For the past few days, the blot of gray Qalandia checkpoint, has been a madly packed house from 7:30 A.M. Most of the people there standing in what appears to be endless lines of humans are men going to work on the other side of the checkpoint. There are a few elderly women and some students, lawyers or even families going to a hospital on the other side.
One can make a left and stand right between the bars and wait for a soldier or police officer to notice the hands waving the permits. This morning was exactly that. Three soldiers would look our way, eventually looking past us and go about their daily business of not giving a damn about anyone that isn’t one of their own.
As my friends and I were waiting for one of them to finally notice us, I raised my head to the sky – a metal rooftop to be precise – to let out a sigh. Right when I raised my head, I noticed a big white sign with the following written in blue (in both Hebrew and Arabic):
“Lane for the Humanitarian Cases” (roughly translated).
I couldn’t hold in my “what the heck is that supposed to mean?” anger. My friend turned to me and said, “…for the handicapped or the really old people or the…”
As if they care…
“Humanitarian cases”…It is beyond me how the word or any form of the word can be placed under the name of such treacherous occupation.
Where is the humanity in this blot of gray? Where is the humanity in a human-sized birdcage?