WUNRN
PALESTINE - LEBANON - HEALTH CRISIS
FACING PALESTINIAN REFUGEES IN LEBANON - WOMEN
9
October 2012 (IRIN) - New research has uncovered the hidden health toll that
refugee life in Lebanon has taken on more than 400,000 Palestinians......
The researchers also found a strong link between poverty and ill health.
Palestinian refugees living in Lebanon are ineligible for social services,
including healthcare, and they are banned from some 50
professions......According to another study in The Lancet series, also by researchers from the
University of Beirut, 59 percent of refugee households live below the national
poverty line; 63 percent reported some food insecurity, while 13 percent were
severely food insecure. Only the poorest - about 13 percent - qualify for food
rations and small cash grants from UNRWA......
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PALESTINE WOMEN SEEK LEADERSHIP IN
LEBANON REFUGEE CAMPS
Qais says popular
committees need women, but the women don’t necessarily depend on the
committees. (The Daily Star/Mahmoud Kheir)
By Annie Slemrod -
March 31, 2012
BEDDAWI, Lebanon: If the
lights go out for too long, if the water isn’t flowing as it should, or if
neighbors fight, residents of Lebanon’s Palestinian refugee camps must turn to
the popular committees.
Since the 1970s, these
bodies have governed the camps, acting as default municipalities. And since
then, too, those seeking assistance at their offices have most often been met
by a room full of men.
But now, some
Palestinian women are trying to change that. In the hopes of grooming the next
generation of female Palestinian leaders, the nongovernmental organization
Association Najdeh has been holding leadership training sessions for
Palestinian women in Beddawi, Nahr al-Bared, Ain al-Hilweh and Sidon. And in
some camps, most notably in the still reeling Nahr al-Bared, women are taking
power, convincing some that a woman’s place is on the popular committees.
Between 7 to 9 percent
of the country’s 200 to 250 committee members are women, a number Buthaina Saad
of Najdeh calls “very low,” especially given that some women are not active,
having inherited their seats from husbands. The method of member selection
varies. In some camps elections are held – albeit irregularly – and in others
factions appoint representatives.
Najdeh’s first 60
trainees were graduates of the violence against women program Saad heads, as
its goal was empowerment, and the women with prospects were already in its
sights.
A further training is
scheduled for this year, and then Saad envisions alumnae establishing women’s
committees, so they can make contacts in their communities and get to know
their concerns before making bids for the committee.
Rana Hasan, 23, is one
of Najdeh’s potential future leaders. A confident social worker, Hasan hails
from Nahr al-Bared, and has not been able to move home since the 2007 conflict
between the Islamist group Fatah al-Islam and the Lebanese Army, which almost
completely destroyed the camp.
Hasan says that during
the fighting, “the role of women became clearer.” Her father once forbade her
from working, but as the Army’s campaign to purge the camp of Fatah al-Islam
dragged on, Palestinian men were unable to move freely and women took on
leadership roles. “We volunteered helping affected families,” she says.
Speaking from Beddawi
camp where there are no women on the 22 person popular committee, Hasan says
that “of course some men will be resistant” to the idea of women moving into
what has traditionally been a male domain. “But over time, they will get used
to the idea ... the change can’t come in a few days,” she adds.
“Women are gradually
getting involved in political affairs,” especially in Nahr al-Bared, where she
describes female political participation as “essential.” Now that women have
had a taste of clout, they don’t plan to go back.
In Nahr al-Bared, there
are two women on the 16-member popular committee. One of them, Faisa al-Wanass,
has been serving for some three months now. She says women enjoy a particular
advantage in their ability to enter homes with ease. “Women can go into homes
and work better on solving problems in families,” she says, “especially women’s
problems. Men on the committee will naturally side with the man in the family
and consider women secondary to men.”
Wanass is hoping more
women will join her on the revamped group, which is set to include 20 people.
She believes this would “help make women’s issues to men’s issues.” Bringing
these issues to the forefront hasn’t been without its challenges. Some time
ago, “in the committee we were discussing a program for women. One of the men
said to me, what more do you want? You [women] have become dominant in society
and men are now downtrodden.”
But she doesn’t report
any major problems with her male colleagues, although she says her female
friends used to tell her “God help you, how can you be among all those men?”
But then, she adds, “all
of the women started to bring their issues to me.” And she’s especially proud
of what she’s done since she inspired a local sheikh to address his
congregation on the importance of women’s rights.
Not everyone thinks the
popular committees are the best place to take the fight for equality. Judging
by how skillfully Wanass’ friend Mona Qais commands a room full of teenage boys
learning how to write, she seems a natural authority. She runs a literacy
program out of Beddawi’s popular committee office, and coordinates between the
committee and UNICEF, the program’s funder. She says the men on the committee
“can’t accept women leading them,” but isn’t overly concerned by the absence of
her sex. She points out that women are at the top of many of the camp’s
charitable associations. “Men need us [on the committee],” she believes. “We
don’t need them.”
One of her assistants
chimes in that “the committees don’t deal with women’s issues. Women already
head up all of the associations here.” She points out that the committees are
often accused of corruption and inaction, perhaps not exactly the place for a
bottom-up revolution in women power.
At least some men say
they are ready for women to assume more control in the camps. Abu Riad Shatli,
a man known as “the sultan” for his large family and network of connections,
has been on Beddawi’s Popular Committee since its establishment in 1973. He
reports “a determination to get women involved in decision-making processes” in
the camp, and promises that “there are efforts to bring at least four female
representatives on to the committee.” But he can’t say exactly when this will
happen.
Buthaina Saad, at
Najdeh’s Beirut office, has doubts. “Usually when you tell the [male]
decision-makers that we need to get women into decision-making roles, they say
this is a good idea. But in a practical way, it’s different.”
And so, the women will
do it for themselves. Hasan isn’t yet sure if she will run in the next round of
elections, but says she “definitely” thinks more women will be among the ranks
of power in Nahr al-Bared soon. And for Najdeh and the other groups who are
working to empower Palestinian women, the committees are only a first step.
“First the implementation of women in political parties,” Saad says. “After
that the unions, then the political parties, and then the PLO.”