Ramzy Baroud's Blog

Just days after the Hamas-Fatah clash last June in Gaza, Palestinian Authority
President Mahmoud Abbas looked firm and composed as he shook hands with members
of his new emergency government. He made sure his move appeared as legitimate as
possible, issuing decrees that outlawed the armed militias of Hamas, and also
suspended consequential clauses in the Palestinian Basic Law, which had thus far
served as a constitution.

The Basic Law stipulates that the Palestinian parliament must approve of any
government for it to be constitutional. Abbas simply decreed that such a clause
was no longer valid, effectively robbing Palestinians of one of their greatest
collective achievements — democracy.

This system, when truly representative, is indeed precious and meaningful.
Considering the impossible circumstances under which Palestinian democracy in
particular was spawned and nurtured — military occupation, international
pressure, extreme poverty — it was also deeply historic. Contrary to the
conventional wisdom that followed the US occupation in Iraq, Arabs showed
themselves as ultimately capable of carrying out democratic process.

Unfortunately, the achievement of democracy cannot guarantee its preservation.

Almost immediately after Hamas’ sizable election victory in January 2006,
both local and international forces scrambled to suffocate and reverse the
outcome of this vote. Conceited intellectuals wrote about the incompatibility of
Islam and democracy, politicians decried Hamas’ victory as signalling the
encroachment of militarism and extremism, and world leaders clambered to
affiliate themselves with the ‘legitimate’ Abbas, as opposed to the
‘illegitimate’ Hamas. Indeed, it was a mockery. 

For Israel, the clash between Abbas’ Fatah and Islamic Hamas was a golden
opportunity, one that is comparable to the benefits gleaned from another
opportune moment, the terrorist attacks of September 11. The latter was recently
— and not for the first time — described by Israeli Likud leader Benjamin
Netanyahu as good for Israel (Haaretz, April 16).

The Palestinian fight was also good for Israel; no longer would the nuisance of
Palestinian democracy compete with Israel’s self-ascribed “only democracy in
the Middle East.” More, Palestinians were once again depicted as the unruly
mob, incapable of producing responsible peacemakers and creating an environment
of ‘security’, which the state of Israel so often claims to covet. 

As for Abbas and his ministers, they knew too well that the newfound
American-Israeli fondness for them was conditional. After all they are the same
people, holding the same position and playing the same roles that they have
always played. They are the ministers, aides, friends and officials of late
Palestinian Authority President Yasser Arafat, who were, like their president,
repeatedly shunned. They also understood well their new appeal in representing
the antithesis to Hamas. Rather than rejecting the role of the stooges, Abbas’
cabinet ministers played along. 

Suddenly the conflict that was hitherto seen as one between Israel and the
Palestinians became one between Abbas and his supporters (Israel and the US) on
one hand, and Hamas alone on the other. The problem as reported in mainstream
media ceased being about settlements, occupation, and violations of
international law, but rather about the anti-democratic ‘forces of darkness’
in Gaza as opposed to the forces of peace and civilization in Ramallah and Tel
Aviv. To re-enforce these highly deceptive images with ‘action’, Abbas and
Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Olmert initiated their quest for illusive peace.
This started in Annapolis and was followed by regular, although equally futile
‘rounds’ of talks in Israel. Few expected such meets to yield any meaningful
outcomes; they were clearly intended only to further isolate Hamas and
underscore the Abbas-Israeli alliance. 

In order for the show to go on, Hamas and Fatah will not be allowed to
reconcile, at least not until Israel and the US decide to change tactics. Of
course this doesn’t mean that there is no basis for reconciliation.
Palestinian factionalism equals capitulation in the face of a harsh, emboldened
enemy. Recently we have seen the 2005 Cairo Agreement, the 2007 Mecca Agreement
and the March 2008 Yemen Agreement. But to win the approval of Israel in the
West Bank — and to avoid the tragic fate of Gaza — Abbas is not interested
in the points of agreement, but rather in the points of discord. Aljazeera
reported that Azzam al-Ahmad, the Fatah member who signed the Hamas-Fatah
memorandum in March, was chastised openly for keeping Abbas “in the dark”,
regarding the nature of the agreement. Al-Ahmad insisted that Abbas knew exactly
what the agreement stipulated. It seems that a document that merely highlights a
course of action towards full reconciliation between the two parties was too
much for Israel to accept. Not even the blood of over 120 Palestinians in Gaza,
who were killed in the matter of six days in early March, seemed a strong enough
motive to override Israel’s threats of Palestinian unity signalling the end of
the futile ‘peace process’.

And, of course, there is the money trail. Just days before the Yemen fiasco,
the US had agreed to transfer $150 million in support to the Palestinian
Authority as “part of past pledges to boost President Mahmoud Abbas’
government.” Boost against whom? Surely not Israel.

Palestinian Prime Minister Salam Fayyad reportedly said it was “the largest
sum of assistance of any kind to be transferred to the Palestinian Authority by
any donor in one tranche since the Palestinian Authority’s inception (in
1994).” Heart-rending indeed, Mr Fayyad, but one must wonder how much of the
money will go to feed the starving in Gaza, or rehabilitate the refugee camps of
the West Bank? 

While such noble efforts by the UN’s John Dugard, former US President Jimmy
Carter and Bishop Desmond Tutu have brought much needed attention to the plight
of Palestinians and Gazans in particular, PA officials are too busy attending
donor’s conferences and issuing empty statements which few even bother to
read. They act as if they are a neutral party caught in the middle of religious
fanatics and Israel. Their fight no longer seems even remotely related to
Palestine or its people. These are hardly the qualities of any liberation
movement or leadership anywhere, in any period of history, recent or otherwise.
Neither Abbas nor Fayyad are likely to be the exception.

I still vividly remember my father’s face - wrinkled, apprehensive, warm - as he last wished me farewell fourteen years ago. He stood outside the rusty door of my family’s home in a Gaza refugee camp wearing old yellow pyjamas and a seemingly ancient robe. As I hauled my one small suitcase into a taxi that would take me to an Israeli airport an hour away, my father stood still. I wished he would go back inside; it was cold and the soldiers could pop up at any moment. As my car moved on, my father eventually faded into the distance, along with the graveyard, the water tower and the camp. It never occurred to me that I would never see him again.

I think of my father now as he was that day. His tears and his frantic last words: “Do you have your money? Your passport? A jacket? Call me the moment you get there. Are you sure you have your passport? Just check, one last time…”

My father was a man who always defied the notion that one can only be the outcome of his circumstance. Expelled from his village at the age of 10, running barefoot behind his parents, he was instantly transferred from the son of a landowning farmer to a penniless refugee in a blue tent provided by the United Nations in Gaza. Thus, his life of hunger, pain, homelessness, freedom-fighting, love, marriage and loss commenced.

The fact that he was the one chosen to quit school to help his father provide for his now tent-dwelling family was a huge source of stress for him. In a strange, unfamiliar land, his new role was going into neighbouring villages and refugee camps to sell gum, aspirin and other small items. His legs were a testament to the many dog bites he obtained during these daily journeys. Later scars were from the shrapnel he acquired through war.

As a young man and soldier in the Palestinian unit of the Egyptian army, he spent years of his life marching through the Sinai desert. When the Israeli army took over Gaza following the Arab defeat in 1967, the Israeli commander met with those who served as police officers under Egyptian rule and offered them the chance to continue their services under Israeli rule. Proudly and willingly, my young father chose abject poverty over working under the occupier’s flag. And for that, predictably, he paid a heavy price. His two-year-old son died soon after.

My oldest brother is buried in the same graveyard that bordered my father’s house in the camp. My father, who couldn’t cope with the thought that his only son died because he couldn’t afford to buy medicine or food, would be found asleep near the tiny grave all night, or placing coins and candy in and around it.

My father’s reputation as an intellectual, his obsession with Russian literature, and his endless support of fellow refugees brought him untold trouble with the Israeli authorities, who retaliated by denying him the right to leave Gaza.

His severe asthma, which he developed as a teenager was compounded by lack of adequate medical facilities. Yet, despite daily coughing streaks and constantly gasping for breath, he relentlessly negotiated his way through life for the sake of his family. On one hand, he refused to work as a cheap labourer in Israel. “Life itself is not worth a shred of one’s dignity,” he insisted. On the other, with all borders sealed except that with Israel, he still needed a way to bring in an income. He would buy cheap clothes, shoes, used TVs, and other miscellaneous goods, and find a way to transport and sell them in the camp. He invested everything he made to ensure that his sons and daughter could receive a good education, an arduous mission in a place like Gaza.

But when the Palestinian uprising of 1987 exploded, and our camp became a battleground between stone-throwers and the Israeli army, mere survival became Dad’s new obsession. Our house was the closest to the Red Square, arbitrarily named for the blood spilled there, and also bordered the ‘Martyrs’ Graveyard’. How can a father adequately protect his family in such surroundings? Israeli soldiers stormed our house hundreds of times; it was always him who somehow held them back, begging for his children’s safety, as we huddled in a dark room awaiting our fate. “You will understand when you have your own children,” he told my older brothers as they protested his allowing the soldiers to slap his face. Our ‘freedom-fighting’ dad struggled to explain how love for his children could surpass his own pride. He grew in my eyes that day.

It’s been fourteen years since I last saw my father. As none of his children had access to isolated Gaza, he was left alone to fend for himself. We tried to help as much as we could, but what use is money without access to medicine? In our last talk he said he feared he would die before seeing my children, but I promised that I would find a way. I failed.

Since the siege on Gaza, my father’s life became impossible. His ailments were not ‘serious’ enough for hospitals crowded with limbless youth. During the most recent Israeli onslaught, most hospital spaces were converted to surgery wards, and there was no place for an old man like my dad. All attempts to transfer him to the better equipped West Bank hospitals failed as Israeli authorities repeatedly denied him the required permit.

“I am sick, son, I am sick,” my father cried when I spoke to him two days before his death. He died alone on March 18, waiting to be reunited with my brothers in the West Bank. He died a refugee, but a proud man nonetheless.

My father’s struggle began 60 years ago, and it ended a few days ago. Thousands of people descended to his funeral from throughout Gaza, oppressed people that shared his plight, hopes and struggles, accompanying him to the graveyard where he was laid to rest. Even a resilient fighter deserves a moment of peace.