By the Author / Source: abuaram.site
A few years ago, late at night, the Palestinian police arrested me in the city of Bethlehem. I was heavily intoxicated at the time and in a terrible psychological state. They detained me at the Beit Jala police station until morning. That night, they mistreated me; they went through everything on my phone, scrutinizing every detail. I told them I was an atheist, yet they forced me to recite the Shahada [the Islamic declaration of faith] multiple times. They repeatedly called my wife and my mother in the dead of night. All night long, they interrogated me, reading through many of my Facebook posts and grilling me about them. For long, grueling hours, they didn’t let me rest for even a moment—even though I had been drinking heavily since early that day and was exhausted.
This is the true character of the Palestinian Authority’s security personnel—or rather, it is far worse. Their conduct goes deeper into vile dishonor than even these acts reveal. By what right do they breach the privacy of my phone, my conversations with my wife and family, and even browse through my photo gallery? By what right do they force me to recite the Shahada when I am an atheist who does not believe in their prophet?
These PA officers are not aliens from outer space; they are drawn straight from the fabric of Palestinian society. Their behavior and morals reflect the nature of the dirty environment in which they were born and raised. Simply put, they are dirty Palestinians, stemming from a largely diseased society that breeds such scum.
Years ago, in my early twenties, my mother filed a complaint against me with the Family Protection Unit because my psychological condition had severely deteriorated. She did it hoping they would force me into treatment and have me admitted to a psychiatric facility. The Palestinian police arrived and arrested me that evening. But instead of transferring me to the clinic that night, they locked me up in a detention center in Hebron known as “Al-Qala’a” [The Fortress] until late the following afternoon. My mother had pleaded with them to give me my medication so I could sleep, but they ignored her completely. I didn’t sleep a single minute that night, crammed among the overcrowded inmates in that fortress.
By the next day, I still hadn’t eaten anything. I kept asking the other prisoners, “Don’t they bring you food?” They would reply, “Maybe in a little while.” For nearly two full days, I remained starved. Finally, on the evening of the second day, the Family Protection Unit arrived and transferred me to the Bethlehem Psychiatric Hospital. There, they injected me with a sedative, and I slept through to the morning of the third day. That morning, inside that cursed psychiatric institution, I ate my first meal in three days. My first hot beverage after those three days was a cup of low-quality tea, along with cold, unsweetened milk and a cigarette.
That fortress stripped away even the most basic human dignity. It was small and severely overcrowded, with far too few beds. I slept on the floor; the inmates gave me only a single blanket. There were only two small toilets located right inside the same space where we slept, and using the toilet was nearly impossible due to the sheer crowd.
For three days, they left me starving, refused to give me the medicine my mother asked for so I could sleep, and dumped me in a wretched place—a tiny, overcrowded space lacking the barest human necessities, housing all kinds of inmates, including criminals. I was very young then and no criminal. I deserved a proper life: a pleasant evening with friends, holding, kissing, and talking with a beautiful girl, a comfortable bed, and a warm home. Why was I thrown there in the prime of my youth, and then into that cursed psychiatric clinic?
This is your cursed Authority, O Palestinians. I am giving you only a tiny glimpse of the story. Look into its filth—there are countless victims and rampant corruption across the homeland. They wreak havoc upon the land; their institutions are dirty, their personnel are corrupt, and they commit crimes on a daily basis.
At this very moment as I write this post, countless people are suffering under their criminal authority. Thousands of prisoners and detainees are enduring mental torment, harsh insomnia, and subhuman conditions at their evil hands, dreaming of nothing more than getting out and returning home.
Itamar Ben-Gvir, who bothers you so much, strikes me as nothing more than an acoustic phenomenon and political rhetoric. In reality, Palestinian prisoners enjoy far more peace under Israeli custody than the victims of the Palestinian Authority do.
