MEMORIAM OF SHATILA
MEMORIAM OF SHATILA By
Francois Razon
‘But I am the exile. Seal me with your eyes. Take me wherever you areTake me whatever you are. Restore to me the color of face And the warmth of body The light of heart and eye, The salt of bread and rythm, The taste of earth ... The Mother land Shield me with your eyes. Take me as a verse from any tragedy; Take me as a toy, a brick from the house So that our children will remember to return.’ — Mahmoud Darwish —
Messages on the wall remind the Palestinians of their right to return to Palestine. Revolution until migration Either we live here in good condition or we all leave from here Yes to migration I want to immigrate so that my children will live in safety
In Lebanon the Palestinians meet all the characteristics of a diaspora - the collective loss and trauma of being exile, the outrage over the injustice of dispossession and misrecognition, the idea of return and the concept and practice of resistance. The Shatila refugee camp was built in 1949 to receive the refugees from northern Palestine. Now there are about 12 000 Palestinians living in Shatila for more than two generations. From birth, the young are told that Lebanon is not their country and that they are Palestinians living in exile. During the Lebanese civil war, the camp was under siege and led to a massacre carried out by the Christian militia, ‘The Phalange’, in cooperation with the Israeli Army which killed 3500 civilians, mostly women and children. There are many educated people within the Palestinian community but they are unable to work outside the camps. The Lebanese laws do not allow Palestinians to work or own land. The conditions of living inside the camp are constant hardship and this poses a threat to the preservation of their identity. With the Syrian crisis the population has doubled and the 1km square camp is now hosting 20 000 refugees and everyday life is a surrounded by wreckages of war and hopelessness. It is over half a century since the majority of Palestinian Arabs fled from the British Mandate
territory of Palestine, a large part of which, after May 1948, became the state of Israel. Many sought what they imagined would be temporary refuge in neighbouring states, including Lebanon. But the months stretched into years and the years into decades, and still they wait to return home. Today few Palestinians in Lebanon have any direct experience of ‘home’. Instead, they have the memories of parents and grandparents, and a sense of somewhere that is rightfully theirs but has been unjustly denied to them. As the memories fade with time, so does hope. From generation to generation Palestinians lose their sense of identity. Unfortunately the youngest only have the camp to call home. This book is in Memory of the Palestinians, a visual record of the traces left in Shatila - the time, the traumas and injustices. It is an encounter with their memories and their hope. This photo essay tries to erase the misrepresentation of Palestinians and instead attempt to draw a fair image of their humanity. I sincerely hope to educate the reader to the normality of their existence in hopes of relaying their struggle. I felt welcomed when I met these wonderful Palestinians. I would like to invite the viewer through this photographic journey which chronicles their intimate space, and hopefully at the end, one can touch what it means to be Palestinian in Shatila.
The flag is a symbol of the Palestinian people, like any country in the world. It differentiates it from the rest of the world. Red stands for blood, green for the land, black for the darkness of war, white for peace.
There are many restrictions for Palestinians to build houses inside the Shatila camp. Outside the camp they are prohibited from purchasing land
Reminders of the past - ruins and picture of the dead martyrs in combat - decorate the landscape of the camp.
‘I come from there and I have memories Mine is the moon at the far edge of the words, And the bounty of birds, And the immortal olive tree. I walked this land before the swords’ – Mahmoud Darwish
From the village of Sgour in Palestine, Abu Mohammed remembers at 90 years old how his village was in Palestine - the olive trees he used to sleep under and his work on the farm before the Israeli invasion in 1948. He was forced to leave his land with his family. After being transferred through a few refugee camps in Lebanon, he settled in Shatila. Until now he hopes to go back to his homeland even for the last hour of his life.
‘In her absence I created her image: out of the earthly the hidden heavenly commences. I am here weighing the expanse with the Jahili odes ... and absence is the guide, it is the guide.’
– Mahmoud Darwish
Mohammed 5 years old. My house in Palestine.
‘My mother used to tell us about the beauty of the country. She spoke about it like it was heaven. When she ate fruits and vegetables, she remembers the fruit and vegetables in Palestine. She reminded us all the time that we are Palestinians.’
Samira 12 years old. The Palestine’s poppy
Omran and his dad who died during the 2006 war. He now lives with his gran dad who remembers each days of his journey to Lebanon.
‘Al-Aqsa is important for Muslims, not just Palestinians. It is number third holiest site in Islam. We must not allow it to be destroyed or desecrated.’
Ahmed 8 years old. The camp.
Wife of a heroe. Palestinians women stay home and are in charge of the socialisation of the children.
‘I am an Arab You have stolen the orchards of my ancestors And the land which I cultivated Along with my children And you left nothing for us Except for these rocks. So will the State take them As it has been said?!’ – Mahmoud Dawish
Mirna, 12 years Old. A broken heart with Palesitne.
‘I am driving all the way back home........ we don’t need a map........ just a lullaby or a song......... some people say we won’t get there in time......... but I know that I can go alone......... and I will find too many strangers on the borders....... singing all along......... because freedom is an endless beat............ and we are strangers just in front of our door.’
– Mahmud from Shatila
On the left Mahmud the Poet from Shatila and his friend standing on the water tank.
‘As you sleep and count the planets, think of others there are people who have no place to sleep. As you liberate yourself with metaphors think of others those who have lost their right to speak. And as you think of distant others think of yourself and say “I wish I were a candle in the darkness.’ – Mahmoud Darwish
‘I am an Arab Employed with fellow workers at a quarry I have eight children I get them bread’ – Mahmoud Darwish
‘We were all born during war. We grew up during war in a land that isn’t ours. Not once have we been able to see our future, because our future was unknown ever since we were born’
‘We are also looking at our observers. We too are scrutinating, assessing, judging. We are more than someone’s object. We do more than stand passively in front of whoever’ – Edward Said
Martyr from the 2006 war with Israel. Pictures are hanging between the street for all to remember the Palestinian’s struggle.
The streets are used as to hang the pictures of the martyrs and political messages to remind everyone of the Palestinian’s cause
Inside the Fatah office of Shatila.
Written in your heart..........the word hope or this is just what I think......even in the summer we feel cold...........but when we are swimming, we don’t sink......maybe because the water is too shy when it comes to us....it took too many of us, more than it can ask ...........a tiny square......irrational feelings.....every thirty meters, there is a dump.......... laughs...tears.......people die and nobody hears....they call it Shatila camp........too many keys but where are the doors... .make 48 moves before you die.......mices... they walk very smooth in the night...and an old man repeats the plague cure…is to find another species to conquer...so why the fight ....you feel the bullets in your dreams.........it goes into a child’s head....not too many themes........so why are we here ..definitely a good question…. God or government should be asked ......the answer is not anyone’s task.....so pray to God. and pay the tax......maybe.one of them will pull off its mask.........but in the mess......hope never dismisses.....and if it is by a good payment or the God’s blessing.......both we never had and we’ll never will...... – Mahmud from Shatila