Losing Sight of the Future: Palestinians Blinded in One Eye

When Jacqueline Shahada was blinded in one eye during a Palestinian demonstration along the Gaza border, she never thought she would lose her husband and children too.

It was November 2018 and like every Friday for more than six months, thousands of Palestinians gathered along the Gaza-Israel border demanding the right to return to lands their ancestors fled in 1948 with the creation of Israel.

Protesters burned tires and threw stones and Molotov cocktails at Israeli soldiers on the other side of the heavily-guarded border, who responded by opening fire.

Amid the thousands of onlookers was Jacqueline, a slight, veiled woman in her early 30s. Even though the protests were male-dominated, she told herself women also had a right to participate.

"Suddenly, I felt something burning in my eye and I lost consciousness," she said. She had been hit by a rubber bullet, and despite medical attention, doctors couldn't save her left eye.

Her injury is hardly visible now -- just a slight glossiness from a tear in the iris -- but her life in Hamas-controlled Gaza was destroyed.

"I wish I had been killed, it would have been easier," she told AFP.

Her experience has become all too common, and AFP met with 10 Palestinians who lost an eye after being shot by the Israeli army, in Gaza, Jerusalem or the West Bank.

Some were taking part in clashes, others were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. All were left scarred and with their lives wrecked, even though in Palestinian society being wounded while standing up to Israeli occupation is often lionized.

Along the border of the Gaza Strip, the Israeli army uses snipers who, according to instructions, open fire only when the soldiers are at risk from intensifying violence from Palestinian rioters.

Asked about Jacqueline's case as well as the use of live fire, the Israeli army highlighted the "security challenge" they faced.

It said "it took every possible measure to reduce the number of injuries among Gaza residents participating in these violent riots".

"There is smoke from burning tires, gas, and moving crowds. Snipers are at a distance, it's difficult," said a senior Israeli military official.

- 'Broken inside' -

Jacqueline, who studied maths, found herself stigmatized. Her children were teased at school about their disabled mother and her husband grew colder and angry.

"Society and people blame me, they say: 'Why (as a woman) did you go to the protest?'"

"I expected my family and husband would be proud of me, but I paid a high price," she told AFP in Gaza. "My husband divorced me and I lost my kids."

"If I lost an arm it would be OK, but without an eye, how can you continue with your life?

"I want to challenge the whole world, to remain strong, but inside I am broken," she said.

In the Gaza Strip, the cramped territory of two million people controlled by the militant group Hamas and under Israeli blockade, residents have grown accustomed to traumatic wounds after three wars with Israel in 2008, 2012 and 2014.

But even when there is no full-blown conflict, violence erupts. More than 8,000 Palestinians were hit by Israeli fire during the often violent "March of Return" protests which began in March 2018, according to UN figures.

Of those injuries, 80 percent were to the lower body, with only around 3 percent to the head.

In Jerusalem, despite there being no full-scale conflict, tensions remain in neighborhoods like Shuafat and Issawiya, parts of the predominantly Palestinian eastern part of the city Israel captured in 1967.

There residents complain of increasing violence from the Israeli police, which says it is responding to growing unrest by the population.

In recent years police, there have used spongy synthetic rubber bullets, deemed in theory to be less lethal. But when fired at close range, they have been known to cause deaths.

- 'I want my eye back' -

In February, Malek Issa, a nine-year-old boxing enthusiast, was hit by a rubber-tipped bullet after buying a sandwich at a shop in Issawiya.

He was on his way home from school and his older sister, Tala, immediately rang their father, Wael, to say Malek had been shot in the forehead.

"I immediately thought 'no, he must have been shot in the eye'," Wael said. "I stayed there, paralyzed for a few minutes."

Malek was rushed to hospital where his parents found him, head gaping and his left eye hollowed out.

"My son is polite, clever and got good grades at school. But this soldier came and shot him. He didn't shoot just my son, he shot the whole family," said Wael.

Malek, who now has a glass eye, sprawled disinterestedly on a sofa next to his father.

"This is not the Malek that we knew, he changed a lot," added Wael, who works in a restaurant in Tel Aviv. "At night Malek cries out 'I want my eye, I want my eye back.'"

"I tried to explain to him this is the will of God," he said, although the family struggles to understand why Malek was shot when there were no protests going on.

Contacted by AFP, the Israeli justice ministry said it had opened an "internal investigation" into the case.

- 'Eye of Truth'-

For years freelance cameraman Muath Amarneh covered numerous protests in the occupied West Bank.

On November 15 last year, he grabbed his video camera and, wearing his helmet and a vest inscribed with the word 'Press', rushed to a Palestinian demonstration in the southern village of Surif.

"There was a sniper on the ground readying his weapon, saying something to the officer I didn't understand, but they were laughing," he said.

"I felt that something was going to happen to one of us. The soldiers were provoking us journalists.

"Then I felt something hit my face, I thought my head had been knocked off," he said.

"I saw there was blood on my face. I fell to my knees."

Witnesses said he was hit by a rubber bullet which had metal inside. And scans show some metal remains inside the excavated eye cavity, which now holds a glass eye.

Israeli authorities say they did not target the journalist, but Muath is convinced his injury is a metaphor for a conflict others don't want to see.

"My injury sends a message that our lives depend on the pictures we take. 'Either you will work as we like or you might die'."

The injury sparked protests, with Palestinian and Arab journalists filming themselves with a eyepatch using the slogan "eye of truth".

Months later, Muath, who is in his 30s, hasn't returned to work, still suffers from mysterious migraines and feels his "life is finished."

"As a cameraman it is impossible to work with one eye. You need one eye on the camera lens and one outside," he said.

In the Mazzeh 86 neighborhood, west of the Syrian capital Damascus, the names of many shops, grocery stores, and public squares still serve as a reminder of the era of ousted Syrian President Bashar al-Assad and his late father, Hafez al-Assad.

This is evident in landmarks like the “Al-Hafez Restaurant,” one of the prominent features of this area. Squares such as “Al-Areen,” “Officers,” and “Bride of the Mountain” evoke memories of the buildings surrounding them, which once housed influential officials and high-ranking officers in intelligence and security agencies. These individuals instilled fear in Syrians for five decades until their historic escape on the night of the regime’s collapse last month.

In this neighborhood, the effects of Israeli bombing are clearly visible, as it was targeted multiple times. Meanwhile, its narrow streets and alleys were strewn with military uniforms abandoned by leaders who fled before military operations arrived and liberated the area from their grip on December 8 of last year.

Here, stark contradictions come to light during a tour by Asharq Al-Awsat in a district that, until recently, was largely loyal to the former president. Muaz, a 42-year-old resident of the area, recounts how most officers and security personnel shed their military uniforms and discarded them in the streets on the night of Assad’s escape.

He said: “Many of them brought down their weapons and military ranks in the streets and fled to their hometowns along the Syrian coast.”

Administratively part of Damascus, Mazzeh 86 consists of concrete blocks randomly built between the Mazzeh Western Villas area, the Mazzeh Highway, and the well-known Sheikh Saad commercial district. Its ownership originally belonged to the residents of the Mazzeh area in Damascus. The region was once agricultural land and rocky mountain terrain. The peaks extending toward Mount Qasioun were previously seized by the Ministry of Defense, which instructed security and army personnel to build homes there without requiring property ownership documents.

Suleiman, a 30-year-old shop owner, who sells white meat and chicken, hails from the city of Jableh in the coastal province of Latakia. His father moved to this neighborhood in the 1970s to work as an army assistant.

Suleiman says he hears the sound of gunfire every evening, while General Security patrols roam the streets “searching for remnants of the former regime and wanted individuals who refuse to surrender their weapons. We fear reprisals and just want to live in peace.”

He mentioned that prices before December 8 were exorbitant and beyond the purchasing power of Syrians, with the price of a kilogram of chicken exceeding 60,000 Syrian pounds and a carton of eggs reaching 75,000.

“A single egg was sold for 2,500 pounds, which is far beyond the purchasing power of any employee in the public or private sector,” due to low salaries and the deteriorating living conditions across the country,” Suleiman added.

On the sides of the roads, pictures of the fugitive president and his father, Hafez al-Assad, were torn down, while military vehicles were parked, awaiting instructions.

Maram, 46, who previously worked as a civilian employee in the Ministry of Defense, says she is waiting for the resolution of employment statuses for workers in army institutions. She stated: “So far, there are no instructions regarding our situation. The army forces and security personnel have been given the opportunity for settlement, but there is no talk about us.”

The neighborhood, in its current form, dates back to the 1980s when Rifaat al-Assad, the younger brother of former President Hafez al-Assad, was allowed to construct the “Defense Palace,” which was referred to as “Brigade 86.” Its location is the same area now known as Mazzeh Jabal 86.

The area is divided into two parts: Mazzeh Madrasa (School) and Mazzeh Khazan (Tank). The first takes its name from the first school built and opened in the area, while the second is named after the water tank that supplies the entire Mazzeh region.

Two sources from the Mazzeh Municipality and the Mukhtar’s office estimate the neighborhood’s current population at approximately 200,000, down from over 300,000 before Assad’s fall. Most residents originate from Syria’s coastal regions, followed by those from interior provinces like Homs and Hama. There was also a portion of Kurds who had moved from the Jazira region in northeastern Syria to live there, but most returned to their areas due to the security grip and after the “Crisis Cell” bombing that killed senior security officials in mid-2012.

Along the main street connecting Al-Huda Square to Al-Sahla Pharmacy, torn images of President Hafez al-Assad are visible for the first time in this area in five decades. On balconies and walls, traces of Bashar al-Assad’s posters remain, bearing witness to his 24-year era.

Losing Sight of the Future: Palestinians Blinded in One Eye