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<h1><font size=4><b>Thousands at the
border</b></font></h1><font size=3>
<a href="http://electronicintifada.net/people/moe-ali-nayel">Moe Ali
Nayel</a><br>
<a href="http://electronicintifada.net/content/thousands-border/9971" eudora="autourl">
http://electronicintifada.net/content/thousands-border/9971<br>
</a>17 May 2011<br><br>
I grew up in Lebanon during the civil war and the Israeli occupation of
the south. During that time a revolutionary song by Julia Butros, “Wayn
al-Malayeen?” (where are the millions), was continually heard. But as a
child I never understood what she meant when she sang “Where are the
millions? Where are the Arab people?”<br><br>
In 2006 during the Israeli war on Lebanon I heard the song again. I was
25; this time I understood what it meant and that line kept playing
endlessly in my head throughout the 33 days of war.<br><br>
Last Sunday, on the way to the border, the bus driver played that song.
In light of the Arab revolutions that are happening at the moment,
millions of Arabs have taken to the streets to demand their freedom, to
demand their rights and to speak out for the first time (at least since I
have been alive). On 15 May the same millions took to the streets, only
this time to demand the liberation of Palestine: their freedom, their
right.<br><br>
That day at 7:30am we gathered in front of Mar Elias Palestinian refugee
camp in Beirut. There were five buses already full of people and on the
street there were about a hundred others waiting for more buses. Finally,
we learned there were no more buses and we would have to rent additional
ones. I got into our rented bus full of enthusiasm and good vibes; the
journey back to Palestine had started. The crowd on the bus was an
interesting mix of people of different nationalities and as we sat down
we were all Palestine, we were all Palestinian.<br><br>
For weeks I had anxiously awaited 15 May, the Third Palestinian Intifada.
Many people had started referring to it as such on social networks, and I
myself loved the sound of it and so this is how I would refer to it every
time I spoke about it. However, 15 May is the Nakba (catastrophe)
commemoration; on this day we remember that more than 750,000
Palestinians were forced out of their homes, their land, to make way for
a new country and people to be put in their place.<br><br>
To me Palestine was and still is the central cause in the Arab world, and
I always believed that the liberation of Palestine would not happen
before the liberation of the Arab people from the corrupt ruling
dictatorships. The west like to call them the Arab moderates but in
reality this means Arab puppets. Today however the Arab world is changing
and the Arab people are revolting, and while they are revolting they have
not forgotten about Palestine or the suffering and occupation their
Palestinian brethren are going through.<br><br>
In closely following the Arab uprisings since the protests in Tunisia
started, I have always seen at least one Palestinian flag among the
protesters in every Arab country. Palestine has always been present
during the protests. Palestine has always been present in the hearts and
conscience of the Arab people. The “malayeen” or millions are speaking
now and their united voice is hitting the sky. Yesterday, again, the Arab
people spoke: the people want to liberate Palestine; the people want to
return to Palestine.<br><br>
<b>The road to Palestine<br><br>
</b>The trip from Beirut took longer than it should along the coast to
the south; hundreds of buses and cars displayed Palestinian flags, and on
the sides of the roads big billboards read: “May 15th: the march to
return.” I have never felt so delighted when looking at a billboard
before.<br><br>
On the windy road from Nabatiyeh to Maroun al-Ras, the endless line of
buses continued, the windows full of people waving to each other and
flashing the V for victory sign. We felt like we were really going back
to Palestine. On the bus three Palestinian friends and I jokingly but
sincerely started making plans about where in Jerusalem we were going to
have a coffee, or should we just go to Haifa and enjoy the beach there,
we teased, believing it somehow.<br><br>
As the bus wound through the lush green valleys of the south, blooming
with flowers and life, I couldn’t help but notice many buses with Syrian
license plates. “Had these people come all the way from Syria?” I
wondered. But no, I was told there were not enough buses in Lebanon, so
some had been rented from Syria.<br><br>
Contrary to our original plans, the bus had to stop in Bint Jbeil, a
village a few kilometers away from our destination the border at Maroun
al-Ras. The village had been turned into a big parking lot for buses
carrying people from a dozen refugee camps all over Lebanon and the many
Lebanese that wanted to march to the border. We jumped out of the bus and
without asking how we would get to the border, we found ourselves joining
thousands of people walking through the green fields and climbing
mountains as a short-cut to our shared destination.<br><br>
It was an approximately five kilometer walk or more accurately, a hike.
It was beautiful to see endless lines of people marching from different
directions in the green land. Next to me were Palestinian families who
had brought the young ones and dressed them up for the occasion. There
were old women and men who struggled to climb the steep hills and there
was a great spirit of solidarity among the people as everyone gave a
hand, everyone offered to help, and everyone smiled.<br><br>
My wife and I slowed our pace at one point to listen to an old
Palestinian man leaning on a cane. He was walking with his grandson and
telling him the story of the time he had had to leave Palestine and carry
his nine-year-old sister while escaping to Lebanon over these very same
mountains and paths. The old man spoke to his grandson of the beauty of
Palestine and described how their home looked.<br><br>
Finally, as we gradually drew closer to the border, he told the young
boy, “Soon you will go and see Palestine, the most beautiful country I
have ever seen; it’s where we come from. It’s our land.”<br><br>
<b>Shooting from the valley<br><br>
</b>We finally got to Maroun al-Ras, a public space on top of a mountain
overlooking occupied Palestine. There were thousands of people scattered
all over the mountain top and a big screen was broadcasting what was
happening down in the valley. Before we could properly take in our
surroundings I heard shooting, four or five shots from below us in the
valley.<br><br>
I told my wife the Israelis are shooting, and a minute after that, a
person on the microphone called for the ambulance to bring down
stretchers to the fence. I asked what was happening and people told me
four martyrs had fallen and more than twenty were injured.<br><br>
A wave of people stretched from the park on the top of the hill all the
way down to the border fence. I found myself sliding on that wave,
stopping every once in a while to catch my breath and wonder whether I
should stay where I was or keep going down to the fence. I could not
contain the desire to join the thousands on the fence already throwing
stones across the border. From a distance, the stones looked like white
birds diving to the other side.<br><br>
I finally made it to what they were calling the second line,
approximately 500 meters away from the border fence. There were
ambulances parked nearby and the Lebanese army had formed a human chain
to prevent more people from joining those at the border fence.<br><br>
Many Palestinian young men and women kept insisting on breaking the chain
the Lebanese army had made, wanting to join their brothers and sisters on
the front line. Watching the faces of the Lebanese soldiers, all I could
see was confusion and panic, but they were not losing any chance to
threaten and intimidate the protesters with their raised batons and
sticks.<br><br>
<b>All their guns were directed to the sky<br><br>
</b>Standing in front of the army were a few Palestinian men pleading
with the raging people not to take it out on the Lebanese army. “This is
not what we were here for,” they shouted over the chants. That did not
stop the people, and even with the knowledge that the land between them
was littered with mines, people kept breaking through the chain and
sprinting to join the front line.<br><br>
One group of courageous young women broke the chain of men and ran
towards the front line and everyone cheered them on. All this time the
Israelis were shooting, a burst of two or three shots rang out
frequently, and every time they shot we saw the stretchers gathering new
bodies.<br><br>
At 4:00pm we decided to climb up the steep mountain and walk back to
catch our bus. After a couple minutes of walking, I noticed the Lebanese
army moving towards the front line, the fence; they reached the
protesters who started loudly chanting “Palestine! Palestine!” As the
army made their way to the very front it looked like they had decided the
protest was over, and suddenly, with no warning, the Lebanese army on the
front and the second line started firing thousands of rounds into the
air.<br><br>
All their guns where directed to the sky, but the amount of shooting
terrorized everyone who was there. We all started sprinting up the steep
mountain; a random man pulled my arm and dragged me up with him as I
struggled to keep up on my feet. The firing intensified and there were
the same waves of people this time running in panic. Next to me there
were lost children, crying, wanting their parents; an old man ran out of
breath, crouched down; I saw an old Palestinian woman running up the
mountain with tears running down her face.<br><br>
Looking back down to where the second line was, I could only see a line
of soldiers with their M16 rifles to the sky, shooting nonstop. It was
like something out of the movies. But something even more terrorizing
happened in the middle of the shooting. As the Lebanese fired their guns
I heard deeper shots coming from the Israeli side and bullets whizzed by
me; I took a dive to the ground. The way the Lebanese army decided to end
the event made me ask myself, who is the enemy here?<br><br>
<b>Nothing to lose but our chains<br><br>
</b>The march to return left at least ten persons dead in Lebanon and
many others in Syria and Palestine, while in Egypt the people were
prevented from reaching the border.<br><br>
People who normally don’t care about Palestine and enjoy a life of apathy
and consumerism asked me today, what did you achieve? What did you
change? Was it worth it the death of tens of people?<br><br>
My answer is the following: after yesterday, things will not be the same
as before 15 May. Just like after
<a href="http://electronicintifada.net/content/its-not-just-tunisians-who-are-hungry/9791">
Muhammad Bouazizi</a>, things are not the same as before he shook the
Arab world. The Arab people, us, the Arab youth, we are not going to let
the <i>status quo</i> continue, we are not going to be humiliated by our
own people anymore. We are not going to let Palestine and the Palestinian
people be humiliated and tortured every time they breathe.<br><br>
We are freedom-loving people and we won’t live anymore on empty promises
from our corrupt governments who use Palestine as a pretext to repress us
while they enjoy stealing from our pockets. We won’t let them continue to
make sure Israel is safe and sound, enjoying the beautiful land of
Palestine, while hundreds of thousands of Palestinian refugees live in
inhumane conditions in the camps.<br><br>
How do you expect a Palestinian refugee to see his land being enjoyed by
the Israeli occupation and not react to that? We, the Arab people, the
Arab youth, the millions, have decided that we have nothing to lose but
our chains and that Palestine is our prize. I saw yesterday how much the
people want to free Palestine, how much they want return to Palestine.
The Arab people are here, the Arab rage is here, the <i>malayeen</i> are
here.<br><br>
<i>Moe Ali Nayel is a journalist and fixer based in Beirut.<br><br>
<br><br>
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