Soldiers Use Tear Gas and Sound Bombs at Ahmed's Funeral

Today we went to the funeral of Ahmed Mussa, the 10 year old boy killed yesterday by an Israeli border policeman. The funeral procession began in Ramallah where hundreds of people, including Ahmed's family, drove in convoy to bring his body home to Ni'lin where thousands of mourners were waiting.

When the convoy reached Ni'lin, there were dozens of soldiers and border police waiting on either side of the entrance to the village. Instead of showing a single shred of human decency, they surrounded the funeral procession, knowing that their presence would provoke a reaction and ensure that Ahmed would not be allowed to die in peace as he had not been allowed to live in peace.

As soon as the first stones were thrown, the soldiers fired tear gas and sound bombs directly into the funeral procession, not stopping as people fell and became trampled in the scramble to escape.

Why did the soldiers have to come to Ni'lin today? Could they not have left the area just for one hour or even stood 100 metres further back and just let it be? Could they not have let Ahmed's family and friends mourn without lining up as if to goad them and gloat that they had murdered him? I simply cannot understand what I see here.

The video below was taken as the soldiers began attacking the funeral procession:



Below is an account of Ahmed's funeral written by a colleague at IWPS:

The murder of Ahmed, Age 10
By Kim www.livefromoccupiedpalestine.blogspot.com

Another child has just been murdered. On Tuesday, July 29, Ahmed Ussam Yusef Mousa, aged 10, was shot dead with asingle shot to the head by Israeli occupation forces. Ahmed was murderedjust before 6pm, when he and a group of youth from Ni'lin village attempted to dismantle a section of barbwire fencing erected on the village's land by the Israeli occupation forces. Ahmed is now the 12 person and seventh child to be killed by the Israeli occupation forces in demonstrations against the apartheid fence. He is one of more than 800 Palestinian children killed by the Zionist state since the beginning of the Al Aqsa Intifada in September 2000.

My IWPS team mate and myself got the news last night as we arrived at the ISM office in Ramallah. Within fifteen minutes we were at the hospital. As we arrived Ahmed's little body was being brought into the hospital. My teammate and myself were "lucky" in that we did not see Ahmed but two of our fellow activists from the ISM did. Both long-term activists and very experienced, both of them spoke of how tiny Ahmed was. We all then left the hospital as we did not want to interfere with the family's grief and came back to the ISM media office to work to try and tell the world of Israel's barbarism.

The initial shock, grief and tears we all felt were held at bay over the next few hours as we worked in the ISM's media office, ringing media persons, outlets, pulling together media releases. As we emailed out the press releases to the media and our various networks around the world, the emails poured in expressing shock, outrage and heartache.

As the night wore on we sat with each other, listened and supported eachother, especially with those of use who had close contacts in Ni'lin and who had witnessed the arrival of Ahmed's body at the hospital. None of us could sleep, although we were all exhausted and we sat in the garden as the early hours of the morning came upon us. Finally at around 3am, the last of us forced ourselves to go to bed, but we all spent a sleepless night thinking about the grief the family must have been experiencing, their shock, horror and disbelief that their little boy was no longer with them.

In the morning, other members of the ISM and IWPS began to arrive in Ramallah, so we could all go to the hospital at 10am to be part of Ahmed's funeral procession and to accompany the family home with his body. At around 10.30am, dozens and dozens of residents from Ni'lin arrived at the hospital and Ahmed's body was brought out and placed in the ambulance. Soon, dozens of cars joined in the funeral procession. For the next 45 minutes we made our way in two Palestinian transit vans through the streets of Ramallah. As we did more cars, trucks and taxis joined us with more andmore people.

By the time we finally left the centre of Ramallah, there were more than 40 cars in the funeral procession. Many of the cars displayed Ahmed's shihad (martyr) poster (in Palestine anyone killed as a result of the occupation, whatever their age, is viewed as a martyr). The poster displayed a handsome little boy, slight of build and tiny. Each time I looked at the poster, I wondered how anyone one could think that this tiny child could be such a threat to the security of their state.

How could this little boy, with such a tiny frame, scare grown men? What could posses any person to think that the appropriate response to a small child such as Ahmed was live ammunition, aimed and fired at his head?

As I looked at his photograph trying to imagine why Ahmed had to die, his funeral procession began to make its way out of Ramallah. As we left the city and began to traverse the hills and pass through the surroundingPalestinian villages, we sat in silence, very little to say to each other, as the chants from the Palestinian mourners continued, remembering Ahmed, God and opposing the occupation and the apartheid wall.

As we weaved our way through one village after another, more cars joined us and others came to stand on the streets to offer their silent condolences and respect for Ahmed and his family. Along with adults, young children lined the streets of the villages we passed through and my heart broke as I watch their little faces, many of them too young to comprehend what the procession was about. But as I watched these small children through the windows of our car, I kept wondering if one day they too would share the same fate as Ahmed. And the sadness and anger in me grew once again.

As we approached Bil'lin village, a young father stood on the side of the road, along with a group of young children, many no doubt his own. They stood silent, bravely, in dignity with Palestinian flags in remembrance ofAhmed. It was at that point, all the composure and restraint I had imposed on myself since we first heard the news of Ahmed left me and tears began to stream down my face.

When we reached Bil'in, many of the village residents were on the streets and many joined the funeral procession. Soon we were nearing the settler highway that we must traverse to get to Ni'lin and we all wondered if we would be able to get in.

Would the Israeli army stop us? Would they use violence? Would they attack the funeral procession as they have done on other occasions?

As our car, which was about half way through the funeral procession, came to the highway, we could see the Israeli occupation forces had blocked the road and stopped Israeli plated cars from continuing. This sight was a relief. Soon we, along with the Palestinians mourners and other internationals poured out of the vehicles on to the highway. However, as we approached the entrance of Ni'lin we could see the Israeli occupation forces had also setup another barricade at the far side of the village entrance.

This was a clearly provocative act on the behalf of the Israeli occupation forces. They could have easily set up the barrier (as the road lead to TelAviv) 50 or 100 or 200 metres or more away. Placing the barrier where they did meant they would be confrontation, as emotions, tempers and anger at the killing and death of Ahmed spilled over.

As Ahmed's tiny body, wrapped in his funeral shroud, was carried above the crowd, the mourners chanted his martyrdom, against the occupation and the wall and for the greatness of God. Soon, smaller groups broke off from theprocession to confront the soldiers, yelling at them angrily. In response the Israeli occupation forces began to throw sound grenades and flashbombs. As myself and one of my IWPS teammates moved closer to the frontline to try and offer some sort of international presence, tear gas began to be fired by the Israeli military. For the next few minutes, we were caught between the military firing on us and the young Palestinian men throwing stones in response to the occupation forces attack on the funeral procession.

As people began to run, we were swept up in the chaos and at one point people tried to crush past a park car, resulting in several young boys being dragged down and trampled. Suddenly, I saw a man dragging the limp body of a young teenage boy and at first my heart went to my mouth, as I thought another child had been shot. As the young boy was dragged to safety, he began to gain consciousness and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

The march continued towards the balidyier (the municipality office) and then towards the mosque, where tiny Ahmed was carried up the stairs. As prayers were called from the mosque, people sat and stood around in quite vigil forAhmed and his family.

When prayers finished, Ahmed was brought from the mosque and taken once again by funeral procession to the village burial ground. We walked quietly, as again the chants from the villagers and others Palestinians spoke of Ahmed's martyrdom, God and the occupation. As we approached the burial grounds, women stood atop the house near where little Ahmed would be buried. As the funeral procession passed by they performed the zachrohtah, the traditional sound made to wish someone well. In performing this tradition, the women sought to ensure Ahmed's journey to paradise would be happy and joyful.

As the men accompanied Ahmed's body for burial, we decided to remain outsideand listen to the prayers and sermon. As we waited there, two young girls, both under the age of ten came to say hello. As we conversed, they asked me my name, where I lived and other innocent questions. As I responded, in my badly pronounced Arabic, they also began to ask if I liked Noor, the widely popular Turkish soap opera (which is dubbed in Arabic) that is showing at the moment on Palestinian television. I asked them if they liked Mohanad, the male lead, who all the Palestinian girls have fallen in love with and they told me yes. As I practiced my Arabic with them and spoke of the things little girls find interesting and joyful, I thought again of Ahmed who will never have the chance to play his children's games with his friends or his family and of how he would never be able to speak of the television shows he loved. And again the sadness swept over me for Ahmed and for his family, who would miss him so much.