Palestinians besieged by 'stigma' in Lebanon camps

The generalisation does not stem from Palestinians walking the streets with their weapons drawn or exhibiting aggressive behaviour. Rather, it becomes apparent that it's a widely held belief when the walls start to close in on Palestinians immediately after fighting or armed clashes break out in camps.

The most recent memory of this was during the 2023 civil conflicts, which took place from late July to mid-September in the Ain al-Hilweh camp, involving fighters from the Fatah movement and militant Islamist forces.

Though a page has been turned since then, human and material losses, as well as a resulting wave of displacement, are still strongly felt.

There is also an intangible, though equally costly consequence: the perpetuation and reinforcement of the stigmatised image of Palestinians as armed and dangerous.

Pain that endures

This painful reality has remained largely unchanged since the arrival of the first generation of Palestinians in Lebanon following the Nakba in 1948. It has now spread to the fifth generation, some of whom live in Lebanon across 12 refugee camps, and some who live outside of the camps, as well.

As of March 2023, the total number of Palestinian refugees registered with UNRWA in Lebanon was 489,292. This is in addition to around 31,400 Palestinian refugees from Syria, who reside in Lebanon. The true number is likely higher, however, as UNRWA registration is voluntary.

In addition, there are Palestinians who "have no identification papers" (most are registered with UNRWA in Gaza or the West Bank), while others remain wholly unregistered, mostly having arrived in Lebanon after the 1967 war.

Irrespective of legal status, however, Palestinian presence has been associated with concerns stemming from political factions and religious authorities. This is owing to their sizable numbers, which have the potential to tip the sectarian equation in favour of Muslims.

This has resulted in the denial of several human rights to the Palestinians, one of the most glaring of which is the inability of a Lebanese woman, married to a Palestinian, to pass on her citizenship to her husband and children.

Understanding "the other"

As per Daher, as a young Palestinian in Lebanon, interactions between Palestinians and Lebanese can pave a necessary path to understanding "the other," even if this is done reluctantly and ends in avoidance of the Palestinian side of the story.

"A shift may involve changing the topic of conversation, speaking more concisely, or using easily understood gestures, body language, and tone of voice," he says.

In the midst of these tense conversations, there is still room for better understanding one another.

Daher recalls an encounter with a young woman from a neighbourhood in Beirut known as the Eastern District, which was a stronghold of the Christian right during the Lebanese Civil War; it represented the most prominent opponent of the Palestinian presence in Lebanon. It was also involved in brutal massacres, the most famous of which were the "Tel al-Zaatar" and "Sabra and Shatila" massacres.

The woman was curious to know how Palestinians lived back then, and Daher didn't hesitate to share his perspective, and what he knew about the war. The woman replied: "But my father told me a completely different story."

This exchange proved to be the start of a positive connection between the two, outside the circle of fear and condemnation.

Online world, offline presumptions

Fadia Mansour, a Palestinian journalist who focuses on refugee affairs, is often confronted with misconceptions about her people, both professionally and personally.

A college friend once asked: "Oh, (you're) from the camp. Does that mean you live in a tent?"

Mansour calmly explained that there are no tents in her camp – much like any other area or neighbourhood in Lebanon, there are buildings and houses.

Ultimately, Mansour wondered: "What role do digital platforms play in perpetuating stereotypical images of Palestinian refugees in Lebanon?" This became the topic of her master's thesis in media studies.

Indeed, the virtual world can greatly impact public opinion and cultural perceptions, especially when real-life experiences between Lebanese and Palestinians remain limited.

The truth is that many Lebanese have not had contact with Palestinians. For many of them, the camps remain an "unknown place," as Mansour often hears. In addition, some people exhibit little interest in reading up on the history of these areas.

During her research, Mansour monitored news coming out of two (out of ten) platforms covering the camps, between May 2023 and July 2023. She concluded that the main topic being covered is the camps' interest in, and celebration of, Palestinian historical milestones and heritage days. Secondarily, there was coverage of demands for social change and reports about challenging living conditions.

According to Mansour, this combination of topics reflects the Palestinian attachment to their original identity.

This attachment to the homeland, on the one hand, can help eliminate the fear of Palestinian "settlement" from the minds of some Lebanese. At the same time, it reinforces the "otherness" and "foreignness" of Palestinians in the eyes of the Lebanese. Their loyalty – and love – is directed to Palestine, not Lebanon.

Fear and the enemy

As fighting continued in the Ain al-Hilweh camp, Mansour arrived at the scene. She interviewed the residents of the camp, who affirmed that despite the high costs associated with each armed confrontation, they adamantly insisted on keeping their weapons because "they protect us from the enemy."

But who is the "enemy"?

This is one of the most complex issues related to the Palestinian presence in Lebanon, which begins with the social rejection of refugees and ends with the Palestinians' fear of the eradication of the camps.

Samer Al Mannaa', a socio-political expert on the Palestinian issue, notes that "the camp is the incubator of refugees in the eyes of the Lebanese. The irony is that, on one hand, a significant number of Palestinians live outside the camps, and more importantly, the armed events and social problems in the camps are not exclusively the product of the Palestinian fabric."

Take, for example, the Shatila camp, which is still weighed down by the image of war, massacres, and martyrs, in the minds of Lebanese and Palestinians.

But, in truth, only 25 per cent of the camp's residents are Palestinian, the rest being Lebanese and Syrian. This is as per 2017 statistics, published by the Lebanese-Palestinian Dialogue Committee and the Palestinian Statistics Centre, reports Manaa'.

Many Palestinian families left the camp due to a gradual takeover of control by drug trafficking gangs, most of them non-Palestinian. Infiltration was made easier because the camp was open.

Furthermore, "most of the people involved in the recent armed clashes in Ain al-Hilweh were Syrians or Lebanese, and only four of the individuals wanted were Palestinians, according to provisional names leaked from the inquiry committee," says Manaa'.

Manaa' explains that the word "enemy" has two origins, here:

• The first is based on stereotypes, which go both ways, between groups of Lebanese and Palestinian people. They stem from the Lebanese Civil War, whose divisive narrative has been passed on to a new generation; thus, this fear of "the other" remains alive. For some Palestinians, this justifies the need for weapons as a means of self-defence.
• The second, more widespread understanding of the word "enemy" refers to the Israeli occupying enemy, which is directly linked to the existence of the camps in Lebanon. In this context, Palestinians hold onto weapons to protect and guarantee their right of return. This is reinforced by external forces and developments, some of which are on the table, such as the "Deal of the Century," and some that are less clear, such as camp-based conflicts.

Ongoing discussion

The topic of weapons in camps remains a subject of serious debate in Lebanon, which is not based on an objective assessment of the overall Palestinian situation.

Palestinians' lives in Lebanon are different from their lives in Jordan or Syria, where they enjoy human rights.

Even after 75 years of refuge in Lebanon, Palestinians remains steadfast in their commitment to return to their homeland.

When asked about their origins, having been born and raised in Lebanon, Palestinians answer that they come from Haifa, Gaza, or Akka (Acre). The same response can be heard from Palestinians living in Jordan. The difference, however, is that in they live in a total state of alienation and exclusion in Lebanon, where the treatment of Palestinians continues to be security-oriented rather than humanitarian.

Currently, behavioural racism against Palestinians in Lebanon is compounded by a set of socially crippling prohibitions, most notably the denial of their right to own property or to work.

To participate in a list of thirty-six professions in Lebanon, one must be Lebanese for more than 10 years. The exception to this is the Order of Nurses, due to requirements of the Lebanese job market.

In addition, Palestinians in Lebanon must prove that they are unemployed. This is the case with people like Lujain Al-Abssi from Al-Baddawi camp, who do not have valid identification documents.

Some official transactions require the attachment of a "declaration of non-employment" at a notary public.

Between flexibility and resistance

Young Palestinians in Lebanon have taken advantage of limited opportunities to express their right to social integration. Despite the social challenges they face in Lebanon and within the camp environment, they are proactive and contribute to the economic cycle. They love art, music, and literature.

However, their attempts are met with resistance from within the Palestinian community itself. Thus, their suffering is heightened, between the racism of their host country and the constraints of civil society.

"Do not forget where you come from, remember that you are Palestinian" is a phrase that Rami Firas, a worker in international organisations and child protection for 22 years, has heard countless times. Today, he is unemployed.

Firas had founded a cultural café in the Nahr al-Bared camp in 2019, but that didn't last long. He was forced to close the doors on its many initiatives, including a public library, music and poetry nights, working spaces, and discussion areas. The café also aimed to help talented young Palestinians, who had fallen into drug addiction, recover and reintegrate with society.

"Factions in the camp believed that shedding light on the addiction issue was damaging the reputation of the Palestinians. We faced a lot of pressure, including the claim that these activities distracted from the main goal of the right of return," Firas says.

Progress for Palestinian refugees in Lebanon remains largely stilted, as though they are still stuck in the moment of the Nakba.

Their ability to be flexible within their host country has been more of a challenge than a lifeline. They belong, above all, to a complex society with a substantial historical memory, and that may be the only thing they have to cling to. Any existence that is seen to lie outside of the context of this history is considered a violation of who the Palestinian is, and why he exists.

The novelist Elias Khoury once said in "Gate of the Sun": "People are only the imaginations of their memories."

Today, the birth of a new social imagination is not possible, due to the living conditions of Palestinians in Lebanon. Lebanese racism is but the tip of the iceberg; below it lies a bundle of social alienation and denial, and the memory of a war that has not yet been deconstructed.

But before that can change, one must ask, have the Lebanese even recovered from the consequences of the war that they waged against themselves?