The first patient to arrive at a GCMHP clinic in 1990 was a young man, Yousif, who had witnessed the killing of his father a few years earlier. His father was knifed by a  Palestinian on suspicion that he was a collaborator with the Israelis. The young man recalled how he saw his father gasping while blood poured from his neck. Yousif told me how he was terrified. Later he felt angry and humiliated as people stared at him, their eyes accusing him of being the son of a collaborator. This is the worst thing for any Palestinian. It broke his pride and destroyed his inner self. Being the son of a collaborator means that you are ostracised, boycotted, and targeted for abuse. Yousif told me that for two years after the death of his father he was unable to visit his friends and that his schoolmates avoided him. He was incensed and deeply humiliated. All along he believed that his father was a nationalist, a patriot, his example and hero. He wanted to clear his father's name and was gradually filled with the desire for revenge. Yousif wanted to kill his father's murderers, but he did not know them. He decided there was only one way to find out, so one day he went to the Israelis and offered his services as an informer. In return, he hoped to find his father's killers.

Yousif was given instructions by an Israeli officer. He was told to mingle with militants and activists, join demonstrations and go to mosques. He was told to report on everything and everybody. For that he was given a few hundred shekels every month.

Gradually he began to feel guilty and to agonise over his guilt. Would his father accept what was he doing? He felt terrible and was beginning to hate himself, but did not dare to talk about it. After some time, when he felt that he was about to burst, he confided in a friend about his long hidden secret. His friend advised him to make a public confession in the mosque after the Friday prayer when it is full of people. At that time, Hamas was urging collaborators to confess publicly, and promised them forgiveness and salvation. So he did. He stood in front of the crowd, declared that he was a spy, and asked for forgiveness. To his surprise, people reacted coldly. Later he was shunned and treated as a spy, a traitor.  Even his uncle turned against him. When Yousif went to his uncle's family looking for support, his uncle told him not to come back. He was ashamed of Yousif's behavior and could not understand or forgive him. Angrily he told him, "You brought shame to our family. How can we walk in the street when our pride is shattered? How can we talk to people when they know that you are a spy?" Yousif tried desperately to explain that he wanted to take revenge for his father's murder, that he was young and stupid, that he had confessed in the mosque and asked for forgiveness, and that he had nowhere to go. Yousif's uncle pushed him away and shouted at him to go to hell.

A few months ago, Yousif was arrested and sentenced to death by a Palestinian military court. He had confessed to killing a Palestinian officer. Seven years after his father's murder, Yousif killed his father's killer.

This true story is one of thousands that are unfolding in our life. There is always someone killing someone else in the process of taking revenge for a previous killing. There seems to be no end. Even more troubling is the fact that since the establishment of the PNA, the number of killings has multiplied.  A child who witnessed the killing of his mother a few years ago in Jenin, recently joined a security force, searched for the killer, and murdered him.

A few months ago, Lieutenant Hassona was driving home in Deir El-Balah when he was stopped by a pedestrian and hit with a barrage of bullets. He died instantly. His killers were three neighbors from the Bheissi clan who were taking revenge for the killing of their son, Ibrahim, a few years earlier. Lieutenant Hassona's leaders had instructed him to kill Ibrahim because he was a spy. Ibrahim was a teacher and was shot dead in front of his pupils. The GCMHP urgently dispatched a team of counselors to the school. Ibrahim was shot in the head and his brains were literally spread over the benches in the classroom. The children were horrified and some refused to return to the school. Other teachers were in a state of shock and alarm. Some were crying in disbelief and described their friend very movingly. One teacher said, "This is the end of me here. I will not live in a place that is so unjust even to its noble citizen!”

The killing of Hassona alarmed his comrades, other Fatah Hawks, who were killers in the days of the Intifada and are now officers in the Preventive Security forces. Two hundred of them went to the scene of the crime and threatened to wipe out the entire Bheissi clan. They had their machine guns loaded and ready. Only a last minute intervention by the police averted a massacre. A military court was rapidly formed and within a day three people were sentenced to death and twelve others to various prison sentences. All of the condemned were from the Bheissi clan, some of them officers in various security forces. The military judge defended the speedy trial and the sentence as important elements in appeasing the burning rage of the security forces, and showing that the Authority can protect offer protection.

In Palestinian society today, tribal identity seems to be a reemerging. From considering themselves as Palestinians, people are now regrouping into their tribal affiliations, as the internal political map is redrawn. With widespread disillusionment in the peace process, a deteriorating economy and dwindling hope, the Palestinian people are becoming insecure. A further element of this insecurity is the fact that the Palestinian Authority has chosen to rule through tribal politics. A person has to be from a big family or belong to Fatah, the ruling party, to get anywhere. The rule of law is undermined as security forces function above the law, to the point that even decisions of the High Court of Justice are ignored by these forces. In such an environment, people can only rely on their families for protection. The danger is compounded by the fact that thousands of soldiers, whose loyalty is also tribal, are heavily armed. In a recent conflict, in the Shejayyia neighborhood of Gaza City, the soldiers who were sent to intervene between the two feuding families quickly became involved in the fight.

The latest violent confrontation in Gaza culminated in the killing of two of the Khalidi family by members of the Abu Sultan family.  The families are neighbours in Deir El Balah, and all involved were off-duty security officers.  The Khalidis are also members of Fatah.

The reasons behind the conflict and killings remain unclear, although it is rumoured that the incident began over a ‘peeping tom’. The crim took Gaza by storm. After the deaths, Fatah was mobilized and pressured Arafat to execute the Abu Sultans, following the death sentence that was passed speedily by a military court.  This court was presided over by none other than the infamous Khalid Qidra, who was forced to resign his post as Attorney General last year.

The majority of Gazans also wanted to see the Abu Sultans killed, and the area suddenly swelled with tension and anger.  People wanted revenge and Fatah, functioning as a tribe, wanted the same.  An eye for an eye.  Blood must be spilt.  The Abu Sultans were the objects of this mounting fury and defiance.  Once they were killed by the firing squad, Gaza became calm again.

As some measure of tranquillity enters our homes, it looks as if we will have to endure a painful passage in the process of restoring normality.  The divorce rate is on the rise, as are complaints of incest and abuse. The legacy of the Israeli occupation and the Intifada is heavy and serious, and our tradition of revenge and our culture of violence are deeply rooted. The solution is not in summary military courts or in tribal Solha. It will take much more. Indeed military courts are the wrong remedy, for they undermine the rule of law and destroy the spirit and structure of civil society.  We need a community Solha, an acceptance of grief and recognition of guilt. We need to begin the process of healing ourselves. We need scholars, leaders and concerned people to launch an initiative.  And we need courage. But above all, we need a state authority that applies the law and acts as an example to us. People have to feel that they are equal before the law and that they are protected by the law, rather than by family or party connections.

*This article was published in "The Jerusalem Report" on October 26 1998
  under the title of "Spare thy neighbor"

 
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