A blood soaked flag

Protesters gather in Ramallah's Manara square to remember Mustafa Tamimi, who died today after being shot at close range by an Israeli tear gas canister.

It is cold in Ramallah tonight, and the sun sets quickly. The traffic is heavy in Manara square as night begins to fall. Emerging from one of Ramallah’s busy streets, a sombre procession circles the square’s proud lion statues, stopping the traffic as they go. Around a hundred people walk behind a man holding high a Palestine flag, stained red with blood: the blood of Mustafa Tamimi.

Mustafa Tamimi, 28, died this morning after being shot in the head from close range with a tear gas canister at the weekly protest in the village of Nabi Saleh.

Every Friday, throughout the West Bank, nonviolent demonstrations are held in protest of Israel’s expropriation of Palestinian land for the building of settlements and the wall. And every Friday, Israel’s military forces respond with tear gas and rubber bullets. Protestors are frequently hospitalised for the effects of tear gas, and occasionally some are severely injured.

This Friday, however, was different. According to eyewitnesses, Tamimi was throwing stones at an armoured Israeli jeep when the back door of the jeep opened and a tear gas canister was fired directly into his face, from a range of less than 10 metres. Tamimi died from his wounds this morning in hospital.

Israel’s disproportionate use of force against nonviolent demonstrators is nothing new: I experienced something of it myself at a protest in Bil’in this summer. But to fire a tear gas canister at short range, aimed intentionally at the head of an unarmed protestor, is nothing short of criminal, and is something for which Israel must be held accountable.

At tonight’s small vigil in Ramallah, the mourners chant for an end to occupation. “Hero, martyr,” their banners read. They sing the Palestinian national anthem. "My homeland, my homeland, the youth will not tire till your independence, or they die, or they die," the crowd sings. 

The sun sets on a young man’s life, and another day under Israeli occupation.

Read Linah Alsaafin’s eyewitness account of the shooting here

Settlements and unsettlement: The forced displacement of Palestine's Bedouin

Flowers grow in Jerusalem's municipal rubbish dump, the proposed relocation site for the Bedouin. Bedouin compounds and the settlement of Kfar Adummim can be seen on the hills in the distance.

There is something menacing in the air today above Khan al-Ahmar, one of many Bedouin communities in the hills east of Jerusalem, and it isn’t just the low flying Israeli warplane which is slowly circling. It’s also the lingering threat of the forced displacement of hundreds of Bedouin people, scheduled in January, to clear the ground for the expansion of the illegal Israeli settlement of Ma’ale Adummim.

The small village of Khan al-Ahmar, a tumbledown town of patchwork, corrugated iron shacks, can be seen from the road on the dusty drive from Jerusalem to Jericho. The Bedouin have traditionally relied on their livestock to provide income and food, and families used to sell their cheese and yoghurt in the souqs of Jerusalem.

The city is now largely inaccessible for the Bedouin due to Israel's pervasive movement restrictions, and the extreme poverty means much of the livestock has been sold in order to buy basic necessities. Today only a handful of goats and a solitary camel remain, lying latent in the shade of their makeshift wooden shelters.

Now the Bedouin community has been informed by the Israeli authorities that it has no option but to leave this land or face forcible eviction. 

According to Eid Hamis Swelem Jahalin, a resident of Khan al-Ahmar who was interviewed today for the Guardian, Israel's plan to evict Bedouin tribes and extend settlements in the area is a deliberate attempt to cut off the West Bank from East Jerusalem, thereby making a future Palestinian state impossible.

In the outdoor classroom of the village school, a group of children are energetically engaged in a parachute game, kicking up clouds of dust as they play. The school, which provides education for the children of around 20 Bedouin communities in the area, is also under a demolition order.

The Bedouin have been refugees in these hills since their displacement from the Negev desert after the war of 1948, and are scheduled to be relocated in the coming weeks to a site adjacent to the mizbaleh, Jerusalem’s main municipal landfill site. One day soon, the entire community will be uprooted, despite vocal opposition to the plans.

After spending the morning with the Bedouin reclining on cushions, drinking sweet tea, and listening to tales of their past and fears for the future, I decide to visit the proposed relocation area.

The smell of rotting garbage fills the air before it comes into sight. Soon huge mounds of rubble and waste blight the horizon, and we pull up to investigate further. Picking my way through the broken glass and discarded plastic, I take care not to tread on the small white flowers which are pushing their way up through the dirt.

According to the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs, the proximity of the proposed relocation site to this mountain of waste poses significant health hazards for the impoverished Bedouin community, and families that have already been moved to the area have reported deteriorating health and living conditions, as well as loss of livelihood and the erosion of traditional lifestyles.

A once flourishing community of animal herders, first made refugees, then reduced to poverty, are now to be uprooted once more and dumped in hazardous conditions as part of Israel's relentless policy of settlement expansion at any cost. Today a school full of laughter and a place to call home, tomorrow, a levelled foundation.

Yes, there is something sinister in the air today; the stench of garbage, the hum of a low flying plane, and the imminent forceful upheaval of a small, powerless and impoverished Bedouin community. Nobody knows which day the soldiers will come, until then, all they can do is wait.