Gaza Beduin ambivalent about withdrawal

Jerusalem Post ^ | Feb. 10, 2004 | MATTHEW GUTMAN

[yonif]

Tugging at one of the legs of his polyester trousers, Dr. Khadar Kunan, the stout pharmacist who runs one of two clinics in the destitute Mawasi marshlands of the Gaza Strip, declares: "Just as you cannot fit two legs into this pant leg, you cannot fit two states in this land."

Kunan's is not only an appeal for a bi-national state – which would end the prison-like conditions endured by the forgotten Mawasi Palestinians, wedged between the Gush Katif settlement bloc and the Mediterranean Sea. It is also a subtle plea for Israel not to evacuate the Gaza Strip's Jewish settlements.

The Mawasi, descendants of Beduin tribes and Palestinian farmers living in a narrow strip of land between Palestinian- and Israeli-controlled Gaza, are deeply ambivalent about Prime Minister Ariel Sharon's pledge to evacuate the settlements. On one hand, they would welcome the freedom of movement and self rule. On the other, the 7,500 or so Mawasi residents will mourn the loss of much-needed jobs in the settlements. They also dread the possibility of vigilantism by Palestinians resentful of their work over the years for Jewish farmers. Hundreds of Mawasi residents work in the Gaza Strip settlements, and sell 30 percent of their produce to Israeli merchants.

At the southern end of the roughly 400-square kilometer Gaza Strip sits the Gush Katif bloc, a slim rectangle about 12 km. long and 4 km. wide. Within the Jewish bloc of settlements is the even narrower band of Mawasi encampments, 10 km. long and about 1 km. wide. The Mawasi residents are free to move within the marshlands – but the area is so cramped that Kunan fills his rusty Audi's gas tank less than once a month.

"This is a prison within a prison. I want the freedom to travel, to see things," he said from his empty clinic. "But if [the settlers] leave, where will we work?"

Aside from the advanced irrigation systems planted in systematic patterns in their fields – a technique learned from the Israelis – the lives of Mawasi have changed little in the past 50 years. Children smacking beasts of burden with segments of irrigation pipe drive their carts down sandy lanes. Outhouses are as common as toilets, and there is not a dentist or a real doctor to be found.

Still, beyond the poverty and the pervasive odor of waste, many Palestinians consider the Mawasi the fruit basket of the Gaza Strip, a paradise.

Locals say the Mawasi could easily feed all the Palestinians if their produce could enter the West Bank. Its pristine beaches abut the most water-rich region in the Gaza Strip. Locals boast of growing the best guava in the Arab world.

The reason for the Mawasi's farming success?

"We learned our farming techniques from the Israelis," admits Amin, a bookish-looking farmer who gestures toward his hothouse.

Peering from behind thick spectacles, Amin notes that, before Israel seized the Gaza Strip from Egypt in 1967, "we did not have refrigerators, cars, electricity under the Egyptians. But when Israel arrived we all built houses, bought cars and fridges."

The Mawasi earned such previously unknown luxuries by working as construction laborers building the settlements, and in the fields. In the process they gained experience in construction, irrigation, and farming that they consequently exported to other Palestinian cities. Dozens continue to work for contractors in Gush Katif.

Many locals marvel of their former relations with their Israeli colleagues and supervisors. They used to sleep in Tel Aviv, and were treated as equals, even among Israeli security personnel, they said.

Now, the gates to the rest of the Gaza Strip are often closed, and the Mawasi are forced to sell off their produce for a fraction of its price. Also, the IDF-imposed security measures forbid them from harvesting fish from the Mediterranean.

Sitting in his clinic near the Masawi dockyards – now a fishing boat graveyard – Kunan says simply that "things have changed." Still, he estimates that some 60% of the Masawi Beduin "like Israel."

Asked if, given the choice, he would return to the pre-intifada days of 1986, Amin replies, "of course." From the white-bearded Mawasi mukhtar, Ahmed al-Majaeda, to farmers like Amin, their is broad agreement that their lives would be fine – were it not for the checkpoints. There are two checkpoints leading to Palestinian-controlled areas, at the north and south ends of the strip. They are open based on the whim of the Mawasi's Palestinian neighbors in Rafah and Khan Yunis; when violence rages, the gates close, said an Israeli security source.

The source said that the IDF had expanded the two checkpoints on Monday, doubling the speed with which they can process the Mawasi. In addition, he said, there are no restrictions on the Mawasi from fishing with whatever conveyance they choose.

The Shin Bet has forbidden the Mawasi from crossing a thin strip of dunes that divides the major axis road of their community from the road leading to the strip of Jewish settlements.

Eran Sternberg, spokesman of Gush Katif's Hof Aza Regional Council, said Tuesday that Palestinian terrorists often attempt to infiltrate the Mawasi to use it as a base to attack local settlers. All told, however, Sternberg said the Mawasi has been very quiet these past three years.

For Kunan, one of the most troubling aspects of living in Mawasi is the frequent Shin Bet recruitment. He was "invited" to visit the Shin Bet just a few days ago, he said. A close friend of his received a similar letter Monday.

Continuing business relations with Israelis have earned the Mawasi the suspicion of other Palestinians. Even Mukhtar Majaeda, who sells Paz brand gasoline to the Mawasi, was cuffed by Fatah gang members who "advised" him to distance himself from Israelis, said locals.

When asked Monday to describe his relations with Israel, Majaeda promptly replied, "none at all."

"If Israel pulls out," says Kunan, "then we have no idea what the future holds. I assume that the government [PA] will take the land from the people. We just hope it won't be like before, where they took money and did not give it to the people."

Amin dreads the day the PA will take over, saying, "They [PA officials] love the seat of power more than anything." Underscoring his point, Amin stood, faced his plastic chair, and graced it with a loud kiss, much to the mirth of his comrades lounging outside the mukhtar's house.

Sitting around a little stove in the sandy lot that serves as a courtyard in front of Majaeda's house, some local men mocked the "Tunis Mafia" – a moniker given to PA Chairman Yasser Arafat's Fatah officers who arrived in Gaza in 1994, who earned notoriety for their taste for Israeli goods and partying in Tel Aviv.

Unlike many of the other villages and cities in the Gaza Strip, the vengeance-invoking graffiti of Hamas, Islamic Jihad, and the Aksa Martyrs Brigades is not splashed onto concrete walls in the Mawasi.

Kunan – who also happens also to be a captain in the defunct PA police force, he says – nominally belongs to Fatah. None of that matters in the end, he says, with the nodding approval of the others. Kunan's real mistress, he says, is a pay slip – wherever it comes from.

He waves away a question about maltreatment by Fatah members resentful over the Mawasi's collaboration with Israel. "If they give me $300-$400 per month, they can tell me anything they want. Otherwise they can go to hell."

Before he rises to leave, Kunan concludes dourly: "It does not matter, nobody thinks about us much. We are lost."

[yonif]

Tugging at one of the legs of his polyester trousers, Dr. Khadar Kunan, the stout pharmacist who runs one of two clinics in the destitute Mawasi marshlands of the Gaza Strip, declares: "Just as you cannot fit two legs into this pant leg, you cannot fit two states in this land."