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الحياة
في قطاع غزة بقلم:
الين برشير & صفوت الكحلوت كريستيان
ساينس مونيتور - 28/6/2007 بعد أسبوعين على سيطرة حماس,
هناك هدوء حذر في غزة Life
in the After
two weeks of Hamas, a tense quiet in By
Ilene
R. Prusher | Staff writer of The Christian
Science Monitor Hamsawi
ma yihab il-mot. It
trails from radios everywhere, on the only station in Hamsawi
kermal id-din. "A
Hamas fighter is not afraid of death. A Hamas fighter is
for the sake of religion!" Catchy,
high-stepping, and jingoistic, it is the tune that plays
all day long on Hamas's Al Aqsa Radio, the only one that
remains standing after the turbulent ousting of its
Palestinian rival Fatah earlier this month. From the
airwaves to the imams' sermons, the message here is one
of self-congratulation: for routing corrupt officials,
for bringing a feeling of calm after months of
internecine gun battles. But
closer to the ground, unofficial channels convey a deep
sense of uncertainty. Some say they're relieved that the
internal fighting over, while many others express a fear
for the future – especially when the local storekeeper
suddenly stops selling them food on credit, and when
Israeli jets thunder overhead. Gazans
saw more bloodshed Wednesday, following Israeli army
incursions near the Gaza-Israel border. Palestinian
officials say that the clashes left 13 dead. According
to hospital officials another 40 people were wounded by
Israeli shells in 'So
where do you want me to go?' For
many here, like Ahmad Shalayal, the future feels
amorphous. Mr. Shalayal used to have a job with the
Palestinian police. Now, he sits at home most days,
waiting to see what will happen, and trying to figure
out how to support his wife and five children. "I
work for the Palestinian police, but the orders from
President [Mahmoud] Abbas were to stay home," he
explains. "I still take orders from him, because he
will pay me my salary. I am stuck between the salary of
Abbas and the orders of Hamas. If they don't sit
together and solve the problems, we will die from the
suffering." On
a trip to his local supermarket, Shalayal finds the
owner and his friends discussing the latest news. "Come
on," argues Ibrahim, who gives only his first name,
"don't you see how we feel safe and secure after we
got rid of those corrupt guys?" "And
what about the food?" responds Samir, who also
gives only one name. "Is this what Hamas wants? To
starve people?" "It's
true," nods Imad Al-Tanna, the owner. "This
supermarket is going to empty out soon. Tell Hamas to
manage to open the Karni crossing [with Shalayal
stands at the counter, and, when there's a lull in the
political debate, asks for a bag of rice and some
cooking oil. Mr. Tanna frowns and shakes his head. "No
more buying on credit," he says to Shalayal. Then
Tanna opens up his notebook where he keeps a register of
credit purchases. "I'm sorry. Give me something of
what you owe me, and then we can open a new page." Embarrassed,
Shayalal snaps back. "So where do you want me to
go? Should I ask Abbas to send me some money? Maybe
Haniyeh?" Despite
Wednesday's violence, And
yet, there has been a sea change here, and many people
are still trying to decide which is more troubling: a
Gaza Strip wracked not just by Israeli versus
Palestinian violence but also Palestinian-on-Palestinian
violence, as it was before, or a Abu
Suhayid, a policeman who alternates between untangling
traffic jams outside police headquarters and sitting at
his guard post reading the Koran, brags that Hamas's
ascendency is already bringing stability. There's no
imposition of strict sharia law, but subtle changes are
evident. A
man his in mid-20s who sports a full beard – unseen on
Palestinian policemen in the past but rapidly becoming
part of the uniform – says he's also traded in his
all-black militants' attire for the blue uniform that
Hamas superiors issued him. "We
are here to protect our people. Abbas used to say that
we're the 'black militias,' but we are much purer than
them," he says. "We haven't killed any of our
people. We killed only the corrupt people who hole the
peoples' resources and put them in their own bank
accounts." Seeing
a reporter, a small group of civilians gather to
eavesdrop. One of them shakes his head and interrupts. "Yeah,
but you killed innocent people," charges the young
man, yelling at Mr. Suhayid. "People who had
nothing to do with Fatah or Hamas." The rest of the
crowd looks at him with surprise, but Suhayid brushes it
off with a smile and a religious benediction. "God
bless them," he says. "They were not targets,
but they were stuck in the crossfire. God keep
them," he repeats, in an oft-said praise for the
departed, referring to the afterlife. For
Fatah, different routes out of Gaza In
this life, however, some Palestinians don't find this
attitude acceptable. That's why Raed Shami, who lives on
the seventh floor of one of the higher-quality high-rise
buildings in the newer Tel il-Hawa neighborhood, is busy
moving out. He and his brothers are helping him salvage
what furniture and appliances they can from their
apartment, where bullets ricocheted around the room for
days as he cowered on the floor with his wife and
children. "We
spent 48 hours lying on the ground, hoping we'd be safe,
and I almost got shot. Now we're moving somewhere
safer," he says, watching his refrigerator and
washing machine being lifted into a small truck. "I
am pessimistic now. I think that these clashes might
take place again at anytime." Mr. Shami says.
"One day soon someone will restart this, and they
don't care about us, they care about their own
agendas." In
this sea of uncertainty, people who were affiliated with
Fatah are taking several different approaches. Some are
trying to get to the Others
are simply staying home, for fear that there will be
more "purges" of Fatah people. Abu Mahmoud,
who worked for the preventive security force that was
headed by Mr. Dahlan, says that he doesn't believe
Hamas's promises that it won't persecute anyone else
from Fatah. "I
wish I had gotten out to the "Despite
this Hamas pardon, I don't trust them. They might come
anytime for their revenge. I thought of escaping even
now to Ramallah, but how can I do that and leave my
family here?" he says, pointing to his children
playing in the street. At
prayer services, however, a different message is heard.
Whether or not one attends the central Abu Hadra mosque,
the speech permeates the air over "Abbas
is ready to meet with the enemy who is killing our
people," intones Mr. Bahar, "but he doesn't
have time to meet his brothers." http://www.csmonitor.com/2007/0628/p01s04-wome.html?page=4 ----------------- نشرنا
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