I have practically absorbed my love for fairy tales together with my mother’s milk. She used to sing me to sleep when I was but a baby, and later would tell me stories of all kinds, including all the Grimm Brothers’ folk tales, the Hans Christian Andersen Tales, Hauff’s fairy tales, stories from 1000 and One Nights, and Lisa Tetzner’s collection of Tales for 365 and One Days, and many, many more. In fact, until I was about 10 years old I would not sleep without a bedtime story from my mother.
Later, when I had kids of my own, I would also tell them stories. But none of my boys was as interested in those tales as I had been.
As a young adult, I began collecting folk and fairy tales – among other genres – and now have a sizeable collection.
But this Tale of Three Brothers has nothing to do with any folk or fairy tale. It is the story of real people and has really happened. The names and some details have been changed so that they cannot be easily recognised, but the story is nevertheless true.
A Tale of Three Brothers
Once upon a time, in a country far far away, in the Middle East, in a place called Palestine, a family was forced out of their home, their lovely house in Jaffa , at gunpoint , by evil, armed terrorist groups, like Irgun and Stern Gang. They had to flee for their lives, together with tens of thousands of other Palestinians. They could not take anything with them. Only the key to the main house door and some paper documents could be taken on the long track to Baghdad, and other places of refuge.
In Baghdad, they were very poor. But their neighbors helped them to survive the first few years. They settled down and lead a normal life. They had a son, who was born and grew up in Baghdad, who later married a girl, who was also born in Iraq, but whose parents had also fled the evil terrorist groups in their home country of Palestine in 1948. All they really wanted was to go back to their homes in Jaffa, but the rulers of the world would not let them go back, although they gave them a promise called "Right of Return".
So the young couple settled down in Baghdad and had three sons: Amin, Basim, and Karim. The three sons grew up, went to school, started working in different professions in Baghdad, and married women from among the Palestinian community in Iraq. All three of them had several children of their own.
Then came the war. George W. Bush, the leader of the ‘land of the free’ had solid evidence that Saddam Hussein, the leader of ‘the cradle of civilization’ possessed weapons of mass destruction which could be used against the ‘free’ people. So George W. waged war on Saddam to topple and kill him. Saddam Hussein, since the early days of his leadership, had held his protective hand over the Palestinian refugees in Iraq.
The war turned power structures in Iraq around; Saddam was captured and killed. The new rulers despised and hated the Palestinians in their country. Palestinians were arrested, tortured, killed. They received death threats; some disappeared; they were afraid for their lives.
Amin, Basim and Karim decided to take their families out of Iraq to safety. Amin and Basim, who had held good positions and earned a decent income for the past 25 years, sold their houses, bought fake Iraqi passports, and travelled via India to Southeast Asia. They were in two minds about which country they should actually go to. So in the end, Amin decided to go to Thailand, and Basim took his family to Malaysia. Basim argued that they would be better off in Malaysia, a Muslim majority country, rather than in Thailand, a Buddhist country. Amin, Basim and Karim were Sunni Muslims themselves.
Amin and Basim, in their respective country of refuge, ‘lost’ their fake passports and went to the local UNHCR (United Nation High Commissioner of Refugees) office to register as refugees, so they could be resettled in a country, that would accept them as citizens, where they and their children and children’s children could and would not be expelled anymore. Just about any country would do, as long as they were accepted there.
Karim, who did not have enough money to buy passports or air tickets to leave Iraq had waited too long, and in the end he just managed to take his wife and children and his old, ailing mother to the Iraqi border with Syria. Syria refused them entry, as there were already hundreds of thousands of Iraqi refugees in Syria. So Karim and family were stranded in no-man’s-land between Iraq and Syria, in a tent city, in the middle of the desert, without water, electricity, or anything else that is necessary for survival.
So, that was the situation of the three brothers three years ago.
What has happened since then? How is their situation today?
The first to find a country of resettlement for the family was Amin in Thailand. He was lucky. After the registration process to become a recognized refugee, which took about six months, he and the family had to wait almost a full year, before they were resettled in Norway. The UNHCR office in Bangkok, Thailand, is the regional hub for Southeast Asia. Amin was very lucky indeed, as many countries who traditionally accept refugees only accept refugees who remain in their geographical area. Non-Asian refugees in Bangkok, e.g. refugees from the Middle East or Africa, were out of their geographical area, and were only accepted for resettlement by a very small number of countries.
The second brother to find a ‘third country’ was Karim. After staying in the tent camp in the middle of nowhere in the desert for a year, together with hundreds of other families, the deplorable, most miserable and inhumane situation they were in finally resulted in the UNHCR office in Beirut, in charge of resettlement of the Middle East region, issuing a special emergency call to countries imploring them to accept these most unfortunate people for resettlement. Some South-American countries accepted a few hundred, including Karim, Karim’s wife, his mother, and all of his children.
And what has happened to the third brother, Basim?
He is still in 1Malaysia-truly Asia, waiting to be resettled with his family.
His eldest child, a daughter, has given up on ever going back to university to complete her studies. She had studied three semesters in Baghdad, but the Malaysian universities she applied to continue did not accept her papers and told her that she would have to start from scratch. She had no money anyway to go to any university.
Basim’s second child, a teenage son, began working illegally in a hotel in Kuala Lumpur. Refugees and asylum seekers are not allowed to work in Malaysia and cannot get work permits. So the son had to work longer hours for lesser pay, as he was in no position to argue with his boss. About a year ago, he was detained and sent to a detention centre for illegal migrant workers; but because he was a recognized refugee with a UNHCR card, and because someone with connections intervened on his behalf, he was released after a few weeks.
The whole family was so shaken by this experience, that they were scared for a few months to even try to go out into the city to earn a living, and had to depend on food aid from an NGO and other alms, until the necessity of survival kicked in again.
But the biggest worry of Basim was his youngest child, a fragile, shy, beautiful girl, who had just turned 6 when the family had arrived in Malaysia. “She should be going to school!”, he repeated often to everybody who was there to listen to his worries. “She should be going to school!” This sentence would turn and turn in his mind when he could not sleep, because the humid heat was too stifling in the small room they all shared at night.
“She should be going to school!”, he thought again, “what will ever become of her without an education?” He suffered remorse worse than torture. It was his fault that they were stranded here, that their lives were suspended for almost three years now!he thought. If only he would have listened to his brother Amin and go to Thailand; if only he would have listened to his brother Karim and waited with leaving Iraq; if only; if only; if only.
Tomorrow he would go out again, looking for a job, any job; begging from Arab businessmen or tourists some contributions to pay for his daughter’s school; going again to the nearby mosque to ask for money. Last week they had given him RM 50.00. He had felt insulted, but the cheapest school for his daughter was RM 2000.00 per year, payable in advance. He needed any money he could get. He needed to forget his pride. He had no pride left.
How will this story end? Will this true fairy tale have a happy end?
Yesterday, Basim was informed that the ‘land of the free’ has shown an interest to accept him and all his family members. He was told to expect a phone call from the embassy soon to make an appointment for an interview.
Basim has now hope beyond hope. If they accept him and his family, he, his children and his children’s children will finally be free in "the land of the free"!
Yes, most probably this fairy tale will have a Happy End.
THE END
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Eid ul Fitr
Always, but especially so this year, I am reminded during this joyous season of Eid ul Fitr of people who are far away from their loved ones. Not the sons and daughters who study abroad, fathers and mothers who work in foreign lands to make a living, but the people who have family members who are in prison, in lock-ups, detention or rehabilitation centres. While we phone and sms our friends and family members, telling them that we love them and think of them, the fathers and mothers who have a son in prison, the women and men who have a brother, sister or parent in rehab do not even mention the names of their loved ones to anybody. They are ashamed to do so.
Visiting the family of a close friend on the first day of Raya, nobody asks the father where Aladdin (not his real name) is. He has been an addict for the last 15 years, in and out of Pusat Serentis (rehabilitation centres), and in and out of prisons. None of the visitors know whether Aladdin is in prison or rehab. Nobody dares to ask, as nobody wants to embarrass the family. So later, at the house of an uncle of Aladdin, we ask. “Dia ambil khursus” (He is attending a course), is the laconic answer. “Where”, we ask. The uncle did not know.
I know that it is very bitter for the family that the only son is a drug addict. But if they do not support his recovery, how is Aladdin going to make it? If we just leave him alone in rehab or prison, how is he going to recover? Pusat Serentis’ failure rate is tremendous – less than 10% of ‘rehabilitated’ drug users stay off drugs permanently (see: http://www.med.cmu.ac.th/dept/psychiatry/AJP-2/Microsoft%20Word%20-%20064070_Gill070910.pdf), and prison sentences are for punishment, not rehabilitation.
I have known Aladdin since he was born. His mother was a close friend, and the family were our neighbors for many years, until they moved away. He used to come to my house to play with my children. He is like family to me.
Family members of rehab or prison inmates suffer in silence. They feel as shunned as the prisoners themselves. How did Aladdin become addicted? We do not really know the details. All I know is that when he was in his late teens, his mother died of a serious illness. As she had been a government servant, the family got quite a lot of money from insurance. Aladdin and his three younger sisters got around RM 25,000 each. The two teenaged sisters put the money in the bank and used it later for setting up their own families, the youngest was just a small child and her money was kept safe by the father. But Aladdin, who is the eldest, insisted on being in charge and managing his own money.
First he bought a car. Then he started to hang out with all kinds of new ‘friends’. He lost his job and his fiancé. About then we heard that he was addicted to drugs. He sold his car. He had used all money on drugs in a short while. He visited our house, and my husband’s new expensive leather shoes and my ‘good’ walking shoes disappeared. Right after that he ‘took his first course’.
Today we have lost count of all the ‘courses’ Aladdin has taken over the years. But going to visit his father’s house yesterday made me realize how sad it is for the family for not having Aladdin there with them to celebrate Hari Raya. And how deafening and artificial the silence is regarding Aladdin. A presence through absence!
Why do we not speak openly about him? I don’t really know. But I am determined to find out where he is and to visit him, as soon as I can. We cannot bring his father with us, he is bedridden. But maybe we can get one of the sisters to come with us. Maybe with renewed family ties Aladdin can find new strength to fight his addiction better?
On this day of forgiveness, I feel the pain of the loss these families have to endure, and I wish to make a commitment to help and support mending and reinforcing broken family ties in whatever way I can.
Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri everyone.
Maaf, zahir, batin.
Visiting the family of a close friend on the first day of Raya, nobody asks the father where Aladdin (not his real name) is. He has been an addict for the last 15 years, in and out of Pusat Serentis (rehabilitation centres), and in and out of prisons. None of the visitors know whether Aladdin is in prison or rehab. Nobody dares to ask, as nobody wants to embarrass the family. So later, at the house of an uncle of Aladdin, we ask. “Dia ambil khursus” (He is attending a course), is the laconic answer. “Where”, we ask. The uncle did not know.
I know that it is very bitter for the family that the only son is a drug addict. But if they do not support his recovery, how is Aladdin going to make it? If we just leave him alone in rehab or prison, how is he going to recover? Pusat Serentis’ failure rate is tremendous – less than 10% of ‘rehabilitated’ drug users stay off drugs permanently (see: http://www.med.cmu.ac.th/dept/psychiatry/AJP-2/Microsoft%20Word%20-%20064070_Gill070910.pdf), and prison sentences are for punishment, not rehabilitation.
I have known Aladdin since he was born. His mother was a close friend, and the family were our neighbors for many years, until they moved away. He used to come to my house to play with my children. He is like family to me.
Family members of rehab or prison inmates suffer in silence. They feel as shunned as the prisoners themselves. How did Aladdin become addicted? We do not really know the details. All I know is that when he was in his late teens, his mother died of a serious illness. As she had been a government servant, the family got quite a lot of money from insurance. Aladdin and his three younger sisters got around RM 25,000 each. The two teenaged sisters put the money in the bank and used it later for setting up their own families, the youngest was just a small child and her money was kept safe by the father. But Aladdin, who is the eldest, insisted on being in charge and managing his own money.
First he bought a car. Then he started to hang out with all kinds of new ‘friends’. He lost his job and his fiancé. About then we heard that he was addicted to drugs. He sold his car. He had used all money on drugs in a short while. He visited our house, and my husband’s new expensive leather shoes and my ‘good’ walking shoes disappeared. Right after that he ‘took his first course’.
Today we have lost count of all the ‘courses’ Aladdin has taken over the years. But going to visit his father’s house yesterday made me realize how sad it is for the family for not having Aladdin there with them to celebrate Hari Raya. And how deafening and artificial the silence is regarding Aladdin. A presence through absence!
Why do we not speak openly about him? I don’t really know. But I am determined to find out where he is and to visit him, as soon as I can. We cannot bring his father with us, he is bedridden. But maybe we can get one of the sisters to come with us. Maybe with renewed family ties Aladdin can find new strength to fight his addiction better?
On this day of forgiveness, I feel the pain of the loss these families have to endure, and I wish to make a commitment to help and support mending and reinforcing broken family ties in whatever way I can.
Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri everyone.
Maaf, zahir, batin.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
T*
When you come around the corner of the long corridor and enter ward 4C at the Selayang Hospital, you can hear some of the patients moaning. In that ward you can find men who are in great pain, some dying. It is a ward where “pain management” is the cornerstone of medical treatment.
So when I went there to visit one of “our” patients, I could hear the long drawn-out moaning long before I could see that T* had the curtains pulled all around his bed. The nurse asked me if I wanted to talk to T* and then pulled the curtain away from the bed to announce me, a visitor.
Apart from MSRI’s interpreter/translator Mohammad, T* had no visitors during his whole stay at Selayang Hospital. He has no family here, only very few friends, he is a Palestinian refugee who suffers from Buerger’s Disease.
We had come to know about him in the course of a survey that MSRI is doing among the refugee community in Kuala Lumpur. One afternoon in July, I got a phone call from our researcher, who told me with agitation in his voice that he has just met one of the people he was supposed to interview and found that that man, T*, had gangrenous feet and fingers.
I immediately phoned one of the doctors who extend medical care to people referred by MSRI to them. He suggested to bring the patient to a private hospital. We did that, and T* was seen by three specialists there. He was then referred to Putrajaya Hospital. From there he was referred to Selaying Hospital, to Dr. Mary Cardoza, a pain specialist.
Buerger’s disease is a relatively rare disease which is very little known. It is thought to be an auto immune disease which is triggered by a substance in tobacco. The initial symptoms are pain induced by insufficient blood flow in feet and hands, which may radiate into other parts of the body; numbness and tingling in fingers, toes, hands and feet; extremities turning white when cold; skin ulceration and gangrene of the fingers and toes. Pain may be very intense in the affected limbs.
There is no known cure for the disease, only some treatment for the symptoms. As the illness has a ‘tobacco connection’ any further primary or secondary contact with tobacco has to be prevented as this would aggravate the situation. Ultimately, if the progress of the disease cannot be stopped, the affected limbs have to be amputated.
T* is a young man who just has turned 30 this year. His family is originally from Gaza, but he grew up in Jordan. He is a Palestinian refugee.
The last time he was discharged from the hospital, on the way back to his squalid little room, he told me: “You know, before I had many dreams for my life. Now I have only one: to be able to walk again!”
What lies ahead for T*? How will his future be? Does he have a future?
He left Jordan, the place he was born and grew up in, because as Palestinian with a temporary passport T* did not qualify for medical treatment. He came to Malaysia because it was the only country for which he did not need a visa. But his ultimate aim is to be resettled by UNHCR to a third country, if possible, to Germany because there is a doctor in Germany who has assured T* that he could cure him of his disease. And that is T*’s one remaining dream. Can it be fulfilled?
On 8 December of this year, the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) for Palestine Refugees in the Near East will be 60 years old. This agency was set up as a response to the suffering of the Palestinian people displaced and disempowered after the partition of Palestine - in UNRWA’s own words: “UNRWA is unique in terms of its long-standing commitment to one group of refugees and its contributions to the welfare and human development of four generations of Palestine refugees. Originally envisaged as a temporary organization, the Agency has gradually adjusted its programmes to meet the changing needs of the refugees. Today, UNRWA is the main provider of basic services - education, health, relief and social services - to over 4.6 million registered Palestine refugees in the Middle East.” (from: http://www.un.org/unrwa/overview/index.html).
Where there is no UNRWA office – like e.g. in Malaysia – the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) is responsible for Palestinian refugees. And for a better understanding of the situation of Palestinian refugees it must be said here that UNRWA does all of the above mentioned, but does not have a resettlement programme. Through UNRWAs work, the misery of Palestinian refugees in the Near East is – in a way - perpetuated indefinitely, as the money invested for education, health, relief and social services is just enough to maintain the status quo, not enough to change their situation.
It is only the UNHCR that will help Palestinian and other refugees to find a new home in a third country, where – usually after a number of years – they will become full citizens, a dream for any refugee. However, will resettled refugees forget about their ultimate dream to return to their place of origin? I don’t think so.
So how does T*’s dreams for the future look like realistically? First, to be resettled and become a healthy, painfree, able-bodied man again. This might yet happen. Even though he still lives in utter squalor and poverty, and in constant pain, with only a minimum of financial and medical support, he might get resettled in a developed country that not only provides him with a home and citizenship, but also sophisticated medical treatment which can completely cure his illness. With the fulfilment of this dream, the life of T* would again be whole. With his newfound health and a passport from his new home country he might even be able to travel to his place of origin, Gaza. What are the chances that by then Gaza will be a free and independent country, part of a nation called Palestine? Very slim indeed.
But I have been proven wrong before. So don’t lose hope, for Hope is Born of Lack of Hope (Sufi proverb).
So when I went there to visit one of “our” patients, I could hear the long drawn-out moaning long before I could see that T* had the curtains pulled all around his bed. The nurse asked me if I wanted to talk to T* and then pulled the curtain away from the bed to announce me, a visitor.
Apart from MSRI’s interpreter/translator Mohammad, T* had no visitors during his whole stay at Selayang Hospital. He has no family here, only very few friends, he is a Palestinian refugee who suffers from Buerger’s Disease.
We had come to know about him in the course of a survey that MSRI is doing among the refugee community in Kuala Lumpur. One afternoon in July, I got a phone call from our researcher, who told me with agitation in his voice that he has just met one of the people he was supposed to interview and found that that man, T*, had gangrenous feet and fingers.
I immediately phoned one of the doctors who extend medical care to people referred by MSRI to them. He suggested to bring the patient to a private hospital. We did that, and T* was seen by three specialists there. He was then referred to Putrajaya Hospital. From there he was referred to Selaying Hospital, to Dr. Mary Cardoza, a pain specialist.
Buerger’s disease is a relatively rare disease which is very little known. It is thought to be an auto immune disease which is triggered by a substance in tobacco. The initial symptoms are pain induced by insufficient blood flow in feet and hands, which may radiate into other parts of the body; numbness and tingling in fingers, toes, hands and feet; extremities turning white when cold; skin ulceration and gangrene of the fingers and toes. Pain may be very intense in the affected limbs.
There is no known cure for the disease, only some treatment for the symptoms. As the illness has a ‘tobacco connection’ any further primary or secondary contact with tobacco has to be prevented as this would aggravate the situation. Ultimately, if the progress of the disease cannot be stopped, the affected limbs have to be amputated.
T* is a young man who just has turned 30 this year. His family is originally from Gaza, but he grew up in Jordan. He is a Palestinian refugee.
The last time he was discharged from the hospital, on the way back to his squalid little room, he told me: “You know, before I had many dreams for my life. Now I have only one: to be able to walk again!”
What lies ahead for T*? How will his future be? Does he have a future?
He left Jordan, the place he was born and grew up in, because as Palestinian with a temporary passport T* did not qualify for medical treatment. He came to Malaysia because it was the only country for which he did not need a visa. But his ultimate aim is to be resettled by UNHCR to a third country, if possible, to Germany because there is a doctor in Germany who has assured T* that he could cure him of his disease. And that is T*’s one remaining dream. Can it be fulfilled?
On 8 December of this year, the United Nations Relief and Works Agency (UNRWA) for Palestine Refugees in the Near East will be 60 years old. This agency was set up as a response to the suffering of the Palestinian people displaced and disempowered after the partition of Palestine - in UNRWA’s own words: “UNRWA is unique in terms of its long-standing commitment to one group of refugees and its contributions to the welfare and human development of four generations of Palestine refugees. Originally envisaged as a temporary organization, the Agency has gradually adjusted its programmes to meet the changing needs of the refugees. Today, UNRWA is the main provider of basic services - education, health, relief and social services - to over 4.6 million registered Palestine refugees in the Middle East.” (from: http://www.un.org/unrwa/overview/index.html).
Where there is no UNRWA office – like e.g. in Malaysia – the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) is responsible for Palestinian refugees. And for a better understanding of the situation of Palestinian refugees it must be said here that UNRWA does all of the above mentioned, but does not have a resettlement programme. Through UNRWAs work, the misery of Palestinian refugees in the Near East is – in a way - perpetuated indefinitely, as the money invested for education, health, relief and social services is just enough to maintain the status quo, not enough to change their situation.
It is only the UNHCR that will help Palestinian and other refugees to find a new home in a third country, where – usually after a number of years – they will become full citizens, a dream for any refugee. However, will resettled refugees forget about their ultimate dream to return to their place of origin? I don’t think so.
So how does T*’s dreams for the future look like realistically? First, to be resettled and become a healthy, painfree, able-bodied man again. This might yet happen. Even though he still lives in utter squalor and poverty, and in constant pain, with only a minimum of financial and medical support, he might get resettled in a developed country that not only provides him with a home and citizenship, but also sophisticated medical treatment which can completely cure his illness. With the fulfilment of this dream, the life of T* would again be whole. With his newfound health and a passport from his new home country he might even be able to travel to his place of origin, Gaza. What are the chances that by then Gaza will be a free and independent country, part of a nation called Palestine? Very slim indeed.
But I have been proven wrong before. So don’t lose hope, for Hope is Born of Lack of Hope (Sufi proverb).
Monday, August 17, 2009
SOLIDARITY
Last week I had the honour to meet two founding members of the International Solidarity Movement, Huwaida Arraf and Adam Shapiro. ISM was founded as an international response to the Intifada to invite people from all over the world to witness and to challenge peacefully the Israeli occupation of Gaza and the West Bank (www.palsolidarity.org). These are the people who stand still with outstretched arms in front of Israeli army tanks in the Occupied Territories to prevent the tanks from passing though the occupied land to destroy houses, orchards, wreak devastation wherever they go, and kill, exterminate the Palestinian population.
In the film ‘Visit Palestine’, which depicts a short time period in the life of an ISM activist, Caiomhe Butterly, she is shown resisting in the above described manner an IOF army tank in Jenin, West bank, together with other ISM members (see below excerpt: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aX0Y75b6XeA). I get goose pimples just thinking about it.
What is it that brings people to defy the possibility of death in order to take a stand; to stand with fellow human beings, Palestinians? In my view, these people are real heroes. One of these ISM heroes was Rachel Corrie, a young American woman. She stood in front of an IOF army bulldozer to prevent it from destroying the family home of a Palestinian in Gaza, when the bulldozer just rolled over her, crushing and killing her (http://rachelcorriefoundation.org/site/about-rachel-corrie/). Despite Rachel’s death, the volunteers kept coming from everywhere in the world to serve as ISM members in the Occupied Territories.
In the words of Rachel Corrie: “We should be inspired by people … who show that human beings can be kind, brave, generous, beautiful, strong – even in the most difficult circumstances.”
In “Visit Palestine”, Caiomhe Butterly says: “When you are surrounded by violence it is a very human reaction to try to struggle for people to be allowed basic human rights. One has a responsibility to stand by - not necessarily to stand up - not be removed from the people you are trying to protect, to try to minimize the brutality they suffer on a day-to-day basis in any way that you can, but to stand with them to coexist, to live, to breath, to exult in their strength, and to try and comfort them in the times like the times we are living through now, in which people are suffering.”
This is solidarity: to stand side-by-side with our fellow brothers and sisters in defiance of the dehumanizing treatment from aggressors; to stand firm peacefully in the face of the violence and brutality of the occupation; to stand in solidarity in whatever way we can with our fellow human beings in Palestine, and any other place or time people, human beings, are supressed and subjected to dehumanizing treatment.
In the film ‘Visit Palestine’, which depicts a short time period in the life of an ISM activist, Caiomhe Butterly, she is shown resisting in the above described manner an IOF army tank in Jenin, West bank, together with other ISM members (see below excerpt: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aX0Y75b6XeA). I get goose pimples just thinking about it.
What is it that brings people to defy the possibility of death in order to take a stand; to stand with fellow human beings, Palestinians? In my view, these people are real heroes. One of these ISM heroes was Rachel Corrie, a young American woman. She stood in front of an IOF army bulldozer to prevent it from destroying the family home of a Palestinian in Gaza, when the bulldozer just rolled over her, crushing and killing her (http://rachelcorriefoundation.org/site/about-rachel-corrie/). Despite Rachel’s death, the volunteers kept coming from everywhere in the world to serve as ISM members in the Occupied Territories.
In the words of Rachel Corrie: “We should be inspired by people … who show that human beings can be kind, brave, generous, beautiful, strong – even in the most difficult circumstances.”
In “Visit Palestine”, Caiomhe Butterly says: “When you are surrounded by violence it is a very human reaction to try to struggle for people to be allowed basic human rights. One has a responsibility to stand by - not necessarily to stand up - not be removed from the people you are trying to protect, to try to minimize the brutality they suffer on a day-to-day basis in any way that you can, but to stand with them to coexist, to live, to breath, to exult in their strength, and to try and comfort them in the times like the times we are living through now, in which people are suffering.”
This is solidarity: to stand side-by-side with our fellow brothers and sisters in defiance of the dehumanizing treatment from aggressors; to stand firm peacefully in the face of the violence and brutality of the occupation; to stand in solidarity in whatever way we can with our fellow human beings in Palestine, and any other place or time people, human beings, are supressed and subjected to dehumanizing treatment.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
1st of August 2009
The 1st of August 2009 has been a special day in so many different ways for me.
The First of August each year is the Swiss National Day, and as you know, Switzerland is my place of origin. On that day in 1291 – yes 1291 – 718 years ago, the ordinary Swiss people of Uri , Schwyz and Unterwalden (three Cantons in today’s Central Switzerland), farmers, traders, craftsmen, afraid to become subjects again of the House of Habsburg after Rudolf of Habsburg, the first German emperor had died, swore an oath to help each other against anyone attempting to subjugate them.
The legend goes that on that day in 1291 they ousted all overlords, chased them from their castles, their land, and as a sign that they had freed themselves they lit fires on mountain tops to signal to the others that they had succeeded. So Swiss people for a little more than a hundred years have been celebrating this day in Switzerland with huge bonfires on each hill, mountain top, in village places and other places where people usually congregate, and nowadays also sometimes with splendid fireworks, particularly in the cities, to reaffirm their freedom from all overlords.
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That much for Switzerland.
In Malaysia, on the 1st of August 2009, other significant things have been happening. As many as 20,000 people have been demonstrating against an oppressive law, the Internal Security Act (ISA), a law that allows for incarceration of anyone without trial. The Government tried to suppress the demonstration by setting up roadblocks on roads leading into Kuala Lumpur and arresting people who had t-shirts etc. with slogans against the ISA even before any demonstration had begun. A group of NGOs also had announced their counter-demonstration, in support of the ISA. The Abolish-ISA demonstration was brutally squashed by the police with teargas and water cannons; but the demonstrators had made their point!
On the same day, in the Songket room at Damansara Specialist Hospital, another event took place. MSRI had organized on that day (without having known of the demonstration when organizing the event) a forum with four medical students from Universiti Islam Antarabangsa, who had done their elective posting at Haifa Hospital, in Burj al-Barajneh Palestinian Refugee Camp in the south of Beirut, Lebanon, in May and June. They had chosen to go there in response to the attack on Gaza in early 2009. MSRI had supported their stay in Lebanon financially as a part of MSRI’s programme of medical aid and other support for Palestinian refugees. The forum was to inform interested Malaysians on the situation of health care in the refugee camps in Lebanon and the kind of life Palestinians have in those camps.
The event was not well attended. Just a dozen or so people turned up. Did potential participants join the demonstration instead, or were they just too scared to come out of their houses? We will never know.
In the Welcome Speech, I quoted from a book, published by MSRI titled: “I painted the snow black, because we are afraid of the days”, which contains many stories of Palestinian refugees in Lebanon. In the preface, written by the late Dato’ Dr. Alijah Gordon, MSRI’s founder and chairman, all medical volunteers who went to serve in the camps from 1987-95 in Lebanon were mentioned. I wanted to show at the forum that MSRI has a long history of sending medical volunteers to the refugee camps in Lebanon, was in fact the first Malaysian NGO to do so.
So, let me quote here the same passage I had chosen for the Forum:
“On Hari Raya, I [Dr. Alijah Gordon] sat in the home of a Malay journalist with Bernama. But I could not share the day. The more I saw Malaysians cheerfully eating and laughing, oblivious to what was happening in the camps (in Lebanon), the more soul-sick I became. I told my host I had to leave, which disturbed him and he insisted on knowing why. When I shared with him my revulsion, he asked what I wanted to do about it, and I said I had the feeling to go to the press and beg support from the Malaysian people for the besieged Palestinians in the camps. Zulkafly Baharuddin’s response was that on the next day he would organize a Press Conference so that I could do precisely that. From the time of the television coverage our phones never stopped ringing. … Malaysians poured in empathy and financial support to send medical volunteers and medicines to the camps. …
By July [1987] we were able to put our first team on the plane: four Malaysians: Staff Nurse Dolly Fong, Hospital Assistant Tengku Mustapha Tengku Mansur, Nurse Hajah Rosnah Nayan, and Staff Nurse Mathina Bee Ghulam Mydin. At the time journalists were not allowed into the camps, so we sent Zulkafly Baharuddin in as an ‘ambulance driver’ that he might feed back information to the Malaysian people. The second team, dubbed the “Magnificent Seven” left for Beirut on 30 August, included Staff Nurse Pok Looi, Acupuncturist Hor Fah Thye, Budik Busu, an ex-army Medical Assistant, Staff Nurse Hamidah Ghazalli, Dentist Dr. Mohd Yusuop Ali, Hospital Assistant Dr. R. Naidu and ex-army Medical Assistant Ahmad Bakri.
When all foreign aid workers were ordered out of Lebanon, Dolly Fong and Pok Looi opted to remain in Burj al-Barajneh, as did Hamidah Ghazalli in Rashidiyeh, the most southern camp. [They did not leave their medical posts even when coming under heavy military attack.] Staff nurse Pok Looi remains to this day working in a camp clinic. She is married to a Palestinian and has a Palestinian son, Jihad.
19 Malaysian volunteers served over the coming 8 years [in the refugee camps in Lebanon]. Eventually we opened our own free Dental Medical Clinic in Bar Elias. No one in need was turned away, be they Palestinian, Lebanese, Roma, or even a Syrian soldier. The volunteers were Buddhist Chinese, Muslim Malay, Hindu Indian, and later a Christian Chinese. When I went to visit the volunteers I found them with their arms wrapped around one another, closer than any family. There was no divisive race or religion, only humanitarian unity.”
What comes to mind when reading the above excerpt is that ultimately it does not matter what colour of skin or religion or political affiliation we have; ultimately, what counts is how we treat our fellow human beings who are suffering, the unfortunate and poor, the downtrodden, and the suppressed. A good way to begin is by honoring the tenets of human rights as enshrined in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The Genetic Impact of Violence
Recently, on 20 May 2009, the Klaus Grawe Award for the Advancement of Innovative Research in Clinical Psychology and Psychotherapy (that’s quite a mouthful!) was awarded in Zurich, Switzerland. The recipient of the award in 2009 is Terrie Moffitt, a psychologist, who is researching the impact of trauma on the genes.
Now what does this mean for children of refugees, in particular children of Palestinian refugees?
During my 2008 visit of the refugee camps in Lebanon, I had the opportunity to have a long discussion with the psychologist who treats the children and adults at the mental health facility of Beit Atfal as-Samoud – our partner in Lebanon – in Beddawi Refugee Camp, near Tripoli in the north. She told me that for every new patient who will come to her she will begin by taking his or her story, beginning with asking the mother of the patient what kind of pregnancy it had been: mentally and physically easy or difficult, family conditions at the time of pregnancy, etc. etc. Then she would continue to take the patient’s history up to the present day.
The really interesting part of her explanation was when she told me that after the 2006 War on Lebanon, the Lebanese children who were brought to her for treatment because of trauma recovered much faster than the Palestinian children from the camps who had been equally traumatized by the war. There are now two explanations, equally compelling; but most probably both reasons have a combining and mutually reinforcing negative effect on the children:
1) The above mentioned weakened activity of the gene to withstand impact of negative events in the lives of the children,
2) The deprivation of the children during the fetal stage in terms of sufficient nutrition, and flooding with stress hormones due to negative events in the lives of their mothers during the pregnancy.
(Photos by WAFA) 
In a long-term study she found that when a woman gets raped, or when a child is abused, it will have a measurable impact on the genes of their children and grandchildren. This traumatic event will result in a much less active form of a particular gene. The less active these genes are, the weaker these children are to recover from negative events in their lives. So, a child whose grandparents have been abused will be less able to cope for example with the divorce of the parents, or a war situation, or another stressful event, because of genetic reasons.
As a result, the child or youth might develop disturbed behavior, become aggressive, or even violent. But Terrie Moffitt also found that the weakened genes did not necessarily have to lead to disturbed behavior and that the genes can be positively influenced as well. This is contrary to popular believe and previous research which suggest that we are completely helpless to change our genetic ‘layout’. Moffitt says that by giving affected children more time and love, the negative genetic impact can be reduced.
Moffitt is saying that we are not the ‘product’ of our genes. There is no ‘crime’ gene, or an ‘intelligence’ gene. But the genes determine how we react to events in our environment.
Now what does this mean for children of refugees, in particular children of Palestinian refugees?
The children living now in the refugee camps in Lebanon, for example, are fourth generation 
refugees. Their great-grandparents had to flee their homeland in 1948, their grandparents were born as refugees, their parents were born as refugees, and they themselves were born as refugees. Their collective trauma, experienced over four generations, must have left those genes that Moffitt is talking about very weak indeed. This means that they cannot deal as well as healthy children with negative situations, and their lives in the refugee camps in Lebanon are full of negative situations.
refugees. Their great-grandparents had to flee their homeland in 1948, their grandparents were born as refugees, their parents were born as refugees, and they themselves were born as refugees. Their collective trauma, experienced over four generations, must have left those genes that Moffitt is talking about very weak indeed. This means that they cannot deal as well as healthy children with negative situations, and their lives in the refugee camps in Lebanon are full of negative situations. (Photo by the author)
The same holds for the children of Gaza, where 80% of the population are registered refugees, and about half of the population is living in camps. The violence and depravation experienced for more than 60 years would have put these children at an immense disadvantage and must have weakened the genes much more than one violent event would have done.
During my 2008 visit of the refugee camps in Lebanon, I had the opportunity to have a long discussion with the psychologist who treats the children and adults at the mental health facility of Beit Atfal as-Samoud – our partner in Lebanon – in Beddawi Refugee Camp, near Tripoli in the north. She told me that for every new patient who will come to her she will begin by taking his or her story, beginning with asking the mother of the patient what kind of pregnancy it had been: mentally and physically easy or difficult, family conditions at the time of pregnancy, etc. etc. Then she would continue to take the patient’s history up to the present day.
The really interesting part of her explanation was when she told me that after the 2006 War on Lebanon, the Lebanese children who were brought to her for treatment because of trauma recovered much faster than the Palestinian children from the camps who had been equally traumatized by the war. There are now two explanations, equally compelling; but most probably both reasons have a combining and mutually reinforcing negative effect on the children:
1) The above mentioned weakened activity of the gene to withstand impact of negative events in the lives of the children,
2) The deprivation of the children during the fetal stage in terms of sufficient nutrition, and flooding with stress hormones due to negative events in the lives of their mothers during the pregnancy.
Under the best of circumstances, after warfare comes a time of recovery. During such time, much of the deprivation of children and adults can be made good again. As Moffatt has found, even damage to the genes can be healed with an extra load of love and care for these children.
What is extraordinary about the Palestinian refugees is that many of them have not come to this stage of recovery and calm, but have accumulated negative events for four generations. This heap of negative impact – the collective trauma - can be seen clearly when visiting the Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon: the children are beautiful, but many look malnourished, with black rings under their eyes who look at you with the experience of old people. Many are extremely quiet, depressed and sad; many are extremely active and outright aggressive.
What is extraordinary about the Palestinian refugees is that many of them have not come to this stage of recovery and calm, but have accumulated negative events for four generations. This heap of negative impact – the collective trauma - can be seen clearly when visiting the Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon: the children are beautiful, but many look malnourished, with black rings under their eyes who look at you with the experience of old people. Many are extremely quiet, depressed and sad; many are extremely active and outright aggressive.
The children in the refugee camps in West Bank also look the same.
According to a Queen’s University study entitled ‘The Psychological Effects of War on Palestinian Children’ (John Pringle, 2006) “there is a pattern of violence against Palestinian children in the Gaza Strip that has serious and debilitating psychiatric and psychological effects.”
According to the study, a child in Gaza who has had a severe head injury has 4 times the risk of emotional disorder. A child who has been severely beaten has 3.9 times the risk of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. A child who has witnessed friends injured or killed has 13 times the risk of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. A child in a refugee camp has 5 times a greater chance of witnessing traumatic events and 4 times a greater chance of direct physical trauma.
According to the study, a child in Gaza who has had a severe head injury has 4 times the risk of emotional disorder. A child who has been severely beaten has 3.9 times the risk of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. A child who has witnessed friends injured or killed has 13 times the risk of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. A child in a refugee camp has 5 times a greater chance of witnessing traumatic events and 4 times a greater chance of direct physical trauma.
(Photos by WAFA) 
Add to this the negative impact on the genes of all the events going back to the grandparents lives, it is a miracle that any of these children is able to become a halfway happy and content adult; it also shows the resilience of the human spirit and the extraordinary ‘sumoud’ of the Palestinian people.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Nakba 2009
I commemorated 61 years of Nakba together with Palestininian friends from Bourj al-Barajneh Refugee Camp in the south of Beirut. For the first time, the commemoration was held outside of the camp, in the centre of the roundabout in an underpass of an elevated highway. The event began with the opening of a small exhibition, including photographs from 1948, posters, and paintings by the camp children.
Six Palestinian NGOs working in Bourj al-Barajneh were selling handicrafts: all kinds of practical and decorative items adorned with traditional or modern cross-stitch motives.
Many children were trying out these household tools, struggling and laughing and having a good time.
A woman brewed the freshly roasted and ground coffee and we all tried a few sips; the coffee was fragrant, most delicious and refreshing.
The tantalizing rhythms of Palestinian music got everyone dancing, whipping with their feet, nodding the head, moving shoulders, arms and hands with the rhythm. Even small children who could barely walk were dancing.
Six Palestinian NGOs working in Bourj al-Barajneh were selling handicrafts: all kinds of practical and decorative items adorned with traditional or modern cross-stitch motives.
The Palestini
an map was everywhere; Handzala, the little fellow turning his back to you, barefooted and in tattered clothes, who was invented by the famous Palestinian cartoonist Naji Ali to represent the Palestinian Right of Return, decorated many paraphernalia; and like everywhere in the Westbank, there were a lot of items decorated with the famous portrait of Che Guevara, the revered freedom fighter. The third symbol you can see everywhere where Palestinians live is the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem.
One person from each participating NGO held a speech; journalists from Lebanese dailies and a TV station were filming and photographing the event and interviewing participants.
The children were playing and dancing to the loud music blaring from two giant loudspeakers.
an map was everywhere; Handzala, the little fellow turning his back to you, barefooted and in tattered clothes, who was invented by the famous Palestinian cartoonist Naji Ali to represent the Palestinian Right of Return, decorated many paraphernalia; and like everywhere in the Westbank, there were a lot of items decorated with the famous portrait of Che Guevara, the revered freedom fighter. The third symbol you can see everywhere where Palestinians live is the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem.
One person from each participating NGO held a speech; journalists from Lebanese dailies and a TV station were filming and photographing the event and interviewing participants.
The children were playing and dancing to the loud music blaring from two giant loudspeakers.
Old men and women had come, some hobbling on their walking sticks across the busy road passing between the camp and the place where the event was held. They are the last witnesses to the actual Nakhba in 1948, the last of their generation to tell the now fourth generation of the loss of their homeland.
In one corner, sitting on dusty cushions on the ground, some old women were demonstrating old household appliances used by them in Palestine before, such as a coffee roaster, a hand-mill to grind corn, a stone with a wooden club for mashing food items, a mortar with pestle, etc. The hand-mill and the mortar could also have come from rural Malaya.
Many children were trying out these household tools, struggling and laughing and having a good time.
A woman brewed the freshly roasted and ground coffee and we all tried a few sips; the coffee was fragrant, most delicious and refreshing.
The tantalizing rhythms of Palestinian music got everyone dancing, whipping with their feet, nodding the head, moving shoulders, arms and hands with the rhythm. Even small children who could barely walk were dancing.
I watched the kids drawing on huge white papers which had been put up on some of the walls: they were drawing the Palestinian flag, houses, tanks, people, explosions, bombs, helicopters, and other things from their collective memories.
Then I had a closer look at the exhibited photographs of the Palestinian exodus in 1948, as well as the victims of Zionist violence in British Mandate Palestine.
The pictures immediately reminded me of pictures of Palestinian victims in Gaza 2009. It seems that nothing has changed in 61 years. Palestinians are still being slaughtered, burned, and torn to pieces by the Zionist colonial war machine. To the collective trauma that affects Palestinian refugees until today, my friends in Lebanon and elsewhere have to deal with the collective trauma that years of civil war in Leban, total depravation, dispossession, and complete disempowerment for generations have heaped on them.
How many more generations are the Palestinian refugees in Lebanon and elsewhere not allowed to go back to their land in Palestine where they, their parents, grandparents and ancestors before them had been born and were living, while Jews from whatever country in this world, many of whom have been completely assimilated and culturally integrated and are full citizens with all citizens’ rights in their country have the right to hold Israeli citizenship and live in Palestine.
After having written this, I actually feel the urge to do some research on the statistics regarding the Jews and the Palestinians. Are the Palestinians the ‘new Jews’? Persecuted, gassed, burned, exterminated? The Palestinian people have the right to live peacefully in their own land. But peace cannot be achieved without justice. So what does ‘justice’ entail in the context of the conflict in Palestine?
More on this at a later date.
How many more generations are the Palestinian refugees in Lebanon and elsewhere not allowed to go back to their land in Palestine where they, their parents, grandparents and ancestors before them had been born and were living, while Jews from whatever country in this world, many of whom have been completely assimilated and culturally integrated and are full citizens with all citizens’ rights in their country have the right to hold Israeli citizenship and live in Palestine.
After having written this, I actually feel the urge to do some research on the statistics regarding the Jews and the Palestinians. Are the Palestinians the ‘new Jews’? Persecuted, gassed, burned, exterminated? The Palestinian people have the right to live peacefully in their own land. But peace cannot be achieved without justice. So what does ‘justice’ entail in the context of the conflict in Palestine?
More on this at a later date.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Beirut
I have arrived In Beirut on Sunday. The weather is warm and sunny, not hot and humid like in Malaysia when I left. So after having visited the main office of our partner in Lebanon, Beit Atfal Assumoud (Home of the Children of the Steadfast) to get updated on the latest news regarding the situation of the Palestinian refugees in the camps and to discuss new programmes, I went for a long walk, down through the Hamra district, past AUB, to the Corniche, the beach promenade of Beirut.
Even though Lebanon is facing elections on 7 June, I only saw one poster on my three hours walk that is related to the coming elections.
The sun was already low in the sky above the sea when I finally reached the Corniche, the promenade on the shore of the Mediterranean in Beirut. I sat down on a bench, with my back to the road and the row of hotels behind that. The friendly smile of an old lady had invited me to share the place with her.
There were quite a number of cyclists with bicycles from the bicycle rental shop “Beirut on Bicycle” which I had noted on my way down. Some men and women were jogging along; some were doing other physical exercises such as stretching, bending, jumping; there were two men who were fishing with fishing rods surrounded by an admiring crowd; many young families with small children, many children with their Tamil or Philippino maids to attend to them; an old bag lady with a shopping wagon containing all her belongings; also the young and beautiful were strolling along talking on their state-of-the-art mobile phones.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped me. A small van had stopped behind me at the kerb: it was a mobile coffee shop. For 750 cents I got a small cup with a few sips of fragrant, bitter, refreshing, piping hot coffee.
The atmosphere at the corniche again reminded me of Zurich, where half of the population will congregate at the lakeside as soon as the sun is warm enough for people to sit outside. From cyclists to old women enjoying the warmth of the sun, and the playing children, the scene was similar. The only difference: nobody in Zurich is selling Arabic coffee from a van.
When the sun had sunk into the sea, I slowly walked back to the hotel.
How similar people are. All you have to do is go to one of these places where people go in their free time to unwind and enjoy themselves and you find that they enjoy the same kind of activities, be it in Kuching at the riverside, in Beirut at the corniche, or in Zurich at the lakeside. So, if we are so similar as human beings why can’t we live together as human beings in peace? Are not our similarities bigger than our differences?
Even though Lebanon is facing elections on 7 June, I only saw one poster on my three hours walk that is related to the coming elections.
I passed the American University of Beirut, which was founded in 1866.
I went down some very steep and long stairs which were decorated with graffiti left and right on the walls. I immediately felt removed to Zurich, the place of my childhood, where there is a similar staircase leading up to the University of Zurich. The stairs in Zurich might be a bit broader, but have the same kind of graffiti and the students are sitting in the same way on the stairs in groups.
Here are the stairs in Beirut. Please note Mickey Mouse in the forefront on the right.
In the area around the university there is a lot of graffiti on almost all walls. I have always been fascinated by these expressions of the “city guerilla”, the student underground. Graffiti is an art form by itself. But more about this another time.
I went down some very steep and long stairs which were decorated with graffiti left and right on the walls. I immediately felt removed to Zurich, the place of my childhood, where there is a similar staircase leading up to the University of Zurich. The stairs in Zurich might be a bit broader, but have the same kind of graffiti and the students are sitting in the same way on the stairs in groups.
Here are the stairs in Beirut. Please note Mickey Mouse in the forefront on the right.
In the area around the university there is a lot of graffiti on almost all walls. I have always been fascinated by these expressions of the “city guerilla”, the student underground. Graffiti is an art form by itself. But more about this another time.
The sun was already low in the sky above the sea when I finally reached the Corniche, the promenade on the shore of the Mediterranean in Beirut. I sat down on a bench, with my back to the road and the row of hotels behind that. The friendly smile of an old lady had invited me to share the place with her.
There were quite a number of cyclists with bicycles from the bicycle rental shop “Beirut on Bicycle” which I had noted on my way down. Some men and women were jogging along; some were doing other physical exercises such as stretching, bending, jumping; there were two men who were fishing with fishing rods surrounded by an admiring crowd; many young families with small children, many children with their Tamil or Philippino maids to attend to them; an old bag lady with a shopping wagon containing all her belongings; also the young and beautiful were strolling along talking on their state-of-the-art mobile phones.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped me. A small van had stopped behind me at the kerb: it was a mobile coffee shop. For 750 cents I got a small cup with a few sips of fragrant, bitter, refreshing, piping hot coffee.
The atmosphere at the corniche again reminded me of Zurich, where half of the population will congregate at the lakeside as soon as the sun is warm enough for people to sit outside. From cyclists to old women enjoying the warmth of the sun, and the playing children, the scene was similar. The only difference: nobody in Zurich is selling Arabic coffee from a van.
When the sun had sunk into the sea, I slowly walked back to the hotel.
How similar people are. All you have to do is go to one of these places where people go in their free time to unwind and enjoy themselves and you find that they enjoy the same kind of activities, be it in Kuching at the riverside, in Beirut at the corniche, or in Zurich at the lakeside. So, if we are so similar as human beings why can’t we live together as human beings in peace? Are not our similarities bigger than our differences?
Friday, May 8, 2009
Lebanon
Tomorrow I am off to Beirut to attend a conference on disabled Palestinian children in the refugee camps in Lebanon. This is my fifth visit to this fascinating place. Why am I so taken with Lebanon?
Lebanon is an interface to several cultures and lifestyles. It is multi-flavoured. There is the flavour of Arab culture, language, foods; there is the flavour of French savoir vivre, very European; and there is the flavour of an international, English language and culture style.
Robert Fisk, one of my favorite writers and journalists, expresses his view about the flavours of Lebanon in the following way:
“When I arrived in Beirut from Europe, I felt the oppressive, damp heat, saw unkempt palm trees and smelt the Arabic coffee, the fruit stalls and the over-spiced meat. It was the beginning of the Orient. And when I flew back to Beirut from Iran, I could pick up the British papers, ask for a gin and tonic at any bar, choose a French, Italian or German restaurant for dinner. It was the beginning of the West. All things to all people, the Lebanese rarely questioned their own identity.” (Fisk, Robert: Pity the Nation, p. 163).
Lebanon is also one of the cradles of civilization: Byblos, called Jbail today, 37 km north of Beirut, was to celebrate 7000 years of ‘continuously inhabited city’ in 2006, when Israel wrought war on Lebanon and bombed the country and its infrastructure to bits. To no one’s surprise hardly any tourists came to celebrate.
Unlike the American army in Iraq, the Israeli ‘Defense’ Forces did not destroy any ancient sites this time around. So Byblos and Baalbek can still be visited and admired by tourists today.
The more recent history of the country is very mixed, if not to say tortured. War after war after war have come down on Lebanon during the last few decades. As soon as there is some semblance of reconstruction and normalization of life, the next conflict is waiting around the corner. At the moment though it looks pretty stable politically, despite elections looming on 7 June.
Coming from Switzerland, a mono-cultural country with mostly Caucasian inhabitants, Malaysia and Lebanon are the epitome of cultural mix. Lebanon officially recognizes eighteen religious communities within the country, and its political system reflects these communities. Malaysia also has different ethnic and religious communities which are reflected in the political parties.
Some 20 years ago, standing at one of Zurich’s busiest places, the Bellevue-Platz, waiting for the tram with my two kids, my elder son suddenly said: “ There are so many different people here.” What he expressed was the following: Coming from Malaysia, where you could easily identify the different ethnic groups by their clothes, in mono-cultural Switzerland people expressed their individuality in a thousand different ways, resulting in a variety that did not allow to identify anybody with a particular ethnic or religious group.
In Lebanon, I am still learning about the different groups.
Lebanon is an interface to several cultures and lifestyles. It is multi-flavoured. There is the flavour of Arab culture, language, foods; there is the flavour of French savoir vivre, very European; and there is the flavour of an international, English language and culture style.
Robert Fisk, one of my favorite writers and journalists, expresses his view about the flavours of Lebanon in the following way:
“When I arrived in Beirut from Europe, I felt the oppressive, damp heat, saw unkempt palm trees and smelt the Arabic coffee, the fruit stalls and the over-spiced meat. It was the beginning of the Orient. And when I flew back to Beirut from Iran, I could pick up the British papers, ask for a gin and tonic at any bar, choose a French, Italian or German restaurant for dinner. It was the beginning of the West. All things to all people, the Lebanese rarely questioned their own identity.” (Fisk, Robert: Pity the Nation, p. 163).
Lebanon is also one of the cradles of civilization: Byblos, called Jbail today, 37 km north of Beirut, was to celebrate 7000 years of ‘continuously inhabited city’ in 2006, when Israel wrought war on Lebanon and bombed the country and its infrastructure to bits. To no one’s surprise hardly any tourists came to celebrate.
Unlike the American army in Iraq, the Israeli ‘Defense’ Forces did not destroy any ancient sites this time around. So Byblos and Baalbek can still be visited and admired by tourists today.
The more recent history of the country is very mixed, if not to say tortured. War after war after war have come down on Lebanon during the last few decades. As soon as there is some semblance of reconstruction and normalization of life, the next conflict is waiting around the corner. At the moment though it looks pretty stable politically, despite elections looming on 7 June.
Coming from Switzerland, a mono-cultural country with mostly Caucasian inhabitants, Malaysia and Lebanon are the epitome of cultural mix. Lebanon officially recognizes eighteen religious communities within the country, and its political system reflects these communities. Malaysia also has different ethnic and religious communities which are reflected in the political parties.
Some 20 years ago, standing at one of Zurich’s busiest places, the Bellevue-Platz, waiting for the tram with my two kids, my elder son suddenly said: “ There are so many different people here.” What he expressed was the following: Coming from Malaysia, where you could easily identify the different ethnic groups by their clothes, in mono-cultural Switzerland people expressed their individuality in a thousand different ways, resulting in a variety that did not allow to identify anybody with a particular ethnic or religious group.
In Lebanon, I am still learning about the different groups.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Déjà Vu
I am currently reading this thick book by Robert Fisk “Pity the Nation: Lebanon at War”. Robert Fisk is the Middle East Correspondent of the British daily The Independent. He is based in Beirut, Lebanon. The book was published 19 years ago in 1990. In it, Fisk describes the events taking place in Lebanon in the 1980s, including the Sabra-Shatila massacre.
What has been really striking is that about every ten pages I get this feeling of déjà vu.
“I had to take the babies and put them in buckets of water to put out the flames. When I took them out half an hour later, they were still burning. Even in the mortuary, they smoldered for hours.
Dr. Amal Shamaa of the Barbir hospital, after Israeli phosphorus shells had been fired into West Beirut, 29 July 1982” (In: Fisk, Robert: Pity the Nation, page 282.)
The first time I had come across information that something special is going on in the warfare of Israel with its neighbors in the Middle East was in 2006, in an article in Al Ahram Weekly, an online digest in English of the Egyptian Al Ahram newspaper sometime in June or July, during the Israeli attack on Gaza named “Operation Summer Rain”. The article included an interview with a spokesman of Shifa Hospital in Gaza, who stated that the doctors at the hospital were confronted with patients who had horrific wounds, torn limbs and burns such as they had not seen before and were helpless to treat.
Then in the July War in Lebanon 2006, which started on 12 July and formally ended on 8 September, again there were indications that Israel was trying out new chemical and other munitions with devastating effects on human beings.
In early February 2007, at the three-day War Crimes Conference at the Putra World Trade Centre, Kuala Lumpur, organised by the Perdana Global Peace Organisation, one of the speakers also showed the devastation of these new types of munitions: small entry wounds with extensive damage and burns inside, or bodies and limbs torn apart.
With all the above knowledge I am certain that Israel, after having tested the use of these new munitions and weapons in Gaza and Lebanon in 2006, used them systematically for the first time in their war on Gaza named “Cast Lead” in December 2008/January 2009. White phosphorus, DIME (Dense Inert Metal Explosives), cluster bombs and flechettes (a sort of ‘cluster darts’ that can penetrate bullet-proof vests) were unleashed onto Gaza, killing and maiming thousands of human beings, civilians, men, women and children.
Coming back to ‘Pity the Nation’: now I know that the use of phosphorus on civilians by the so-called Israeli “Defense” Forces has a much further reaching history than I had known before.
I do hope that the Russell Tribunal on Palestine (http://www.russelltribunalonpalestine.net) established on 4 April 2009 in Brussels will uncover the history of such illegal warfare, take these war crimes into account, and make perpetrators and their supporting partners in crime accountable for their horrific deeds.
What has been really striking is that about every ten pages I get this feeling of déjà vu.
“I had to take the babies and put them in buckets of water to put out the flames. When I took them out half an hour later, they were still burning. Even in the mortuary, they smoldered for hours.
Dr. Amal Shamaa of the Barbir hospital, after Israeli phosphorus shells had been fired into West Beirut, 29 July 1982” (In: Fisk, Robert: Pity the Nation, page 282.)
The first time I had come across information that something special is going on in the warfare of Israel with its neighbors in the Middle East was in 2006, in an article in Al Ahram Weekly, an online digest in English of the Egyptian Al Ahram newspaper sometime in June or July, during the Israeli attack on Gaza named “Operation Summer Rain”. The article included an interview with a spokesman of Shifa Hospital in Gaza, who stated that the doctors at the hospital were confronted with patients who had horrific wounds, torn limbs and burns such as they had not seen before and were helpless to treat.
Then in the July War in Lebanon 2006, which started on 12 July and formally ended on 8 September, again there were indications that Israel was trying out new chemical and other munitions with devastating effects on human beings.
In early February 2007, at the three-day War Crimes Conference at the Putra World Trade Centre, Kuala Lumpur, organised by the Perdana Global Peace Organisation, one of the speakers also showed the devastation of these new types of munitions: small entry wounds with extensive damage and burns inside, or bodies and limbs torn apart.
With all the above knowledge I am certain that Israel, after having tested the use of these new munitions and weapons in Gaza and Lebanon in 2006, used them systematically for the first time in their war on Gaza named “Cast Lead” in December 2008/January 2009. White phosphorus, DIME (Dense Inert Metal Explosives), cluster bombs and flechettes (a sort of ‘cluster darts’ that can penetrate bullet-proof vests) were unleashed onto Gaza, killing and maiming thousands of human beings, civilians, men, women and children.
Coming back to ‘Pity the Nation’: now I know that the use of phosphorus on civilians by the so-called Israeli “Defense” Forces has a much further reaching history than I had known before.
I do hope that the Russell Tribunal on Palestine (http://www.russelltribunalonpalestine.net) established on 4 April 2009 in Brussels will uncover the history of such illegal warfare, take these war crimes into account, and make perpetrators and their supporting partners in crime accountable for their horrific deeds.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Thank You for Treating Me Like a Human Being
Over the last two months, three different, unconnected and unrelated people have thanked me for treating them like human beings. What have they got in common? They are all Palestinian refugees in Malaysia.
Malaysia has not signed the 1951 UN Convention relating to the Status of Refugees. Therefore, legally, the refugee status does not exist in Malaysia. So people registered with UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner of Refugees) in Kuala Lumpur are considered illegal migrants. They are not allowed to work. Their children do not go to school. Their lives have been suspended.
They are waiting for resettlement to a third country through UNHCR, but this takes time. 2-3 years is no exception. Some families pull together all resources and live together in rented apartments, one family per room. Some get a bit of support from caring Malaysians, some from Arabs doing business in Malaysia. Some bachelors stay in suraus.
MSRI, the Malaysian Social Research Institute, the organisation I work for, is managing a Palestinian trust fund. Among other aid programmes, we also have a Sponsorship Programme for Palestinian Children in Lebanon. Because of these programmes, Palestinian refugees in Malaysia often find their way to my office in Jalan U Thant, Ampang. Like the three men mentioned above.
Wherever they turn to in their distress about their situation, whoever they approach will be sympathetic. But most people do not want to hear about the hardship these Palestinians face here. Malaysia is supposed to be this tropical paradise, and refugees, not only Palestinian but also for example Burma refugees only spoil the picture. So most people just turn away; the ones who have some empathy will press a 50Ringgit note into their ourstreched hands before turning away.
It is particularly bitter for Palestinian refugees from Gaza to read in the newspapers that millions of aid and support is going to Gaza; to see all the banners hanging at many places in the cities, mosques, bridges and other strategic places declaring the solidarity of the Malaysian people with the people in Gaza, while they, also from Gaza, live the lonely lives of refugees right in their midst.
Over the last two years, more Palestinian refugees from the Middle-East have come to Malaysia, ususally after having spent months beeing pushed from one country to the other, or from war zones such as Iraq. They come to Malaysia because here they can get "Visa on Arrival" which is valid for one month. So increasing numbers of Palestinian refugees are also arriving at my doorstep.
What MSRI can do to help these people is very limited. First of all, we will talk to them and evaluate their situation. We actually listen to their stories, mostly very sad and tragic stories. In times to come I might just tell some of them here. We listen when they pour out their frustration with their current situation and their powerlessness to change anything and to be in charge of their lives, their suspended lives in Malaysia. We offer a sympathetic ear and a cup of coffee or tea. This is why I hear this sentence so often: "Thank you for treating me like a human being!"
I want to cry when they say that. No human being should have to say that sentence. Particularly not in Malaysia, where we all pride ourselves to be part of a caring society.
After evaluating their situation we are looking at how we can help. The immediate support includes emergency food aid and medical support. A short-term goal must be to get the children to school. The refugees also need some sort of income to sustain themselves until they can be resettled. Mid-term goals are successful resettlements. The ultimate goal is for Malaysia to implement refugee rights according to international law.
But this will take time.
Until such time, I wonder how many times I will have to hear that sentence: "Thank you for treating me like a human being."
Malaysia has not signed the 1951 UN Convention relating to the Status of Refugees. Therefore, legally, the refugee status does not exist in Malaysia. So people registered with UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner of Refugees) in Kuala Lumpur are considered illegal migrants. They are not allowed to work. Their children do not go to school. Their lives have been suspended.
They are waiting for resettlement to a third country through UNHCR, but this takes time. 2-3 years is no exception. Some families pull together all resources and live together in rented apartments, one family per room. Some get a bit of support from caring Malaysians, some from Arabs doing business in Malaysia. Some bachelors stay in suraus.
MSRI, the Malaysian Social Research Institute, the organisation I work for, is managing a Palestinian trust fund. Among other aid programmes, we also have a Sponsorship Programme for Palestinian Children in Lebanon. Because of these programmes, Palestinian refugees in Malaysia often find their way to my office in Jalan U Thant, Ampang. Like the three men mentioned above.
Wherever they turn to in their distress about their situation, whoever they approach will be sympathetic. But most people do not want to hear about the hardship these Palestinians face here. Malaysia is supposed to be this tropical paradise, and refugees, not only Palestinian but also for example Burma refugees only spoil the picture. So most people just turn away; the ones who have some empathy will press a 50Ringgit note into their ourstreched hands before turning away.
It is particularly bitter for Palestinian refugees from Gaza to read in the newspapers that millions of aid and support is going to Gaza; to see all the banners hanging at many places in the cities, mosques, bridges and other strategic places declaring the solidarity of the Malaysian people with the people in Gaza, while they, also from Gaza, live the lonely lives of refugees right in their midst.
Over the last two years, more Palestinian refugees from the Middle-East have come to Malaysia, ususally after having spent months beeing pushed from one country to the other, or from war zones such as Iraq. They come to Malaysia because here they can get "Visa on Arrival" which is valid for one month. So increasing numbers of Palestinian refugees are also arriving at my doorstep.
What MSRI can do to help these people is very limited. First of all, we will talk to them and evaluate their situation. We actually listen to their stories, mostly very sad and tragic stories. In times to come I might just tell some of them here. We listen when they pour out their frustration with their current situation and their powerlessness to change anything and to be in charge of their lives, their suspended lives in Malaysia. We offer a sympathetic ear and a cup of coffee or tea. This is why I hear this sentence so often: "Thank you for treating me like a human being!"
I want to cry when they say that. No human being should have to say that sentence. Particularly not in Malaysia, where we all pride ourselves to be part of a caring society.
After evaluating their situation we are looking at how we can help. The immediate support includes emergency food aid and medical support. A short-term goal must be to get the children to school. The refugees also need some sort of income to sustain themselves until they can be resettled. Mid-term goals are successful resettlements. The ultimate goal is for Malaysia to implement refugee rights according to international law.
But this will take time.
Until such time, I wonder how many times I will have to hear that sentence: "Thank you for treating me like a human being."
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