stone

Five years into the Intifada, the conflicting parties are beginning to negotiate a peaceful settlement. There can be little doubt that the Intifada was the instrumental factor in bringing this historical movement towards peace out of a seemingly perpetual conflict. The Palestinians, who for decades refused to contemplate peace when it always meant for them defeat

and surrender, are now ready to enter into a dialogue with Israel as equals. The Israelis, who long denied the existence of the Palestinians, are heavily burdened with the legacy of the occupation and are ready for a compromise that would guarantee their safety when they vacate the Palestinian land. Both parties are moving with reluctance and timidity. Five decades of hatred and paranoia, five major wars, thousands dead and deep scars of pain are not at all easy to bridge.

But after peace prevails, when both nations remember their heroes who sacrificed their lives, we must remember the Palestinian children as the real peacemakers who stood at the forefront of the Intifada. We will all indebted to these children whose sacrifices fueled the dramatic upheaval and its hope for a bright future.

Many posters, postcards, articles and books portray images of the children of the Intifada throwing stones. In spite of all this attention, hardly anyone has given any insight on the children's motives in assuming such a role. At the Gaza Community Mental Health Programme (GCMHP), we decided to talk with the children themselves and to observe them in action in the street and at home. In addition, many families brought their children to the Programme for treatment of the effects of trauma. Finally, we conducted studies in the field, employing psychological surveys to understand more about their role, the extent of trauma and its effects.

The words "angry" and "defiant" accurately describe the Palestinian children. They are also tense and vigilant. For many of them, throwing stones expresses that anger onto the Israeli soldiers who are the legitimate target.

These children have learned the language and the meaning of the occupation. Even if every child has not been humiliated by the Israeli soldiers or told that his or her life is worthless, the environment sends this message loud and clear. Sami, a twelve year old boy, was brought to the clinic by his

His legs were badly scarred, and he looked hostile, angry and depressed. Sami said, "I wanted to kill myself because my father did not bring me a new pair of trousers for the feast. He said that he did not have any money. Why should he have children then if he could not have a job?" His brother who was handicapped died a year ago. His mother believes that Sami has changed since then. "My brother Sameer died because he was cold. He was wet when we found him dead. It was raining all night and it was dripping on him from the leaking roof. He could not move himself because he was paralyzed."

Children easily perceive the differences between living conditions in their dirty camps and in the newly-built Israeli settlements. These differences make them believe that Jewish children living in the settlements deserve big, clean playgrounds and swimming pools while their refugee camps have open sewer systems and garbage piled high at every street corner. The buildings of the settlements are clean, the streets are clean and the grass is watered even when there is a water shortage in the camps. Palestinian children observe Israeli settlers zooming by in their fast, well-protected cars that project an aura of power and security, in contrast to their own feeling of vulnerability.

The language of the occupation sends the message that life is not worth living and that children born in the settlements are treasured while children born in the Palestinian camps, villages, or towns are despised. This environment drives home the message that the Palestinians are born to be the hewers of wood and drawers of water both for the settlers and for the Israeli economy. The children witness their fathers' and older brothers'

Time and again the message is conveyed to Palestinian children that they are dirty because they are unworthy and that they are poor because their parents are weak and helpless. A Gaza Community Mental Health Programme Survey has documented that 85% of the children's houses have been raided by Israeli soldiers, mostly at night, and 56% have witnessed the beating and humiliation of their fathers. Such experiences leave their mark on children's perceptions of themselves and the world around them. "If my father could not protect himself," a child wonders, "how on earth is he going to protect me?"

The inevitable reaction is a mixture of fear, frustration, helplessness, anger, and -- perhaps most tragically -- rejection of the father. Children sometimes find themselves identifying with Israeli soldiers as symbols of power. At the very least, they are driven out of their homes to look for heroes to replace their fathers, who failed the test.

The streets are the natural playgrounds for the children of Gaza. They vibrate with a life beat that makes them different from anywhere else: defiant, colorful, and dynamic. To be a child in Gaza is to be enticed by its streets, incited by the graffiti on every wall and irritated by the Israeli soldiers patrolling on foot or in their jeeps through your own territory. A gathering crowd of activists preparing for a confrontation with the soldiers fills the air with apprehension and excitement. Now it is not a game any more. The toys are real jeeps and the enemy are real soldiers. There he is, waiting just for you. This is where you can avenge your father's humiliation. This is what you can do to conquer your fear. This is where you will join the heroes, perhaps even becoming one yourself.

Throwing stones becomes a way of rejecting the definition of self which has been imposed by the occupier. It is a process of externalizing the slave-consciousness that has been projected by the child, into his or her innermost being.

In the psychological sense, throwing stones is a form of recognizing and identifying the problem, a very crucial step in the making of the Intifada child. Through this behavior children decide both to assert themselves and to exercise their right to a free and better life.

"I went home after school one day to find a big crowd in my uncle's house. I was told that my seventeen year old cousin was shot dead by the Israelis. Since then, I began to ask and to understand more about the Intifada," says Marwan, a thirteen year old boy from Gaza. "Now if they do not come, I go to look for them. We have to fight them and free our country from these pigs. If I could only get a gun, I would shoot them all."

Throwing stones became essentially a form of therapy not only for alestinian children but also for the entire Palestinian nation. Years of helplessness and frustration gave way to active resistance and defiance. The collective sense of injured pride and humiliation was transformed overnight into a state of self- respect. Internal division, recriminations, and communal

violence were replaced by solidarity, unity and cohesion. All became one against a common enemy. Gloom and doom disappeared and a state of excitement and euphoria prevailed.

For a rare moment in the history of the conflict, the Palestinians tasted victory when they effectively took control of thlives by rebeling against the occupation. Indeed, the Palestinian morale was such that it allowed them to enter the peace talks as equals.

Victories, however, do not come cheap. The Palestinians must still endure more pain. Ever since their eyes first saw the first glimmer of hope, they have witnessed their country in turmoil and spasm. Their collective memory is still alive with the dismemberment of Palestine, their mass exodus into bitter and cold exile, the Suez War, the October War, the invasion of

Lebanon and life under military occupation. Now it is the Intifada which promises salvation for the future but inflicts pain now. The Palestinians wish to see the pain joined hand in hand with the birth of a new life.

But it is hard. For every act of rebellion or defence, the Israelis react with even more oppression and harshness. The children are particularly hard hit. From the shoot-to-kill policy and the breaking bones policy to the night raids and beatings, the children are forced to face the new challenge of a new time. They simply cannot afford the luxury of childhood and have to assume the worries of the adulthood.

As a child in a Gaza Camp, you must worry about being chased, arrested, beaten or shot. You worry about your older brother who was arrested a few weeks ago. You miss him and you worry when your mother says that the Red Cross has no news of him. You also worry about your father: could he get a permit to work and will he bring food today? You feel deeply concerned for your friend who is in the hospital with gunshot wounds. They say it was a

The "children of the stone" are not made of stone. They suffer pain and fear. The extent of their exposure to traumatic events is horrific even at the statistical level. According to a GCMHP survey of 2779 children, 92.5% were exposed to tear gas, 42% were beaten, 55% have witnessed beating, 4.5% have had their bones broken or other severe injured, 85% were exposed to night raids, and 19% were detained for short periods of time.

Issa is seven year old boy from Bureij refugee camp. His mother said that he had completely changed in the last nine months. He complains of headaches, wets his bed at night and is aggressive with his sisters. She said that Issa has difficulty sleeping and frequently wakes up in the night shaking with terror. Issa was normal before the soldiers burst into the house one night and beat his father and elder brother. Issa says, "I am always afraid of the soldiers. They beat my friends at school and my teachers many times. I run away when I see them coming. I want to beat them, but they are very strong and they have guns. They kill."

When the battles are raging, the children fight with their stones for their right to exist; they fight the ghoulish monster of their dreams. When the battle is over, they gather to talk about their joy of forcing the enemy to retreat or their grief over their mates who fell.

Those who fell remain in the painful corners of the hearts and minds of their fellow fighters. But death could not be imagined, and had to be conquered. The dead became martyred, heroes who are blessed and in heaven. Children know that there, life is full of joy and no children are hurt.

At night, a child buries himself between his parents, terrified of the monsters who might suddenly jump over the wall hunting for their prey. In his dream, a monster pulls his gun to shoot; the child tries to flee. He is shaken awake by his mother. He has wet the bed again. The mother decides to take him to the clinic tomorrow. She made this decision many times, but her son is never home during the day. The mother is worried. Three of her

she asks nobody. She cannot ask her husband. He is too tired and moody after his release from the prison. He must have been through so much. She is worried about him. "Maybe he should see a doctor too?" she wonders.

What will become of you, the children of the stone? What kind of students are you, and will you ever go to university? What kind of parents will you be, warm and happy, or neurotic and abusive? What teachers will we have, what lawyers, what leaders?

It is difficult to imagine the future of these children, even in peace, since they have never tasted peace themselves. It is certain however that many will continue to harbour the pain, the guilt, and the anger. It is also certain that some will turn against their own children and against themselves. Some will also turn against the world, the world which preached decency, justice and democracy, only to stand by and watch the slaughter

of decency, justice, democracy and the children. And if the children of the stone sacrificed themselves, will this sacrifice bring peace and salvation after all?