My Story by Khaldoun J
I was born in Palestine in the town of Toul-Karim which is in the West Bank of the river Jordan. My childhood was happy carefree though as a child I listened to my parents' stories of suffering, massacres, fear and loss of lands and rights back in 1948 when they lived in Qalansaweh (now a village in Israel). When the war erupted again in 1967, I experienced first-hand my parents' stories and words of suffering during the war. I saw the planes in the skies above bombing around us, I saw death, blood, soldiers beating everyone in sight, Soldiers breaking into houses and forcing us and our neighbours out of our homes at gun point. I saw people, children and elderly running in fear, I heard their cries and screams. The stories I heard of the previous war had now become my reality, a nightmare I still live.
My immigration journey started at night when, the soldiers of the Israeli occupying army knocked at our door and then barged their way into our home. Some of our neighbours were gathered in our house on the ground floor. The armed soldiers ordered us all to leave the house and go to a gathering point near the police station. Women were in their night gowns and kids were still asleep. we had to wake everybody and go to the police station. As we arrived, in the darkness of the night we found most of the people of the town were sat there on the ground. We joined them and we were waiting to see what was happening. Lots of Soldiers and armed vehicles were all around us. Army Lorries collecting people arrived, they ordered us to jump into these lorries. My mother, more aware of what is happening, has anticipated their move. She made sure that we all climbed into the lorry together, so we do not get separated. We quickly jumped into the army truck that drove and dropped us at the boarder of the city of Nablus and ordered us to walk to the River Jordan. The soldiers returned escorting the lorry, firing bullets into the air to scare us from coming back. Everybody was tired, nobody had the energy to move or to walk. We found a vacant building, so decided to sleep the night inside it on the landing under the staircase. In the early hours of the morning, we went to the town centre looking for the rest of my family, my uncle and my aunt. Delighted we found them; we then continued our journey towards the River Jordan.
As a child I will not forget the memory of old people carrying their precious belongings, some of them having a full suitcase of what they valued most, some of them having a crate of olive oil, others having a mattress on their heads etc. The way was long. So, some of them let go of their belongings as they had been so exhausted. Others did not make it; they had passed away on their way walking to Jordan.
After days of walking and sleeping on the streets, we finally arrived in Jordan. It was a long journey, and I remember looking after my younger brothers on the way. They were 6 and 3 years old. Upon arrival in Jordan, we were shrouded with further ambiguity and distress. Our father was at the time working away from us in the town of Khalil (Hebron), and we had no way of reaching him, or knowing if he survived. This was the reality of all families. We were lucky, we saw our father and reunited with him. I remember my parents looking to rent somewhere temporarily, as the intention was to always return to our homeland, our house in Toul-Karim.
That was my childhood, it was very painful based on loss, so I became an immigrant or a refugee after I was living, what in my mind, was a life of luxury and in complete comfort. As a young man I grew up in Jordan where Palestinian refugee camps were found, although we did not stay in these camps as we rented a small house, we have all been labelled as refugees. At school it was tough. It was a struggle until high school, it was always my hope that we would one day go back, or next year go back, and I always lived in hope, literally unable to settle fully because of the feeling that one day we will be going home. Sadly, this day did not come, and I had to do my university studies in the UK.
Here in the UK, I was shocked to discover that the world view was totally different to the reality I lived. In the UK, people spoke about Israel as the victim, not the oppressor or the occupier which they are. The roles had reversed! The Israelis, the immigrants from across Europe who came and threw me out of my house and my land, were being seen as the victims. Not caring of the fact that these were the ones who did kick us out of our homes. Eventually, I did understand better why. Christian Europe who tortured and killed the Jews in 19th century Europe are feeling guilty. They were antisemitic and consequently carried out the holocaust. That was done at a time when Christians, Jews and Muslims have lived for centuries alongside one another in relative peace in Palestine and across the Middle East region. For the west to cleanse themselves from this savage treatment of the Jews in their land, they felt it right to support them by labelling the Palestinians, who welcomed the Jews from their persecution and gave them a safe refuge, to label them terrorists and twist the facts against them via their mainstream media.
I have spent all my life until now, longing to return to my homeland, to the house I was born in. I have tirelessly debated and discussed the Palestinian plight wherever I go and whenever I get the opportunity. Sadly, Israel was allowed to manipulate and violate international law and flaunt UN decisions making it harder for the Palestinians to obtain their rights and to return to their lands and homes. Recently and due to the October 23 war, South Africa's decision to take Israel to the ICJ and its success to issue ruling against Israel genocide and crimes against the civilians in Gaza has brought hope that justice may prevail at last, despite Israel's insistence to violate and ignore any decision taken against her and its determination to obliterate the Palestinians regardless. In spite of this Israeli intransigence, I will never give up the hope. Hope of my return and the return of the millions of Palestinians in diaspora across the world to return to their stolen homes. Justice must be served, and when there is justice and genuine accountability, I have no doubt that the Palestinians will return to free Palestine.