http://londonprogressivejournal.com/article/view/2847/jerusalem
On the 26th May 1967, using money borrowed from my stepmother after
swearing her to secrecy because I lived in unjustified terror of a very
kind Dad, I boarded a flight to Jerusalem. Being then administered by
Jordan, I was able to enter the city using my Lebanese identity card.
I explained to my stepmother that I had two reasons for wishing to
visit Jerusalem: Firstly, I wanted to see my First True Love who was
studying at Beir Zeit University and to bring her back to safety in
Beirut. Secondly, with the overwhelming sabre rattling on both sides, I
was convinced that there was going to be a war with Israel. I was also
absolutely certain that we were going to lose that war because we were
disunited, chaotic, backward, leaderless and stupidly tribal. Israel was
united, purposeful, technologically years ahead of us and, of course,
it had the unconditional support of the most powerful ally in the world;
the United States. We had the dubious support of a morally and
economically bankrupt Soviet Union who had betrayed Marx’s ideology and
who would happily trade off the whole Arab World for its backyard in
Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos and others.
I walked the streets of Old
Jerusalem trying to piece together the forthcoming catastrophe. I felt
deeply distressed to have this defeatist attitude. I felt as if I were
betraying my national homeland - Palestine. However, I was really being a
pragmatist facing realities that I could clearly see around me.
Every moment of my two days walking the streets of Jerusalem is deeply
etched in my memory. I can still see faces that then only passed me by. I
can still see wide eyes staring into the coming abyss seemingly unaware
of its destructive force. I can even see that Palestinian woman in her
colourful national costume laughingly urging me to taste her neatly
arranged red Palestinian tomatoes. “My boys watered them with their
pouring sweat day in day out...” I remember laughing as my heart was fit
to burst.
I wanted to shout out warnings of what was coming.
Cassandra like I knew that I was right and that no one would believe me -
some mythical god’s punishment that has haunted me all my life.
After the Six Day War, I left Beirut vowing to live in my British
exile. For years I refused to speak Arabic. I mistakenly omitted to
teach it to my children. I wrongly gave up on my heritage - even my
family. It was as if all the wrongs done to Palestine were personal to
me and I invoked a plague of all their houses: Israeli, Palestinian,
Egyptian, Syrian, Lebanese and all things Arab. The quintessential and
misguided self-hating Arab was born in 1967... I recently met a regular
long time contributor to the
New Yorker.
...
please go on reading here:
http://londonprogressivejournal.com/article/view/2847/jerusalem
