On Saturday evening, 19 July, 2014, some dozen Haifa
feminist activists gathered in the Haifa Women’s Coalition house to prepare
signs for the protest march scheduled to take place at 21:30 in Carmel Center,
Haifa. The atmosphere was positive, there was a sense that we are doing
something, raising our voice, refusing to be silenced. We took photographs of
ourselves with the signs and with the word ENOUGH written on our palms in
Arabic (خلص), Hebrew (די), and English. At around 21:00 we headed towards Carmel Center,
to join the march, organized by the Hadash Arab-Jewish party.
As soon as we arrived, we were completely taken aback by the
scene. At least 2,000 extreme right-wing protesters were gathered at the point
from which our march was to begin. We were moved to a different nearby
location. We were few. Some accounts say we were several hundreds, but I don’t
think there was more than 250 of us. Maybe even 200.
We could not march. The extreme right-wing protesters kept
coming in, and were spread over on the other side of the main street, mainly
chanting “death to Arabs” and “death to leftists.” I felt fear rise in my
throat. I began taking pictures. At one point, I realized that when the protest
is over, it will be very dangerous to disperse. I searched for our
international intern and made sure that she doesn’t leave alone. Then I asked
three of my friends – separately – if I can join them in their car and if they
can drive me home. Three, because I wanted to make sure that if I lose sight of
any of them, I have alternatives.
The protest came to an end
when the last of the protestors who came out of Haifa got on the bus and left.
Or so we thought. This was just the beginning. At this point, we remained about
50 protestors – mainly from Haifa, who came on foot or by car. Our intention
was to disperse and go home. The police began dispersing as well. But the
extreme right-wing protestors didn’t show any signs of dispersing. On the
contrary, they just kept multiplying. Not only that, we soon realized that they
were spread in groups in all they alleys surrounding us, behind bushes at the
entrances to buildings, everywhere. Ambushing protestors trying to leave. My
friends and I (at this point we were 6 or 7) tried to leave through the back
yard of one of the buildings, and soon were chased back by angry protestors who
were ambushing us with the aim of attacking us physically.
Back with the group of
50 protestors, we found ourselves moving slowly down the street, with no clear
plan of what or how. At one point, my 5 friends somehow succeeded to break away
and leave. Later I learned that two of them were beaten, one ended up in the
hospital for concussion.
I remained with the 50
last protestors, and we came to a corner and stopped there. The scene in front
of us was terrifying. In my estimation, there were about 1,500 of them.
Surrounding us, approaching us, chanting death to Arabs. I looked at the
street, and saw maybe 15 regular, unarmed policemen where half an hour before
where hundreds of policemen, some on horseback.
We shrank back. A
young teenage girl began crying behind me. An older woman said let’s go into
one of the apartments. I screamed at one of the policemen: get us a bus! Then
at one of the organizers the same thing. It was so easy at this point to just
call a bus and get the hell out of there. We found ourselves posting statuses
on Facebook that we are surrounded, we began calling 100 (police hotline). At
this point, stones began flying at us. Large. One of them hit my friend in the
side of her head. We were now crouching, our hands over our heads. I could
smell the fear among us.
To me, this seemed to
go on forever. It went on maybe for an hour. Later I learned that from my
friends who saw our calls for help on Facebook that many of them called 100.
The police, realizing it’s getting worse, at this point brought in the water
cannon and armed police. Still, the water cannon didn’t help disperse the angry
crowd.
Finally, after what
seemed an eternity, the police decided to start moving us alongside the
sidewalk. We begin walking, chased by the angry mob. As we walk, they pop up
from everywhere: from alleys, entrances to houses. Stones keep flying in our
direction. We keep moving through the alleyways. I have a feeling the police
has no plan, no idea of what to do with us. We walk for about one kilometre. We
stop at a roundabout. Now the police officers are arguing about what to do with
us. I try again: “bring us a bus!” About 15-20 minutes later, a bus drives
past, one of the night lines. The police stops the bus, gets the passengers
off, and we get on.
We start moving. To
me, it seemed we were driving in circles, as the angry mob was still chasing us
in their cars. To me, it seemed that the ride was taking forever. We didn’t
know where the bus is taking us. Finally, we arrive at Maxim restaurant by the
beach. The place is full of police, and the water cannon. We get off the bus,
and there seems to be no extremists in sight. It seems that everything is behind
us. We get on another bus that’s waiting there. We have no idea where this bus
will take us. Yet there’s a feeling of relief. We all get on the bus, and the
bus starts pulling away.
All of a sudden, and
out of nowhere, rocks fly at the bus. Moments of terror. The side windows are
broken and there is glass everywhere. We scream at the driver to keep driving,
as the police has finally left us and we are on our own.
The bus arrives at the
German Colony, an Arab neighbourhood. We disembark. At last, a feeling of some
sort of safety. Still, I find myself looking around me. Some of us, who live
nearby, disperse. The rest, about 25 or so, head to the headquarters of the
Hadash party. I’m shaking. Three of my friends come and pick me up in their
car.
During all this, about
ten women friends of mine stayed close to their phones and Facebook, calling,
sending messages, asking what can we do, how can we help, calling the police.
They wanted to come and pick us up, but there was no way. There were literally
thousands of these extremists spread out all over the Carmel Center.
My friends drive me
home, and during the drive, we keep watching cars passing us by, making sure we
are not followed. When we reach my neighbourhood, a Jewish one, we stay in the
car for several minutes to make sure nobody is around. Then, my friend walks me
home. In the safety of my home, suddenly, I fell exposed, unsafe. The cat’s
movement causes me to jump. An hour later, a friend calls to bring me
something. I walk outside to meet her, and she puts her finger to her mouth,
indicating we should not speak in Arabic. We stand in the street, speaking
Hebrew.
I sit at my computer
and write a short description of my experience, and as I write, I realize that
what went on there was a pogrom. I realize that it could have ended not with
people injured, but with people dead. I shiver as I recall the eyes full of
murder. People who actually wanted me dead. For being an Arab. Not for any
other reason.
This is my personal
account of what happened on Saturday night. I’ve heard similar experiences from
other activists who were with us. For me, it is becoming scary just to walk
down the street or ride the bus. I have explicitly told my daughter not to talk
in Arabic in public spaces. I myself am afraid to answer calls from Arab
friends while on the bus for fear of being attacked.
This is Haifa 2014.
khulud khamis
Haifa 22 July, 2014
On the same day, before the protest, I wrote a poem called "war is not my language"
Link to photo album of the "war is not my language photos:
link to photos from the demonstration:
