Inside one of the mercy missions airdropping aid into Gaza

Australia Broadcast Center

2 days ago

From over the Mediterranean, we can feel the plane making a subtle descent.
We're heading towards a strip of land the international media has been restricted from seeing for almost two years.
As it emerges through the haze, I have to check my sunglasses aren't dirty.
They're not. That grey-brown-beige tone we can see is the colour of Gaza now, as a thick cloak of dust chokes the strip.
We have to describe what it's like to you rather than show you.
While we're onboard a Royal Jordanian Air Force plane, Israeli authorities have said we can't show you pictures of the devastation below.
And for the Jordanians, that's too important a message to ignore, as they launch mercy missions dropping pallets of aid into the war-ravaged territory.
Israel allowed airdrops into Gaza to start again last Sunday after warnings the strip was descending into mass starvation sparked global condemnation, including from its allies.
In the past week Israeli officials say more than 170 pallets of aid have been parachuted into the enclave, in coordination with the United Arab Emirates and Jordan.
Foreign nations are doing the lion's share of the airdrops, with other countries such as France, Germany and Egypt joining the efforts.
The ABC joined the flight crew of the C-130 Hercules plane, labelled "Guts Airline", at the King Abdullah Air Base — one of the Royal Jordanian Air Force (RJAF) bases — outside Amman.
Sitting on the tarmac as we arrived was one Jordanian plane, one from the United Arab Emirates, and an even larger cargo plane from the German Air Force, the Luftwaffe.
The crews on our flight, supervised by the plane's load master, carefully guided pallets of aid from trucks into the cargo hold.
The parcels, wrapped in this grey material, were mainly packed with food. Among the supplies, powdered milk.
After each pallet was rolled into place, and tightly secured to the floor of the C130, it was ready for take-off.
It was tight inside the plane's hold — usually a cavernous space, now filled with boxes of aid.
Moments after the plane was airborne, the crew started climbing all over the cargo.
Attached to each of the eight pallets were parachutes.
The job for the crew now that the flight was underway, was to attach them to a thick metal line running the length of the plane.
This would ensure the parachutes would be pulled open as the pallets rolled out the back hatch.
As the crow flies, the distance between the King Abdullah Air Base and Gaza City is just over 150 kilometres.
But this mission is taking a slightly longer route.
From the base, we flew west over Amman and towards the Jordan River — the border between Jordan and Israel and the occupied West Bank.
The Hercules, operated by the RJAF 3rd Squadron, continued on to the skies over Tel Aviv, before the Mediterranean appeared beneath the plane.
Banking left, the journey continued south over the sea, and then suddenly cut back towards land south of the Ashkelon power station.
It's summer in the Middle East. So, it's not the most green time of year.
But there was a marked difference the moment the plane crossed the line from Israeli territory into northern Gaza.
There are no trees, bushes, grass or anything visible.
Remarkably, some buildings remain standing, but they're little more than concrete shells after intensive shelling and strikes.
Roads are nothing but dirt. The striking blue of the sea clashed with the dull wasteland just metres away.
A loud whirring noise cut through the din of the engines, and the back hatch of the plane slowly opened.
Sunlight poured into the cargo hold, the rear of the plane becoming a window to the horrors below.
All of the crew at this stage were tethered to the walls of the Hercules, and gathered down near the open end of the plane.
The load master raised his hand and yelled in Arabic. And then the rumble of pallets, rolling along, built.
One by one, in quick succession, the eight pallets disappeared into the distance, with the parachutes trailing behind them as they unfurled.
We're told they were dropped over Gaza City, and footage from Palestinian journalists on the ground showed airdrops in the vicinity of Nuseirat.
As quickly as it had begun, it was over. The hatch slowly closed, and the crew started clearing the cords and straps left behind.
And the plane banked left once more, destined for Jordan.
The Jordanians and other nations running and backing these airdrops know this isn't a perfect plan.
Eight tonnes of aid per plane is a drop in the ocean compared to what's needed for the population.
Humanitarian agencies say there is no substitute for extra convoys entering the strip by land, with some of the trucks capable of carrying double the load of one of these cargo planes.
There is also the risk of pallets falling on people and injuring or killing innocent Palestinians.
While some trucks are crossing into Gaza — more than before last weekend, but still far fewer than what aid organisations say is necessary to make much of a difference in the crisis — there's a symbolism behind these missions, as well as some material benefit.
For a country such as Jordan, this is also deeply personal.
More than half of Jordan's population is of Palestinian descent, with many families having fled the areas now known as Israel and the occupied Palestinian territories decades ago.
It explains the persistence in flying these mercy missions, and also the rejection of suggestions Palestinians in Gaza could and should be resettled elsewhere — the deep trauma of displacements past resonating with the population.
It is also why the Jordanians are keen to promote these flights, but abide by the warnings from Israel.
As much as they want the world to see the destruction wrought on Gaza over 22 months of war, the Jordanians don't want to anger Israeli authorities and jeopardise further operations.
The situation is another example of the control Israel exercises over Gaza. No international media have been able to independently access the strip since the start of the war.
Some journalists have been escorted beyond the border fence by the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) on highly choreographed and restricted media visits, known as "embeds".
But even those visits have been wound back since the January and February ceasefire came into force and later collapsed.
Even when those trips are on offer, there's no mingling with the community or gathering footage and interviews outside of what the IDF is prepared to show.
Israel routinely rejects any reporting of what is happening in Gaza — such as the reported death toll (now in excess of 60,000 people) — as Hamas propaganda, yet doesn't allow journalists to do their job and enter.
With those restrictions in place, these missions are some of the best and only ways for international media to see the impact of the war first hand — one of the few insights our brave Palestinian colleagues can't offer from the ground.
The Jordanians hope these missions will continue in coming days and weeks.
But like many in this part of the world, and beyond, they also dream of a time when they're no longer needed.