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Subject: Arafat's "Funeral"<br>
To: arlenesreport@yahoo.com<br><br>
<br>
I just came back from two days in Ramallah-- the day he died and the day
of his funeral. Here is a copy of an article I did. Quite amazing to be
an "eyewitness" to this. if you have any suggestions of places
to publish it, please let me know. Peace, arlene<br>
<br><br>
</font><div align="center"><font size=2 color="#333333"><b><a name="s1content"></a>Eyewitness
Report of Arafat's
Burial</font><a name="s1content"></a><font face="arial" size=2 color="#333333">
<br><br>
</div>
RAMALLAH, Palestine November 12, 2004, <br><br>
</b><i>(Note: Ramallah is a large town, a few miles north of Jerusalem in
the West Bank. It has become the de facto capital of Palestine. The
Israeli policy, like the fallen Apartheid regime of South Africa, is to
isolate Palestinian people into "Bantustans"—open air prisons
surrounded by a 30-foot high wall. Because of this policy, it is now
impossible for many Palestinians living outside of Ramallah to travel
there to visit family and friends, to do business or attend school. A
trip that used to take a maximum of 20 minutes, can now take two hours.)
<br><br>
<b>It is Friday, November 12, in Ramallah, Palestine and streams of
people are flowing from the side streets into the river of people filling
the main street heading to the Muqataa, the bombed out headquarters of
their President, Yassir Arafat. For 30 months, the Israelis tried to bury
him alive by first bombing, then imprisoning him in his compound. Today,
at least 125,000 Palestinian people crowded into the compound that they
call Muqataa to demonstrate their determination to continue the struggle
that Yassir Arafat started some 40 years earlier. <br><br>
Two young men, mounted on the shoulders of their comrades, their passion
making a bullhorn unnecessary, lead a crowd chanting, "Abu Ammar is
the whole people and the whole people cannot die." Many Palestinians
affectionately called their President, Abu Ammar, the name he adopted as
a military leader and founder of Palestine's independence movement
against Israeli occupation. In Arabic the chant is a rhythmic call and
response—part rap, part battle cry.<br><br>
Elders, women in their long dark dresses embroidered in traditional
Palestinian patterns, walk more slowly—holding portraits of Arafat. Many
of them—older than the state of Israel -- are sobbing. They remember the
"nakba" (Arabic for sankofa or holocaust): 1948 when Israeli
settlers drove them from their homes, their olive and orange orchards.
They remember the negotiated promise of a free life in an independent
Palestine. And they remember yesterday, when they had to haul 40 pounds
of fruits and vegetables over rocky hills because more than 700 road
closures block all travel from home to market, from market to field. And,
when this burial is over, today, like yesterday and tomorrow, when they
take their grandchildren to school, try to get to a doctor or hospital or
mosque, they will have to face a line of Israeli boys armed with M-16's,
tear gas, clubs and flak jackets—boys younger than their grandchildren.
These boys will bark orders at them to show identification papers, open
their bags for inspection, and to state the purpose of their journey from
one side of their village to another. Often, when the women do not
understand the Hebrew demands, soldiers yell at them, shout insults, push
or even detain them.<br><br>
These elders join younger women—may wearing kaffiyeh's over traditional
Muslim headcovers. They are angry and chanting, "Listen Sharon
(Israeli President), Palestine cannot be defeated." One of them is
Nihan, a student whose brother is a political prisoner—one of the 8000
out of a nation of 3.5 million. Some 70% of young Palestinian men have
been locked up and tortured. While we chat, some men wearing military
uniforms and ski masks march on the other side of the traffic circle. As
they fire their rifles in the air, I flinch and involuntarily grab Nihan,
a petite, delicate young woman. She smiles and tells me, "Don't
worry, it's the Palestinian people."<br><br>
Palestinian flags, black mourning flags, posters with Arafat's face are
plastered everywhere: on walls, windows, statues, cars, taxis, trucks,
tractors and ambulances. They join miles of graffiti—some faded, some
fresh, denouncing Sharon, Bush and demanding and end to the crime of
occupation.<br><br>
A huge poster of Arafat—at least 20 feet high and 15 feet wide—greets the
crowd as we approach the wall that surrounds the Muqatta. It says,
"Palestine is our land. (Arafat is) a symbol of resistance. We will
fight until victory." Signed HAMAS. The same poster with a giant
image of Arafat hangs from the most prominent place inside the compound.
<br><br>
Hamas, the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, the Palestine
National Initiative and many other organizations that follow strategies
different from Arafat to achieve the common goal of Palestinian
independence and freedom, are here to pay their respects to Arafat. While
they have often criticized his compromises and the corruption of the
Palestinian Authority—they are united in the conviction that the Israeli
Occupation is their common enemy. And they all recognize that Arafat was
the father of the Palestinian nation, a symbol of resistance who, for the
30 months before he died, refused to leave Palestine, even though that
meant living under house arrest and with the constant threat of
assassination by Israel.<br><br>
The crowd inside the compound covers every available surface. By noon, at
least 100,000 are packed inside the compound with another 25,000 jamming
the streets surrounding it. This represents about one out of every 20
Palestinians in the West Bank—the equivalent number in the US would be 15
million demonstrators. They came to Ramallah despite fully armed Israeli
soldiers, tanks and armored cars cutting off many of the side roads and
all the main roads leading to Ramallah from the East and North.
<br><br>
It is noon—about two hours before the helicopter carrying Arafat's
remains is due to arrive from Cairo. People cover the rubble where
Arafat's bombed out offices used to stand. They scale walls to get
rooftop views and wait patiently. Some came from watching the Cairo
ceremony on TV and proudly report that nearly all presidents and prime
ministers from Arab states as well as President Thabo Mbeki of South
Africa and President Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe attended the state funeral
in Cairo. And now, Abu Ammar is coming to be buried in
Palestine.<br><br>
In order to avoid confrontation with Israel—despite the desire of
many—there was no attempt by the Palestine Authority to organize a march
on Jerusalem to demand that Arafat be buried inside the walls of the Al
Aqsa compound. Instead, Arafat's casket is being temporarily
"buried" in a concrete crypt (portable), inside the Muqataa and
symbolically covered with some soil from Al Aqsa. Yet, many chants
confirm the strong commitment of the Palestinian people to struggle for
the day when they can bury Arafat in a free Jerusalem—not a city occupied
by tens of thousands of Israeli troops. <br><br>
Excitement sweeps the crowd. Whistles sound from all sides. But no
helicopter is yet in sight. Then, masked Palestinian soldiers with rifles
and swords appear, some marching, some in jeeps. When they fire their
rifles in the air—a gesture like a 21-gun salute—the crowd claps and
yells its approval. The Palestinian people crave peace. And they also
love their sons and daughters who understand that without control over
their own land and lives, they must fight for peace—either non-violently
or violently.<br><br>
Finally, only a few minutes after the scheduled time, three helicopters
appear in the distance. They circle Ramallah once before one of the
helicopters descends into a landing space in the crowd. The helicopter
whips up dust and rocks, but the crowd stays and chants of "Yassir,
Yassir" drown out the helicopter noise. When it's engine is turned
off, massive cheers and quadraphonic rifle fire from several directions
explode. Someone yells, "If you love Arafat, sit down." For a
few seconds, the crowd kneels on the dusty turf. But everyone wants a
glimpse of the coffin draped with the Palestinian flag, so soon, the
people stand.<br><br>
Those who mourn Arafat's death, mix with those who have come to express
their dedication to resisting occupation—to fight for Palestinian
freedom. There is more rifle fire. More chants. "With our blood,
with our lives, we'll avenge you Arafat." Ambulances arrive to aid
at least four people struck by stray bullets. The sound of rifle fire
seems to take over the compound. Most the crowd streams towards the
gates. Some media described the scene as chaotic. Certainly, the sulfur
smell of spent bullets filled the air. But the crowd dispersed
peacefully. There were no speeches, no processions. Most people headed
home to break their fast. It is the last Friday of Ramadan. <br><br>
One young woman wearing a traditional Muslim head scarf and a kaffiyeh
around her shoulders told a reporter, "The Palestinian people will
continue to struggle. We have no choice. The occupation is suffocating
us. We must resist!"<br><br>
<div align="center"># # # #<br><br>
Possible Sidebars<br><br>
</div>
Arafat's Death Sparks Demonstrations Throughout Palestine<br><br>
On Thursday, when his death was announced and Friday, the day he was
buried, demonstrations and spontaneous displays of mourning erupted in
Jerusalem, all major Palestinian cities, Gaza, and many towns and
villages. <br><br>
In Jerusalem on Thursday, hundreds gathered for a candle-lit rally in the
amphitheater- like entrance to the Old City at Damascus Gate. As they
left the rally for a peaceful march through East Jerusalem, Israeli
soldiers stopped them and arrested 60. <br><br>
With roadblocks preventing travel to the burial in Ramallah, people
joined demonstrations in Nablus—which has been under very strict martial
law, Bethlehem, Hebron and Jenin. There were reports of vigils and
rallies in smaller towns and villages throughout the West Bank. At the
same time, young people everywhere burned tires and climbed light poles
to post flags and posters. At Qalandia, a suburb of Jerusalem and the
main Israeli checkpoint that prevents residents of the West Bank from
entering Jerusalem, children threw rocks at fully-armed Israeli soldiers.
The soldiers fired many rounds in the direction of the kids who seemed to
run quicker than bullets. But it was only the presence of many reporters
that probably saved the lives of these children.<br><br>
In Ain al-Hilwah refugee camp, one of 10 in Jordan where 1.7 million
Palestinians live, a chant went up, "Abu Ammar, you can rest now, we
shall continue the struggle."<br><br>
How Israel Creates Resistance<br><br>
Throughout the narrow streets of the Muslim Quarters, at corners, and all
along the route to the Mosque, every day and every night, Israeli
soldiers arbitrarily stop Palestinians, demand ID and interrogate people.
Only those with official Jerusalem residency are allowed there. If one
observes a corner for 15 minutes, a minimum of five men will be detained.
<br><br>
On this Friday, in addition to the usual thousands of Israeli soldiers
occupying Jerusalem, 5000 more arrived to block all roads and gates
leading to Al Aqsa Mosque. Last year, on the last Friday of Ramadan, some
300,000 people prayed peacefully at Al Aqsa—one of the holiest shrines of
Islam. People have been fasting and celebrating Ramadan for nearly a
month. With all their dedication to prayer, family and tradition, people
head to Al Aqsa on the last Friday of Ramadan. This year, the Israelis
decreed that only people over 45 years of age and none from the
"territories" (West Bank and Gaza) could enter the Mosque. They
set up an elaborate series of gates and mazes to keep people
out.<br><br>
Those—even older people—who were blocked from praying with their
families, nodded when a woman told a reporter, "Jerusalem is part of
who we are. It is our capital, our holy land. They cannot keep us out
forever."<br>
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