Gaza: “They deny me the chance to say the word ‘Daddy’”

Gaza: “They deny me the chance to say the word ‘Daddy’” The Palestinian Centre for Human Rights (PCHR) uruknet.info

Jumana stands outside her family home in Rafah February 6, 2013 Jumana Alaa’ Shahada Abu Jazar (11) was just 4 months old when her mother died and, shortly afterwards, her father was imprisoned in an Israeli jail. Alaa’ (37) was arrested while accompanying his father to Israel for medical treatment. Jumana has not been allowed to visit her father in prison since she was two years old, denied access to Israel "for security reasons". An only child, Jumana has been raised by her grandmother, Maryam (67), and her uncle, Ayman. Her grandfather, Shahada, died soon after her father was arrested, having been denied permission to travel to Egypt to seek medical care. Jumana called her grandmother 'Mum’, and her uncle 'Dad’. When she was 5 years old, she came home from school one day and said to Maryam, "Mum, I want to ask you a question, and please don’t lie. How can it be that you are my mother and my father’s mother as well?" It was on that day Jumana came to understand that her mother had died when she was still a baby. In February 2009, at the age of 22, Jumana’s uncle, Ayman, was killed in a drone strike near the family home. Maryam describes the effect on Jumana: "When she came home and I told her what had happened, she began fainting, saying over and over, "My mother is dead. My father is in prison. My uncle is dead. Who will I call 'Daddy’ now?"" Jumana looks pained at the memory, and says, "He was killed on my father’s birthday, the 2nd of February." Jumana is an excellent student and comes top of her class. She was awarded a prize by the local mosque for being the youngest person to recite the Koran by heart, and presented with a copy of the Koran, which is displayed in the family living room. Jumana is diligent, and uses a torch to study when there is no electricity. But her achievements feel empty. Her teachers ask why she is not happy with her results, and she answers, "If my father or mother or my uncle Ayman were with me, then I would be happy." Jumana sits with her grandmother, Maryam, and shows a notebook decorated by her father Maryam was allowed to visit Alaa’ in prison once in 2012, when prisoner visits recommenced following the agreement brokered by the Egyptian authorities on 14 May between prisoners, detainees and the Israeli authorities to end a hunger strike started by Palestinian prisoners and their families. She had not seen her son for nine years. "I was overwrought and exhausted by the time I reached the prison. I felt so much pressure to represent Jumana who could not be there herself. I didn’t know how I could ask all the questions that I needed to ask on her behalf. I had just half an hour with my son. In the end, I fainted. I was overwhelmed." Maryam phones the ICRC every week to find out if she or Jumana will be able to visit him soon. "This week, I was told again that no visit was planned. I do not know if we are denied the right to visit him permanently or if we will be allowed to visit one day. I worry, because I myself am not well. I suffer from high blood pressure, diabetes and problems with my heart. I only hope that I will live long enough to look after Jumana until her father’s release." The expected date of Alaa’’s release is in 2021, eight years from now, but Jumana is hopeful that he might be released in time to see her receive her high school diploma. In 2011, when 477 Palestinian prisoners were released in return for the release of Gilad Shalit, the Abu Jazar family had hoped in vain that Alaa’ might be among them. Jumana says, "I began to daydream about my father coming home. I wanted to bring a big folk band to the border crossing to welcome him home. I wanted to make a CD of all the songs I have written and play them to him, and recite all my poems to him." Jumana’s jewellery box, containing the necklaces and bracelets her father has made for her in prison. The photographs show her grandfather, Shahada, and uncle, Ayman Jumana has no real memory of her father, but she listens to her grandmother’s stories about him and makes him as part of her daily life. She speaks to his photograph, telling him about her day at school, her friends, her exam results. She longs for the day when she will be able to share this news with him in person. Alaa’ sends his daughter gifts as often as he can, carried back to Rafah by prisoners who have been released. He crafts necklaces and bracelets from coloured beads. He has sent two notebooks for Jumana to fill, the margins decorated with his artwork, depicting flowers and birds and human hands breaking free of their shackles. Since the first grade, when she learned to read and write, Jumana has begun filling the pages with her thoughts, her memories, her hopes, and the poems that she composes. She wrote the poem below last year, when her father embarked on the large-scale hunger strike in which hundreds of Palestinian prisoners in Israeli jails took part. Jumana herself fasted in solidarity with her father, refusing to take anything but water and yoghurt for 22 days.             A new day starts with the beginning of your hunger strike             A morning when I don’t know what hope I have left             A morning of more heartache and pain             Daddy, I still have hope             Though I have never felt true happiness             Daddy, resist, for as long as you are strong, I am strong             You’re the only hope I have left             All my loved ones have gone, they left me             My Mum, my uncle, my grandfather             All are so far away from me                         They deny me from touching your hand or kissing your forehead They cause me heartache and pain They deny me the chance to say the word 'Daddy’ Daddy, I miss saying it every day I wonder when I will be able to speak to you and call you 'Daddy’ I want the whole world to hear me saying 'Daddy’ I hear children everywhere say the word I have never been able to say it to you Daddy, when will you be out? I will go with you wherever you go I’ll sleep next to you and walk with you I’ll introduce you to the whole world To my friends and my neighbours And I will ask them, "Do you have a Daddy like mine?" Daddy, here starts another day of your hunger strike Daddy, when will I see you? Daddy, today you define me Because, without you, my existence would have no meaning Every day, I kiss your photograph And I know the day will come When you will hold me in your embrace Under Article 37 of the UN Standard Minimum Rules for the Treatment of Prisoners, "[p]risoners shall be allowed under necessary supervision to communicate with their family and reputable friends at regular intervals, both by correspondence and by receiving visits."  This is supported by Principle 19 of the Body of Principles for the Protection of All Persons under Any Form of Detention or Imprisonment, which states that "[a] detained or imprisoned person shall have the right to be visited by and to correspond with, in particular, members of his family and shall be given adequate opportunity to communicate with the outside world." Moreover, under Article 9 (3) of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, States Parties shall respect the rights of the child who is separated from one or both parents to maintain personal and direct contact with both parents on a regular basis, except if it is contrary to the child’s best interests. Source