At times it seems to me like the worst enemy of the Palestinians are the people who claim to be their advocates....
The Washington Report on Middle Eastern Affairs (WMEA) publishes some of the most pro-palestinian materials written by Westerners that I've ever seen. Published in English, it contains news and perspectives not too often seen in America about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict.
Unfortunately, while they appear to have good motives (defending innocent, oppressed people), their slant seems so extreme that I suspect they do more damage than good. Israel is frequently portrayed as very Nazi-like, sometimes explicitely so; for example, a cartoon appearing on their site shows a looming Nazi stormtrooper confronting a child wearing a star of David, who looks at him saying, "I am a Palestinian." When someone shows me the gas chambers where Israelis are killing Palestinians by the millions, I'll consider that appropriate. Until then, it's the worst sort of hateful hyperbole.
What also seems to be common to the WMEA viewpoint is a tendency to either ignore or excuse atrocities committed by Palestinians. This smacks of a kind of dishonesty that only hurts the Palestinian cause. How so? By making one doubt whether they're telling the truth, or are hiding information they don't want to get out.
Nevertheless, reading through the WMEA on occasion reveals stories of the lives of real Palestinians that seem worth reading. If nothing else, it gives insights into how some Palestinians and their supporters see the world. On occasion, they mention incidents or history that should not be ignored.
For example, they regularly publish rather gut-wrenching stories written by a Palestinian woman named Samah Jabr. In them, she tells tales of growing up in Palestine, and her family's history there. She also tells stories of cruel treatment of unarmed Palestinians by Israeli soldiers. On the one hand, you wonder if she isn't shooting herself in the foot when she criticizes Israelis for not giving terrorists court trials before taking out their headquarters, but says nothing about Palestinians lynching their own people or killing Jewish children.
One the other hand, some of her stories, if real, should cause cries of anguish from anyone who cares about human rights.
For a sample of her work, click here.
If you pray, pray for these people, as well as for the Israelis caught in the middle of this conflict.
The sun is going down over the sea. The light is
that golden color you only get at the end of the
day. The camera pans over a row of large
apartment buildings along the shore. It stops on
a large hotel, where it pulls back to show a
scattering of people entering the main door. They
are mostly elderly people, in their 70's and 80's,
moving slowly but smiling and chatting as they
enter, arm in arm.
It's Erev Pesach and they are going to a fancy
Seder at the hotel dining room.
Camera comes in close to focus on a family; Saba,
Safta, Ima, Abba and a young girl maybe 12 years
old. The girl is walking arm in arm between her
Imma and Abba, talking animatedly and smiling.
They enter the hall together.
The camera pulls back, still following the two
couples and the child. Behind them a few paces we
see a tall woman with dark, shoulder length hair.
We only see her from behind -- she is wearing a
long coat and is walking quickly, taking long
strides. The camera switches angles and we see
her from the front. Her collar is up and she's
wearing large glasses.
She has a beard and mustache.
She disappears inside the front door right behind
the others.
The camera pulls back so we can see the entire
hotel now. We are about a half-kilometer away.
The sun continues to go down; the gulls fly low
over the water.
Suddenly an enormous explosion erupts, blowing out
the walls on the side of the building facing the
sea; a gigantic angry red fireball blooms out of
the black smoke billowing over the shore. Debris
geysers into the air through a huge hole in the
roof.
Flames lick through the holes where the windows
used to be. Nothing moves on the street for a few
long moments. Then people begin to stagger out of
the building onto the sidewalk.
Another moment passes and we can hear the sirens.
The credits roll.
(copyright 2002 by Ara Rubyan)