WUNRN
GAZA CITY — The women were
bleary-eyed, their voices weak, their hands red and calloused. How could they
be expected to cook and clean without water or electricity? What could they do
in homes that were dark and hot all day? How could they cope with husbands who had
not worked for years and children who were angry and aimless?
Sitting
with eight other women at a stress clinic, Jamalat Wadi, 28, tried to listen to
the mental health worker. But she could not contain herself. She has eight
children, and her unemployed husband spends his days on sedatives.
“Our
husbands don’t work, my kids are not in school, I get nervous, I yell at them,
I cry, I fight with my husband,” she blurted. “My husband starts fighting with
us and then he cries: ‘What am I going to do? What can I do?’ ”
The
others knew exactly what she meant.
The
Palestinians
of Gaza, most of them descended from refugees of the 1948 war
that created Israel, have lived through decades of conflict and confrontation.
Their scars have accumulated like layers of sedimentary rock, each marking a
different crisis — homelessness, occupation, war, dependency.
Today,
however, two developments have conspired to turn a difficult life into a new
torment: a three-year blockade by Israel and Egypt that has locked them in the
small enclave and crushed what there was of a formal local economy; and the
bitter rivalry between Palestinian factions, which has undermined identity and
purpose, divided families and caused a severe shortage of electricity in the
middle of summer.
There
are plenty of things to buy in Gaza; goods are brought over the border or
smuggled through the tunnels with Egypt. That is not the problem.
In
fact, talk about food and people here get angry because it implies that their
struggle is over subsistence rather than quality of life. The issue is not
hunger. It is idleness, uncertainty and despair.
Any
discussion of Gaza’s travails is part of a charged political debate. No
humanitarian crisis? That is an Israeli talking point, people here will say,
aimed at making the world forget Israel’s misdeeds. Palestinians trapped with
no future? They are worse off in Lebanon, others respond, where their “Arab
brothers” bar them from buying property and working in most professions.
But
the situation is certainly dire. Scores of interviews and hours spent in
people’s homes over a dozen consecutive days here produced a portrait of a
fractured and despondent society unable to imagine a decent future for itself
as it plunges into listless desperation and radicalization.
It
seems most unlikely that either a Palestinian state or any kind of Middle East
peace can emerge without substantial change here. Gaza, on almost every level,
is stuck.
Disunity
A
main road was blocked off and a stage set up for a rally protesting the
electricity shortage. Speakers shook nearby windows with the anthems of Hamas,
the Islamist party that has held power here for the past three years. Boys in
military camouflage goose-stepped. Young men carried posters of a man with
vampire teeth biting into a bloodied baby.
The
vampire was not Benjamin
Netanyahu, the Israeli prime minister. It was Salam
Fayyad, prime minister of the Palestinian
Authority in the West Bank.
“We
stand today in this furious night to express our intense anger toward this
damned policy by the illegitimate so-called Fayyad government,” Ismail Radwan,
a Hamas official, shouted.
As
if the Palestinian people did not have enough trouble, they have not one
government but two, the Fatah-dominated
one in the West Bank city of Ramallah and the Hamas one here. The antagonism
between them offers a depth of rivalry and rage that shows no sign of abating.
Its
latest victim is electricity for Gaza, part of which is supplied by Israel and
paid for by the West Bank government, which is partly reimbursed by Hamas. But
the West Bank says that Hamas is not paying enough so it has held off paying
Israel, which has halted delivery.
“They
are lining their pockets and they are part of the siege,” asserted Dr. Mahmoud
Zahar, a Hamas leader and a surgeon, speaking of the West Bank government.
“There will be no reconciliation.”
John
Ging, who heads the Gaza office of the United
Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees, known as
U.N.R.W.A., says the latest electricity problem “is a sad reflection of the
divide on the Palestinian side.”
He
added, “They have no credibility in demanding anything from anybody if they
show such disregard for the plight of their own people.”
Today
Hamas has no rival here. It runs the schools, hospitals, courts, security
services and — through smuggler tunnels from Egypt — the economy.
“We
solved a lot of problems with the tunnels,” Dr. Zahar said with a satisfied
smile.
Along
with the leaders has come a new generation that has taken the reins of power.
Momen al-Ghemri, 25, a nurse, and his wife, Iman, 24, an Arabic teacher, are
members of it.
University
educated, the grandchildren of refugees, still living in refugee camps, both of
the Ghemris got their jobs when Hamas took over full control by force three
years ago, a year after it won an election. Neither has ever left Gaza.
Mr.
Ghemri works as a nurse for the security services, earning $500 a month, but is
spending six months at the intensive care unit of Shifa Hospital.
Spare
parts for equipment remain a problem because of the blockade. But on a recent
shift, the I.C.U. was well staffed. In the office next door, there was a map on
the wall of Palestine before Israel’s creation.
Mr.
Ghemri’s grandparents’ village, Aqer, is up there, along with 400 other
villages that no longer exist. A wall in another office offered instructions on
the Muslim way to help a bedridden patient pray.
Mr.
Ghemri’s wife greets visitors at home wearing the niqab,
or face veil, only her eyes visible. She believes in Hamas and makes that clear
to her pupils. But her husband sees the party more as a means toward an end.
“You
can’t go on your own to apply for a job,” he said. “For me, Hamas is about
employment.”
He
does like the fact that, as he put it, Hamas “refuses to kneel down to the
Jews,” but like most Gazans, he is worried about Palestinian disunity and
blames both factions.
In
fact, there is a paradox at work in Gaza: while Hamas has no competition for
power, it also has a surprisingly small following.
Dozens
of interviews with all sorts of people found few willing to praise their
government or that of its competitor.
“They’re
both liars,” Waleed Hassouna, a baker in Gaza City, said in a very common
comment.
People
here seem increasingly unable to imagine a political solution to their ills.
Ask Gazans how to solve the Palestinian-Israeli conflict — two states? One
state? — and the answer is mostly a reflexive call to drive Israel out.
“Hamas
and Fatah are two sides of the same coin,” Ramzi, a public school teacher from
the city of Rafah, said in a widely expressed sentiment. “All the land is ours.
We should turn the Jews into refugees and then let the international community
take care of them.”
Dried-Up Fortunes
Hamza
and Muhammad Ju’bas are brothers, ages 13 and 11. They sell chocolates and gum
on the streets after school to add to their family income. Once they have
pulled in 20 shekels, about $5, they go home and play.
On
one steamy afternoon they were taking refuge in a cellphone service center. The
center — where customers watch for their number on digital displays and smiling
representatives wear ties, and the air-conditioning never quits — seems almost
glamorous.
The
boys were asked about their hopes.
“My
dream is to be like these guys and work in a place that’s cool,” Muhammad said.
“My
dream is to be a worker,” Hamza said. He hears stories about the “good times”
in the 1990s, when his father worked in Israel, as a house painter, making $85
a day. Later, their father, Emad Ju’bas, 45, said, “My children don’t have much
ambition.”
The
family is typical. They live in Shujaiya, a packed eastern neighborhood of
70,000, a warren of narrow, winding alleys and main roads lined with small
shops.
The
air is heavy with dust and fumes from cars, scooters and horse-drawn carts.
Every shop has a small generator chained down outside. Roaring generators and
wailing children are the sounds of Shujaiya.
Families
are big. From 1997 through 2007, the population increased almost 40 percent, to
1.5 million. Palestinians say that large families will help them cope as they
age, and more children mean more fighters for their cause.
Mr.
Ju’bas and his wife, Hiyam, have seven boys and three girls. Two of their
children have cognitive disabilities. Since Israel’s three-week war 18 months
ago here aimed at stopping Hamas rockets, their children frequently wet the
bed. Their youngest, Taj, 4, is aggressive, randomly punching anyone around
him.
For
six years Mr. Ju’bas worked in Israel, and with the money he bought a house
with six rooms and two bathrooms. In 2000, when the uprising called the second
intifada broke out, Israel closed the gates.
After
that, Mr. Ju’bas found small jobs around Gaza, but with the blockade that dried
up. His only source of work is at the United Nations relief agency, where two
months a year he is a security guard.
He
admits that at times he lashes out at his family. Domestic violence is on the
rise. The strain is acute for women. Men can go out and sit in parks, in chairs
right on the sidewalk or visit friends. Women are expected to stay off the
streets.
The
women at the stress clinic gathered about 10 a.m. They entered silently,
wearing the ubiquitous hijab head scarf and ankle-length button-down overcoat known
as the jilbab. Two wore the niqab over their faces.
They
spoke of sending their children to work just to get them out of the house and
of husbands who grew morose and violent.
They
blamed Hamas for their misery, for seizing the Israeli soldier, Staff Sgt. Gilad
Shalit, which led to the blockade. But they also blamed Fatah for
failing them.
“My
own children tell me it is better to die,” Jamalat Wadi said to the group.
Ms.
Wadi’s home was next door and she ran over to check on the family. She found
her eight children wandering aimlessly in an open paved area, a courtyard
filled with piles of clothes and plastic containers. The house had one
unfurnished room and her husband, Bahjat, 28, was on the floor, unconscious,
his arm over his head, his mouth open.
“He
sleeps all the time,” Ms. Wadi said, motioning as though throwing a pill in her
mouth.
The
Wadis are refugees, so they receive flour, rice, oil and sugar from U.N.R.W.A.
Tens of thousands of others here receive salaries from the Ramallah government
to stay away from their jobs in protest over Hamas rule. They wait, part of a
literate society with nothing to do.
Ms.
Wadi said that when she visited her mother, her two brothers fought bitterly
because one backs Hamas and the other backs Fatah. Recently they threw bottles
at each other. Her mother kicked them out.
In
another meeting, Mr. Ju’bas was unshaven and unwashed. The previous night he
had hit his wife, one of his children said. The washing machine had broken and
he had no money to fix it.
He
told his wife to use the neighbors’. But she was embarrassed. She stayed up all
night cleaning clothes and crying.
“My
only dream,” Mr. Ju’bas said, “is to have patience.”
Inside Looking Out
The
waves were lapping the beach. It was night. Mahmoud Mesalem, 20, and a few of
his friends were sitting at a restaurant.
University
students or recent graduates, they were raised in a world circumscribed by
narrow boundaries drawn hard by politics and geography. They all despaired from
the lack of a horizon.
“We’re
here, we’re going to die here, we’re going to be buried here,” lamented Waleed
Matar, 22.
Mr.
Mesalem pointed at an Israeli ship on the horizon, then made his hand into a
gun, pointed it at his head. “If we try to leave, they will shoot us,” he said.
There
are posters around town with a drawing of a boot on an Israeli soldier, who is
facedown, and the silhouette of a man hanging by his neck. The goal is to get
alleged collaborators to turn themselves in. The campaign has put fear in the
air.
Israel
is never far from people’s minds here. Its ships control the waters, its planes
control the skies. Its whims, Gazans feel, control their fate.
And
while most here view Israel as the enemy, they want trade ties and to work
there. In their lives the main source of income has been from and through
Israel.
Economists
here say what is most needed now is not more goods coming in, as the easing of
the blockade has permitted, but people and exports getting out.
That
is not going to happen soon.
“Our
position against the movement of people is unchanged,” said Maj. Gen. Eitan
Dangot, the Israeli in charge of policy to Gaza’s civilians. “As to exports,
not now. Security is paramount, so that will have to wait.”
Direct
contact between the peoples, common in the 1980s and ’90s when Palestinians
worked daily in Israel, is nonexistent.
Jamil
Mahsan, 62, is a member of a dying breed. He worked for 35 years in Israel and
believes in two states.
“There
are two peoples in Palestine, not just one, and each deserves its rights,” he
said, sitting in his son’s house. He used to attend the weddings of his Israeli
co-workers. He had friendships in Israel. Today nobody here does.
The
young men sitting by the beach contemplating their lives were representative of
the new Gaza. They have started a company to design advertisements, and they
write and produce small plays.
Their
first performance in front of several hundred people involved a recounting of
the horrors of the last war with Israel, with children speaking about their own
fears as video of the war played.
Their
second play, which they are rehearsing, is a black comedy about the Palestinian
plight. It assails the factions for fighting and the Arabs for selling out the
Palestinians.
“Our
play does not mean we hate Israel,” said Abdel Qader Ismail, 24, a former
employee of the military intelligence service, with no trace of irony. “We
believe in Israel’s right to exist, but not on the land of Palestine. In France
or in Russia, but not in Palestine. This is our home.”
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