Reporter in Detention
Mahmoud Jabari shares part of his detention experience memories.
“I am journalist… I am journalist … I am journalist” Words that rang from my heart, which I continued to say from the first moment that Israeli policemen attacked me as I was performing my duty as a reporter: covering the actions—demonstration & clashes—that took part in Hebron that day.
The words ran through my hands, which strongly clutched the camera and defiantly raised my Press ID in the air. They ran through my legs, which strongly gripped the ground refusing to go into the police jeep. They ran out through my voice, which was determined to be louder than the voice shouting behind me as the soldiers beat me... my voice which had arrived intending to speak about the conflict as fairly as it could.
I did not realize that my head was bleeding until I arrived in the investigation room. The many punches to the head that I had received inside the jeep as one of the policemen sat on my back to stop me from screaming had left me in an extreme pain that took me into a completely different world. I didn’t know when it would end.
Inside the Investigation Room
“I am journalist… I am journalist … I am journalist” What I continued to say in the investigation. But it seemed that the police’s anger from the violent clashes had made them look for anyone on whom they could vent their anger, and unfortunately, it was me. After seven hours—between waiting, being investigated, and waiting again—the decision was made to transfer me to detention.
The news was shocking for me. I asked to call my family to give them my camera and my wallet. The moment I heard my mom’s voice crying over the telephone when I told her that I will be transferred to detention was very touching. I made a show of strength, but I was actually very sad to hear my moms’ voice shrinking. She and the rest of the family had been waiting for me so that we could have a family meal of “Maqluba”, which is a food dear to me. I prayed that she and my family would stay strong, and that nothing would happen to her health. I could not tell her more than this; the policeman who had investigated me shut the call down.
I was thinking of everything, my mind swimming with thoughts of the unknown. My hands had been handcuffed the whole time, and I was re-handcuffed with additional cuffs on my legs before being put into an army jeep and transported to the “Gush Etzion” detention center.
A Different Experience Starts
The first night in detention was the hardest night I have ever lived in my life. I was forced to take my sweatshirt off to be checked carefully in the cold and the rain before entering the gate of the many-roomed detention centre. I saw a strange world in front of me, which I entered for the first time in my life. The darkness that emerged from the direction of the detention rooms provided a prediction of the difficult times that awaited me. I was aware that I was paying the price for remaining committed to my mission of following the truth and showing it to the world.
When I entered the room, the first thing I did was wash off the blood from my head left by the punches and beating. I slept with silent tears under my blankets, my heart pounding, and my mind trying to predict the landmarks of the coming days.
The following day was spent in bed—thinking—with attempts to sleep as much as possible; sleeping was my only way to leave that gloomy world. I ate only a piece of bread for every meal. The prisoners’ attempts to convince me to eat well did not prevail as I was focused solely on the unfairness felt deeply inside of me. This continued until the fourth day when in order to save my stomach which had been hurting for two days, I ate a cup of yogourt. However, even a doctor’s check did nothing to help.
More Inside!
I was waking up in the morning with hope that something good would happen, but as time passed, I grew hopeless and soon night came to tell us to sleep. My body might have slept, but my head or heart could never sleep. They were accompanying the spirits of my little sister and my mom, whose birthdays
I missed during my detention. I asked the birds who came around to send my love and birthday wishes. The birds were my friends during the break time;
I spoke to them, telling them to take care of my mom and to tell the whole world that I was strong.
At the beginning, it was feelings of anger, and then the feeling of how much hard work was needed to solve this conflict, and how much we have to overcome history for the sake of a bright future for both nations.
Hope Prevails
On the fifth day, I was informed by a delegation from the “Palestinian Prisoners Club” of the support given by the organizations with whom I am involved around the world. I was so proud and the news, coming one day before my hearing, strengthened me. I felt that the work I have been doing to show the world what is going on in my region from a youth perspective was worth all that I had been through.
On the Way to Freedom
08:00 in the morning, I was finally called, handcuffed, and taken to a police car that drove me to the court. At the court, I waited to see my parents, whom I was missing a lot. Meanwhile, I was unsure of my destiny. Will I leave? Or will I start a new period, in jail this time rather than in detention? When my parents entered the room, I looked at them with a smile of longing and eyes of thankfulness for their health.
After one hour waiting for my turn to be judged, it took the judge three minutes to announce my innocence and my quick release with no conditions. Thank God … Thanks to every single brother and sister around the world who stood beside me.
I imagined myself beginning my new life back home. Yes, I have a new life and a new start.
The words ran through my hands, which strongly clutched the camera and defiantly raised my Press ID in the air. They ran through my legs, which strongly gripped the ground refusing to go into the police jeep. They ran out through my voice, which was determined to be louder than the voice shouting behind me as the soldiers beat me... my voice which had arrived intending to speak about the conflict as fairly as it could.
I did not realize that my head was bleeding until I arrived in the investigation room. The many punches to the head that I had received inside the jeep as one of the policemen sat on my back to stop me from screaming had left me in an extreme pain that took me into a completely different world. I didn’t know when it would end.
Inside the Investigation Room
“I am journalist… I am journalist … I am journalist” What I continued to say in the investigation. But it seemed that the police’s anger from the violent clashes had made them look for anyone on whom they could vent their anger, and unfortunately, it was me. After seven hours—between waiting, being investigated, and waiting again—the decision was made to transfer me to detention.
The news was shocking for me. I asked to call my family to give them my camera and my wallet. The moment I heard my mom’s voice crying over the telephone when I told her that I will be transferred to detention was very touching. I made a show of strength, but I was actually very sad to hear my moms’ voice shrinking. She and the rest of the family had been waiting for me so that we could have a family meal of “Maqluba”, which is a food dear to me. I prayed that she and my family would stay strong, and that nothing would happen to her health. I could not tell her more than this; the policeman who had investigated me shut the call down.
I was thinking of everything, my mind swimming with thoughts of the unknown. My hands had been handcuffed the whole time, and I was re-handcuffed with additional cuffs on my legs before being put into an army jeep and transported to the “Gush Etzion” detention center.
A Different Experience Starts
The first night in detention was the hardest night I have ever lived in my life. I was forced to take my sweatshirt off to be checked carefully in the cold and the rain before entering the gate of the many-roomed detention centre. I saw a strange world in front of me, which I entered for the first time in my life. The darkness that emerged from the direction of the detention rooms provided a prediction of the difficult times that awaited me. I was aware that I was paying the price for remaining committed to my mission of following the truth and showing it to the world.
When I entered the room, the first thing I did was wash off the blood from my head left by the punches and beating. I slept with silent tears under my blankets, my heart pounding, and my mind trying to predict the landmarks of the coming days.
The following day was spent in bed—thinking—with attempts to sleep as much as possible; sleeping was my only way to leave that gloomy world. I ate only a piece of bread for every meal. The prisoners’ attempts to convince me to eat well did not prevail as I was focused solely on the unfairness felt deeply inside of me. This continued until the fourth day when in order to save my stomach which had been hurting for two days, I ate a cup of yogourt. However, even a doctor’s check did nothing to help.
More Inside!
I was waking up in the morning with hope that something good would happen, but as time passed, I grew hopeless and soon night came to tell us to sleep. My body might have slept, but my head or heart could never sleep. They were accompanying the spirits of my little sister and my mom, whose birthdays
I missed during my detention. I asked the birds who came around to send my love and birthday wishes. The birds were my friends during the break time;
I spoke to them, telling them to take care of my mom and to tell the whole world that I was strong.
At the beginning, it was feelings of anger, and then the feeling of how much hard work was needed to solve this conflict, and how much we have to overcome history for the sake of a bright future for both nations.
Hope Prevails
On the fifth day, I was informed by a delegation from the “Palestinian Prisoners Club” of the support given by the organizations with whom I am involved around the world. I was so proud and the news, coming one day before my hearing, strengthened me. I felt that the work I have been doing to show the world what is going on in my region from a youth perspective was worth all that I had been through.
On the Way to Freedom
08:00 in the morning, I was finally called, handcuffed, and taken to a police car that drove me to the court. At the court, I waited to see my parents, whom I was missing a lot. Meanwhile, I was unsure of my destiny. Will I leave? Or will I start a new period, in jail this time rather than in detention? When my parents entered the room, I looked at them with a smile of longing and eyes of thankfulness for their health.
After one hour waiting for my turn to be judged, it took the judge three minutes to announce my innocence and my quick release with no conditions. Thank God … Thanks to every single brother and sister around the world who stood beside me.
I imagined myself beginning my new life back home. Yes, I have a new life and a new start.
