defeat of 1967, my trip to the East (Beirut through Damascus and Egypt), Randa and the napalm, and why there are poor people.

Part 2: International Silence

Chapter 4: Arab and foreign silence, Palestinian silence because of the submissive surrounding of the British and French occupation, their absense from the international political view, and the active forces on the international political field such as Britain, France, and the United States, which had great power and enabled them to control political decisions outside their borders. It deals also with my return to Jerusalem and the insults I endured in Maskobia Jail, what I faced in Tel Aviv for the first time. I came face-to-face for the first time with the occupier on the land he claimed by force, the beauty of Beirut (Eastern Holywood), and some adventures which took place in the Cave (Al-Maghara), followed by a quick tour of Egypt’s ancient and modern history and the history of coups there.

Chapter 5: New missions. This chapter discusses the return to Sweden, the trip from Stockholm to the Palestinian field, the sensitive request, and the part of Helsinki upon the acknowledgement of Abu Loutuf as a minister of foreign affairs.

Chapter 6: On the road to Oslo. This chapter deals with Oslo and the lesson of Vietnam, the interference of the United States and their allies in the Persian Gulf, Palestinian achievments in Scandinavia, Sweden voting for Palestine, Reykjavik, and the international communist conference in Finland where Syria was condemned. There are also some Oslo documents and secret annexes attached at the end of the book.

Part 3: The Role of Diplomacy and International Organisations in the Palestinian Case

Chapter 7: Why don’t Arab Jews return to their countries? The Jewish Black Panther and our meeting in Oslo, the project of reverse migration with Barazan Al-Takriti in Bagdad, the role of Iraq in reverse migration, and the role of international and Palestinian organisations in the Palestinian case.

Chapter 8: The outer corps of the Palestinian Liberation Organisation, the diplomatic corps in Scandinavia, the waiving of essentials in Algeria’s conference, and my travel to Zimbabwe.

Chapter 9: The beauty of the African continent, the beauty of Zimbabwe, the events on the road to Tunisia, meeting Abu Ammar, and the mission in China.

Dawood Kaloti

Sweden, 2016

PART 1

ROAD TO STOCKHOLM

CHAPTER 1

IN BAB AL-AMOUD: THE FIRST SHOCK

From Jerusalem to Stockholm, I never hesitated in thinking about running away from a totalitarian political system and the scene of barbed wire splitting not just my city, Eastern Jerusalem, from the west half but all of Palestine. It was a beautiful country with its desert, mountains, lakes, and fertile meadows where grapes, guava, and many more vegetables and fruits were grown. Barbed wire split my country from its sea and my way to Europe and the rest of the world.

I was deprived of my childhood memories, including the streets where I played with my friends. They were forced to live away from me. I wished I could return to the alleys, trees, valleys, and lanes where I’d left the memories of my childhood and my friends. My relationship with most of them was severed when they turned into homeless refugees in many Arab countries. Killing and bombing toys were distributed by Stern, Haganah, and Argon gangs in the corners of fields and streets. They never crossed the threshold of childhood and harvested others. These same gangs performed numerous slaughters of Palestinians.

This alien migrating enemy came with Britain’s aid, which occupied my country. This made me wonder why. Why would the British help these strangers steal my childhood, my land, my games, and my memories? Why would they kill innocent children who lived in the same neighbourhood and went to the same school as I did? That question grew within me, especially when my identity as a Palestinian fell between the rock of the dictatorship of the royal Jordanian regime and the hammer of the Israeli occupation that continued to threaten the lives of West Bank residents. My country’s name changed to Israel (a name of Prophet Yaakoub) after the British promised some of the Jews who refused to live in their homelands, or those misled by the Zionist movement, to come to my land, to the land of my fathers and ancestors. I paid the price of regimes’ and people’s failures to include their fellow Jewish citizens, as well as the failures of these citizens to live with their own people, insisting they were special. That was where I grew up.

One morning in Bab Al-Amoud, one of Jerusalem’s gates, when I was ten, I went with my mother to shop in the old city. That beautiful city has no match in the entire world, as I would later learn, living in and visiting many capital cities. My mother always reminded me that when I entered the old city, I traced the steps of great men who made history and meaning in our many civilisations. Here walked Khalifa Omar Bin Al-Khattab, who established the roots of tolerance and justice. Here too, in the route of pain, walked Christ, who came to root love and peace and plant justice. I was too young to understand her words, and I always wondered, Why does she always occupy me with this history?

An Event That Changed My Life

One day while listening to my mother’s mysterious words, something suddenly made her stop talking. We heard gunshots coming from Israeli soldiers beyond the barbed wire from the French hospital they occupied. The hospital overlooked the isolated area, appointed by 1948’s truce by the United Nations. My mother’s only goal was to protect me from these bullets.

Arabs and Israelis were forbidden from entering that area or having any activity there. The area split Jerusalem into east and west and then north and south, through its cities and villages—for 650 kilometres.

As a child, I could not see a reason for this assault. When the shooting stopped, unarmed men, women, and children were wounded. The injured lay in front of me. People were on the floor with nothing to protect them from the bullets. The sight knotted my throat. I cannot forget the sight of fruits and vegetables rolling on the ground as they fell from the baskets of peasant women. The entire effort of long days and nights of the season was gone. These women came to sell their crops to buy what they needed, including meat, bread, sugar, rice, coffee, and tea.

That scene of unexplained violence never left my mind. I could still hear the screaming of children and feel the fear of mothers that they and their kids would be harmed at the hands of these soldiers. The hardest and most provocative part was when these Jewish soldiers chose to end the sorrowful scene with laughter. Their wild, sarcastic laughter at our fear as we sought refuge from their bullets remained in my head, humiliating me.

According to the truce and order of Britain, Jordan had no right to keep its soldiers within the city limits of Jerusalem to protect civilians from these Jewish bullets. I not only suffered fear, panic, nightmares, and involuntary micturition, but I was punished many times at school when I told what happened to me in Bab Al-Amoud and how the bullets never touched me because my mother had pushed me away and covered me with her body. As punishment, my teacher made me stand on one foot in the corner of the class during the lesson. This punishment was exhausting and incomprehensible to me. He might have done so to avoid irritating authorities, but this method angered and insulted me to the point that I cried on the way home.

My grandfather, whose name I hold as the eldest son of his eldest son, according to our traditions—a tradition I shall follow by giving my son my father’s name—went with me to school and reproached the teacher for his wrongdoing. He said, We never insult or hit our children! How could you do that? The headmaster apologised but warned me not to tell the story at school again.

This made me wonder, Why don’t they want me to talk? I was not lying—I was telling the truth. This caused me extra stress, and I started to hate school.

One Friday on a school holiday, some friends and I went from Wadi Al-Joz, where we lived, to visit a friend in Sheikh Jarrah, a few kilometres west of our area. I was surprised to find my friend’s house near the artificial borders forced on us. I had no idea of the house’s location because this was my first visit. His house was only metres from the barbed wire—too close to the forbidden area for Arabs and Jews. By then, the Jews had taken over Arab homes, gardens, playgrounds, and houses. Children had no time to pick up their toys as they fled the Stern, Argon, and Haganah gangs famous for slaughtering women and children. These gangs committed massacres like those in Deir Yassin and Tantoura, west of Palestine, under Britain’s nose and the mandated government that was well-known in Arab countries and across the world.

One of these gangs had Ben Gurion, the founder of Haganah’s army, as its chief. He later became the prime minister of Israel. Menachem Begin, who also became prime minister of Israel, was a member of the same gang. The Haganah forces (later known as the Israeli army) forced the majority of Palestinian landowners off their lands by force. They took over 77 per cent of modern Palestinian land in 1948.

In Sheikh Jarrah, I could not forget the humiliating, scary scene of Bab Al-Amoud and the ghost of death lurking in the area. I couldn’t erase from my memory the moment of fear I saw in the eyes of mothers and children that day. I insisted on not staying long, fearing this terrible scene would happen again.

As we prepared to leave, Asaad’s mother called us into the house to have some candy and hot honeyed milk. We were surprised to find a Jordanian border soldier asking her to not let us play football. He feared the ball might go into the forbidden area, and the Jews might shoot us if we tried to go in to retrieve it. He also said we should not play inside that strip, which was only six hundred metres wide, because they planted landmines in some areas of it.

We didn’t want to play or even stay next to the forbidden strip. Yet the grandma yelled at the guard, Look what these sons of Jews do. Aren’t they inside the strip, having the time of their lives? Many times I can’t take my nap because of their yells and shouts, and their playing and throwing stones on my western windows on this hell of a strip! You forced us to live in darkness. Why don’t you go and disperse them?

Then I felt the amount of pain this guard must have been in at that moment. We all felt his inability to fulfil the grandmother’s request. He could not disobey his superiors. He was under the same oppression this family and many others living on the borders had experienced since the occupation in 1948. Jordanian authorities forbade the families from opening their western windows overlooking the strip. The guard murmured, I can’t. Then he left, his head bowed.

Asaad and some friends went out to see us leave. I was furious at the armed guard’s inability to expel these kids from the forbidden strip despite the truce’s conditions.

After I walked out of the house, I took the ball and kicked it deep into the strip. Then I went to retrieve it; especially after the young Jews provoked us with their dirty signs and curses to our mothers. All my friends followed me into the strip while the Jordanian guards came to Asaad’s mother and grandmother, asking them to convince us to leave the strip and return before the Israeli soldiers reach the place where we were. In minutes, the Israeli children were back behind where they were allowed to be—the area their fathers had stolen under the false cover of land without people to the people without land. Heavily armed soldiers, who started to chase us, replaced the children, but thankfully as the area major (the responsible officer in mutual truce committee) said later, the international police who monitored the borders on the Jordanian side were watching from the start.

Time was precious as the Israeli soldiers started to take position to shoot. They yelled at us, Come here! Come here or die! We were in their range, and they could see we were just a bunch of unarmed children; thus we were no danger to them. Our anger and ignorance as children drove us to the danger zone and made us precious targets to these killing experts.

The UN major responsible for monitoring the borders stepped into the Israeli depths, west of the strip, to stop these soldiers from shooting us.

Groups of citizens started to fill the Jordanian side, in addition to the monitor committee officers, some interested Jordanian guards, and the international police. Then we found that the international police had come into the Jordanian area and stood amongst the soldiers.

My friends and I started to hear the voices of the citizens, especially Asaad’s mother and grandmother, from the opposite side. We could hear the Canadian officer screaming through the microphone in his language. We later learned that he was trying to stop the soldiers from shooting us.

After we got out, an international police officer offered to drive us back to our houses. We didn’t know that such generosity was merely to protect us from the Jordanian authority’s arrest. When the last one of us left the strip, all citizens relaxed.

It didn’t end with getting us out. A few days later, the Jordanian authorities called our parents to the border guard headquarters, showing them an Israeli complaint to the international monitoring committee, claiming the attack of terrorists on the borders of Israel. They attempted to violate the state’s sovereignty in addition to violating the Sabatt.

My father laughed. The officer asked him for the reason, and he said, With all due respect, I laughed because all Israel wants is a desperate attempt, which she repeats at every occasion, to force us to admit that they are a sovereign state on the land they took by force with British help, and all we should do is give in to the reality forced on by Britain and Western countries. The presence of these Jews is nothing but colonisation of our land, and we will never accept the authority of thieves or any other forces, no matter how powerful they are, either now nor in the future. That is why I laugh. Did you ask them what sovereignty they claim? Those who come from all over the world—east, west, and even Arab countries—force their presence on us. We are in no hurry. The land of Palestine will not go anywhere, and time is on our side. The officer smiled then and nodded, as if agreeing with my father.

At the end, the Jordanian authorities asked our families to keep us from playing or going near that area. The accident was not announced in the limited Jordanian media.

That silence and denial provoked the local public opinion. The daily chats between regular people became an embarrassment to authorities. The citizens were comparing what happened in Sheikh Jarrah with what happened in Bab Al-Amoud, where many were injured; it was also ignored on the media. A group of individuals, never characterized by independence or professional (as the case is now), owned the media then.

***

Our numbers increase every second, Palestine is also an Islamic endowment, especially Jerusalem. No living soul can give, gift, sell, or promise anyone to own it like Britain’s Sir Belfour did in his letters sent 2 November 1917 to Lord Rothschild.¹ Pointing the support of the British government to establishing the Jews’ native land in Palestine, he said, View with favour the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people.

Don’t forget, gentlemen: there’s Al-Aqsa, the Dome of the Rock, where Prophet Mouhammed (peace be upon him) ascended to heaven and represents the first Kiblah for Muslims, who represent one-third of the world’s population. They have the right and the obligation to liberate it. In addition, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre is a pilgrim site for Christians, another third of the world’s population.

The rampage and terrorism of Israel didn’t stop at Bab Al-Amoud. Such bullying continued in many places all over occupied Palestine. One of them was the terrorist attack of the Hebrew University Hospital, in Jabal Al-Zaiton (Mount of Olives), in the Eastern side of Jerusalem under the Jordanian sovereignty.

A group of Israeli soldiers was guarding that facility, supplied with water, food, ammunition, and guns from Israel. The force switched duty on a weekly basis through Jerusalem to pass three kilometres across the eastern side of the city. The convoy was under the protection of the Jordanian army, who didn’t hesitate to use violence against those who didn’t stop, whether cars or individuals.

The kingdom of Jordan was keen on keeping the convoy safe. They assigned it a Jordanian force to surround them from all directions. That force consisted of motorcycles in addition to two soldier carriers. The Jordanian force used to stop Palestinian cars and individuals in the streets where the convoy passed.

We could hear the shouts of the guarding troops at people if they tried to cross the street before the Jewish convoy passed. They wouldn’t hesitate to reproach or hit anyone passing the street or uttering a word against Israel, like. Oh, treacherous Israeli, you dog of occupation! The Jordanian troops cursed and humiliated children and even older people who objected to the passing of the convoy.

The troops were guarding the Hebrew Hospital, which had no medical activity of any kind; the only souls there were the Israeli soldiers and their military activities. They nearly ended my life with a Jewish sniper’s bullet, as I stood in our veranda waiting for the ice cream man. My grandmother screamed when she heard the shot, which missed my head by only a few centimetres before sinking deep into the wall of our house.

I heard her tell my grandfather, The bullet was only three fingers away from Dawood’s head. At the same time, Grandmother asked about the raising of the veranda’s wall, which blocked the view of Haj Salim Al-Hedmy’s orchards, which we loved to look at. Standing in the veranda had become unbearable, and we begged our grandmother to undo the wall, but she refused and said, That’s better—safer for you and your brothers. I hated that soldier who deprived us of the views we loved.

The Hebrew Hospital residences caused fear and terror to our families due to injuries and murders of civilians in the populated areas in Wadi Al-Jouz, Ard Al-Summar, Akbat Al-Sawwana, Al-Tour, and Beir Lemrasras. The hospital’s location was on a high place, on Mount of Olives’ peak; its location gave it full power and control over surrounding routes. The hospital became a source of terror to all residents and to anyone trying to go from home to work or school. The Jewish soldiers prevented us from going out whenever they wanted by shooting us as we headed out. Going out in a shatha² picnic was even a nightmare.

We had a lot of fun from morning to sunset—if these soldiers chose to not ruin our day. Everyone impatiently waited for such picnics after the cold winter. For us children, we wanted to play, climb trees, and collect the plants our parents asked us to find during spring. We collected truffles (which looked like potatoes), silybum, mallow, picric, and nettles (which we collected very carefully because their leaves caused burning and itching).

My friends and I used to go to Mr Al-Hedmy’s land, which was guarded with his labours, who would chase us away. Our relationship with them was like Tom and Jerry. We were friends and enemies at the same time, especially when we were running from the Hebrew Hospital soldiers. The mulberry tree and huge hackberry were our refuge from the Israeli bullets when needed.

One day before sunset, I will never forget the scene of my grandmother standing behind our wall and watching her friend Om Mousa trying to get home safely and survive the Israeli bullets.

Suddenly my grandmother ran outside, heading to Beir Lemrasras and screaming at us, Go home! Hide! Get back! Her voice was still audible until she reached her destination. All neighbours in their houses and behind their walls were calling her to return, fearing the soldiers would hurt her with their bullets.

My grandmother had seen her friend, Om Mousa Shtaya, who was almost fifty years old, on the ground—hit by an Israeli bullet from the Hebrew Hospital. It nestled in her thigh and was an explosive bullet that was internationally forbidden. My grandmother didn’t stop until she reached her friend. She had no medical experience, and she had nothing with which to help the injured woman.

Despite the victim’s fall, the soldier’s thirst for blood didn’t cease. The injured woman was bleeding, and the soldier was still shooting at her, my grandmother, and whoever approached them to help. Om Mousa was merely the victim of a soldier’s desire to play around. She remained on the ground with no care or medical help, unable to get up, fighting for her life. Their location was about five hundred metres away from our house.

My uncle and I ran to the emergency headquarters, passing through the roofs of the houses around us. Luckily we found volunteer nurses and doctors on duty, in addition to strong helpers to help carry Om Mousa’s heavy weight. The paramedics reached the road of Beir Lemrasras. We became optimistic with the neighbourhood, and hope ignited in our hearts. The Red Cross committee enjoyed humanitarian international immunity by the Geneva Conventions, which were supposedly respected.

That weird sniper didn’t allow the committee to approach and help the injured lady. Paramedics could not approach her, and she bled despite the white flags and the Red Cross marks they had with them, in addition to the doctors and nurses.

Om Mousa was still bleeding, and the women was uselessly yelling and asking for help until it was nearly dark. When they finally managed to take the victim and my grandmother out of that snare, Om Mousa had already lost too much blood.

***

One night, a strong explosion woke us from deep sleep. We had no idea where or who it was until we could hear voices calling in Hebrew, Kadema, kadema! (Pull, pull!)

The civilians had no sort of weapon to protect themselves, and our neighbourhood had no experts in using or dealing with weapons. In addition to this, the British mandate had made laws that forbade Palestinians from carrying or using weapons, and later they were forbidden by the Jordanian authorities, which adopted the British laws. Whoever owned a weapon would be arrested. The decision included even razors and knives longer than six centimetres.

My First Demonstration

The year 1957 was full of anti-Israeli and anti–British occupation political activity in the area. The tension increased with NATO’s attempt to create the CENTO Pact, which included Turkey, Iraq, and Jordan as members. That meant building military bases on the lands of these states, especially the ones that didn’t have any before, like Iraq and Jordan. A situation like this would make the region a military target for the Warsaw Pact and nuclear missiles.

That day, I was going home when I saw a big demonstration coming out from the old city and heading to the American embassy, outside the wall in a border area between occupied Palestine (Israel) and the West Bank; it was called Mandelboum Gate. That gate was the cross route of international forces to and from Israel, in addition to non-Arab, American, and foreign embassy or consulate members. A slogan in that demonstration attracted my attention and drove me into the midst of it.

My first motive to be there was that unforgettable feeling of insult when I was young in Bab Al-Amoud and what had happened in Sheikh Jarrah when I was ten years old. I have felt that the nature of these incidents helped me discover my nature—the nature I wasn’t aware of and never discussed before, which was, Who am I?

No doubt these two incidents pushed me to look deeper inside myself and find the elements of my power and my weaknesses: to participate in preventing humiliation to anyone, and to stop whoever contributed in our tragedy and complicated it in the future.

Demonstrations followed demonstrations. Demands of those who were forced to leave their home in 1948 had increased, and the violence of the Jordanian army against the angry masses increased. People were mad at the regime, which didn’t hesitate to use brutal force to suppress the valid political requests claiming the independence of Jordan from British power and support the newly fledged Algerian revolution.

Israel obeyed the request of Britain to allow limited numbers of the Jordanian army into the West Bank to enable Jordan to suppress the political resistance and demonstrations, which are dangerous for not only Jordan but also the Western, British, and Israeli interests in the future. Thus, Britain allowed the Jordanian army into the West Bank, Israel obeyed, but not before Britain relocated some British troops from their military base in Cyprus in fear of any Jordanian movements from the army, which was allegedly disloyal to the royal Jordanian family and may disturb the delicate power balance.

It was obvious they had taken mass anger, rebels in the army, or the reach of Jordanian protesting movements to the Jordanian capital, Amman, to support the West Bank of the Jordan River, which Jordan annexed after being merged under the Jordanian mandate, as per British request. The West Bank had become a part of Jordan without any referendum from Palestinian or Jordanian public opinion. This never meant that the masses were against unity, because everyone worked politically and organisationally to establish the philosophy of Arab unity from the ocean to the gulf. Jordan and the states under French and British occupation refused the invitations for unity, supported by United States later when it replaced them.

During my participation that day for the first time, the demonstration held a slogan: Down with Israel. I met some youth of my age, and we faced the brutal violence of the Jordanian army side by side. We wondered at such brutality against demonstrators who were not carrying any weapons except the shouts and banners against the policy of both Israel and Britain.

We were united by a goal and the wording of the slogans, which expressed my mind and my anger at the insults that hurt me in Bab Al-Amoud, Sheikh Jarrah, and Beit Abdeen’s explosion³ in Wadi Al-Jouz, where the hall fell on its inhabitants. The demonstration was full of injuries of head, feet, hands, and back, caused by the Jordanian soldiers’ clubs—thick sticks with iron coverings, which they used to attack the unarmed demonstrators.

The Jordanian army was able to disperse the demonstration before reaching its destination, the American embassy, after shooting above their heads. Then the demonstrators yelled, Bab Al-Amoud … Bab Al-Amoud.

They wondered, "Where were these soldiers at that time of Bab Al-Amoud’s incident?

Our peaceful demonstrations against the regimes and Britain always included the Israeli bullets heading towards us from the French hospital, where they resided. We were wondering why. We had no understanding of the political equation or the rules of the game in the area.

Like many children, we were busy with our freedom to play in the alley outside the fences of our homes when our parents allowed us. We never went out without the daily advice of our mothers and grandmothers that we be careful. When we heard guns, then we must return without hesitation. This advice was an extra burden on our nerves. Our freedom to play outside our houses was bound by soldiers’ mood. The methods of education inside our houses were affected by the terror, pressure, and fear those bullets had on us.

After several shootings in Bab Al-Amoud took place, Jerusalem municipality decided to build a protection wall instead of the barbed wire to protect those who must pass through it to the inside of the old city walls. The gates of Old Jerusalem consisted of eleven gates: Bab Al-Amoud, Bab Al-Sahera, Bab Al-Asbat, Bab Al-Maghareba, Bab Al-Khalil, Bab Al-Naby Dawood, Bab Al-Jadid, Bab-Al-Rahma, Al-Bab Al-Wahed, Al-Bab Al-Mothallath, and Al-Bab Al-Mozdawij. They were means for entry and exit within the Old City in Jerusalem.

The wall has seven open gates and has closed four.

The Open Gates

1- Bab Al-Amoud: Located in the middle of the northern side of Jerusalem’s wall. Dated back to the Ottoman Sultan Soliman Al-Qanoni. This door has a circular window between two towers. Built on the ruins of a door dated back to the Crusades era. It’s also called Bab Demashq because it was the exit of convoys heading to Damascus.

image%201--Bab%20Al-Amoud.jpg

2- Bab Al-Sahera: To the northern side of Jerusalem’s wall about half a kilometre from Bab Al-Amoud. Simply built within a square tower and dated back to Soliman Al-Qanoni. Also known as the door of Herodotus.

image%202--Bab%20Al-Sahera.jpg

3- Bab Al-Asbat: The door of Tribes. In the eastern wall, it resembles Bab Al-Sahera in design. Dated back to the era of Sliman Al-Qanoni. Also called the St Estephan door and the door of lions due to two lion statues on both sides of the entrance.

image%203--Bab%20Al-Asbat.jpg

4- Bab Al-Maghareba: Located on the southern side of Jerusalem’s wall. It is an arc inside a square tower. It’s considered the smallest of Jerusalem’s gates.

image%204--Bab%20Al-Maghareba.jpg

5- Bab Al-Nabi Dawoud: A big door erected in the era of Soliman Al-Qanoni, also called the gate of Zion.

image%205--Bab%20Al-Nabi%20Dawoud.jpg

6- Bab Al-Khalil: located in the western wall; also called Bab Jafa.

image%206--Bab%20Al-Khalil.jpg

7- Bab Al-Hadid: The Iron Gate. Located on the northern side of the wall about one kilometre from Bab Al-Al Amoud. Opened in AD 1898 when German Emperor Guilloum II visited Jerusalem.

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The Closed Gates

1- Bab Al-Rahma: Gate of Mercy. Located on the eastern wall about two hundred meters from Bab Al-Asbat, directly leading to the mosque. Called the Golden Gate due to its beauty. Dated back to the Omayyad’s era. A double gate with two arcs on top, leading to a courtyard with an arched ceiling on top of huge pillars. The Ottomans shut it because of a fable spread between people that the foreigners would return to occupy Jerusalem through that door.

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2- Al-Bab Al-Wahed: Located in the southern wall, mounted by an arc. It leads right to the mosque. Built in the Umayyad’s Caliph Abdul Malik Ibn Marwan.

3- Al-Bab Al-Mothallath: The Triple Gate. Consists of three gates mounted with an arc that leads directly to the mosque. Built in the Umayyad’s Caliph Abdul Malik Ibn Marwan.

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4- Al-Bab Al-Mozdawij: The Double Gate. Located in the southern wall. It consists of two doors mounted with an arc that leads directly to the mosque. Built in the Umayyad’s Caliph Abdul Malik Ibn Marwan.

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CHAPTER 2

DRASTIC CHANGES

Jordan and Israel—Twins with One Birth Certificate!

In the world after World War II, the newborns were not human this time. They were a project of two states conceived because of international, dual-sided (military and economic) strategy.

The victorious parties played the largest part in drawing and defining the new political map to secure their interests and establish both political and military power. In the lead of this victorious power were the United States and the Soviet Union, who changed the rules of the game. They were the base of tension and the cold war.

The people of Europe, who fought a most vicious war that cost around fifty-two million lives, in addition to the complete destruction of infrastructure and political and social structure, could not affect such a decision. The irony was that the people of Europe were defeated by the American and Soviet decisions that took away self-determination, affecting international matters. Europe found itself following the two superpowers.

This difference created injustice and laid out the rules of the cold war, as well as established a system of dealing with disputes and Axis policies, which the states of the Third World suffered. This was especially true for the people who refused to follow the governments that suppressed the demands of freedom, independence, and non-conformity.

No doubt Yalta’s agreement had established the rules to govern the disputes. Both camps had nuclear weapons, and the race to arms prevented a third world war between them. Because of this agreement, the world was safe from bigger destruction than Hiroshima and Nagasaki. That is why the United States and the Soviet Union planted their military bases around the world against the will of the native people.

I remember a phrase my father taught us as a rule to behold: Never accept defeat, and never surrender no matter its size. The defeated is always neglected and ignored. The victorious allies drew the new political map via a decision from the United States. Their entry to the war was later than any other nation, aiming at one clear goal: to overpower and lead a world that was oceans away.

The United States was not affected by the losses or destruction of Europe and the Soviet Union, in addition to the costs of the Western allies, amounting to fifty-two million souls; the Soviet Union lost approximately twenty-two million. In addition to this was the destruction of infrastructure due to the monstrosities of the war.

The Soviet Union crawled out of that war suffering from hunger, destruction, diseases, and lack of most essential goods, medications, and food. Not only that, but it was faced with the United States and their allies ceasing the provision of essential food and medical aid, isolating and cutting them from the world and turning yesterday’s ally into today’s enemy. On the other hand, the United States walked late into the war with a part of their troops, and it won two things that changed its future and destiny.

The United States walked out with several gains in both the short and long term, which guaranteed leadership and power over weak, destroyed European states. In addition to their direct need for all materials, Europe needed to rebuild societies. The war allowed the United States to develop its industries and agriculture, and to double its products. The wheel of production raced to raise the limit of American production in all phases and types in order to fulfil the reconstruction requests in Europe, in addition to the growth that happened thanks to the use of slave powers.

The American industry started to race time to fulfil the needs in heavy industrial, construction, and agricultural materials, which were destroyed in the war. No doubt the destruction of the European continent became not only the main aspect of prosperity for the American country but also helped to make its economy the biggest and greatest, overcoming the world economy till it reached 40 percent.

Political influence led the United States to inherit and control the areas of her Western allies, like Britain and France, which had special American treatment in many occupying countries that controlled strategically important natural resources in Asia, Africa, and Latin America.

Europe submitted to American requests upon the Marshall Conference in Paris, where the United States outlined its goals and political, economic, and industrial interests as follows.

- Oil and oil industries, from source to marketing countries, is the sole property of American companies.

- European industrial countries are not allowed to work in heavy industries.

- Manufacturing all strategic marine, air, and land transportation industry is the sole property of American companies.

- All wired and wireless communication means, in addition to satellites, are the sole property of the United States.

The European countries were in no position to refuse or alter these terms. On the other hand, Arab countries refused to submit to the European terms and have claimed independence until today.

As for light, medium, and technical industries, the United States allowed a member country to perform them. This American decision was transferred to the Axis countries by the head of the American delegate to Paris. In a meeting, Marshall requested it on the side of the conference.

The head of the American delegates sought to limit the meeting to heads of delegations only, with no assistants or any close employees. By the time Europe submitted to the United States’ demands and obeyed their rules—fearing their anger and wanting to nurture their interest in rebuilding the destroyed countries because of the insane war, in addition to their desire for peace and security—the Arab people were moving against British and French occupation, demanding independence and the retreat of British and French troops off their lands.

Different Powers, Same Oppression

You are an Arab! This means you are a danger, you are a terrorist. We used to run home before dark, and when one of us was late, his family waited behind the walls, wrapped in fear and anxiety.

The Jordanian regime dictated military emergency rules, allowing an officer or a soldier to arrest anyone simply by suspicion, according to martial law, with curfew and preventive detention for any person based on suspicion.

Every person in our society lived under the supervision of several authorities, all leading to the protection of the royal Jordanian regime and its continuity. We were annoyed and used to waste a lot of time protecting ourselves and watching our moves.

The oppression and injustice against active political and social movements not just by state authorities but also from our families and their strict rules, complicated our movements after school.

During holidays, we were forced to go with our parents to their shops and farms in order to remain close to them and under their supervision. Once I told my father while my grandfather was listening, Is it fair to take us to your work places or shops? We need to play in the air! We are still children!

He answered, No, it’s unwise and unfair for you. However, it is better for us as parents to see you in front of our eyes than remain tense and distracted. We’d be worried about what might have happened to you. Are you in a police station or in a hospital? All this is pressing on us, which makes it hard and unbearable for us, in addition to the fear of causing trouble with the state. Because the officer or the guard never lies. The army has its orders to use sticks—and shoot if needed.

We memorised our mother’s and our fearsome grandmother’s advice. Grandmother’s husband and three brothers were taken as soldiers in the Ottoman army, leaving only the women and children. She never forgot the cruelty and executions of the British-mandated authorities of Palestinians in public squares—the terrorism and lashes of their soldiers on the backs and bodies of our sons. Britain brought its soldiers by force from their African settlements. What a cruelty, to force people to oppress their fellow people against their will and reprocess people who claim freedom and independence in their homeland.

Grandmother’s commandments were to stay away from politics and demonstrations in school and streets. She used to hold us in her arms, thanking Allah for our safe return. We felt surrounded from all sides. We were struggling to breathe.

British occupation oppressed parents, and parents oppressed us on one side. On the other side, the terror of Israeli bullets shot at us from time to time, in addition to Jordanian barricades in every street and alley.

Students in particular were stopped and searched at all these barricades. Security officers entered schools to announce their presence and stop demonstrations. Authorities used to arrest and insult parents for the sins of their children—or was we called it, demanding freedom of opinion and independence from guilt.

There were problems in society, especially the problems of a father who must provide food, clothes, and an honourable living for his family. The refugee father’s biggest problem was his inability to fulfil the needs of his children because of the lack of resources he lost in Palestine due to the occupation of migrating Jews from all over the world.

The Israelis formed terrorist groups, the Haganah, Stern and Argon gangs. With the help of Britain and France and their supply of weapons, they forged history, changing geography and misleading both local and international public opinion in the media in a way that had never happened before. Palestine became Israel, and terrorist Jews were turned into victims. We, the true Palestinian victims, became terrorists in the eyes of those who listened to them.

In Malmö’s Airport: Tell Me What Your Country Is

I can never forget what happened in Malmo’s Airport in April 1962, where our plane from Kastrup’s Airport (Denmark) landed. The Swedish passport officer opened my Jordanian passport and asked me, Where were you born, Jordanian Jerusalem or Israeli Jerusalem?

I answered, Jerusalem Palestine.

He said, No, there’s no Jerusalem Palestine, only Jordanian Jerusalem or Israeli Jerusalem.

I couldn’t believe my ears and said: Don’t you know you are asking me to forge my identity?

He said, How?

I told him, I was born before you Europeans gave birth to this Israel.

I wanted to tell him, I was born years before Israel; I am older than it. When you deny my place of birth, Palestinian Jerusalem, this means you deny my existence as a human being standing in front of you. No, I prefer to return from where I came. I can’t live in a country that denies my existence.

"Why don’t you respect what’s in my official passport, issued by British Mandate authorities in Palestine and affirmed by my birth certificate? My passport is made and acknowledged by British authorities—the same as they made and acknowledged Jordan and Israel.

Jordanian authorities used to confiscate Palestinian birth certificates, which were issued during the Mandate period with more than one language, and they issued a Jordanian substitute after an oath in front of a legal court. To avoid confiscating my birth certificate, my father had to find someone who took an oath that I was born in Jerusalem to allow me to keep my original birth certificate. The most painful and unfair was the Swedish authorities’ request to confess and acknowledge the non-existence of Palestinian Jerusalem. Who am I, then?

Do you want me to officially deny the truth by submitting to you so you can tidy your official Swedish migrating records and passports to hide the truth from your citizens? Or is it that they submitted to British, French, and American blackmail? I was born in Jerusalem Palestine, not in Jerusalem Jordan or Jerusalem Israel.

Why do you ask me to acknowledge those who usurped and faked my history and my land, taking my national identity from me? There are thousands of Palestinians born with their ancestors in Palestine. Jerusalem, Haifa, Tel Al Zouhour (Tel Aviv), and many Palestinian cities and villages between the Mediterranean and the Jordan River, where Jesus Christ was christened. We’re the Yabousians and Kan’aanians. I doubt you know the history of your country, so how do you know mine? This is slander of me.

My memory went far from our tragedy at that moment when we lost our homes, farms, and money and lived on the UNRWA’s aid card, which never offered us honourable life support for our children and women. That Swedish officer sent me back to that day. In the spring of 1957, I went with my grandfather to visit his eldest daughter, my aunt Bushra, in a trip from Jerusalem to Jericho.

We entered the city and advanced in the street beside the camp of Akbat Jabr refugees. Most of these people were from Palestinian towns like Lod, Ramla, Deir Yassin, Amouas, and nearby villages. My grandfather saw a friend from his childhood from Lod, occupied by Jews in 1948, and one of his comrades in Izmir in the days of the Ottoman Empire, which ruled Palestine, Iraq, Egypt, Hejaz, and many other states. My grandfather called loudly, What a coincidence! He asked the driver to stop next to the man.

The man stopped when my grandfather hailed him before dismounting from the car, and he was surprised to hear the man ask, Who are you?

Grandfather was astonished. Did you forget me?

The man fell silent for a few moments before saying, "Excuse me, I can’t see