[Imc-beirut] EI: How can you send love with a missile?

[Stefan Christoff]

EI: How can you send love with a missile?
Ussama Abu el-Sheikh writing from Shatila refugee camp,

Beirut, Electronic Lebanon, 6 August 2006
http://electronicintifada.net/v2/article5423.shtml

My name is Usama Abu el-Sheikh, and I am from Tabaria, Palestine. I am of 
course a refugee and have never been to my hometown in Palestine though I 
learned about it from my grandparents and I read some books about it. I 
have never been to Tabaria, but I am Tabarian, and will remain so, as I am 
from Shatila too and will remain so. Although I always dreamt of 
corresponding with my country and my hometown to see if I still have 
relatives there, I was unable to because there is no mail between Lebanon 
and the State of Israel. Ironically, only the missiles of Hizbullah can be 
sent to Israel. We are not allowed to return, but the missiles go where we 
cannot. But how can you send love to Tabaria with a missile?

I am nineteen now, and I grew up in Shatila camp. As a child I wanted to 
be many things, sometimes a doctor, other times an engineer or a 
journalist. As a child, you know, I could dream whatever I wanted to and I 
wanted to be many things. As I was growing up though, my dreams started to 
be hit by my reality, by my being a refugee in Lebanon where we have no 
civil rights. Being the oldest son of a widowed mother with seven children 
and no one to care for after the death of my dad when I was just seven 
years old, I lived a real struggle inside. My father's words as he was on 
his death bed asking me to "care for the family" are words that keep 
echoing in my head. I got to be the "man of the household" without 
choosing it, without knowing it. As a child, it was ok, but as I was 
getting to be a teenager, I wanted always to fulfill this responsibility, 
always. I was not able to stand the fact that I'm not fulfilling my 
responsibility as the head of the household. My mum, like all Palestinian 
mothers, wanted me to get my education. For her it was the way to help the 
family out, because the identity "educated" is kind of a compensation of 
our lost identity as Palestinians -- not lost in terms of our own feelings 
but in terms of how the world deals with us. It was hard to focus though, 
especially because I couldn't see a future. How could I be a doctor in a 
country where we have no rights? So I left school, and now I work in a 
telephone calling shop in the camp.

Maybe you are wondering why I am writing to you about my personal life at 
a time of war. I just wanted to express that this war reinforced my ideas 
that what we need is a collective solution for everyone, not individual 
solutions such as are offered here and there. Just as being "educated" 
will not replace my loss of identity, a solution for Palestine, separate 
from Lebanon or Syria or Iraq is not going to be possible. I sit in the 
camp and think about how much effort is put to separate us all from each 
other. And now we have the F-16s over our heads joining us together all in 
one camp. I do not mean Shatila camp, but a much bigger camp for all those 
whose lives are cheap in this world, the camp of those who die like bugs, 
the camp for those on whom they test their weapons. As proud as I am of 
Lebanon's resistance, I do not think I will be returning to Palestine 
soon. I will keep sending my love to my hometown in Palestine. I know that 
the world never hears our cries. But they do hear the roar of the 
missiles. Can you send love on a missile?

With love from Shatila.

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