Charcoal smoke snaked above the horizon about one mile into the distance as we saw an Israeli warship steaming towards a cluster of six hasaka - or fishing- boats. We edged ever-closer to the hasaka boats, stopping only to radio in to our base office, updating them on the confrontation that was unfolding ahead.
With a radio in my palm, my mouth slipped into autopilot and as I described everything I saw, my body relaxed. All I could absorb was the sound of the ocean softly slapping our boat. It seems as though every day there is a new paradox in Gaza, and today I had to get my head around the simultaneous gunfire and water-lapping happening on either side of me.
Four times a week, the Civil Peace Service (CPS) Gaza leaves the port of Gaza to join local fishermen as they spend their mornings trawling the 3 nautical miles searching for fish. The Civil Peace Service exists to monitor and document human rights violations. That day – July 3- one fishing boat was shot at, with two young fishermen aboard. They were only two miles away from the shore.
“Look! Look how they shot at us! Do you see the hole?” Sabir Baker said pointing to the damage that had been caused moments earlier, while I had been busy contemplating the blueness of the ocean.
We sped towards the six hasaka boats that were still being shadowed- in both senses of the word- by the warship. I had been taking part in this project for a while; I was used to seeing Israeli warships strut along the horizon, sometimes encircling us, sometimes heading straight for us before speeding away again immediately. It was like boat-flirting, but without the romance.
And I was also used to trying to negotiate consciousness to sleep at 2am while I could hear the gunboats firing out at sea, knowing that in some situations there’s nothing I can do.
But seeing an Israeli warship up close for the first time was…almost voyeuristic. I never expected to come face-to-face (well, it was more like face-to-gun, let’s be honest) with the perpetrators of attacks on fishermen who are simply making a living.
How do you describe a warship? It looks like the horizon of a city, with poles, spires and other gun-shaped limbs poking out from all directions. Even from a distance you can tell that the warships are enormous. They can change direction faster than Usain Bolt and sprint quicker still.
I honestly thought that out human rights monitoring boat would be intercepted and confiscated that day. CPS Gaza breaks no laws, but still I fear that our arrest is inevitable. As we drew closer, and with every metre that we covered I began to prepare myself for what lay ahead. Then, without warning, the warship abandoned the six hasakas and sped off out to sea. I muttered something to myself that I oughtn’t to repeat here.
The gunboat then circled around the fishing boats and spent the next hour encircling us and the fishing boats. We accompanied the fishing boats to just under three miles while they set their nets out to bring in their catch. All this time, the warship zig-zagged up and down the Gaza coast, closer to shore than us, at about two miles.
I dipped my feet over the edge of the boat, tempted by the cool water to jump in. Just as I began to relax, we heard what I can only describe as cannons being fired. I didn’t know cannons were still used outside of the Pirates of the Caribbean film sets. Maybe I’m wrong about the cannons. But whatever was fired landed about a kilometre away from the warship and caused a ring of waves that splashed metres high. Thankfully the heavy artillery- whatever it was- wasn’t directed at a fishing boat and was more a symbolic attempt to express prowess rather than a direct attack. This time at least.
Fishermen in Gaza come under almost daily fire from Israeli gunboats; these attacks often occur within the 3-mile fishing limit. Under the Oslo Accords, Gazan fishermen were granted 20 miles in which to fish, has since been reduced to 6 and now three miles.
We stayed monitoring the fishermen for about four hours. When the hasaka fishing boats began to navigate back to shore, every single one slowed down beside us to thank us for being out there. They waved, gave us thumbs up, even offered us part of their catch. I’ve never seen so many smiles.
Although it warmed the, er, cockles of my heart to witness that our presence helped the fishermen to earn their livings in peace, it was maddening to realise that when there is nobody to monitor human rights, warships are free to fire at fishermen, without being held to account for their actions.
Al-Samarrai is a member of the Civil Peace Service Gaza crew. She writes in a personal capacity and tweets at @WelshInGaza
