Right from the start, when we were about 50 meters from the gate, we saw a Border Police force standing ready to disperse the procession. They blocked the road and fired stun grenades, “rubber” bullets and teargas canisters at us. Three protesters were injured in the first hour, and one of them died later. My cousin Nadim was also injured later. I went over to him and helped him get to an ambulance. I got in with him and the ambulance drove off.
When we passed the watchtower, the soldiers blocked our way. The ambulance stopped and the soldiers took pictures of Nadim and then told me to get out. There were about 10 soldiers there. One of them searched me and found a slingshot in my pocket. He started yelling at me, tied my hands behind my back, and took me to the jeeps parked by the tower. The soldier told me to sit down and called a Border Police officer, who blindfolded me. Then the soldiers put me in an army jeep. We drove for less than 10 minutes and then they took me out and led me into a room. I think it was a container, because I bumped against a metallic wall. They spoke among themselves in Hebrew and I didn’t understand what they were saying. I asked them where I was, but no one answered. They sat me on a chair without a backrest and every time I moved my body to the right or left, I felt as though I was about to fall. Then one of them removed the blindfold and told me to talk to my father. He gave me a phone and my father asked how I was and reassured me. The conversation lasted less than a minute and then they put the blindfold back on.
About 15 minutes later, several soldiers came in, I understood by their voices. One of them kicked me in the face. It hurt badly. My head spun and I fell over. Someone else came over and spat at me. Another soldier hit me in the chest and said mockingly: “Want an ambulance? Want an ambulance?”
Then they sat me back down on the chair and hit and kicked me in the face and back. Every now and then, the group of soldiers changed. Sometimes they also hit me on the head with a helmet. It went on for about five hours. All that time, I was sitting on the chair without a backrest and had nothing to lean on. I tried to tilt my body to lean on something, but there was nothing. I was so exhausted and in so much pain that I dropped my head backwards and forwards, but every time I did so the soldiers stopped me.
At some point, they brought food for the soldiers and one of them asked if I was hungry. I said yes and he gave me one bite to eat, out of his hand. It tasted like tahini, but it wasn’t very good, so I didn’t ask for more. About an hour later, I asked to drink, and the soldier put a bottle of water to my mouth. He left it and didn’t move it, and I felt like I was choking from the water pouring into my mouth. I moved my head aside and the water poured from the bottle onto my body.
Later, they moved me to another room and put me in the corner, on a chair. Every time I got tired, I tried to lean my head against the wall, but the soldier would always kick the chair to make me sit back up.
After half an hour, I asked to go to the bathroom. They took me to an open area, I don’t know where. The soldier helped me unzip my pants, but while I was peeing, he pushed me, and the urine got on my clothes. Then he led me back in and again sat me down on the chair in the corner. He said I wasn’t allowed to move and told me I couldn’t even lean my head against the wall.
Then a group of soldiers came in. I guessed that there were three of them from their voices. They took me outside – to an olive grove, I think, because the branches brushed against me. While they led me along, they swore at me and called my mother names. One of them tightened the blindfold on my eyes and ordered me to say, “I’m friends with the soldiers”. I repeated what he said. Whenever I stopped, he ordered me again to say, “I’m friends with the soldiers”.
They kept me walking for a long time. It felt like we were walking along a rough path with thorns. They knocked me down and then picked me up. They beat me and swore at me. They didn’t let up. I was terrified that they were taking me to some lonely spot so that they could murder me and no one would find me. At some point, they stopped. One of the soldiers said to me: “You’re a big-time terrorist. I’m going to shoot you.” I heard him load his gun and felt it touch my head. I was sure he was going to kill me.
But he didn’t kill me. He kicked me very hard in the stomach and knocked me down. It hurt a lot and I was dizzy. He started counting to three, in Arabic for me to get up, but I couldn’t. I was exhausted. Then he stepped on my head with all his weight. He did that three times.
They covered me with dirt and stones, and I felt that half my body was buried in the ground. I kept screaming and asking for mercy and shouting “Shame on you”. Finally, they stopped. They picked me up and led me somewhere, I didn’t understand where. They kicked me twice hard in the legs and then sat me down on the ground.
One soldier tried to cut the zip ties on my hands with a large rock. He tried three times, but it didn’t work. He disappeared for 15 minutes, came back with scissors and started ordering me: “Say, Muhammad is a pig.” I had to repeat it twice. Once “Muhammad is a pig”, and then, “Muhammad is a dog”.
He started cutting random bits of my hair. I felt humiliated, but I couldn’t resist. My hands were tied, my eyes were covered, and they had weapons. He cut maybe three or four pieces of my hair. Later, I looked in the mirror and it looked like when you shear sheep. He cut the zip ties, took off the blindfold and said: “Go on, go home, go”.
One of the soldiers asked me: “Do you know the way home?” I said I didn’t. He said: “I’ll drive you there in my own private car, what do you say?”. Then he shouted at me: “Go on, go home. But there are Jews out there. If you run into them on your way back, they’ll beat you up even more. But you go to Nabi Saleh and tell them what happened to you.” Then he kicked me twice in the rear.
I found myself alone on the road, in the dark. I couldn’t walk, so I crawled over to the railing by the side of the road and leaned against it. The road was deserted because it was late, almost ten o’clock at night. I waited for a car to pass by and pick me up. Five or six cars went by, but they were all driven by settlers. I was afraid that one of them would get out and kill me. Arabs drove by as well, but they didn’t stop. About fifteen minutes later, a Palestinian pulled over. He asked me what happened and I told him. He called my family and drove me to a-Nabi Saleh, where my brother picked me up and took me home.
Then my father took me to hospital in Salfit. They ran tests and X-rays and found dry bruises and that my right shoulder was dislocated. I was hospitalized for two days and then released for further treatment at home.
The beating of Baraa Kan’an, 19, a-Nabi Saleh, Ramallah District, 12 May 2017
His testimony was given to Iyad Hadad on 14 May 2017
I sometimes take part in the processions that are held in the village of a-Nabi Saleh every Friday. Last Friday, at about 1:20 P.M., the procession set out from the center of the village toward the eastern entrance, where there is a guarded military watchtower and a gate that the army closes when there is a procession. About 100 people from the village and from neighboring villages were taking part in the procession.
I ran out of the house like a madman and went to the military post in a-Nabi Saleh to ask about my son. They refused to talk to me, ordered me to leave, and treated me disrespectfully and inhumanely. I refused to leave and kept asking where they were keeping Baraa. I was very nervous because I had heard on the news that in the protests in Nabi Saleh that day, someone had been killed and several protesters had been injured. I was afraid that something had happened to him. I was also worried that they might take him to an unfamiliar place and kill him there, and then would come up with some false story to justify it. That’s why I insisted on knowing where he was.
After I insisted, one of the officers made a video call with someone and showed me Baraa. They let me talk to him. He was pale and looked troubled. He was handcuffed. I calmed down a bit after the officer let me see him, but then I realized that it was just a show they had put on so I would leave. I didn’t know then the abuse that was awaiting him.
Late that night, around 10:30, eight hours after they took Baraa, someone called and said he’d found my son on the side of the road, in a desolate area where there is nothing except stray dogs and wild boars. Only with God’s grace did a Palestinian happen to pass by and find him, otherwise he might not have survived.
After we picked him up, we took him to the government hospital in Salfit. He was in terrible shape and could hardly breathe and talk. They checked him and found bruising in his body and a dislocated shoulder, in addition to mental trauma. He was hospitalized for two days and released for further treatment at home.
When I asked Baraa what happened to him, the story was strange and surreal beyond anything you could imagine. It seems that he fell into the hands of a group of people who really enjoyed torturing him and abusing him. It was a very harsh blow for me, for his mother and for the whole family. I thought that it was traumatic for Baraa, too. But at that age, as you know, young men don’t talk about having a tough time or that they are in distress. Instead, they make a show of being strong. The incident actually made him want to participate in demonstrations even more, exactly the opposite of the message the soldiers wanted to convey to him, to stay at home.
Since the incident, Baraa started going to many more protests. On 5 September 2018, the army arrested him again. It was 10 days after his older brother, ‘Abd al-Qader, was also arrested. They were both tried and sentenced to prison terms for participating in demonstrations and political activism. ‘Abd al-Qader was sentenced to two years in prison and Baraa to 14 months.
When they arrested ‘Abd al-Qader, I didn’t fear for his safety, but when they arrested Baraa, I was afraid. His second arrest was also carried out like an abduction. He was working a night shift in a plastics factory. At 8:30 A.M., on his way home from work, some soldiers ambushed him and arrested him. I didn’t even know he’d been arrested. Only after four hours did the ISA representative in the area call me and tell me Baraa was under arrest. He let me exchange a few sentences with him to calm me down.
It didn’t calm me down at all. I was very scared. I didn’t know what the charges were against him and was afraid he’d be abused again, because he spoke with me from the interrogation ward. Two days later, we saw him in Ofer Court, at a remand hearing. His hands and feet were in iron shackles. It was a very harsh and cruel sight. We were not even allowed to hug him. He signaled to me from far away that he was fine. I did the same. Although we didn’t get any details about his investigation, his general appearance calmed us down. But as long as the occupation continues, we will not have peace of mind here. We will worry about our children all the time, even after they grow up and get married. We worry every moment. You can’t feel safe here for a second.
Before he was arrested, Baraa was considering studying and retaking his matriculation exams, because he failed the first time. But the arrest disrupted his plans. He insisted on taking the exams in prison, and this time succeeded. So, from evil sprang good, as the saying goes. Now, the option to go to university is open to him, after he’ll be released from prison in three or four months. A university degree will give him a chance at a better life.
What gives me even more hope is the good things his fellow inmates say about him when I visit him in prison. They all praise him, saying how kindly he treats the others and how much they love him. He really is a wise, mature person and I hope he has a bright future ahead of him.
‘Abed Kan’an, Baraa’s father, 54 and a father of four from Beit Rima, met with B’Tselem field researcher Iyad Hadad this year and described the family’s life since the incident:
My son Baraa’s arrest was more like a horrific abduction. Everyone who hears about it thinks it’s a horror movie. That day, at around 2:30 P.M., my eldest son ‘Abd al-Qader called and told me they had arrested Baraa.
In 2016, based on 25 years of experience and hundreds of cases, B’Tselem decided to stop cooperating with the whitewashing apparatus. Further to this decision, we have since stopped applying to the Israeli authorities with the demand that they investigate incidents in which Palestinian residents of the occupied territories were killed or injured.