18 December 2006
The Military Court at Salem
Tuesday the 12th saw me at the Military Court at Salem. This, like the DCO at Qalqiliya, is an Israeli Army institution situated right on the Green Line, with entrances from both the Palestinian and Israeli sides. I was there with Yesh Din, monitoring the proceedings to ensure due process. I happened upon an interesting case, a trial for murder.
Again I started from my father’s place in Ramat Hasharon, meeting up with Hanna Aviram at the junction at the entrance to the town. We drove in her car and were soon at the Green Line. The base looks nondescript: a wall with barbed-wire, guards at the entrances, now used to the ladies from Yesh Din. It lies in a wadi (‘valley’ in Arabic, but used also in Hebrew and henceforth here), amid low-lying hills.
We entered at one of the gates. Later I saw the Palestinian entrance, relatives of inmates pressed into a huddle, trying to get the guards’ attention to ask to be allowed in. First we entered one of the normal court rooms. A massive Israeli flag hung resplendent behind the elevated seat of the judge, flanked on one side by the symbol of the Israeli Defence Force and on the other by that of the State of Israel. From left to right: a sword a Star of David and a menorah, that of the ancient Temple. Things are laid out clearly in Salem, lest anyone be confused before whom he stands.
We left two observers in that courtroom, passing through it to a small shack at the rear. Hanna Aviram and I took our places at the back, and waited. The rest of the cast arrived one by one, taking their places: the typist, a tall, blond Russian, pleasant when pointing out the toilettes; the translator, a Druze Arab army officer; the lawyers, Palestinian defence council and Israeli military prosecutor, a Druze Arab. The two lawyers spoke between them in Arabic. Then a rustle off chains outside before the defendant enters, a slightly chubby man, short, alone, with wondering eyes. He lifts his hands and waits for them to be uncuffed. And then the three judges. “All rise!” All rose. “You may be seated.” (Three judges are required for crimes where the punishment is likely to exceed twenty years.)
The defendant, Hassam Abu Hamed, was charged with taking part in an attack on Ariel in 2002 in which five people were killed. He had been tried and convicted in 2003 on unrelated charges.
Every word was translated, mostly from Hebrew into Arabic. But most of the participants were Arabs, the two lawyers, the translator and the defendant. There are a few Arab judges now in the military system. So the strange and Kafkaesque situation can arise in which every one in the room, lawyers, translator, judge and defendant are Arabs and yet the trial is held in Hebrew.
Much time was wasted over the defence council’s vain attempts to get the case postponed or thrown out, by use of arguments which were clearly hollow.
The first witness, called by the prosecution, was Feras. He is a prisoner in Israel, found guilty of membership of Hamas, and of participation in two attacks on Israeli targets, one in the Jordan valley and a suicide attack on Ariel. He said that he had supplied the explosive belt for the Ariel attack. He and a certain Muhammad Hanbali had planned the operation. For every question on the planning, Feras answered, “Muhammad Hanbali”. He said he had met the defendant, but knew nothing about him. The prosecutor became increasingly uncomfortable. At one point in mid-flow referred to, “The Settlement of Ariel”, then quickly corrected himself to, “Town of Ariel. Put ‘Town of Ariel’”, he said to the typist. He produced a testimony signed by Feras in 2002 but was told that while Abu Hamed had been in the car to Ariel on the day of the attack, he took no more part in it than that. This contradicted his expectations. Feras was supposed to be the prosecution’s strongest witness. The military prosecutor looked perplexed. The court adjourned once more. We left, homebound.
The base which houses the military court is, as noted above, a boring looking place. Inside it is small and cozy. There is a recreation area on one side where, between huts for offices and larger ones for courts, Palestinian lawyers huddle and chat, and Israeli soldiers scurry about or sit at the picnic tables amid the tall trees and colourful flowers. All very pleasant. The base is manned mainly by Druze Arab male officers, lawyers and interpreters, career soldiers, and by young Jewish female conscripts.
The sound of the base is the rustle of chain as prisoners are led around. Where once they might have been part of a group, a fighting gang of friends within a paramilitary framework, now they are alone. They rise and sit according to instruction. They address the court with respect, the judge as sir. They ask politely to be taken to the toilette.
My guess is that Hasan Abu Hamed was involved in the Ariel bombing, but marginally. On Christmas Day he will have been in Israeli custody for precisely three years and two months, with six years and ten months left to serve, which might now be extended. Five were killed in the attack he (allegedly) helped to carry out. He is an unremarkable man. When prisoner releases or exchanges are spoken of, and when those with “blood on their hands” are mentioned, then I suppose that it is also to Hasan Abu Hamed that they refer. These are grand terms. He is a man bowed, incarcerated and alone. But for his inept defence lawyer, no Palestinian came to witness his hearing, only a couple of Israelis from Yesh Din.
Tuesday the 12th saw me at the Military Court at Salem. This, like the DCO at Qalqiliya, is an Israeli Army institution situated right on the Green Line, with entrances from both the Palestinian and Israeli sides. I was there with Yesh Din, monitoring the proceedings to ensure due process. I happened upon an interesting case, a trial for murder.
Again I started from my father’s place in Ramat Hasharon, meeting up with Hanna Aviram at the junction at the entrance to the town. We drove in her car and were soon at the Green Line. The base looks nondescript: a wall with barbed-wire, guards at the entrances, now used to the ladies from Yesh Din. It lies in a wadi (‘valley’ in Arabic, but used also in Hebrew and henceforth here), amid low-lying hills.
We entered at one of the gates. Later I saw the Palestinian entrance, relatives of inmates pressed into a huddle, trying to get the guards’ attention to ask to be allowed in. First we entered one of the normal court rooms. A massive Israeli flag hung resplendent behind the elevated seat of the judge, flanked on one side by the symbol of the Israeli Defence Force and on the other by that of the State of Israel. From left to right: a sword a Star of David and a menorah, that of the ancient Temple. Things are laid out clearly in Salem, lest anyone be confused before whom he stands.
We left two observers in that courtroom, passing through it to a small shack at the rear. Hanna Aviram and I took our places at the back, and waited. The rest of the cast arrived one by one, taking their places: the typist, a tall, blond Russian, pleasant when pointing out the toilettes; the translator, a Druze Arab army officer; the lawyers, Palestinian defence council and Israeli military prosecutor, a Druze Arab. The two lawyers spoke between them in Arabic. Then a rustle off chains outside before the defendant enters, a slightly chubby man, short, alone, with wondering eyes. He lifts his hands and waits for them to be uncuffed. And then the three judges. “All rise!” All rose. “You may be seated.” (Three judges are required for crimes where the punishment is likely to exceed twenty years.)
The defendant, Hassam Abu Hamed, was charged with taking part in an attack on Ariel in 2002 in which five people were killed. He had been tried and convicted in 2003 on unrelated charges.
Every word was translated, mostly from Hebrew into Arabic. But most of the participants were Arabs, the two lawyers, the translator and the defendant. There are a few Arab judges now in the military system. So the strange and Kafkaesque situation can arise in which every one in the room, lawyers, translator, judge and defendant are Arabs and yet the trial is held in Hebrew.
Much time was wasted over the defence council’s vain attempts to get the case postponed or thrown out, by use of arguments which were clearly hollow.
The first witness, called by the prosecution, was Feras. He is a prisoner in Israel, found guilty of membership of Hamas, and of participation in two attacks on Israeli targets, one in the Jordan valley and a suicide attack on Ariel. He said that he had supplied the explosive belt for the Ariel attack. He and a certain Muhammad Hanbali had planned the operation. For every question on the planning, Feras answered, “Muhammad Hanbali”. He said he had met the defendant, but knew nothing about him. The prosecutor became increasingly uncomfortable. At one point in mid-flow referred to, “The Settlement of Ariel”, then quickly corrected himself to, “Town of Ariel. Put ‘Town of Ariel’”, he said to the typist. He produced a testimony signed by Feras in 2002 but was told that while Abu Hamed had been in the car to Ariel on the day of the attack, he took no more part in it than that. This contradicted his expectations. Feras was supposed to be the prosecution’s strongest witness. The military prosecutor looked perplexed. The court adjourned once more. We left, homebound.
The base which houses the military court is, as noted above, a boring looking place. Inside it is small and cozy. There is a recreation area on one side where, between huts for offices and larger ones for courts, Palestinian lawyers huddle and chat, and Israeli soldiers scurry about or sit at the picnic tables amid the tall trees and colourful flowers. All very pleasant. The base is manned mainly by Druze Arab male officers, lawyers and interpreters, career soldiers, and by young Jewish female conscripts.
The sound of the base is the rustle of chain as prisoners are led around. Where once they might have been part of a group, a fighting gang of friends within a paramilitary framework, now they are alone. They rise and sit according to instruction. They address the court with respect, the judge as sir. They ask politely to be taken to the toilette.
My guess is that Hasan Abu Hamed was involved in the Ariel bombing, but marginally. On Christmas Day he will have been in Israeli custody for precisely three years and two months, with six years and ten months left to serve, which might now be extended. Five were killed in the attack he (allegedly) helped to carry out. He is an unremarkable man. When prisoner releases or exchanges are spoken of, and when those with “blood on their hands” are mentioned, then I suppose that it is also to Hasan Abu Hamed that they refer. These are grand terms. He is a man bowed, incarcerated and alone. But for his inept defence lawyer, no Palestinian came to witness his hearing, only a couple of Israelis from Yesh Din.
