http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/may/16/palestinian-refugees-lebanon-right-to-return
Never is a refugee's right to return brought into question – except when that refugee is a Palestinian
Climbing up the mountain to reach the Palestinian right-of-return protest in Maroun al-Ras in south Lebanon on Sunday felt a bit like being back in Tahrir Square.
The thousands of mostly Palestinian refugees were smiling as they joked about the strenuous climb, and helped each other up the mountain to reach the site where they were going to stage their demonstration. Some knew it could even be dangerous, but that didn't matter as much as the rare opportunity to join together and call for their rights.
The small elevated Lebanese village just overlooking the border with Israel became a massive parking lot as buses carrying Palestinian refugees and Lebanese from across Lebanon converged for a protest commemorating what Israeli historian Ilan Pappé calls the "ethnic cleansing" by Zionist militias of more than 700,000 Palestinians from their lands and homes in 1948 – what Palestinians refer to as the "Nakba", or catastrophe. Large buses had difficulties reaching the top of the mountain, and rather than wait, protesters chose to make the half-mile climb by foot.
Men and women, young and old, secular and religious, were all present. This was the first time in 63 years that Palestinian refugees would go to the border in their tens of thousands and call for their right to return home. For most, it was their first time even seeing the land that they've grown up hearing described in precise detail through the popular stories of elders old enough to remember life in what is today considered Israel.
The Israeli regime not only keeps under occupation more than 4 million people in the West Bank and Gaza Strip and limits the rights of more than a million Palestinian citizens of Israel, it also denies more than 5 million refugees the fundamental right of return to the place they were forced to flee.
While Palestinians have always protested against Israeli occupation, this year, inspired by the wave of uprisings across the Arab world, Palestinians called for their own protests on 15 May, the day they commemorate the Nakba.
In Lebanon, a rally didn't go as planned. Soon after speakers began addressing the crowds in Maroun al-Ras, thousands of Palestinians broke off and headed down the opposite side of the mountain – through land littered with Israeli landmines – towards the fence on the border. There they called for their right to return, climbed and placed Palestinian flags on the fence, and many began throwing stones at soldiers they couldn't even see.
Israel is showing itself to be no different to the infamous despotic Arab regimes in its willingness to use brutal force against people demanding their rights. This was clear yesterday when more than a dozen were killed and hundreds injured in Lebanon, Syria's occupied Golan Heights, and in the occupied West Bank (including East Jerusalem) and the Gaza Strip. In Lebanon, 10 were killed and more than 100 injured, including Lebanese soldiers, when Israel opened fire on protesters at the border fence.
The number of refugees at the fence would have been even greater had the Lebanese army not set up a blockade halfway down the mountain preventing thousands of others from joining the protesters below.
The role of the Lebanese army in preventing Palestinians from protesting against Israel represents what many refugees in Lebanon believe is a main hindrance in order for them to return. In Lebanon, refugees live with few civil rights, many in refugee camps enclosed by barbed-wire fencing and army checkpoints. Last year, thousands protested in Beirut calling for rights in order to return.
Sunday's protest wasn't ended by Israel's force but by that of the Lebanese army. After hours at the fence, Lebanese soldiers moved in and began firing their M16s in the air non-stop, creating a stampede of frightened protesters who sprinted back up the incline. People fell on top of each other, some hurled themselves to the ground to seek cover. As the crowd continued rushing up the mountain, the army fired teargas until all were gone.
Taking a break near the top, I met two young men sitting side by side. They asked me to photograph them – one was Lebanese and the other a Palestinian refugee – to show that it wasn't only Palestinians protesting for the right of return.
I asked Mahmoud, the refugee from the Ain al-Helweh camp, what he thought of the Lebanese army, which at that point was still shooting in the air. He told me: "They're just like the Israelis. Both of them are stopping us from returning home."
I pointed out that the Israelis were killing people at the fence and asked if he thought he could return by protesting. "Let [the Lebanese army] give us the chance, and let's see what happens."
The fight with the Lebanese army highlights the complicated journey Palestinian refugees must take to achieve their rights. Not only this, but yesterday there were only a handful of international journalists covering the important demonstrations, and many commentators don't see the refugees' struggle as legitimate. Never is a refugee's right to return to the lands he/she was forced to flee brought into question, except when that refugee is a Palestinian. Often the fate of the Israeli regime is raised when considering the rights of Palestinian refugees. Yet when Egyptians, Libyans and others took to the streets in the Arab world, it wasn't a concern for the justice-supporting international community what became of the regimes they battled against. In many cases, internationals have even joined in calls for their ousting.
Yesterday Palestinians climbed back down the mountain and into their buses to return to more than a dozen refugee camps, unrecognised "gatherings" and other areas around Lebanon. After 63 years in exile, it's time that the same international solidarity offered to the various people in the Arab world be offered to Palestinian refugees in their battle for freedom.
The price of return
source: Al Jazeera
http://english.aljazeera.net/indepth/features/2011/05/2011525152847823808.html
His sacrifice came on May 15, Nakba Day.
On that day, hundreds of buses carrying tens of thousands of Palestinian refugees in Lebanon travelled south to the border with Israel to stage a demonstration calling for the right to return. It was that same border that 63 years ago thousands of Palestinians crossed after more than 700,000 fled their homes fearing attacks by Zionist militias. On May 14, 1948, David Ben-Gurion announced the independence of the Israeli state, causing a snowball effect of violence in the ensuing struggle for self-realisation - Palestinians commemorate May 15 as the Nakba, or "catastrophe", memorialising their dispossession.
The protest was supposed to take place atop a small mountain in the village of Maroun al-Ras over looking the border and northern Israel, but as 42-year-old Mahmoud, a demonstrator from the Wavel camp in eastern Lebanon said during the protest, "there is no acting logically when someone sees his land for the first time."
Thousands of refugees broke away from the planned protest site and marched down the mountain through minefields left by Israel's 22-year occupation of south Lebanon and to the border fence where they continued their protest. Some threw stones across the fence at hidden Israeli soldiers well beyond a stone's throw away.
"We're going down [to the fence] because this is our land," said 25-year-old Ibrahim, from one of the unrecognised "gatherings" (similar to refugee camps although with few services provided by the UN or the state) in south Lebanon. "If we want to return and achieve our rights, then this is the only way we can do it."
Shots rang out from across the fence, and one by one the casualties were carried by other protesters back up the mountain's steep incline and into ambulances. One of the first was Mohammed al-Saleh, killed by a single bullet to the side of his chest.
'The weight of Palestine'
Days after the protest, posters reading "The martyr of Palestine and the right of return", with Mohammed al-Saleh's picture hung all over the Burj al-Shemali refugee camp.
In the al-Saleh family's Burj al-Shemali home, Mohammed's mother, Maryam, sat expressionless surrounded by her friends and family while Samah, her 16-year-old daughter, served coffee and dates to the guests. Maryam would only smile when relatives told anecdotes about Mohammed, whose picture she wore around her neck.
Her husband Samir passed away during heart surgery a year ago, leaving Maryam to take care of the couple's three children: Mohamed, Samah and seven-year-old Jihad. Now, pictures of Mohammed have joined those of his father on the walls of the family's home.
The room went quiet when Mohammed's grandmother, Ghadnana, recalled leaving Palestine at the age of seven during the Nakba. She explained how they lived on a main road where they feared Zionist militias could easily attack, so they came seeking refuge in Lebanon on foot, never imagining they'd be unable to return.
On Nakba Day, younger refugees joked that climbing the hills to reach the protest site must've been similar to what their grandparents went through when they came to Palestine. Many young people offered assistance to the elderly, struggling to make the difficult climb.
Mohammed's cousin, who shared his name, recalled when he reached the top, "When I saw Palestine, I felt I wanted my soul back. [I went down] and threw stones because I wanted to return the people of the camp."
Twenty-eight-year-old Wael, a close friend of Mohammed who was beside him when he was shot just metres from the fence, explained that it wasn't planned to protest so close to the border. "Had we known that we'd reach the fence, I would've brought a slingshot to shoot marbles because the rocks were too big to go through the fence."
Mohamed's uncle, Abu Ali, explained that the youth "aren't military specialists, they're just people who love Palestine. There was no plan to cross the border, just pure enthusiasm that drove them."
Maryam, who also went to the protest that day but in a different bus than Mohamed, described the moment when she heard the news about her son, "I was walking with my younger son at the protest when some boys came up [the mountain] and told me news that Mohammed had been killed. They told me that they think it could be another Mohammed and not my son, I replied, 'no, it's my son'."
Mohammed's body was taken to a hospital in nearby Bint Jbeil. After hearing the news, Maryam went with a few close relatives to identify the body.
"There were many bodies at the morgue. We walked past each until we reached the last one," explained one of Maryam's sisters. "Before his mother could see his face, she saw Mohammed's socks and was certain it was him. She didn't cry, she didn't scream. She's strong, she carries the weight of Palestine."
Since the unprecedented protest at the border on May 15, organisers are again calling for similar actions in the coming weeks and months. However, special preparations were made on May 15, and the Lebanese army agreed to remove a chain of checkpoints that otherwise prevent Palestinian refugees in Lebanon from travelling to the south of the country.
After the Nakba Day protest carried on for a number of hours, protesters began chanting to turn the area next to the border into "Tahrir Square" - the iconic epicentre of the Egyptian uprising earlier this year - before the Lebanese army moved in and began firing non-stop in the air, sending protesters running back up the mountain. Palestinians who protested on May 15 are sceptical that the Lebanese army would allow future protests calling for the right of return along Israel's border.
When 16 young men from Burj al-Shemali, including Mohammed al-Saleh's friends, wanted to go to Ein al-Helwe and offer condolences to another protester killed on 15 May, they were stopped by Lebanese soldier at the main checkpoint to the camp. Wael described the process as "humiliating" as soldiers forced them to wait for more than an hour and subjected each one to a thorough search before allowing them to enter. Similar checkpoints are in place outside most refugee camps in Lebanon.
In the Burj al-Shemali's al-Houla association, named after the region in pre-1948 Palestine from where many refugees in the camp originate, assistant director Kamal Msheirfih explained, "the future is bleak for Palestinian refugees because of their lack of rights in Lebanon."
In Lebanon, Palestinians are prevented from working at more than a dozen professions and are often forced to work illegally and are subject to exploitation. Mohammed had left school at the age of 12 to find work and provide for his family. In recent years, he earned a modest wage painting houses in the camp.
"People are depressed in the camps. They study, and when they graduate they're not allowed to work. It's a difficult situation for Palestinian refugees in Lebanon."
With little rights in Lebanon, the desire to go back to Palestine is as strong as ever. Msheirfih explained, "We hold on to the right of return to Palestine and we're willing to sacrifice for it. Even if it's the children of our children that return, it would've been worth it."
Rehoused Lebanon refugees still long for Palestine
source: Reutershttp://www.reuters.com/article/2011/05/18/us-lebanon-palestinians-idUSTRE74H44220110518
(Reuters) - Like the crowds of Palestinian refugees who rattled Israel's border fences this week, Subhia Loubani yearns to return to the homeland she had to flee when the Jewish state was created in 1948.
Even though, unlike most of them, she has a brand-new house.
Loubani, 72, received a key last month to one of the first few homes built by UNRWA, the U.N. agency for Palestinian refugees, in north Lebanon's Nahr al-Bared camp, which was utterly destroyed in fighting nearly four years ago.
Still, she said, given a chance, "I'd leave the house and go to Palestine, my country. I can't forget Palestine."
Sunday's border protests, in which Israeli gunfire killed at least 13 people, were a reminder that the plight of 4.5 million Palestinian refugees, often ignored in interim peace deals, lies at the core of an Arab conflict with Israel that has reverberated across the Middle East and beyond for decades.
U.S. President Barack Obama, keen to revive long-stalled Israeli-Palestinian negotiations, said this week the unrest sweeping the Arab world made peace efforts even more vital.
He has offered no new ideas to break the deadlock and it is not clear whether he will unveil any in a speech he is due to deliver on the "Arab spring" Thursday. For Palestinian refugees, no peace deal that sidelines them will stick.
Israel rejects any right of Palestinians to return to the land they lost as tantamount to the Jewish state's destruction.
Al Qaeda, among others, has exploited an enduring sense of injustice that helps keep the region volatile and unstable.
In Nahr al-Bared, battles between the Lebanese army and Fatah al-Islam militants inspired by al Qaeda flattened the tiny coastal shantytown that was once home to up to 30,000 people.
Perhaps the trove of computer data found when U.S. troops killed Osama bin Laden in Pakistan on May 2 will reveal whether the obscure Islamist faction had any direct ties to al Qaeda.
The Nahr al-Bared fighting in 2007, Lebanon's worst internal strife since the 1975-90 civil war, killed more than 400 people, 170 of them soldiers, and pulverised 6,000 homes.
HEADLONG FLIGHT
Loubani's family ran away from the army's tank and artillery fire, losing everything except the clothes they were wearing.
"When I left Nahr al-Bared, I felt I was leaving Palestine again," said the elderly widow, recalling that collective trauma known to Palestinians as the Nakba, or national catastrophe, whose anniversary was marked by the border rallies on May 15.
Loubani, only four years old in 1948, says her father had carried her from the village of Saasaa across the frontier into nearby Lebanon and a future of blasted dreams and despair.
The word nakba also springs easily to the lips of Jihad Awad, 49, a shoe-seller among the first refugees to be rehoused. "There's no worse catastrophe than this," he said of his family's flight from Nahr al-Bared and their wrecked home.
Last month, Loubani moved into her new house with two adult daughters. Light and airy compared to the dark squalor of most refugee camps, it is sparsely furnished -- the family spent the furniture grant they received from UNRWA on medical bills.
It is also bereft of any personal possessions, keepsakes or photos. The frail lady, who has a broken leg and uses a walking frame, even lost her children's birth certificates, her marriage contract and a cache of savings when she escaped the fighting.
Wearing a white headscarf and a faded shift dotted with pink flowers, Loubani cannot shake off her fear of another conflict.
"Even when I sleep, I'm afraid I will wake to see the house destroyed again," she said. "Only God knows when war erupts. The Israelis can come any time and bombard us, so we are afraid."
Loubani, whose husband died two months before the Lebanese army began what turned into a grinding 15-week struggle to crush the Fatah al-Islam guerrillas entrenched in Nahr al-Bared, said she had doubted she would ever return to her home there.
The army, which still tightly controls access, dynamited buildings in the area even after fighting in the camp ceased.
RISING FROM THE ASHES
Painfully slowly, UNRWA is rebuilding it from scratch with proper sewers and other amenities rare in refugee camps. The handover of the first housing units to refugees may lay to rest wild rumours they were destined for Lebanese or for tourists.
Residents recall the fate of Tel Zaatar, a Palestinian camp near Beirut where some of them lived until Christian militias, then backed by Syria, besieged and demolished it in 1976. Like two other camps overrun in the civil war, it was never rebuilt.
"The crisis of confidence was acute in the period when we hadn't handed anything back," said Charles Higgins, who manages the UNRWA reconstruction project. "That has evaporated, but now there is a justified impatience to say, 'well, get on with it'."
Clearance of unexploded ordnance, approvals from urban planning authorities and rescue work to preserve archaeological remains found beneath the camp have all contributed to delays.
The homes transferred in April form the first of 72 such clusters. UNRWA has funds to rebuild 40 percent of the camp, including its own facilities, six schools and a health center.
Higgins voiced confidence that donors would provide further support once they could see the camp rising from the ashes. The funding gap is now estimated at $207 million, not including money needed to care for the refugees waiting to be rehoused.
The project, which he described as "very difficult, quite frustrating and extremely hard work," had a symbolic value apart from benefiting the residents of Nahr al-Bared.
"Palestinians aren't often people who are able to return somewhere with official sanction," Higgins said, citing cycles of forced migration and temporary shelter which some camp residents had experienced three or four times in their lives.
"For them to move back somewhere, even if it's back to a refugee camp that existed for 60 years, is quite significant."
It will mean a lot to Fadi Tayyar, an UNRWA communications officer, who is waiting for his own home to be reconstructed.
"Four years of my history are deleted. You are living, yes, but you feel you are not living until you go back.
"I have lost the area where I was a child, where I played, where I cried, where I had accidents. So I miss it a lot," said Tayyar. "My memory is still connected to these places."
(Editing by Jon Hemming)
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