Free Out of It by Selma Dabbagh Page B

water to put out the fire. A donkey .’
    ‘Maybe a fire engine wouldn’t have made it in there,’ Rashid suggested.
    ‘Still, come on, a donkey?’ Khalil seemed beaten down and then rose up again. ‘But from our point of view, it’s good.’
    ‘It is?’
    ‘For the talk. It backs our argument about the applicability of human rights law in areas under siege. We can use it to evidence the complete sealing-off of an area. It backs up what we are trying to say about the breaches of the Conventions.’
    ‘Ha!’ said their bearded neighbour, and with it finally acknowledged that he had been listening to everything that they had said. ‘You think that will make a difference?’ Khalil’s eyes widened, the applicability of international human rights and humanitarian law to areas under siege was Khalil’s passion. ‘I have been listening to you two,’ Seif El Din said, ‘and it’s all well and good this work, but all you are doing is just playing their game. You create some interesting little jobs for some friendly Europeans and you ease their consciences a bit, but if you want change, if you really want change, this is not the way.’
    Iman and Khalil were now completely alert. The whole café was. Rashid could tell that Khalil liked the ‘interesting little job creation’ angle; Rashid had heard him say similar things himself.
    ‘We don’t have enough of the world supporting us. Nor do we have the time,’ their neighbour continued.
    Although the man’s words were addressed to Khalil, Seif El Din appeared to speak only to Iman, who had stubbed out her cigarette and now sat up as though she was about to take notes.
    ‘You,’ their neighbour said, deliberately poking a finger towards Khalil, ‘are taking the legal route which is, of course, virtuous. But what are we waiting for? The conversion of the Jews? The Conventions? It does you as much good to consider the laws of Hammurabi. These Conventions will turn to dust without our situation improving. Little girls and brave men will continue to die before your international laws are enforced. We’re not trying to discipline children from some private school here. And then you say “international”, but is that right? Was your grandfather’s village leader consulted, or any representative of his? No, my friend, these are the justifying laws of conflict and empire. They are the Occupier’s laws; they create them and they benefit from them, as and when it suits them.’
    The man stared hard at a transfixed Iman.
    ‘It is essential,’ Khalil started after swallowing, moving his head slightly to emphasise each word, ‘that we believe in the Western governments’ ability to change. It is crucial that we communicate our situation. It is imperative that we document the Occupier’s abuses. It is . . .’ but Seif El Din seemed to know these arguments already.
    ‘If you want them to change, let me ask you this: what would alter your behaviour if you were benefiting from a situation? Feeling guilty about something? The loss of money? Or the prospect of someone you love getting hurt or killed? I would say only the last two, and those are the only things we can use to get this situation to change, to get them to stop.’
    He stared at the group, bowed his head to Iman and left. He seemed to leave a vacuum in the room behind him.
    Outside, the carrot boy had made a sale.
    ‘I’m going,’ Iman said, pulling the napkin off her head. Rashid had not thought that it would be possible, but she looked even worse now than she had when she first came in.
    ‘Where? Where are you going?’ Rashid asked.
    ‘I have to do something. I need to do something.’
    Iman pushed herself out of the door as the carrot boy pushed his way in. The boy went up to the counter and ordered as much food as the fighters had had all together.
    ‘Where are your shoes?’ the café owner asked.
    ‘Are you bourgeois or something?’ the boy replied. ‘Food comes before shoes.’
    The