Still Breathing, A Report from Gaza
By Caoimhe Butterly
The morgues of Gaza's hospitals are over-flowing. The bodies in theirblood-soaked white shrouds cover the entire floor space of the Shifahospital morgue. Some are intact, most horribly deformed, limbs twistedinto unnatural positions, chest cavities exposed, heads blown off, skullscrushed in. Family members wait outside to identify and claim a brother,husband, father, mother, wife, child. Many of those who wait their turnhave lost numerous family members and loved ones.
Blood is everywhere. Hospital orderlies hose down the floors of operatingrooms, bloodied bandages lie discarded in corners, and the injuredcontinue to pour in: bodies lacerated by shrapnel, burns, bullet wounds.Medical workers, exhausted and under siege, work day and night and eachlife saved is seen as a victory over the predominance of death.
The streets of Gaza are eerily silent- the pulsing life and rhythm ofmarkets, children, fishermen walking down to the sea at dawn brutallystilled and replaced by an atmosphere of uncertainty, isolation and fear.The ever-present sounds of surveillance drones, F16s, tanks and apachesare listened to acutely as residents try to guess where the next deadlystrike will be- which house, school, clinic, mosque, governmental buildingor community centre will be hit next and how to move before it does. Thatthere are no safe places- no refuge for vulnerable human bodies- is feltacutely. It is a devastating awareness for parents- that there is no wayto keep their children safe.
As we continue to accompany the ambulances, joining Palestinian paramedicsas they risk their lives, daily, to respond to calls from those with noother life-line, our existence becomes temporarily narrowed down andfocused on the few precious minutes that make the difference between lifeand death. With each new call received as we ride in ambulances thatcareen down broken, silent roads, sirens and lights blaring, there existsa battle of life over death. We have learned the language of the war thatthe Israelis are waging on the collective captive population of Gaza- todistinguish between the sounds of the weaponry used, the timing betweenthe first missile strikes and the inevitable second- targeting those thatrush to tend to and evacuate the wounded, to recognize the signs of thedifferent chemical weapons being used in this onslaught, to overcome theinitial vulnerability of recognizing our own mortality.
Though many of the calls received are to pick up bodies, not the wounded,the necessity of affording the dead a dignified burial drives theparamedics to face the deliberate targeting of their colleagues andcomrades- thirteen killed while evacuating the wounded, fourteenambulances destroyed- and to continue to search for the shattered bodiesof the dead to bring home to their families.
Last night, while sitting with paramedics in Jabaliya refugee camp,drinking tea and listening to their stories, we received a call to respondto the aftermath of a missile strike. When we arrived at the outskirts ofthe camp where the attack had taken place the area was filled with cloudsof dust, torn electricity lines, slabs of concrete and open water pipesgushing water into the street. Amongst the carnage of severed limbs andblood we pulled out the body of a young man, his chest and face laceratedby shrapnel wounds, but alive- conscious and moaning.
As the ambulance sped him through the cold night we applied pressure tohis wounds, the warmth of his blood seeping through the bandages reminderof the life still in him. He opened his eyes in answer to my questions andclosed them again as Muhammud, a volunteer paramedic, murmured "ayeesh,nufuss"- live, breathe- over and over to him. He lost consciousness as wearrived at the hospital, received into the arms of friends who carried himinto the emergency room. He, Majid, lived and is recovering.
A few minutes later there was another missile strike, this time on aresidential house. As we arrived a crowd had rushed to the ruins of thefour story home in an attempt to drag survivors out from under the rubble.The family the house belonged to had evacuated the area the day before andthe only person in it at the time of the strike was 17 year old Muhammudwho had gone back to collect clothes for his family. He was dragged outfrom under the rubble still breathing- his legs twisted in unnaturaldirections and with a head wound, but alive. There was no choice but tomove him, with the imminence of a possible second strike, and he lay inthe ambulance moaning with pain and calling for his mother. We thought hewould live, he was conscious though in intense pain and with the rest ofthe night consumed with call after call to pick up the wounded and thedead, I forgot to check on him. This morning we were called to pick up abody from Shifa hospital to take back to Jabaliya. We carried a bodywrapped in a blood-soaked white shroud into the ambulance, and it wasn'tuntil we were on the road that we realized that it was Muhammud's body.His brother rode with us, opening the shroud to tenderly kiss Muhammud'sforehead.
This morning we received news that Al-Quds hospital in Gaza City was undersiege. We tried unsuccessfully for hours to gain access to the hospital,trying to organize co-ordination to get the ambulances past Israeli tanksand snipers to evacuate the wounded and dead. Hours of unsuccessfulattempts later we received a call from the Shujahiya neighborhood,describing a house where there were both dead and wounded patients to pickup. The area was deserted, many families having fled as Israeli tanks andsnipers took up position amongst their homes, other silent in the dark,cold confines of their homes, crawling from room to room to avoid sniperfire through their windows.
As we drove slowly around the area, we heard women’s cries for help. Weapproached their house on foot, followed by the ambulances and as we cameto the threshold of their home, they rushed towards us with theirchildren, shaking and crying with shock. At the door of the house theambulance lights exposed the bodies of four men, lacerated by shrapnelwounds- the skull and brains of one exposed, others whose limbs had beensevered off. The four were the husbands and brothers of the women, who hadventured out to search for bread and food for their families. Their bodieswere still warm as we struggled to carry them on stretchers over theuneven ground, their blood staining the earth and our clothes. As weprepared to leave the area our torches illuminated the slumped figure ofanother man, his abdomen and chest shredded by shrapnel. With no space inthe other ambulances, and the imminent possibility of sniper fire, we wereforced to take his body in the back of the ambulance carrying the womenand children. One of the little girls stared at me before coming into myarms and telling me her name- Fidaa', which means to sacrifice. She staredat the body bag, asking when he would wake up.
Once back at the hospital we received word that the Israeli army hadshelled Al Quds hospital, that the ensuing fire risked spreading and thatthere had been a 20-minute time-frame negotiated to evacuate patients,doctors and residents in the surrounding houses. By the time we got upthere in a convoy of ambulances, hundreds of people had gathered. With theshelling of the UNRWA compound and the hospital there was a deep awarenessthat nowhere in Gaza is safe, or sacred.
We helped evacuate those assembled to near-by hospitals and schools thathave been opened to receive the displaced. The scenes were deeplysaddening- families, desperate and carrying their children, blankets andbags of their possessions venturing out in the cold night to try to find acorner of a school or hospital to shelter in. The paramedic we were withreferred to the displacement of the over 46,000 Gazan Palestinians now onthe move as a continuation of the ongoing Nakba of dispossession and exileseen through generation after generation enduring massacre after massacre.
Today's death toll was over 75, one of the bloodiest days since the startof this carnage. Over 1,110 Palestinians have been killed in the past 21days. 367 of those have been children. The humanitarian infrastructure ofGaza is on its knees- already devastated by years of comprehensive siege.There has been a deliberate, systematic destruction of all places ofrefuge. There are no safe places here, for anyone.
And yet, in the face of so much desecration, this community has remainedintact. The social solidarity and support between people is inspiring, andthe steadfastness of Gaza continues to humble and inspire all those whowitness it. Their level of sacrifice demands our collective response- andrecognition that demonstrations are not enough. Gaza, Palestine and itspeople continue to live, breathe, resist and remain intact and thisrefusal to be broken is a call and challenge to us all.
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Caoimhe Butterly is an Irish human rights activist working in Jabaliya andGaza City as a volunteer with ambulance services and as co-coordinator forthe Free Gaza Movement, She can be contacted on 00972-598273960 or
atsahara78@hotmail.co.uk