Remembering Rachel

by Lasse Schmidt Lasse.Schmidt@mail.sit.edu 

Here, Danish peace activist, conflict transformation scholar, and CERJer Lasse Schmidt Lasse.Schmidt@mail.sit.edu , who himself was wounded by Israeli fire shortly after Rachel Corrie was killed (on the occasion when Brian Avery was shot in the face), brings us closer to a place that seems so far away, to a bright young woman who had learned of the atrocities committed in our names and with our money, tried to literally 'stand in the way' of them, and was crushed by a 40-odd-ton US-manufactured armored bulldozer, a machine grimly symbolic of the rich running over the poor, of the great disparity of a dollar-fueled economic engine burying the rest of the world, becoming one of the first 'victims from home' of its excesses, becoming a martyr among many other martyrs, yet all the more ours because she brought the intifada home to us with her tragic death.

This was published recently in the Brattleboro (VT) Reformer, where Lasse Schmidt now studies conflict transformation at World Learning / School for International Training.  -- John Wilmerding

Remembering Rachel

by Lasse Schmidt Lasse.Schmidt@mail.sit.edu 

I believe September 11th is one of those days for many US Americans. They come once a year, and remind us of a pain from the past. Sometimes we remember every detail, and sometimes we recollect only fractions of what happened.

For me, March 16th is one of those days. It was the day one year ago that an Israeli bulldozer in Occupied Palestine killed an American woman, Rachel Corrie.

I was in Jenin, the capital in the northern province of the West Bank. It was in the afternoon, and I was walking up the staircase to our apartment when I heard voices from the roof. Our little group of international peace activists often used it as a hang out place. We would go there to drink coffee or tea, talk, and enjoy the view over the city.

So I continued up the stairs. As I opened the metal door, the group of eight people sitting on the flat concrete roof stopped talking. I remember being in a good mood but have no recollection why. All memories of what I did earlier that day are gone. My smile faded, as I saw all sad faces.

My dear friend Tobias from Sweden asked me to sit down.

"Rachel Corrie has been killed in Rafah," Tobias said.

"A bulldozer ran her over," he continued.

I didn't know her. But she was an activist in International Solidarity Movement (ISM), as was I, and that made me feel like we were family. Rachel was an American girl in her early twenties -- she had been an ISM activist in Rafah, the border town between Gaza and Egypt, for two months, and she died protecting the house of a Palestinian doctor from demolition. Tobias knew her well.

"She was beautiful and very passionate about justice. She was a powerful activist," he said.

Rachel Corrie was crushed two times by the bulldozer -- the first time as it drove forward, and the second time as it backed over her.

She didn't die right away. Her friends had time to kneel by her side, hold her head and scream to the soldiers nearby that they should call an ambulance ... which they didn't. Rachel's arms and legs were broken and in wrong positions. She was bleeding from the mouth.

The next thing I remember is an hour or two later ... I am talking on my cell phone to my support person from the Danish branch of ISM. He's back home in Denmark, trying to write a press release on the situation.

"How do you feel?" he asked me.

"Naked. I was convinced they wouldn't do me any harm, that my European passport and Scandinavian appearance was like a bullet-proof vest. I have been in so many situations. I have looked a soldier in the eyes while he pressed the mount of an automatic rifle against my temple saying: 'I am crazy. You have no idea what I can do', and I didn't feel fear.

"Now I know better and everything has changed," I said.

"Are you staying?"

"I can't think right now, but a part of me wants to go home right away. Another part of me feels like that is exactly what the army wants. Maybe they killed her to make us leave."

[The soldier who shot Thomas Hurndall indeed later confessed that this had been his motivation. -- JW]

I stayed and fought for what I feel is right -- for justice, and against the occupation. During the following weeks, it became increasingly dangerous to be an ISM activist in Palestine.

April the 5th, my friend Brian Avery from North Carolina was shot in the face at close range by a machine gun mounted on the roof of an Israeli tank. The army says he was caught in crossfire between Palestinian terrorists and Israeli soldiers, and most likely was hit by a Palestinian bullet. I know that is not true. I was standing right next to him and was the first to examine his destroyed face, as he was face down on the street. The only shots came from the Israeli machine gun, and we six internationals were the only people nearby.

Like the rest of us, Brian held his hands up in the air as the tank slowly approached us. We expected it to pass us as they normally did, apparently not paying any attention to a group of International peace activists. But this time, bullets started hitting the pavement in front of us and flying through the air close to our faces. Without notice or warning, the tank started shooting from only fifty feet away.

Six days later I was Haifa in Israel to support Brian, who was hospitalized and going through a hard time. I was with Tobias when his cell phone rang. After talking for a few seconds he looked at me:

"Tom Hurndall, a British guy, has been shot in the head in Rafah."

I buried my face in my hands and felt like screaming. Instead, I said: "Will it never end?"

An Israeli sniper shot Hurndall as he was trying to save a little girl. She was scared, and sat frozen on the wrong side of a mount of dirt while bullets was hitting the ground only a few feet away. Again, there was no one except Israeli soldiers shooting. All the shots came from a nearby sniper tower.

Tom Hurndall died two months ago, after nine months in a coma.

I still love spring. I still turn my face to the sun like a sunflower, when the first warm days come, and enjoy the snow is melting and the geese flying north. But now spring is more than that for me. It is pain and anger, too.

March the 16th is a trip back to that rooftop in Jenin with Tobias and the other ISM volunteers. It is re-experiencing how it feels to realize from one moment to another that I am naked and in danger.

And then I still have two more of those days to come ... April 5th, and again, six days later.

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