The Palestinians’ Pain And Hopes

THE REFUSAL of the Bush administration to involve itself in resolving the

conflict between Israelis and Palestinians has been one of the worst consequences

of the 9/11 terror attacks. Here's hoping that President Bush's meeting

tomorrow with Ariel Sharon and Mahmoud Abbas in Jordan marks a change in the

attitudes not only of the two antagonists but of Washington as well.

When Americans felt vulnerable to the devastation wrought by suicidal

terrorists, we found a new way of identifying with citizens of Israel, where suicide

bombers wreak such havoc. Washington's hyper-belligerent reaction to

terrorists reinforced the Sharon government's response. A traditional alliance between

the United States and the Jewish state was intensified. After Sept. 11, an

Israeli friend told me, ''Now you know what it feels like,'' and it was true.

But another question arises: Having empathized with Israeli feelings of

vulnerability, do Americans have any real idea of what Palestinians have been

experiencing? Leave aside the complexities of the political dispute to focus on its

less well known human consequences. The character of Palestinians has been

perceived stereotypically, as if every citizen of East Jerusalem or Ramallah

were ready to murder innocents or dispatch their children to do so.

The terrorists have clouded Palestinian claims, but they and their supporters

represent a mere fraction of the Palestinian population in Israel, the West

Bank, and Gaza. Suicide murder represents a horror to those millions, too. It

is to them Americans must now turn in empathy. Their experience must be

acknowledged. If Americans grasped the full dimensions of Palestinian suffering, we

would insist on our government's effort to end it by renewing the work of

peace.

The still point around which a compassionate American imagination might most

productively turn is the plight of Palestinian children. Americans read news

reports of the widespread malnutrition that has come to plague a significant

proportion of the babies and youngsters of the West Bank and Gaza, but do we

really take in what that word defines? The severely underweight child. The

tortured mother. The doctor at a loss to help. The teacher aware of the

impossibility of the child's learning. The father driven to depths of shame and despair.

Relief workers unable to deliver what is needed. All of this multiplied by

thousands. More than a million people in the West Bank and Gaza, including

hundreds of thousands in refugee camps, depend on agencies for food, but need

outpaces aid. Levels of destitution among some Palestinians have begun to approach

those of the world's poorest nations.

All of this follows the border closings and restrictions on movement that

have cut off Palestinians from their work, leading to a collapse of the economy.

Unemployed young men abound, a recruiting pool for Hamas. But clampdowns have

other effects, too. Curfews imposed by the occupying Israelis routinely

subject great numbers of Palestinians to an effective house arrest, leading to a

culture of claustrophobia. Gaza in particular can seem the site of a vast

incarceration. Children bear the brunt of this as families and communities fracture

under such inhuman stresses. Meanwhile, violence flares around even the most

innocent, with all too many children becoming collateral casualties of the

conflict. They have seen their fathers, brothers, uncles, and sometimes mothers

killed - often up close, for the battle zones of this war are neighborhoods. Its

weapons, in addition to guns, aircraft, and tanks, are bulldozers, which have

demolished hundreds of Palestinian homes. How many of those demolitions

included the precious corners in which children had until then felt safe?

War is a realm in which brutality becomes mundane, but a simple destruction

of trees can be almost as shocking as assaults on human life. When ancient

olive groves are bulldozed, with the loss of noble stands of trees that have borne

fruit for generations and should have continued to do so for generations to

come, the Palestinian heart can be pierced to the pulse. And when equally

ancient claims of proud families to land and homes are dismissed with the wave of

an eviction notice, the blow goes far deeper than the words ''real estate''

imply. What is at stake for men and women whose histories are denied and whose

place in the world is taken away is nothing less than the order of existence

itself. In addition to all else, this harried people lives on an enforced edge of

meaninglessness.

Most Palestinians refuse to define themselves by enmity. They reject the

temptation to shape nationhood only from revenge. That is what it means that their

leaders take places at a table of peace tomorrow. Will they be understood?

Will their experience be acknowledged? Much must happen, in other words, before

Palestinians turn to the overdue delegation from Washington and say, ''Now you

know what it feels like.''

Share:Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestEmail this to someonePrint this page