Through the years, I have witnessed unimaginable atrocities committed by Israeli forces, but the war on Gaza changed the way we operate and added layers of danger to an already perilous job, writes Raed Yassin. [GETTY]
In war zones, much of the attention falls on soldiers, bombs, and political agendas. Often overlooked are the paramedics, who are referred to as the “silent heroes” who dedicate their lives to saving others. For over 24 years, I have served as a medic with the Palestine Red Crescent Society (PRCS) in the West Bank. My story, however, is not unique. It mirrors the experiences of countless medical personnel who risk their lives daily to protect the most vulnerable.
I chose to become a healthcare worker to save lives. But being a medic goes beyond care. Through the years, I have witnessed unimaginable atrocities committed by Israeli forces, but the war on Gaza changed the way we operate and added layers of danger to an already perilous job. Certainly, in the early days of my career, we faced challenges, but now Israeli forces have escalated their violations to terrifying levels.
We no longer feel like healthcare providers performing a life-saving role; we feel like targets.
Israeli forces no longer view us as neutral humanitarians. Ambulances are seen as threats, and when soldiers see our vehicles, they attack us, force us out of the ambulance, and subject us to humiliating searches. They search our personal belongings, and often force us to strip down for inspection—all while a patient inside the ambulance is urgently waiting to reach the hospital for critical treatment, where every second counts.
At times, the ambulance is shot at and we are prevented from reaching patients.
During a recent raid on Tulkarem, which has been increasingly subjected to attacks and violence by Israeli forces, soldiers entered the PRCS emergency centre, something that hadn’t happened in 24 years. They arrested several medics, including my colleagues who were handcuffed, detained, and released only after hours of interrogation at a nearby military base.
There have been countless incidents when my fellow medics, despite coordination with the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), have been arrested, blind-folded, handcuffed and detained for 10, 15 or more hours before finally being released. We would wait, gripped with fear, receiving no updates, in some cases not even knowing whether they were dead or alive.
These violations—detaining healthcare responders, delaying ambulances, and hindering our access to patients—have tragic consequences. Many of the injured we are called to help die because of the deliberate delays.
Despite having countless stories and horrible experiences, there is one event that stands out in particular from 2002, that stays with me every day. I was working with my colleague Ibrahim Asaad when we were called to transport injured civilians. Despite having clearance, Israeli soldiers fired at our ambulances. Ibrahim was killed instantly, and several of us were injured. I will never forget losing my colleague that day while trying to save others. This is the dark reality of our work—doing everything we can to save lives while knowing our own could be taken in an instant.
Beyond the immediate threat to our safety, the constant fear for my family has been overwhelming. We are from Tulkarem, in the West Bank but my wife works in Ramallah, and my son studies there as well. For their safety, and knowing I could be targeted as a healthcare worker, I had to send them away from Tulkarm, and so I rented an apartment in Ramallah.
The reality of sending your family away for protection, while you remain in a danger zone, is difficult to accept. Every day, my wife and children anxiously check on me, worried about what could happen next. The sense of security we once had has vanished.
Yet, despite the fear and danger, we continue our work. Our responsibility as healthcare workers is to serve humanity. When a patient or injured person needs us, we put aside our fear and push forward, even when the military obstructs our path, using intimidation tactics like laser lights or even firing shots to scare us away.
Despite all the personal sacrifices and dangers, we remain committed to our mission. But the toll on our mental health, our families, and our community is profound.
We need the help and commitment of all international bodies, from humanitarian organisations, to the United Nations, and all countries that signed the Geneva Convention—which mandates the protection of medical personnel during conflicts—to fulfil their duty and shield us from the atrocities and immoral practices committed by Israel.
This is not just a legal obligation; it is a moral and humanitarian one.
We need to be able to do our jobs without fear of arrest, attack, or harassment. Our role is to save lives, and we need the world’s support in ensuring we can continue to do that.
My story is one of many, shared by healthcare workers across war zones and throughout the world. We are not just workers on the front lines; we are humans, fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters. Our duty is to humanity, and in return, we ask for protection, dignity, and the ability to perform our work safely. The world must recognise our struggle and ensure that we are no longer the forgotten heroes in this endless cycle of violence.
Raed Yassin is a Palestine Red Crescent Society (PRCS) medic in Tulkarem.
Have questions or comments? Email us at: [email protected]
Opinions expressed in this article remain those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of The New Arab, its editorial board or staff.
