Israel Advances New ‘Facebook Bill’, Threatening Free Speech

The Israeli Knesset passed last week a first reading of a controversial new bill that would allow Israeli courts to order social media companies to remove online content it deems “inciting”.

The “removal of criminally offensive content from the internet”, colloquially known as the “Facebook bill”, allows Israeli administrative courts, at the request of government, to issue orders demanding social media platforms like Facebook and Twitter remove online content considered as incitement to violence. The bill has to go through two more rounds of approval by the Israeli Knesset before it becomes a law.

Facebook’s Community Standards already explicitly prohibit incitement to violence, although there is evidence that the company struggles to enforce this policy evenly across the globe. In addition, the Israeli government has indicated that it already works with Facebook to monitor “inciting” posts. In 2016, a delegation from the US-based social media giant met with representatives from the Israeli government, and both parties agreed to work together to monitor “incitement” on the platform. It remains unclear whether or how a change in Israeli legislation would affect Facebook’s processes regarding content in Israel.

The bill is sponsored by Israeli Justice Minister Ayelet Shaked and Public Security Minister Gilad Erdan, both of whom have previously attacked social media giants for fueling what they describe as Palestinian incitement against Israel, following a surge in violence in October 2015. The mounting frustration due to a failed peace process while Israel continues to occupy Palestinian territories and violate Palestinians’ human rights have exploded into a wave of violence in Jerusalem and the West Bank, leaving at least 220 Palestinians and 30 Israelis dead. Despite the earlier agreement with Facebook, Shaked said it is “important this cooperation will become obligatory.”

According to Israeli media, the new bill defines online incitement as content which “the very posting of is a criminal offense, and whose public visibility has a real potential to put personal, public and national security at risk.”

It is worth noting that Palestinians who are citizens and residents of Israel fall under the jurisdiction of Israeli civil law, while Palestinians who are living in the occupied Palestinian territories fall under a military rule. The legal territorial jurisdiction of the bill remains unclear.

Even though the bill should apply to all citizens of Israel, Palestinians fear that they will continue to be the primary target for arrests and investigations in relation to what they post online. Ironically, Shaked herself, who is driving this bill now, used Facebook in the past to explicitly call for war against Palestinian people and advocate even for the mothers of slain Palestinians to be killed. She was nonetheless appointed as Minister of Justice, despite her post (which has since been deleted, but is accessible at the Internet Archive), which some observers argue is a call for what the the UN defines as genocide.

While the introduction of the bill assures that there will be “instructions and limitations in order to prevent damage to freedom of speech,” the vague definition of what constitutes a threat to public and national security gives an unprecedented green light to state online censorship and surveillance.

Many Palestinians have turned to social media as a non-violent means of expressing criticism and anger over human rights violations, and as a way to simply show the everyday realities of occupation. If passed, the bill could be used to silence this type of speech and thus extend the occupation into the online world.

One prominent case is the detention of Dareen Tantour, a 35-year-old Palestinian poet, for posting a poem on Facebook protesting the murder of three Palestinian children. On 11 October 2015, Israeli police stormed her home in the predawn hours and later charged her with “incitement to violence” and placed under house arrest. In the poem, entitled “resist, my people, resist them,” Tantour writes:

In Jerusalem, I dressed my wounds and breathed my sorrows

And carried the soul in my palm

For an Arab Palestine.

I will not succumb to the “peaceful solution,”

Never lower my flags

Until I evict them from my land.

I cast them aside for a coming time.

Resist, my people, resist them.

Resist the settler’s robbery

And follow the caravan of martyrs.

In a solidarity campaign with Dareen, Salil Tripathi, chair of PEN International’s Writers in Prison Committee, said:

The charges leveled against Dareen Tatour are serious, and the Israeli state wants to make the case that her words have directly led to specific violent incidents. But Israel has shown no such direct linkage. All Dareen Tatour has done is to have written a poem. She should never have been under house arrest…

Dareen is not alone. Between October 2015 and January 2016 alone, Israel arrested 150 Palestinians on the grounds of ‘incitement through social media,’ according to a report by 7amleh, the Arab Center for Advancement of Social Media.

The Defence for Children International-Palestine also reported that Israel has illegally put dozens of Palestinian children under administrative detention, because of what they posted on Facebook. They were interrogated and imprisoned for months without the presence of a parent or a lawyer.

In September 2016, Palestinian activists documented numerous suspensions of personal Facebook accounts of Palestinian journalists and media pages. Four editors at the Palestinian Shehab News Agency and three journalists from Al Quds News Network, which both have millions of followers, had their personal accounts closed. Supporters responded, protesting online under the hashtag #FBCensorsPalestine. Facebook later apologized for the suspension explaining that it was mistake.

Israelis too are concerned about the bill. Tehilla Shwartz Altshuler, head of the Israel Democracy Institute’s Center for Democratic Values and Institutions, told Bloomberg that the bill is “an assault on freedom of expression on an international scale,” and needs to be substantially revised. In an interview with the Jersualem Post, MeyTal Greiver-Schwartz from the Israel Internet Association warned that the bill would “enable the removal of legitimate content, as they only include vague and general terms – such as ‘danger to the public or nation’ – that can be interpreted very broadly.”

It is also unclear what impact the bill will have for political figures and parties in Palestine. A few days after the passing of the first reading of the bill on 3 January, Palestinian activists reported that Facebook had shut down around 30 personal accounts and 90 other Facebook pages, which are believed to be affiliated with the Islamic Resistance Movement, Hamas. Hamas recently commemorated the 21st anniversary of the assassination of its fighter Yaha Ayyash, the first bomb engineer of Hamas’ military wing, who was assassinated by Israel in 1996. Celebrated widely in Palestine as a hero, Hamas supporters posted “Be Like Ayyash” on Facebook in his memory.

The shutdowns may have resulted from Facebook’s Community Standards, which prohibit the presence of what it calls ‘dangerous organizations’ that are engaged in terrorist or organized crime activities. Both the Israeli and the US governments list Hamas as a terrorist organization.

This article was published on Global Voices.


كيف تضيع الطريق؟

هناك بضعة نقود على الأرض، إلهث ورائها
وقبل أن تهبط بجسدك الخفيف من الكرامة لتلتقطها
فكر في نوع العملة، أهي سهلة أم صعبة؟
أو ربما لا وجود لها)

أغلق جميع النوافذ
وأوصد كل أبواب منزلك بإحكام،
فأنت لا تدري من أين تدخل الثورة
فهي لم تتعلم كيف تستأذن بعد،
لتضيع عليك فرصتك في إضاعة الطريق.

اصغِ جيداً إلى كل ما يقوله أستاذ المدرسة
دوّنه في كراستك التي جاءت من الصين
احفظه كل ليلة قبل أن تنام
واحرص على ترديده كلما شئت الحديث مع الآخرين
وبالأخص- إذا شاءت الأقدار أن تظهر على شاشة التلفاز.

عليك بالتزاوج في أقرب وقت ممكن
فيه حفظ للألقاب والأنساب
ولمنسوبك العالمي من الذكاء.

اعلم وأيقن أن كل من عليها فان
فلا داعٍ لأن تحاول وتبحث عن الطريق
فكله يهرول نحو ذات النهاية.

تم نشر هذا النص على رصيف22


قبيل صباح يوم المشنقة

:في عام 1936 كتب مناضل فلسطيني مجهول السطور التالية وهو ينتظر تنفيذ حكم شنقه في صباح اليوم التالي

يا ليل٬ خلّي الأسير تـيكمل نواحو
رايح يفيق الفجر ويرفـرف جناحو
تايتمرجح المشنوق في هبة رياحو
شمل الحبايب ضاع واتكسروا قداحو

يا ليل وقّــف تا اقضّي كــل حسراتي
يمكن نسيت مين أنا
ونسيت آهاتي
يا حيف! كيف انقضت بييدك ساعاتي

لا تظن دمعي خوف٬ دمعي على وطاني
وعــا كمشة زغاليل بالبيت جوعاني
مين رح يطعمها من بعدي؟
واخواني اثنين قبلي عـالمشنقة راحو؟
وبكره مرتي كيف راح تقضي نهارها؟
ويلها عليَّ أو ويلها على صغارها!
يا ريتني خليت في إيدها سوراها
!يوم الدعتني الحرب تـا اشتري سلاحها
المصدر: غسان كنفاني٬ أدب المقاومة في فلسطين المحتلة 1948 ـ1966

Three reasons why attacking Egypt’s top auditor is bad news


Putting Egypt’s top auditor on trial sends a clear message: the Egyptian government is waging a war. Not against corruption but against those who fight against it.

When President Abdel Fattah Al Sisi came to power in 2013, he made fighting corruption a top priority; “There should be full trust in the monitoring bodies and their procedures, and the culture of combating corruption should prevail,” he said on a national TV interview.

However, President Al Sisi’s words and actions are far apart. After Hisham Geneina, the former head of the Central Audit Organization, publicly stated that the government’s corruption has cost Egypt around $67.6 billion over four years, he was fiercely attacked by pro-government political and media circles.

The Egyptian presidency quickly formed a committee to investigate the numbers. There are clear indications that Geneina was on the right track. Egypt scores 36 out of 100 and ranks 88th out of 168 countries on Transparency International’s 2015 Corruption Perception Index, indicating a serious problem with corruption. Geneina’s estimate may even have been on the low side. Back in September the state-run Central Agency for Public Mobilisation and Statistics estimated corruption cost Egypt $25 billion annually.

Shortly after Geneina’s announcement, President Al Sisi sacked him by presidential decree, and within a few days, the prosecution of Geneina started on the grounds of disturbing public peace and spreading false news.

The character assassination and prosecution of the head of Egypt’s strongest oversight body is a dangerous step for three reasons.

First, it shows yet again that the Egyptian government has no real political will to fight corruption despite previous promises. They should. Egyptian citizens are frustrated with the government’s lack of serious effort to stop the widespread corruption in the country. In a recent survey released in May this year, 58 per cent of Egyptians believe that the government is performing badly on this front.

Second, such move deeply undermines the independence of Egypt’s regulatory bodies. The Central Audit Organisation is the strongest watchdog institution in the country and scored the highest among 13 pillars of society studied in Transparency International’s National Integrity System report.

The report looked at the strengths and weaknesses of Egypt’s institutions. The strength of the Central Audit Organisation stems from its independence, which is enshrined in the Egyptian constitution. The removal of its head by presidential degree is also an explicit infringement of the constitution. It weakens the organisation’s independence and credibility, and hinders its key function to detect and report corruption.

Third, targeting Geneina signals an escalation of a wider suppressive crackdown on Egyptian civil society, activists and concerned citizens. By prosecuting the country’s top anti-corruption fighter for merely doing his job, the Egyptian government is reinforcing its power to limit transparency or accountability to its citizens.

The Egyptian government must uphold the obligations it agreed to when it signed the United Nations Convention against Corruption in 2005. This commits Egypt to a framework for fighting corruption that includes guaranteeing independence to investigating authorities, such as auditing organisations.

The government should strive to end decades of corruption that brought millions into the streets demanding social justice and not act to cover up its shortcomings.


Originally published at on June 10, 2016.


Married in Syria, divorced in Germany

On some evenings when I visit Hanadi and Etab, a few more women come and gather in their small room. There are no seats so I sit on Hanadi’s bed. While women start sharing the latest gossip at the camp, I lean back on the pillow and listen in.

Two German police cars were there yesterday. They dragged a Syrian man out of the camp. His young wife, carrying her few months old baby on her arms, stayed in her room crying. People on the third floor often hear her crying. They also hear the violent threats of her husband. Sometimes, him beating her too. Until one day the young woman’s weeping reached Magdolina, the camp supervisor.

She called them both to her office, Etab tells me. The husband denied any wrongdoing, while the wife stood there silent. Sensing intimidation, Magdolina asks the man to leave the room. The two women are all alone now. Magdolina, in a gesture of care and trust, places her hand on the wife’s shoulder. Feeling safe, the wife spills out her owes. A few days right after she gave birth at the camp, her husband attacked her viciously, bursting with anger. Why? perhaps she added two spoons of sugar to his cup of tea that morning instead of three. A very short while after, and much to my amusement, the abusive husband was taken away and imprisoned.

She is not alone, the women gasped. Screams and cries are heard often at every floor. Women are belittled, humiliated, and physically abused by their husbands or even sons.

Now, however, men have lost their life-long impunity which they enjoyed back in Syria as in every other Arab country. In Germany, where laws strictly prohibit domestic violence, Syrian women have the power to stand up for themselves. They also feel the need to remind their husbands every now and then of prison in case they misbehave.

I also heard stories of Syrian women who divorced their husbands at the moment of arrival in Germany. Hanadi laughs when she mentions that woman who reported her husband to the police a few minutes after she landed at the airport.

None of these stories surprise me, really. But, admittedly , I exhibit a special sense of euphoria when I hear such endings. Ending their impunity is a triumph to me.


My first trip to the refugee camp

I arrive at the front desk. The Turkish security guard looks at me and asks “Sie besuchen?” I nod. I am nervous. In the entrance hall, tens of young men are sitting in their pyjamas and tank tops. Some are staring at their smart phones. Others are chatting, killing time. It looked like this unclaimed space has become their new home now. A handful of women were also grouped in a corner glimpsing at me and chattering among themselves.

Big spaces populated with strange faces make me uncomfortable. The security asks me again whom I am visiting. I was told “if they ask you who you are meeting, just say the two sisters. Everyone knows us.” Apparently, everyone knows them except for the security guard. My bad German did not help, nor did his non-existent English.

As I am trying to remember their last name, Hanadi appears. I felt relieved. I also felt slightly empowered in front of all these questioning eyes. Yes, I know someone here too! Hanadi and I walk up the stairs. The walls were jammed with A4 paper announcements in Arabic. There were too many to read while I was climbing up to the fourth floor. One special announcement caught my eye. It read “To Arab men: there will be a psychologist…” I did not bother with rest of the details on place and time. I agreed, in my head, that Arab men are indeed in dire need of one.

We are finally on the fourth floor. The smell wasn’t too inviting. Perhaps we were too close to the toilet. We walk a few steps through the narrow corridor. Room 1415. There is a sign with the name of Frau something. The camp used to be a corporate office.

Since I moved back to Germany in August last year, I had every intention to volunteer and help those who fled the war in Syria and risked their lives on a death journey seeking refuge here. I didn’t know where to start however. I was never the ‘social entrepreneur’ with the bright integration idea. There are hundreds of those out there. Plotting away in cozy cafes or working hubs. Drawing circles, mapping refugees, and inventing life-saving, life- enhancing blue-prints.

I had a simpler idea in mind. I wanted to show up at a refugee camp. Be there. Speak Arabic. Show a familiar face from the region. Take someone’s hand and offer sympathy. We Palestinians have been there too 68 years ago. There is something very powerful about the collective memory of national tragedies. You experience the emotions of loss and pain even if you are many generations down the line.

Etab, the other sister, takes me in her arms and hugs me strongly. They are very happy to see me. I was equally thrilled. I finally had the moment to help. I didn’t have an entrepreneurial plan, only a bag of Lindt Easter eggs chocolate.

Hanadi and Etab are two Palestinian sisters, in their mid- forties,  from Tarshiha, near the coastal city of Akka. They were born and raised in the Palestinian refugee camp of Hama, Syria.

They nostalgically narrate stories of the Norias of Hama. The Norias weep by the river, they said. I try to imagine how they sound in my head. They play a sad melody as they move in circles into the water and out.

I tell them about the beautiful old city of Akka. The Crusaders Citadel, the Ottoman bazar, the fish market, how ancient are its walls and how insanely brave are its kids- jumping from high points into the rocky sea on a hot summer day.

As we exchange stories, tell jokes, and sip on our tasteless instant coffee, someone knocks on the door. It’s the security guard reminding me that my visit time is over. It’s 10 o’clock in the evening. I pick up my bag and make sure I am still holding on to a cheap plastic card that identified me in the last 3 and a half hours as ‘Besuch 23’. I thank them for their overwhelming generosity and leave with a big smile on my face.

I was there to brighten their day. They brightened mine.