Hamad Mohammed Shamas

Above: Hamad holds a famous photograph taken in the aftermath of the massacres. He lay injured under the bodies on the left of the frame for a day and night. Photograph by Philip Reynaers.

On Wednesday, when the Israeli army arrived at the Sports Centre with its tanks, and when we found out that the Israelis were there, I went with a friend to ask them what was going on.

They asked me if I was a terrorist, I said ‘‘no’’. Then they said to us, ‘‘stay at home, there’s nothing going on’’. I went home. It was the 15th of September.

On Thursday 16 September, I was talking to Abu Merhef and Abu Nabil when suddenly we heard the sound of bombs falling on the houses, and the screams of injured people. We ran to help the wounded, and to drive them the Akka and Gaza hospitals. Afterwards, I suggested to my father that he go down into the shelter. The shelling kept intensifying, and we went down into the shelter. The children were thirsty. I went to get some water and blankets. My brother had been away from the house for 15 days because he was working. He came, and stood with us at the door to the shelter. Suddenly, we saw some Israelis and some Phalangists coming towards us, swearing and cursing. They told us to come out. We did. They placed us against the wall and pointed at Abu Merhef; he had 500 pounds in his pocket. Abu Merhef told them to take 250 pounds and to leave him with 250 pounds for the children. When they heard that, they immediately shot at the men. I was hit and I pretended to be dead. Three or four others fell on top of me. They were dead – Abu Hassan Al Bourgi, Kassem Al Bourgi, Abu Nabil and Ali Mehanna. I remember that Ali Mehanna survived his injuries for at least an hour; when he regained consciousness he started calling for help and asking if there was anyone still alive. I said, “I am,” and he said, “who?” I said, “Hamad.” He said, “Please Hamad, I am injured in the stomach and in the hand. Say hello to my mother, my sister, so-and-so, and tell them Ali sends his love.” I said, “How do you know that I’m going to live? Is there anyone else alive near you?” He was sitting up and I was still lying down. A little while later they came back and said to Ali, “Are you still calling?” They insulted him and hit him on the head. But he got up again and he said to them, “Is that how you treat us, you sons of bitches?” because he thought they weren’t supposed to attack the Lebanese. They then resumed their task, 5 or 6 times. They fired more shots to make sure that everyone was dead. They pointed the gun at my thigh and fired. They had come back to make sure everyone was dead. At about five in the morning, I tried to get up from where I was. There was a wall next to me. I moved along the road and I heard the sound of the tanks. I went to hide in the home of Osman Houhou, which had been destroyed. Suddenly I heard an Israeli on a microphone saying, “Give up your weapons, you will have your lives spared and those of your family.”

I tried to climb up the slope in order to give myself up like they said. When I was almost there, I looked and I saw them placing the men on one side and the women on the other. Then I saw them shooting them. That’s why I went back to hide in the house I had left a little while earlier. I stayed there until the evening. They were sitting around a table drinking alcohol, there was only a wall separating me from them. The wall was cracked; I could see what was happening. They were saying to each other, “don’t leave anything that moves.”

In that way I remained in the house until 10 o’clock on Sunday morning. I lost hope and I couldn’t handle any more, I decided to go out even if it meant being killed. I tried to go back to our house, but I found it destroyed. I couldn’t walk because of all the dead people strewn over the road. And every time my hand touched one of them, I felt their flesh between my fingers.

I saw Um Bashir who had been killed with her seven children. It was as if she was sleeping with her seven children around her. I went back home and sat down with the dead. The Makdad girl came to call for help, and that’s how I got taken to the hospital.

The above text is an extract from the Complaint lodged in Belgium against Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon, Amos Yaron and other Israelis and Lebanese responsible for the massacre. The full text of the Complaint can be found in the section of this website titled The Case Against The Accused.

[The Sabra & Shatila Massacres]