Stateless in Gaza
MANY YEARS AGO — SHORTLY AFTER YASSER ARAFAT and Yitzhak Rabin’s infamous White House handshake, overseen by a beaming Bill Clinton — I stood on the shore of what might have been a spectacular beach in Gaza.
Spectacular because it faced the roaring Mediterranean, but the beach was covered in trash and reeked of open sewage. Electrical supply was random. The fishermen who could have profited from the resources of the sea were hampered by the rules of Israel’s occupation and embargoes that remain in place today.
I looked out to the sea with a Palestinian friend, Ahmed. He had been imprisoned and tortured in an Israeli prison for his activism. At that moment, just after the handshake, I was hopeful that Palestine would see some form of self-determination in my lifetime. The Oslo Peace Accords were far from perfect. But they had ended the first intifada. We talked of where an airport might be built in Gaza; what would happen if there were economic equality between Israel and Palestine.
My friend was less hopeful than I was that day. Being Palestinian meant he understood bitter compromises and a life of crushed promises more than anyone.
