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Did it really happen? Sometimes I have to look around to remind myself I am no longer in Palestine.

I have been asked before to write about my experience, and always replied “Sure, no problem!” But whenever I tried I couldn’t. Even though I remember every small detail – the furniture in the interrogation room, I can still see the face of the Oz officer who arrested me and the faces of people I met in jail, and even remember the smell of the detention centre, I still don’t have any feelings. Going through an experience with no feelings is like talking about a really boring film you have seen. There was no violence, nothing particularly outrageous, no heated conversations. Is it crazy to think they did it on purpose so that I can’t write or talk about it in an interesting way?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

photo credit: Bénédicte Sévenet

Whenever I try to convince myself that there must be at least a few moments that are connected with some feelings, one always comes up: “Your boyfriend is Palestinian? Why do you have to stay here with him? Why doesn’t he go to Czechia with you? Or to London?” I heard this many times, everywhere they took me, from every person they handed me over to. “How come your French girlfriend can stay with you then?” I asked one of my guards. There was only one thing he could reply: “Because I am Jewish.”

Here is the rest:

On Monday 11 January 2010 I was in the bed in my apartment, working on a report I was supposed to finish that night when, at about 3am, I heard some loud noises but didn’t pay attention for another ten minutes or so, as I was concentrating on the work I had to do. Only started noticing what was happening when I heard people shouting in a language I did not understand, knocking on my door. I didn’t know what was happening and went so see if my housemates were awake. It took another ten minutes before they came out of their rooms. We talked for a bit about what could it be and what to do, but before we managed to decide, the soldiers broke in through the door and were in the living room of my apartment. There was about twenty of them, wearing helmets and fully armed. My housemates were terrified, especially from those soldiers who were holding their guns in a way like if they were ready to shoot, I was just sitting waiting for what will happen, I was not able to feel anything at that point – fear, nothing.

 

They searched us one by one and asked for IDs. I gave them my driving licence because they would not let me look through my things to find the passport. The smallest hopes I had for this to be over soon were gone at the moment when I heard someone in a black uniform saying that they were from immigration, asking for our passports again. As soon as I gave the immigration officer my passport he told me I have five minutes to change and then I have to go with them. They left a soldier with me in my room while I was changing. There was not enough time to think what to take with me and pack. After few minutes the immigration police officer came saying it was time to go.

They wanted to put me in a small white jeep, I was sitting there for a few minutes but later they realised we will not all fit in (driver, three immigration police officers and I) so they ordered me to go with a bigger jeep that carried all the soldiers involved in the operation. After about half an hour we came to a military base, where the immigration had their car parked, a white civilian looking Skoda Octavia. They transferred me into that car and took me through Jerusalem to Hulon. They didn’t seem to know their way so we got lost a couple of times. I seemed to have known the way better. It was a strange feeling going through places where I could not go before and I was really happy to see Jerusalem.

 

On the way I was asking them if I can make a phone call. They told me I will be able to make the phone call as soon as we get to the building in Hulon. When we got there, their only answer to my requests for a phone call was “soon”. They took my finger prints, my picture with biometric data and searched me and the small bag I managed to take with me. Before they took me for interrogation they gave me a paper to sign that I was made aware of the situation and my rights, including the right for a phone call, however when I requested the phone call again they refused.

 

Then I was taken for interrogation, where I requested a phone call again only to be told that phone calls are prohibited from within this building. The interrogator didn’t ask many questions about my visa, most of the questions were about demonstrations in Bil’in – whether I was taking part in the demonstrations, how many times I went, how did I hear about them, how did I travel there, did I see any stone throwing, did I see any violence from the side of the demonstrators, whether I carried any signs and shouted any slogans along with the demonstrators, whether when I travelled to Tel Aviv this was in order to meet with the Israeli activists, why do I think the Palestinians are protesting every Friday and the last question was whether I saw any violence from the side of the soldiers. They also asked whether I was going to other demonstrations in the West Bank and who my boyfriend was, whether he participated in the demonstrations also.

 

After that I was handed over to the three immigration police officers who arrested me. They told me about this paper I can sign to request to be put on the first available flight or that I can ask to be put in front of the judge, which will take three days. I requested to talk to lawyer, reminding them about the paper with my rights I signed earlier and telling them that I don’t want to sign anything without talking to my lawyer first. So they said it was ok and that I can sign this paper at any time in the prison. They then transferred me to Givon prison, where I went through a medical check, personal search and biometric screening again. Whenever we met a new officer at the prison, who was asking who I was, the immigration officer replied with a sentence containing the words Bil’in and Ni’lin.

 

After all the procedures were over, the immigration officer said he was leaving and if I don’t sign the paper now I will not have a chance again. I managed to very briefly (for around one minute) speak to my boyfriend to tell him about that, the first time I spoke to him since my arrest, about which he found out from other people. But there was not enough time to speak to the lawyer as I didn’t even have the number for him and was not able to call from my phone. The immigration officer was putting pressure by pretending he was leaving and that this was the last chance. Under these circumstances, without a single hour a sleep the whole night and still in shock from the experience of soldiers with guns breaking through the door of my house, I signed that I would like them to put me on a flight soon.

 

I was in Givon for about two or three hours, but had limited options to make a phone call as the cards for the phones they had there were only sold in a small shop which was closed at that time. Therefore I relied on people calling me on my mobile, which in this situation was not ideal as I was not able to inform anybody, including my lawyer about the most recent developments immediately.

 

The immigration officer who arrested me came back saying they booked a flight for me and that I have to go. Again, they didn’t allow me to call my lawyer and made me switch off my phone. They also told me that if I don’t go voluntarily they will take me by force in handcuffs. While in the car on the way to the deportation facility at the airport, they confiscated my phone. I requested to contact my lawyer a number of times in the building of the deportation facility, most of the times I was ignored or told that phone calls are not allowed from within the building.

 

Then I was handed over to a different member of the immigration police who took me to the airport, where I went through a security check, including personal search, X-ray of my belongings and phone, which was still held by the immigration police officer, and chemical swipe. Back in the detention centre, my belongings were put in a separate locked room and I was put in a cell, where totally exhausted I fell asleep.

 

That was at around 3pm, twelve hours after my arrest. They woke me up later, saying my consul came to see me. I went to the room where the consul sat and explained what happened, the illegality of the arrest and fact that I need to speak to my lawyer. Even though he said there was nothing he could do in terms of appealing my deportation, he said he will ask the officers at the detention centre to allow me to speak to my lawyer and give me a blanket.

 

When the officer came back for me, the consul asked him if I can make a phone call and he said it was ok. However, when the consul offered I can call from his phone, the officer said that it was not possible now and that I can call later. He also said that if I don’t get on the plane and choose to go in front of a judge, I can be held for weeks or months, but not at Givon, at this deportation facility near the airport, where I won’t be allowed to have a phone and nobody can visit me or bring me anything as I went through a security check, ready to be put on the flight straight away. It was clear that this was to discourage me from contacting the lawyer and choosing not to get on the flight.

 

After I was put back in the cell I asked at least three times to speak to the lawyer, pointing at the officer who promised to me, in front of the consul, that I will be able to. All they said was that the lawyer knows about me and if anything changes they will let me know. It was only a couple of days after my deportation when I found out the lawyer came to the detention centre but was not allowed to visit me. They lied to me the whole time.

 

I was woken up at five am, to get ready to go to the airport. Again, I was not allowed to speak to the lawyer, even though I was given my belongings back, they were still holding my phone until we arrived at the airport. I was taken straight on the plane, at which point I was given my phone back, but wasn’t allowed to leave the plane. My passport was held with a member of the crew until we landed in Prague, where he handed it over to the Czech police.

photo credit: Bénédicte Sévenet

 

 

photo credit: Bénédicte Sévenet