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<div class="header reader-header" style="display: block;"
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<h1 class="reader-title">Why we continue to march in Gaza</h1>
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<div class="reader-estimated-time" dir="ltr"
style="text-align: left;">August 17, 2018 - <span
class="field field-author"><a
href="https://electronicintifada.net/people/abdalrahim-alfarra">Abdalrahim
Alfarra</a></span></div>
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<figure id="file-68331"><source media="(min-width:
72rem)"><figcaption></figcaption></figure>
<p>I was sitting behind my desk in my family’s
supermarket in Khan Younis on 14 May when my cousin
Ali approached.</p>
<p>There was going to be another gathering in
al-Faraheen for that day’s <a
href="https://electronicintifada.net/tags/great-march-return">Great
March of Return</a> protest, he said. Would I join
him?</p>
<p>“No, I prefer the one in Khuzaa where we usually go,”
I said.</p>
<p>Ali insisted to go to al-Faraheen and decided he
would do so with his friend Saed. He stayed with me
until I closed the shop and we went our separate ways.
I called my friend Ahmad to go to Khuzaa.</p>
<p>At the protest, we found the usual: tear gas
canisters falling thickly, leaving us barely able to
breathe or talk; ambulances and paramedics fanning out
everywhere; and the sound of live bullets whizzing
past.</p>
<p>The sound of a bullet elicits contradictory feelings.
All of us know that it will hit someone. But if we
hear it, we are safe, just like when we hear shelling
it means it has exploded but not on us.</p>
<h2>Critically wounded</h2>
<p>Then my phone began to ring. I saw my brother’s name
on the screen. Before I had a chance to say anything,
he urged me to come to the European Hospital, “Now!
Ali was shot.”</p>
<p>I started running without thinking. Ahmad followed
and we rushed over to the hospital in a taxi. There we
made our way through the crowds, the screams, the
blood on the clothes and beds, the men and women
weeping.</p>
<p>“Ali Firwana?” I gasped to the woman behind the
reception desk.</p>
<p>“Second floor in surgery,” she replied.</p>
<p>The whole family, Ali’s friends and everyone, were
there waiting, fearful and worried. Time seemed to
speed up. Everything moved fast. The paramedics came
through with wounded people on stretchers, bustling
from room to room. A doctor would appear at regular
intervals urging people to give blood. “We need blood!
Those who can donate blood, follow me please!”</p>
<p>We had already donated but they never stopped asking.</p>
<p>Finally, a doctor came out of the operating room.
“Ali’s condition is critical. Be patient and pray for
him.”</p>
<p>After several hours, they transferred him to the
intensive care unit. He was taken to the ICU where we
were not allowed to join him.</p>
<figure id="file-68336"><source media="(min-width:
72rem)"><figcaption></figcaption></figure>
<h2>Paralysis</h2>
<p>Ali stayed in a coma for about a month. When he woke
up, he was in shock, gazing at the feeding and
breathing tubes stuck in his body, unable to speak. He
did not believe at first that his coma had lasted a
full month. He told us he had only been asleep for a
day.</p>
<p>It was several days later, when the diagnosis of
paralysis was confirmed, that we had to tell Ali that
he would no longer be able to move his legs.</p>
<p>I cannot imagine what my reaction would have been if
this had happened to me. Certainly, I would lose hope.
Yet Ali was hopeful and brave. He encouraged me to
continue participating in the protests. When a
classmate who came to visit him at the hospital asked
if he would go back, he answered, without hesitation.
“Absolutely!”</p>
<p>For Ali and myself, the Great March of Return was a
dream. Here we were, Palestinians, together, all
calling for the right of refugees to return to their
homes and lands from where they were expelled by
Zionist forces in 1948. All of us, together, were
demanding the lifting of Israel’s blockade on Gaza,
now in its 11th year. We were united against the US
embassy move to Jerusalem.</p>
<p>I was most motivated by the need for the rest of the
world to see the protests from a Gazan perspective.
There aren’t enough activists here who can tell our
story in English to people abroad and reveal how
Israel’s terror and inhumanity impact our lives.</p>
<p>The Great March of Return has inspired thousands of
Palestinians in Gaza to protest for our rights. But it
has come at a great cost. More than 125 have been
killed during the demonstrations, and more than 5,000
have been injured by live fire.</p>
<p>Hundreds face long-term disability, dozens have had
limbs amputated, and as of 3 July, at least 10
protestors were left paralyzed as a result of their
injury.</p>
<h2>“I am dying”</h2>
<p>According to the hospital neurologist, an exploding
bullet had injured Ali’s spinal cord, caused the loss
of two vertebrae and damage to his liver, diaphragm
and lungs.</p>
<p>He was eventually moved to a <a
href="https://electronicintifada.net/tags/palestine-red-crescent-society">Palestine
Red Crescent Society</a> rehabilitation center. Each
Friday, when the clinic workers have a day off, we
bring him home. I hear him crying, shouting and
screaming in pain at night.</p>
<p>“Take me back to the hospital. I cannot take this
pain. I am dying. Take me back please!”</p>
<p>I feel helpless. I do not know how to ease his pain.
My heart tears with each scream.</p>
<p>Taking advantage of a moment of quiet, I once asked
him what happened the moment he was shot.</p>
<p>“There was heavy gunfire,” he said. “We lay down on
the ground to protect ourselves. The soldiers were
looking at us and their weapons were aimed toward us.
And there was a deceitful sniper who waved at us,
telling us to leave the place safely.</p>
<p>“I made a decision I will regret for the rest of my
life: I trusted him. When I stood up, the pain was
like a bolt of lightning that burned the depths of my
body. I felt that every part of my body was literally
on fire.</p>
<p>“At that moment I was not afraid of death. It is my
mother I was thinking of throughout all of this! My
mother! Just my mother and nothing but my mother.”</p>
<h2>Hope against hope</h2>
<p>Ali is his mother’s only child; her husband abandoned
her when she was pregnant. He was supposed to graduate
from the Gaza Community/Training College with a
specialization in motor mechanics this semester. That
deceitful sniper had sabotaged his plans to dedicate
his life to supporting his mother.</p>
<p>The day I asked Ali about being shot, we had gone to
the house where he lived with his mother. My uncle
opened their fridge to find nothing but a piece of
cheese and frozen bread.</p>
<p>I was shocked to realize that they live in extreme
poverty. They had never asked for help. We are poor
too, but I feel the blame is on us for not asking
about their situation.</p>
<p>Ali is now receiving medical treatment in Egypt. His
mother and uncles are with him. They received help
from a local charity as well as the government in
Gaza.</p>
<p>Ali requires further surgery. He is still hoping to
move his legs again. He is still hoping to defy the
treacherous bullet fired by a heartless sniper, and a
world that answers Israel’s crimes with shocking
silence.</p>
<p><em>Abdalrahim Alfarra is a Palestinian activist from
Gaza.</em></p>
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