Mohammad Abu-Orf lives in New Jersey, where he works as an environmental engineer. This weekend he observed an important anniversary from his youth in the West Bank. The demonstration he recounts involved factional disputes within the Palestinian community over the Palestine National Council. Abu-Orf was on the more moderate side. The demonstration was covered in Time Magazine here.
The events of November 21st of 1984 at Birzeit University (BZU) are still vivid in my memory, and I’m sure for most students. Twenty five years ago, I got shot in my left arm by the Israeli Army. But the pain of getting shot was compounded by the pain of losing a good friend and a brother – Sharaf Tibi, whom we used to call Abu-Khalil, who was shot dead by Israeli soldiers the same day. I’m writing this piece in memory of Abu-Khalil, first martyr of BZU, may God bless his soul.
As students and activists at BZU in the 80’s, a demonstration was to take place on Nov 21st 1984 in support of Arafat’s holding the Palestinian National Council despite other factions of the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) abstaining from participating. As with previous demonstrations, we knew that the University will be closed by the Israeli Military for some time. Realizing we are going to the demonstration next day, a group of friends, including Sharaf, stayed over at our apartment in Ramallah where me and my older brother Ghassan lived. We played cards, laughed and enjoyed a night with no studying.
Sharaf was Ghassan’s best friend with ties going back to Khanyounis before coming to BZU. He studied chemical engineering. Next morning, as we woke up early, Sharaf requested that I put the pot of water on the stove to get hot. It was obvious that he needed to take a shower. He added can I borrow a clean pair of underwear; I smiled and said, but of course.
We had a quick breakfast with tea and huddled at the bus station in downtown Ramallah to go to the university campus in Birzeit. Although most of us were engineers with classes in the new campus, we continued to the old campus where demonstrations usually took place. About a couple of hundred students listened to a short speech by the head of the student council, then we hurried to the center of BirZeit town and constructed blockades with stones and rubble to prevent the Israeli Military jeeps form moving into town. We set fire in old tires as a sign for demonstration and waited for the military jeeps.
While waiting we chanted our national slogans. I recall that it took the army some time to show up to the point where things were getting boring. As we waited, we saw some military jeeps approaching; we masked our faces with the Palestinian kuffiyeh (that Arafat used to wear all the time), held our stones tight in our hands and pockets and got ready. One jeep moving in fast stopped about a couple of hundred feet from us and a soldier stepped down, shot once in the air, and then a second shot was in the foot of a student named Majed.
We were shocked as students – usually in previous demonstrations at BZU, soldiers didn’t use live ammunition and used rubber bullets and tear gas. But for sure this time was different. We retreated as other jeeps started moving in, shooting at us with live ammunition. We all took cover and retreated to higher ground near Birzeit mosque. As we continued to take cover and threw stones at soldiers from near the mosque, I could see Sharaf and my older brother Ghassan at the top of the mosque, hiding behind the minaret and throwing stones as they were able. I could also see some of the bullets chipping away the sides of the minaret where they were taking cover.
I was standing with a good friend of mine named Husam; we were both throwing stones from the hill near the mosque, and taking cover behind a short concrete wall. Suddenly, I felt something in my left arm. I could not tell what happened as I was wearing a long sleeve sweater. Soon, my left arm started bleeding and students around me realized I had been shot.
They carried me to the clinic where only one nurse was present. She cut my sweater with a pair of scissors and cleaned my wounds. She indicated that the bullet went in and out through my arm, but could not tell if any bones were damaged. As I lay down being treated, I heard my older brother screaming in the room next to me. I called for him and he poked his head and really got upset. It seemed to me that he didn’t realize I was shot.
As I told him, I’m okay don’t worry, he screamed “but Sharaf is not” and added, he got shot in his chest and passed out. I stood up and could see Sharaf lying on his back in the other bed next room. He had one bullet hole in each side of his upper body, indicating that the bullet went in the bottom of one side and got out from the upper part of the other side. It was obvious that Sharaf needed more advanced care, and we could hear clearly that the shooting was getting closer to where we were. It became obvious that the army was closing in on the old campus and the clinic, and that we need to move out to avoid being caught.
A student (Khalid) pulled his yellow Subaru infront of the clinic and I with other two students (Kamal and Ali) carried Sharaf’s body to the back seat of the car. Khalid kept the car running, Ali jumped to the passenger seat and the car sped away heading to Ramallah under some heavy gun fire by the closing army. Khalid tried to avoid the main roads to Ramallah due to existing check points, decided to go through a village called Jefnah to Nablus Road leading to Ramallah.
As we approach Jefnah, we ran into a military check point that we could not avoid. We stopped the car and the soldiers requested our ID cards. I had left my ID card with a student at the Clinic to avoid giving it away should our car got stopped by soldiers. We indicated to the soldiers that we had a critically injured student and they could see that he was unconscious. Sharaf’s body lying sideways between me and Kamal was still bleeding and we could feel his weak heart beat.
The soldier pointed to stay put until he calls his upper officers to get a permission to let us pass through. After 5 minutes we started pleading to let us pass to save Sharaf’s life, but the soldiers wouldn’t listen, saying they are still waiting for permission. Although none of us spoke Hebrew, we could understand that the soldier looking down from the second window describing Sharaf’s condition to his superior as seriously injured and my injury condition as not serious.
Knowing time is not on our side, Ali started shouting at the soldiers after about 10 minutes or so. They got him out of the car and ordered him to sit down on the dirt some distance away. After about 20 minutes or so, they let us go. As Khalid was speeding to make time, we could somehow tell that Sharaf was not alive anymore.
We arrived at Ramallah hospital, carried Sharaf’s body to the emergency section and awaited news. I still remember the doctor making a call on the phone after a short period of time indicating that Sharaf arrived on site dead. I recall not being treated at the hospital for my wounds.
Knowing that Dr. JawadTibi, Sharaf’s older brother, is a physician at Al-Maqased Hospital in Jerusalem, we decided to drive to tell him in person about Sharaf. It was a long, silent ride, as we thought about how to break the news to Jawad. I recall Khalid at some point almost lost control of the car, but was able to keep it from flipping over.
We parked the car, got out and asked for Dr. Jawad. As we approach where he was, Khalid told him about Sharaf, saying that it was not good and that he needed to come to Ramallah hospital. Jawad realized I had been injured too, and asked if I got my armed X-rayed, so I decided to stay and get some treatment at Al- Maqased Hospital. The X-ray results indicated no bone fracture. As I sat down waiting for further treatment, I overheard army jeeps outside the hospital and realized they would be searching for injured people. I decided to flee.
I took the taxi back to Ramallah, and I got out and walked to my apartment. I recall feeling dazed, as if I were operating on autopilot. A good friend of mine from Ramallah, Rasem, stopped by the apartment, and learned what happened. He took me to his house in El-Bireh, where I stayed with his family for two days; they took good care of me.
Needing to keep moving around, I then moved to another friend’s house, Osama for some time. Osama’s brother was a physician himself, which made a good place for me to get some medical care. I recall that I passed out after Dr. Hisham opened my bandages to clean my wounds. We learned that the other wounded student, Majed, was staying at Monther’s house in Ramallah. The student to whom I gave my ID card at the clinic brought my ID card to where Majed was staying.
Osama and I went to them to pick up my ID card. As I opened the ID card holder, I found a picture of Sharaf tucked in, and it hit me: no more Sharaf, he is dead. I broke down and started crying like I never cried before. Abu-Khalil had died and I would not see him again.
