I don't feel like I ever gave the people I worked with at Bourj el-Barajneh their due attention and thought I'd write a little more about the experience at the camp in Beirut.
Our timing to go work in a Palestinian camp coincided with several events in the news that made our visit a little more suspect to some people. One of the stories involved six Israeli spies who had just been arrested here, and the other one involved the assassination of the top commander of Hamas in his hotel room in Dubai by Israel's Mossad, who had used fake European passports to get in to the country. So the hoops we had gotten so accustomed to jumping through in Kenya were all the more relevant here. Each morning and afternoon when we'd walk through the camp from the main road, toward the hospital, we passed by a makeshift checkpoint that was housed by the PLO, so it was important that everyone knew who we were and what we were doing in the camp everyday - especially since we had video and camera equipment for our interviews!
The Palestinian camps have been in existence for about 60 years here in Lebanon, originally starting out as tents, and everyone (Lebanese and Palestinians) assuming it was going to be a temporary situation. Fast forwards several decades and the Palestinians in Lebanon are not allowed to work in over 70 professions (doctors, lawyers, etc), they can't own land, they can't vote, they are ineligible for state social services, including health cara, and they have immense travel restrictions and trouble getting visas. Not owning land is frustrating for people who have historically lived off the land, but imagine working hard enough to educate yourself and get a professional degree, and not even be able to legally get a job where you use that education. On our daily walks in and out of the camp to the Haifa Hospital, you see tons of men in their teens/twenties/thirties who are just sitting around all day with nothing productive to get involved in. Many young boys drop out of school early and learn a trade like auto mechanics, and open small shops in the camp (or start working in their family's shop). Many of the young women are married and pregnant.
In talking to the docs that work at the hospital, they all want nothing more than to return to their homeland. What complicates it, is that there are different borders now than when they left, and people living in their land that aren't keen on having them return. It's hard to really grasp how it must feel to not be welcome where you are, to really want nothing more than to go back home, but not be able to because someone else has moved in.
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I found this interesting commentary from a pediatrician working in Texas who has done quite a bit of international health work in the middle east:
The Palestinian refugee issue is often pushed to the bottom of the political agenda. In fact, a large sector of the Lebanese population still blames Palestinians for perpetuating the bloody Lebanese civil war that claimed more than 100,000 lives, left another 100,000 handicapped, and displaced about 900,000 from their homes, according to U.N. statistics. In addition, integration of Palestinian refugees, who comprise 10 percent of the Lebanese population, would disrupt the finely tuned Muslim-Christian balance in Lebanese society by adding a large Sunni Muslim demographic to the country’s already complex societal tapestry.
Furthermore, if Lebanon did indeed grant Palestinian refugees ample civil rights, it would lay the foundation for their permanent residency in Lebanon. Political analysts say that would absolve the Israeli government of its responsibility to adhere to the Palestinian right to return to their homeland or to offer refugees compensation, as stipulated by U.N. resolution 194. This then paves the path for further Israeli settlements, with the understanding that Lebanon, or another Arab country, would be able to sustain the absorption of the refugees created by Israeli settlement expansion. Clearly, the expansion of Israeli settlements is not without far-reaching ramifications and infinite ripples throughout the Middle East.
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On one afternoon we met with a family living in the Shatila camp, who kindly invited us in for a cup of the traditional thick black Lebanese coffee. For background (very simplified), the Shatila camp was set up by the UNRWA in 1949, and is home to mostly Palestinians but also some Lebanese Shiites from the south. In mid-September 1982,the Christian president-elect of Lebanon (Bashir Gemayel) was assassinated. This prompted the Lebanese (Christian) Forces to want revenge, after being told (by Ariel Sharon) that the PLO was involved (although a member of the Syrian Social Nationalist Party with no Palestinian connection later confessed). With the aid of the Israeli Defense Forces who surrounded the Shatila and nearby Sabra camps, kept watch from key observation points, and used flares to illuminate the camps over several nights, the Lebanese Forces massacred somewhere between 500-2000 Palestinian and Lebanese civilians in the camps over about 48 hours, depending on which source you trust. See the movie Waltz With Bashir for one perspective on what happened.
Over coffee we heard stories about life during the massacre, life in the camps now, and hopes for the future. We visited a memorial in the camp where several hundred bodies were buried, where they have an annual remembrance. There are little-to-no mental health services available to the people in the camps, making the healing process for those who survived the massacre even more challenging, even nearly 30 years later.
The family told us about a Palestinian event at the UNESCO Palace later in the week so we all decided to go. The show was a group of musicians and dancers who had traveled from Gaza to perform traditional song and dance, in traditional costume. The spirit and energy in the hall was palpable and contagious. It was amazing to see an even where people of all ages were all equally engaged, from toddlers sitting on their father's shoulders and clapping along, teenagers waving Palestinian flags of all sizes and singing their hearts out, young adults swaying their hips to the arabic music with their hands up in the air, and many of the older people holding up posters of Arafat. Everyone was so full of pride for their culture, it was beautiful to see. I took video of the performance so if anyone ever wants to see it, let me know, I don't think i can post video on the blog.
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