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For Palestinians in Jerusalem, it is bitter Sixteen
by Daoud Kuttab
For most teenagers, the world over, the age of sixteen is supposed to be a happy one. This is
supposed to be a year of care free fun and enjoyment as they celebrate their sweet pre- adult
sixteenths birthday.
Reaching 16, for Palestinians, especially those living in East Jerusalem, however, is not much fun.
This is the age that they are supposed to start carrying the dreaded identification card and in turn
the soldiers (not much older than them) can take pot shots at them without much concern or worry. Any
young Palestinian that looks anywhere close to 16 better have an ID or a birth certificate showing
that he/she are under this bitter/sweet age.
My daughter Tamara who spent her 16th birthday as a senior in an Ohio High School, as an exchange
student, came home for the summer to obtain her ID. Her cousin, Manuel Abu Ali, who just turned
sixteen has been moving around Jerusalem with difficulties, using his mother's ID (which has his #
listed) along with his school picture ID. For Jerusalem Palestinians getting a personal ID, which
ought to be a simple affair, has become the new via de la Rosa. Unlike Israelis who get a 5 or ten
year passport, Palestinians in Jerusalem can travel only on a laisser passier which can be issued for
only year, thus adding to an already exasperated problem where 250,000 Palestinians are served by a
single office of the Ministry of Interior and are denied the right to use any other office in order
to get whatever official document they need.
Palestinians in Jerusalem wishing to obtain any of these official government certificate (birth
certificate, marriage license, travel document or even death certificate) face an impossible task of
simply entering the Interior Ministry offices. A few months ago, my brother, had to go to the Israeli
supreme court demanding the right to enter these premises without having to wait all day in line, a
task that doesn't guaranteed that you get a turn that day. The task of entering has become next to
impossible for years because of a policy of lack of regard to the population, leaving frustrated
Palestinian men and women to fight tooth and nail just to preserve a place in line, while scores of
Israeli police and private security staff watch in amusement.
Following the news of the new Israeli government's choice for Minister of Interior many Palestinians
expected that Mr. Poraz would live up to the name of his Shinui party and actually institute change
in the way Palestinians from Jerusalem have been treated at his ministry's office. Mr. Poraz's
initial decision granting residency to non Jews was seen as a positive omen that finally a man who
respects human beings has become the big boss at the Interior Ministry.
I must say, I was one of those people who was swept away by these hopeful thoughts, believing naively
that things will change. When my daughter wanted to brave the lines, I supported her, discounting all
those who raised concerns that the queues outside the ministry have become nothing short of what a
typical crime-festered inner city is like. People were telling me that we would be better off simply
paying off a lawyer (1,500 shekels and up) or one of the Jerusalem thugs who muscle their way infront
of the line and then sell their place in queue for a couple of hundred shekels. I was determined to
go at it alone, she and her cousin will have to wait a few hours in line, I said to my concerned
brother-in-law who warned me that young thugs with switch blades, razors and other weapons run the
show outside the ministry.
A day before our target date, I visited the location at about 5pm, and pleasantly discovered that the
problem was being taken care of. A bearded man was sitting across the street from the Interior
Ministry offices with paper and pen, taking names in order. When I enquired, he told me that he and a
few other Muslim faithfuls had taken it upon themselves to help organize the queue. Once you are
registered you are expected to come at 10 pm for a roll call, if you are not present your name is
crossed off, otherwise you can go home and return the next day at 5am for another final call. Great,
I thought, and I duly registered and was told that our number is 16. All I needed was to return when
names are announced at 10pm and the following day at 5 and we are home free.
Well at 10 pm the bearded man was gone, a well muscled young man was rewriting the list. It had been
torn in a fight. Not to worry, I was told, we registered again, this time we were given the 46th
spot, not good, but if all things went well we can go in with the second round which takes place at
9:30. At five am the following day, even this young muscular man was gone, and line was already
backed up. The list was no longer valid, everyone for himself we were told. We took our place at the
end of the line and waited till the Ministry opened at 8am. Shortly before they opened two police
cars arrived and arrested one of the young thugs in line. I later discovered that he had slashed the
arm of a person pushing him causing 16 stitches. I took a deep breath and kept my calm. No sooner had
the gate opened, another fight took place, and another and another. By 11 more than eight separate
fights for places in line had taken place, both on the men's side as well as on the women's si!
de. A few women were ahead of my daughter by this time. However, for some reason, the line seemed to
stop. For hours, Tamara would plead with the guards to find out when she can get in and they would
motion to here to wait a little. But it was a bluff. No one else would be allowed in after the last
group that entered at 10:30. Some said it was because of the fights. Others pointed out that the
Israelis were working on a shortened day because the following day was a Jewish holiday in
remembrance of the destruction of the Jewish Temple. Some said that only the Israeli ministry was
short staffed that day and they could only handle so may. By three pm, dejected and angry, Tamara
returned home along with her cousin who also failed to make it into the fortress of a building
entitled the Ministry of Interior.
For Tamara and her cousin, the young age of sixteen is not sweet at all. Because her college
orientation in a few days, she will be traveling without having taken her ID card, with the hope that
maybe next summer she can make into the building and get her personal ID card. Her cousin planned to
come much earlier, the following Sunday, hoping to be able to get and to do it without getting
slashed or knocked down. At the end of the day, our children were tired and angry. Standing in the
hot sun with people pushing you around for ten hours was sheer hell. The main question that was
repeated on their lips was simply isn't there anyone that cares? I was glad, that they insisted on
returning another day. Otherwise, I would be afraid that what many believe is a deliberate police is
working. A more sinister person might say that this part of the 'transfer' policy which right winger
Israelis say that the Israeli government should exercise, making life so difficult that Palestinians
would voluntarily leave.
Daoud Kuttab is a Palestinian journalist from Jerusalem. He is the
director
of the Institute of Modern Media at Al Quds University which owns and
runs
Al Quds Educational Television. In May 2001, Mr. Kuttab received the
International Press Institute's award as one of fifty press freedom
heroes
in the last fifty years. He is a regular contributor to
Media Monitors Network (MMN).
Source:
by courtesy & © 2003 Daoud Kuttab & Arabic Media Internet Network (AMIN)
by the same authror:
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