Four Hours in Shatila

Author(s): Jean Genet

Source: Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 12, No. 3 (Spring, 1983), pp. 3-22
Published by: University of California Press on behalf of the Institute for Palestine Studies
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2536147 .
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Four Hours in Shatila

JEANGENET*
"Goyim
killgoyim,
andtheycometohangtheJews."
MenachemBegin
(Knesset,September1982)

canputintowordsthesix
no narrative
technique,
No one,nothing,
thefirstweeks,whichthefedayeen
andespecially
spentin the
months,
theevents,
and Ajlounin Jordan.As forrelating
mountains
ofJerash
andfailures
ofthePLO,thathas
thesuccesses
thechronology,
establishing
in theair,thecolorofthesky,ofthe
beendonebyothers.The feeling
the
ofthetrees,thesecanbe told;butneverthefaintintoxication,
earth,
thesparkle
intheeyes,the
theearth,
barely
touching
lightness
offootsteps
thefedayeen
butalsobetween
notonlybetween
ofrelationships
openness
wasaquiver,
leaders.
Underthetrees,
themandtheir
everyone
everything,
laughing,
filledwithwonderat thislife,so newforall, and in these
watchful,
reserved,
strangely
immovable,
vibrations
therewassomething
toeveryone.
EveryEverything
belonged
protected
likesomeonepraying.
And perhapsnot. In theend,smiling
and
one was alonein himself.
The area in Jordanwheretheyhad withdrawn
forpolitical
haggard.
fromtheSyrian
bordertoSalt,andwasboundedbythe
reasonsextended
Jerash
toIrbid.About60 kilometers
Riverandtheroadfrom
long
Jordan
*JeanGenetis a Frenchpoetand playwright.
He also wroteon thePalestiniansin theAutumn1973
issueof theJournal.

4 JOURNAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES

and 20 deep, thismountainousarea was coveredwithholm oaks, little

Jordanian
villagesand sparsecrops.Underthetreesand thecamouflaged
tentsthefedayeenhad setup combatunitsand emplacedlightand semiinplace,directedmainlyagainstpossibleJordanheavyarms.The artillery
ian operations,youngsoldierswould take care of theirweapons,disassemblethemto clean and greasethem,thenreassemblethemquickly.
and reassembling
theirweapons
Some managedthisfeatofdisassembling
blindfoldedso theycould do it at night.Betweeneach soldierand his
weapon a loving,magicalbond had developed.Since the fedayeenhad
leftadolescencebehind,therifle,as a weapon,wasthesignof
onlyrecently
distriumphantvirilityand gave assurance of being. Aggressiveness
appeared:teethshowedbehindthesmile.
theirleadersand
The restofthetime,thefedayeendranktea,criticized
therich,Palestinianand others,insultedIsrael,and above all theytalked
abouttherevolution,theone theywereinvolvedinand theone theywere
about to enterupon.
" whetherina headline,inthebodyof
Forme,theword"Palestinians,
an article,on a handout,immediately
calls to mindfedayeenin a specific
spot-Jordan-and atan easilydetermined
date:October,November,December1970,January,
February,
March,April197 1. Itwasthenandthere
thatI discoveredthePalestinianRevolution.The extraordinary
evidence
ofwhatwashappening,theintensity
ofthisjoy atbeingaliveis also called
beauty.
Ten yearswentby,and I heardnothingabout them,exceptthatthe
even
fedayeenwerein Lebanon.The Europeanpressspokeoff-handedly,
disdainfully,
about thePalestinianpeople. Then suddenly,West Beirut.
*

A photograph
has twodimensions,so does a televisionscreen;neither
can be walkedthrough.Fromone wallof thestreetto theother,bentor
arched,withtheirfeetpushingagainstone walland theirheads pressing
againsttheother,theblackandbloatedcorpsesthatI hadto stepoverwere
all Palestinianand Lebanese.For me,as forwhatremainedofthepopulation,walkingthroughShatilaand Sabra resembleda gameofhopscotch.
Sometimesa dead childblockedthestreets:theywereso small,so narrow,
and thedead so numerous.The smellis probablyfamiliarto old people; it
didn'tbotherme. Buttherewereso manyflies.IfI liftedthehandkerchief
or theArabnewspaperplacedovera head,I disturbedthem.Infuriated
by
myaction,theyswarmedontothebackofmyhandandtriedto feedthere.

SHATILA

The firstcorpseI saw wasthatofa manfifty

or sixtyyearsold. He would
havehad a shockofwhitehairifa wound(an axe blow,it seemedto me)
hadn'tsplithisskull.Partoftheblackenedbrainwas on theground,next
to thethehead.The wholebody was lyingin a pool ofblackand clotted
blood. The beltwas unbuckled,a singlebuttonheldthepants.The dead
man'sfeetand legswerebareand black,purpleand blue; perhapshe had
beentakenbysurpriseat nightor at dawn.Was he running
away?He was
to therightoftheentryto Shatilacamp
lyingin a littlealleyimmediately
whichis acrossfromtheKuwaitiEmbassy.Did theShatilamassacretake
place in hushedtonesor in totalsilence,iftheIsraelis,bothsoldiersand
claimto haveheardnothing,to havesuspectednothingwhereas
officers,
theyhad beenoccupyingthisbuildingsinceWednesdayafternoon?
A photograph
doesn'tshowthefliesnorthethickwhitesmellofdeath.
Neitherdoes itshowhow you mustjump overbodies as you walkalong
fromone corpse to the next. If you look closelyat a corpse, an odd
phenomenonoccurs:theabsenceof lifein thisbody correspondsto the
totalabsenceofthebody,or ratherto itscontinuousbackingaway.You
feelthatevenbycomingcloseryoucan nevertouchit. Thathappenswhen
Butshouldyou makea movein itsdirection,get
youlook at it carefully.
downnextto it, movean armor a finger,
suddenlyit is verymuchthere
and almostfriendly.
Love and death.These two wordsare quicklyassociatedwhenone of
themis written
down.I had to go to Shatilato understand
theobscenityof
love and theobscenityofdeath.In bothcases thebodyhas nothingmore
tohide:posit.ions,
contortions,
gestures,
signs,evensilencesbelongto one
worldandto theother.The bodyofa manofthirty
to thirty-five
waslying
facedown.As ifthewholebodywasnothing
buta bladderintheshapeofa
of
man,it had become so bloated in thesun and throughthechemistry
decompositionthatthepantswerestretchedtightas thoughtheywere
goingto burstopen at thebuttocksand thighs.The onlypartof theface
thatI could see was purpleand black. Slightlyabove theknee youcould
see a thighwoundunderthetornfabric.Cause ofthewound:a bayonet,a
Flieson thewoundand aroundit. His headwaslargerthan
knife,a dagger?
I askedhis name;he was a Muslim.
a watermelon-ablack watermelon.
"Who is it?"
"A Palestinian,"a man about fortyansweredin French."See what
they'vedone."
He pulledback theblanketcoveringthefeetand partofthelegs.The
calveswerebare,blackand swollen.Thefeet,inblackunlacedarmyboots,

6 JOURNAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES

and theanklesofbothfeetwereverytightly
boundtogether
bytheknotof
a strongrope-its strength
was obvious-about ninefeetlong,whichI
arrangedso thatMrs. S. (an American)could geta good pictureof it. I
asked themanof fortyifI could see theface.
"If you wantto, but look at it yourself."
"Would you helpme turnhis head?"
"No."
"Did theydraghimthroughthestreetswiththisrope?"
"I don'tknow,sir."
"Who tiedhimup?"
"I don'tknow,sir."
"Was it Haddad's men?"
"I don't know."
"The Israelis?"
"I don't know."
"The Kataeb?"
"I don't know."
"Did you knowhim?"
"Yes."
"Did you see himdie?"
"Yes."
"Who killedhim?"
"I don't know."
He hastilywalkedaway fromthe dead man and me. Fromafarhe
looked back at me and disappearedintoa side street.
WhichalleyshouldI takenow?I wasdrawnbymenfifty
yearsold, by
youngmenof twenty,
by twoold Arab women,and I feltas ifI werethe
centerof a compasswhosequadrantscontainedhundredsof dead.
I jot thisdown now, not knowingexactlywhyat thispoint in my
"The Frenchhavea habitofusingtheinsipidexpression'dirty
narrative:
work.'Well, just like theIsraeliarmyorderedtheKataebor theHaddadiststo do their'dirtywork,'theLabor Partyhad its'dirtywork'doneby
theLikud,Begin,Sharon,Shamir."I have just quoted R., a Palestinian
journalistwho was stillin Beiruton Sunday,September19.
In themiddle,nearthem,all thesetorturedvictims,mymindcan'tget
ridofthis"invisiblevision":whatwasthetorturer
like?Who washe?I see
himand I don'tsee him.He's as largeas lifeand theonlyshapehe willever
haveis theone formedbythestances,positions,andgrotesquegesturesof
thedead fermenting
in thesun underclouds of flies.

SHATILA

If the AmericanMarines,the Frenchparatroopers,and the Italian

forcein Lebanonleftso quickly
whomadeup an intervention
bersagliere
(theItalians,whoarrivedbyshiptwodayslate,fledinHerculesairplanes!)
hoursbeforetheirofficialdeparturedate,as ifthey
one dayor thirty-six
away,andon thedaybeforeBashirGemayel'sassassination,
wererunning
reallywrongin wonderingifAmericans,Frenchand
are thePalestinians
Italianshadnotbeenwarnedto clearoutprontoso as notto appearmixed
up in thebombingof theKataebheadquarters?
Theyleftveryquicklyand veryearly.Israelbragsand boastsaboutits
its battlepreparedness,its skill in turningcircumcombat efficiency,
Let's see; thePLO leaves
stancesto itsfavor,in creatingcircumstances.
naval
escort.Bashir,hidingas
ship,
with
a
on
a
Greek
in
triumph,
Beirut
of the threearmies
best he can, visitsBeginin Israel.The intervention
(American,French,Italian)comes to an end on Monday.On Tuesday,
Bashiris assassinated.Tsahal [Israel DefenseForces]entersWest Beirut
on Wednesdaymorning.As if theywerecomingfromthe port,Israeli
soldierswereadvancingon Beirutthemorningof Bashir'sfuneral.With
binoculars,fromtheeighthfloorofmyhouse I sawthemcomingin single
file:onecolumn.I wassurprisedthatnothingelsehappened,becausewith
a good riflewitha sighttheycould havebeen pickedoff.Theirbrutality
precededthem.
The tankscameafterthem.Then thejeeps.
march,theystoppednearthe
Tiredout by sucha longearly-morning
FrenchEmbassy,lettingthetanksgo on ahead of them,goingrightinto
footintervalsand
Hamra.The soldierssatdownon thesidewalkat thirty
ahead. With
leanedagainsttheembassywall,theirriflespointedstraight
with
stretched
outinfront
two
like
boas
legs
theirlongtorsostheylooked
of them.
Habib not to set
"Israel had promisedthe Americanrepresentative
footinWestBeirutandespeciallyto respectthecivilanpopulationsofthe
Palestiniancamps. Arafatstillhas the letterin whichReaganmade the
same promise.Habib supposedlypromisedArafatthatnine thousand
prisonersin Israelwouldbe freed.On Thursdaythemassacresin Shatila
and Sabrabegin.The 'bloodbath'thatIsraelclaimedit wouldpreventby
orderto thecamps. . ." a Lebanesewritertold me.
restoring
"It willbe veryeasy forIsrael to clear itselfof all the accusations.
ofall theEuropeanpressarealreadyat workclearingthem:no
Journalists
one willsaythaton thenightsfromThursdayto FridayandfromFridayto

8 JOURNAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES

SaturdayHebrewwas spokenin Shatila."Thatis whatanotherLebanese

told me.
The Palestinianwoman-for I couldn'tleave Shatilawithoutgoing
fromone corpseto anotherandthisjeudel'oie* wouldinevitably
endup at
thismiracle:Shatilaand Sabrarazedto thegroundandrealestatebattlesto
rebuildon thisveryflatcemetery-thePalestinianwomanwas probably
elderlybecauseherhairwasgray.She was stretched
out on herback,laid
or leftthereon the rubble,the bricks,the twistediron rods, without
comfort.AtfirstI wassurprisedbya strangebraidmadeofropeandcloth
whichwentfromone wristto the other,holdingthe two arms apart
horizontally,
as ifcrucified.
Herblackandswollenface,turnedtowardsthe
sky,revealedan open mouth,blackwithflies,and teeththatseemedvery
whiteto me,a facethatseemed,withoutmovinga muscle,eithertogrinor
smileor else to cryout in a silentand unbrokenscream.Her stockings
wereblackwool,andherpinkandgrayflowereddress,slightly
hikedup or
too short,I don't knowwhich,revealedthetops of swollenblackcalves,
again withthe delicate mauve tintsmatchedby a similarpurple and
mauveinthecheeks.Werethesebruisesor thenaturalresultofrotting
in
thesun?
"Did theystrikeherwiththebuttof therifle?"
"Look, sir,look at herhands."
I hadn'tnoticed.The fingers
ofthetwohandswerespreadoutand the
tenfingers
werecutas ifwithgardening
shears.Soldiers,laughing
likekids
andgailysinging,
had probablyhad fundiscovering
and usingtheseshears.
"Look, sir."
The endsofthefingers,
thetopjoints,withthenail,layinthedust.The
youngman,who was simplyand naturally
showingme how thedead had
been tortured,calmlyput a cloth back over the face and hands of the
Palestinian
woman,anda pieceofcorrugated
cardboardoverherlegs.All I
could distinguish
now was a heap of pinkand graycloth,hoveredover
by flies.
Threeyoungmenled me down an alley.
"Go in,sir,we'll waitforyou outside."
The firstroom was whatremainedof a two-story
house. The room
gavean impressionof serenityand even friendliness,
of nearhappiness;
perhapsrealhappinesshad beencreatedout ofothers'throwaways,
with
whatsurvivesfroma destroyedpiece of wall,withwhatI firstthought
gameof goose,similarto "snakesand ladders,"a gameof chanceusingdice-Ed.
*Literally,

SHATILA

werethreearmchairs,
actuallythreecar seats(perhapsa Mercedesfroma
junkyard),a couch withcushionscoveredwithgaudyfloweredmaterial
withstylizeddesigns,a smallsilentradio,two unlitcandelabras.A fairly
quiet room,in spiteof thecarpetof spentshells.The door swung,as if
therewerea draft.I walkedon thespentshellsand pushedthedoor,which
openedtowardstheotherroom,butI had to pushhard:theheelofa boot
blockedthe way,the heel of a corpse lyingon its back, neartwo other
corpsesof menlyingfacedown,all of themrestingon anothercarpetof
spentshells.I nearlyfellseveraltimesbecauseof them.
Atthebackoftheroomanotherdoor wasopen,withoutlockor/latch.
I steppedoverthebodiesas one crosseschasms.The roomcontainedthe
corpsesoffourmen,piledon top ofeach otheron a singlebed, as ifeach
one had takencare to protecttheone underhim,or as iftheyhad been
caughtin a decayingorgiasticcopulation.This pile of shieldssmelled
strongly,
butitdidn'tsmellbad. The smelland theflieshad,so itseemed,
gottenused to me. I no longerdisturbedanything
in theseruins,in this
quiet.
Duringthe nightfromThursdayto Friday,and duringthose from
Fridayto Saturdayand Saturdayto Sundayno one had keptvigilwith
them,I thought.
Yet,itseemedto me thatsomeonehad visitedthesedead menbefore
farfrom
meandaftertheirdeath.The threeyoungmenwerewaitingfairly
overtheirnoses.
thehouse withhandkerchiefs
Itwasthen,as I wascomingoutofthehouse,thatI hada suddenattack
thatthere
ofslightmadnessthatmademealmostsmile.I thoughtto myself
to makethecoffins.Butthen
wouldneverbe enoughboardsor carpenters
The dead menand womenwereall Muslims,
whywouldtheyneedcoffins?
whoaresewnintoshrouds.How manyyardswouldittaketo enshroudso
Whatwasmissinghere,I realized,
manycorpses?Andhow manyprayers?
of prayers.
was therhythm
"Come, sir,come quickly."
Itis timeto notethatthissuddenand quitemomentary
madnesswhich
mademe countyardsof whiteclothgavean almostbrisklivelinessto my
step,and thatit mayhave been caused by a remarkI hearda Palestinian
womanfriend
maketheday before.
"I was waitingforthemto bringme mykeys(whichkeys:to hercar,
herhouse,all I knownowis thewordkeys)whenan old manwentrunning
by. 'Where are you going?''To get help. I'm the gravedigger.
They've

10 JOURNAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES

All thebones are uncovered.I needhelpgathering

bombedthecemetery.
thebones'."
This friendis a Christian,I think.She continued:
"When the vacuumbomb, a so-calledimplosionbomb, killedtwo
people,wehad onlyone box. The menduga massgrave
hundredand fifty
We filledthebox,and wentto empty
in theOrthodoxChurchcemetery.
it. We back and forthunderthebombs,diggingout bodies and limbsas
bestwe could."
Over thelastthreemonths,handshavehad a double function:during
cuts made this
the day to graspand touch,at night,to see. Electricity
as itdid theclimbing,
twoor threetimes
"(schoolfortheblind" necessary,
stairway.We had to fillall
a day,ofthatwhitemarblecliff,theeight-floor
thecontainersinthehousewithwater.The telephonewascutoffwhenthe
IsraelisoldiersenteredWest BeirutalongwiththeirHebrewinscriptions.
So weretheroadsaroundBeirut.TheMerkavatankswhichneverstopped
showedtheywerekeepingan eyeon thewholecity,and at thesametime
one imaginedthoseinsidescaredtheywouldbecomea fixedtarget.They
no doubt fearedthe activityof the Murabitoun*and the fedayeenwho
mightremainin sectionsof West Beirut.
The dayaftertheentranceoftheIsraeliarmywe wereprisoners,butit
seemedto methattheinvaderswerelessfearedthandespised,theycaused
less fearthandisgust.No soldierwas laughingor smiling.No one was
throwing
riceor flowers.
Sincetheroadshadbeencutoffand thetelephonewassilent,deprived
of contactwiththe restof the world,forthefirsttimein mylife,I felt
myselfbecomePalestinianand hateIsrael.
whichwas
AttheSportsStadium,neartheBeirut-Damascus
highway,
the
aerial
bombardment, Lebanese
destroyed
by
alreadynearlycompletely
damaged,to Israeli
deliverpiles of weapons,all supposedlyvoluntarily
officers.
whereI am staying,
everyonehasa radio.We listento
In theapartment
(in
Radio-Amman,
Radio-Jerusalem
Radio-Murabitoun,
Radio-Kataeb,
French),Radio-Lebanon.Theyareprobablydoingthesamethinginevery
apartment.
"We are linkedto Israel by manycurrentswhichbringus bombs,
tanks,soldiers,fruit,vegetables;theycarryoffour soldiers,our children
to Palestine,in a continualand unceasingcomingand going,because
LebaneseNationalMovement-Ed.
*A Nasseritegroupin thepro-Palestinian

SHATILA

II

accordingto them,we have been linkedto themsince Abraham,in his

lineage,in his language,in thesame origins.. ." (A Palestinianfedai).
"In short,"he adds, "theyinvadeus, theystuffus, suffocateus and
wouldliketohugus. Theysaytheyareourcousins.They'reverysad to see
us turn away from them. They must be furiouswith us and with
themselves."
*

The statement
thatthereis a beautypeculiarto revolutionaries
raises
manyproblems.Everyoneknows,everyonesuspects,thatyoungchildren
or adolescentslivingin old and harshsurroundings
havea beautyofface,
body,movementandgazesimilarto thatofthefedayeen.Perhapsthismay
be explainedin thefollowingway:breakingwiththeancientways,a new
freedompushesthroughthedead skin,and fathersand grandfathers
will
havea hardtimeextinguishing
thegleamin theeyes,thethrobbing
in the
temples,thejoy of blood flowingthroughtheveins.
In the springof 1971, in the Palestinianbases, thatbeautysubtly
pervadeda forestmadealivebythefreedomofthefedayeen.In thecamps
more muted beautyprevailedbecause of the presenceof
a different,
womenand children.The campsreceiveda sortoflightfromthecombat
bases,and as forthewomen,it wouldtakea longand complexdiscussion
toexplaintheirradiance.Evenmorethanthemen,morethanthefedayeen
in combat,the Palestinianwomenseemedstrongenoughto sustainthe
and acceptthechangesthatcamealongwitha revolution.They
resistance
had alreadydisobeyedthecustoms:theylooked themenstraight
in the
eye,theyrefusedto weara veil,theirhairwasvisible,sometimes
completely uncovered,theirvoices steady.The briefestand mostprosaicof their
taskswas buta smallstepin theself-assured
journeytowardsa new,and
thereforeunknown,order,but whichgave thema hintof a cleansing
liberationforthemselves,and a glowingprideforthe men. They were
readytobecomeboththewivesand themothersofheroes,as theyalready
werefortheirmen.
In thewoods of Ajloun,thefedayeenwereperhapsdreamingof girls
thoughit seems,rather,thateach one conjuredup or shapeda girllying
the strength-withtheir
againsthim,hence the particulargracefulness,
amusedlaughter-ofthearmedfedayeen.We werenotonlyatthedawnof
butina sensuallimbo.A cystallizing
frostgavea gentleness
pre-revolution
to everyaction.

12 JOURNAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES

Constantly,and everyday for a month,alwaysin Ajloun, I saw a

skinny
butstrongwomancrouchinginthecold,crouchingliketheAndean
IndiansorcertainBlackAfricans,
theuntouchables
ofTokyo,theTziganes
atmarket,
readyto takeoffsuddenlyincase ofdanger,undertreesinfront
of theguardhouse,a small,hastilyerectedpermanentstructure.
She was
waitingbarefootin herblackdresstrimmedwithbraidat thehemand on
theedgeofthesleeves.Herfacewasseriousbutnotill-tempered,
tiredbut
not weary.The commandoleaderwould preparea nearlyemptyroom,
thenhe wouldsignalher.She wouldentertheroom,closingthedoor,but
notlockingit. Then she would come out,withouta wordor a smile,and
barefootandveryerect,wouldreturntoJerash
and to Baq'a camp.I found
outthatintheroomreservedforherintheguardhousesheusedto takeoff
her two black skirts,removethe envelopesand the letterssewninside,
bundlethemtogetherand knock once on thedoor. Turningthe letters
overto theleadershe wouldgo out and leavewithoutsayinga word.She
wouldcome back thenextday.
Other older women would laughbecause fora home theyhad only
threeblackenedstoneswhich,at JebelHussein(Amman),theygleefully
referred
to as "our house." Theyshowedme thethreestones,and sometimestheglowingcoals, withsuch childlikevoices,laughingand saying:
"darna." These old womenbelongedneitherto therevolutionnorto the
Palestinianresistance:theyweremirthwhichhas lost all hope. The sun
above themcontinueditsjourney.An armor an extendedfingercreated
thinshadow.Butwhatland?Jordan,throughan adminisan increasingly
trativeand politicalfictioncreatedby France,England,Turkey,America...... "Mirthwhichhas lostall hope," mostjoyfulbecauseitis themost
desperate.They stillsaw a Palestinewhichno longerexistedwhenthey
weresixteen,butfinallytheyhad a land.Theywereneitherundernoron
top ofit,butin a disturbing
space whereanymovementwasa wrongone.
Under the bare feetof theseoctogenarianand supremelyeleganttragedienneswas the earthsolid? It was less and less true.Afterhavingfled
Hebron underIsraelithreatsthe earthhereseemedsolid,everyonewas
and movedsensuouslyin theArabiclanguage.As timewent
lighthearted
bytheearthseemedto experiencethis:thePalestinianswerelessand less
bearableatthesametimeas thesesamePalestinians,
thesepeasant-farmers,
thepleasureofideasdealt
werediscovering
movement,
walking,running,
out nearlyeveryday like playingcards,the weapons assembled,disassembledand used. Each ofthewomenspeaksin turn.Theyare laughing.
One of themis reportedto have said:

SHATILA

13

"Heroes! Whata joke! I gavebirthto and spankedfiveor six of them

who are in thejebel.I wipedtheirbottoms.I knowwhatthey'remadeof,
and I can makesome more."
In the ever-bluesky the sun has continuedits journey,but it is still
warm.These tragediennes
rememberand imagineat the same time.To
emphasizewhattheysaytheypointtheirfinger
at theendofa sentenceand
stresstheemphaticconsonants.Should a Jordanian
soldierhappenbyhe
would be delighted:in therhythm
of thesentenceshe would rediscover
therhythm
of Bedouindances.Withoutthesentences,an Israelisoldier,
shouldhe see thesegoddesses,wouldemptyhisautomaticrifleintotheir
skulls.
*

Here in the ruinsof Shatila thereis nothingleft.A few silentold

womenhastilyhidingbehinda door wherea whiteclothis nailed.As for
theveryyoungfedayeen,I willmeetsome in Damascus.
You can selecta particularcommunity
otherthanthatof yourbirth,
whereasyouarebornintoa people; thisselectionis based on an irrational
whichis notto saythatjusticehas no role,butthisjusticeand the
affinity,
entiredefenseof thiscommunitytakeplace because of an emotionalperhapsintuitive,sensual-attraction;I am French,but I defendthe
Palestinianswholeheartedly
and automatically.
Theyare in therightbecause I love them.ButwouldI love themifinjusticehad notturnedthem
intoa wandering
people?
Almostall thebuildingsin Beiruthavebeen hit,in whattheystillcall
West Beirut.They crumblein different
ways:like puffpastrysqueezed
betweenthefingersof some indifferent
and voraciousgiantKingKong;
othertimesthetopthreeor fourfloorsleandeliciouslyinan elegantpleat,
givinga sortofLebanesedrapingto thebuilding.Ifone facadeis intact,go
aroundthehouse;theotherwallswillbe shell-pocked.Ifthefourwallsare
standingwithno cracks,the bomb dropped by the airplanefellin the
centerandmadea holeoutofwhatwasthestaircaseandtheelevatorshaft.
In WestBeirut,aftertheIsraelisarrived,S. toldme:"Nighthad fallen;
it musthavebeen seveno'clock. All of a suddentherewas a loud clank,
and I ranouton the
clank,clank.Everybody,
mysister,mybrother-in-law
And
The
was
dark.
in
a whiletherewas
once
balcony.
night
very
every
likelightning
less thana hundredyardsaway.You knowthat
something
almostacrossfromus thereis a kindofIsraelicommandpost:fourtanks,a
and guards.Night.And theclanking
house occupiedby soldiers,officers

14 JOURNAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES

noise is getting
closer.The lightning;
a fewlittorches.And fortyor fifty
kids about twelveor thirteenyearsold beatingrhythmically
on little
jerrycans,eitherwithrocksor hammersor somethingelse. They were
screaming,
chanting:La ilahilla Allah,la Kataebwa la yahoud(Thereis no
God but Allah;no to theKataeb;no to theJews.)"
H. said to me: "When you came to Beirutand Damascus in 1928
Damascuswasdestroyed.GeneralGouraudandhistroops,Moroccanand
Tunisianinfantry,
had been shootingand cleanedout Damascus.Whom
did theSyrianpeople accuse?"
Me: "The SyriansblamedFranceforthemassacresandthedestruction
in Damascus."
He: "We blame Israelforthemassacresin Shatilaand Sabra. Don't
onlyblametheKataebwho replacedthem.Israelis guiltyofallowingtwo
companiesof Kataeb to enterthe camps,of givingthemordersand of
themfood and
encouragingthemforthreedaysand nights,of bringing
thecampsat night."
drink,of lighting
H. again,professorofhistory:"In 1917 Abraham'strickwasbrought
up to date,or ifyou prefer,God was alreadytheprefiguration
of Lord
Balfour.The Jewsused to say and still say that God had promised
Abrahamand his descendentsa land of milkand honey.But thisland,
whichdidn'tbelongto theGod oftheJews(thislandwasfullofgods),this
land was inhabitedby theCanaanites,who had theirown gods,and who
foughtagainstJoshua'stroopsandendedup stealingthefamousArkofthe
Covenant,withoutwhichtheJewswouldneverhavewon. And England,
in 1917, didn'tyetruleoverPalestine(thatlandofmilkand honey)since
thetreatygivingit a mandatehad not yetbeen signed."
"Beginclaimsthathe came to thecountry...."
"That's thenameofa movie:TheLongAbsence.Does thatPole strike
you as theheirto Solomon?"
In thecamps,aftertwentyyearsofexile,therefugees
dreamedoftheir
Palestine,and no one dared to thinkor say thatIsraelhad destroyedit
fromtoptobottom,thatwherethebarleyfieldhadbeentherewasa bank,
and a powerstationwherea climbingvinehad grown.
"Shall we replacethegateto thefield?"
"We'll have to rebuildpartof thewall nextto thefigtree."
"All thepans mustbe rusted:buyan emery-cloth."
to thebarn."
"Maybe we shouldhook up electricity
"Oh no, no more hand-embroidered
dresses: you can get me one
machineforsewingand one forembroidering."

SHATILA

15

The old people ofthecampswerewretched;theymayalso havebeen

so in Palestinebuttherenostalgiaplayeda magicalrole.Theymayremain
prisonersofthecamp'sunhappyspell.Itis notcertainthatthisPalestinan
groupwillleavethecampswithregret.In thissense,extremedestitution
makesyou yearnforthepast. The man who has knownthis,alongwith
has knowna joy whichis extreme,solitaryand impossibleto
bitterness
TheJordanian
communicate.
campsperchedon therockyslopesarebare,
butaroundthemthereis a moredesolatebarrenness:shanties,tentswith
holes in theminhabitedby familieswhose pride glows. Anyonewho
deniesthatmencan becomefondand proudoftheirobviousdestitution
understands
nothingof thehumanheart;theycan be proudbecause this
obviousdestitution
veilsa hiddenglory.
The solitude of the dead in Shatila camp was even more palpable
and poseswhichtheyhad notplanned.Dead any
becausetheyhadgestures
old how. Dead and abandoned. Yet around us, in the camp, all the
the tendernessand love floatedin searchof Palestinianswho
affection,
would neveranswer.
"What can we sayto theirfamilieswholeftwithArafat,trusting
inthe
promisesofReagan,Mitterrand
and Perini,whohad assuredthemthatthe
civilianpopulationof thecampswould be safe?How can we explainthat
we allowedchildren,old people and womento be massacred,and thatwe
are abandoningtheirbodies withoutprayers?
How can we tellthemthat
we don't knowwheretheyare buried?"
The massacresdid nottakeplace in silenceand darkness.LitbyIsraeli
flares,theIsraeliswerelisteningto Shatilaas earlyas Thursdayevening.
whatfeasting
Whatpartying,
wenton thereas deathseemedto takepartin
thepranksof soldiersdrunkon wine,on hatred,and probablydrunkon
thejoy ofentertaining
theIsraeliarmywhichwaslistening,
looking,giving
and
encouragement,
eggingthemon. I didn'tsee thisIsraeliarmylistening
watching.I saw whatit did.
To theargument:
Whatdid Israelgainbyassassinating
Bashir:entering
orderand preventing
thebloodbath.
Beirut,reestablishing
WhatdidIsraelgainintheShatilamassacre?
Answer:whatdiditgainby
Lebanon?Whatdid itgainbybombingthecivilianpopulationfor
entering
two months;by huntingdown and destroying
Palestinians?
What did it
wantto gainin Shatila:thedestruction
of Palestinians.
Itkillsmen,itkillscorpses.ItrazesShatila.Itis notuninterested
inthe
realestatespeculationon theimprovedland: it's worthfivemillionold
francspersquareyardstillinruins.But"cleanedup" itwillbe worth.... ?

16 JOURNAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES

I amwriting
thisin Beirutwhere,perhapsbecausedeathis so close,still
lyingon theground,everything
is truerthaninFrance:everything
seemsto
be happeningas if,wearyand tiredofbeingan example,ofbeinguntouchable, of takingadvantageof whatit believesit has become-the vengeful
saint of the Inquisition-Israel had decided to allow itself to be
judgedcoldly.
it is now whatit
Thanksto a skillfulbut predictablemetamorphosis,
haslongbeenbecoming:a loathsome,temporalpower,colonialistina way
whichfewdare to imitate,havingbecome theDefinitiveJudgewhichit
curseas muchas to itschosenstatus.
owes to itslongstanding
Manyquestionsremain.
IftheIsraelismerelylitup thecamp,listenedto it, heardtheshotsfired
by so manyguns,whose spentshellsI kickedunderfoot(tens of thouThe
Who wasriskingtheirskinbykilling?
sands),whowasactuallyfiring?
The Haddadists?Who? And how many?
Phalangists?
Whathappenedto theweaponsresponsibleforall thesecorpses?And
In thepartof
whatabouttheweaponsofthosewhodefendedthemselves?
thecamp whichI visited,I saw onlytwo unusedanti-tank
weapons.
How did theassassinsgetintothecamps?Were theIsraelisat all the
exitsto Shatila?In anycase, on Thursdaytheywerealreadyat theAkka
Hospital,acrossfromone camp entrance.
Accordingto thenewspapers,theIsraelisenteredShatilacampas soon
as theyknewabout themassacres,and theystoppedthemimmediately,
thatis,on Saturday.Butwhatdid theydo withtheslayersand wherehave
theygone?
Aftertheassassinationof BashirGemayeland twentyof his friends,
afterthemassacres,Mrs. B., a memberof theBeirutupperclass,cameto
see me whenshe foundout I was comingback fromShatila.She climbed
I suppose she is elderly,
theeightfloorsof thebuilding-no electricity;
elegantbut elderly.
"BeforeBashir'sdeath,beforethemassacres,youwererightto tellme
thattheworstwas about to happen.I saw it."
"Please don't tellme whatyou saw in Shatila.I am too highlystrung,
and I mustkeep mystrength
to facetheworstwhichis stillto come."
She livesalone withherhusband(seventyyearsold) and hermaidina
largeapartmentin Ras Beirut.She is veryelegant.Very refined.Her
furniture
is antique,Louis XVI, I think.
"We knewthatBashirhad goneto Israel.He was wrong.An elected
head of stateshould not associatewithpeople like that.I was surethat

SHATILA

17

awfulwouldhappento him.ButI don'twanttohearaboutit.I

something
have to save mystrength
to withstandtheterribleblows thatare yetto
come.BashirwasgoingtogivebackthatletterinwhichMr.Begincallshim
mydearfriend."
The upperclass,withitssilentservants,has itsown wayof resisting.
Mrs.B. and herhusband"don't quitebelievein metempsychosis."
What
willhappeniftheyare rebornas Israelis?
The dayof Bashir'sburialis also thedaytheIsraeliarmyentersWest
Beirut.The explosionsgetcloser to the buildingwherewe are; finally
everyonegoesto theshelterinthebasement.Ambassadors,doctors,their
to Lebanon,theirservants.
wivesand daughters,
a UN representative
"Carlos,bringme a pillow."
"Carlos,myglasses."
"Carlos,a littlewater."
The servants,
too,areacceptedintheshelteras theyalso speakFrench.
Itmaybe necessarytolook afterthem,theirwounds,theirtransport
tothe
whata predicament!
hospitalor thecemetery,
You haveto knowthatthePalestiniancampsofShatilaand Sabra are
madeup ofmilesand milesofnarrowlittlealleys-forhere,eventhealleys
are so skinny,so thread-likethatsometimestwo people cannot walk
unlessone walkssideways-strewnwithrubbish,cementblocks,
together
bricks,dirtymulti-colored
rags,and thatat night,underthelightof the
or twentyeven well-armed
Israeliflareswhichlit up thecamps,fifteen
to
out
thisslaughter.The killers
fighters
would have been unable carry
workedand theywerenumerous,and probablyaccompaniedby torture
squads who splitskulls,slashedthighs,cut offarms,handsand fingers,
anddraggedthedyingat theend ofa rope,menand womenwhowerestill
alivesinceblood had flowedfromthebodiesfora longtime,so muchthat
I wasunabletodetermine
who,inthehallofa house,hadleftthistrickleof
driedblood, fromtheend of thehall wheretherewas a pool as faras the
doorstepwhereit disappearedintothedust.Was it a Palestinianman?A
woman?A Phalangist
whosebodyhad been removed?
FromParis,one canentertain
doubtsaboutthewholething,especially
ifone knowsnothingabout thelayoutofthecamps.One can allowIsrael
to claimthatthejournalistsfromJerusalemwerethefirstto reportthe
massacre.How did theyphraseit fortheArab countriesand in Arabic?
And how in Englishand French?And exactlywhen?Justthinkabout the
a suspiciousdeath in the West, fingerprints,
precautionssurrounding
and counter-testimonies!
In Beiballisticsreports,autopsies,testimonies

18 JOURNAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES

rut,scarcelyhad the massacrebecome knownthanthe Lebanesearmy

tookchargeofthecampsandimmediately
officially
eradicatedtheruinsof
the houses and the remainsof the bodies. Who ordered this haste?
Especiallyafterthisstatementhad sweptthe worldthatChristiansand
Muslimshad killedeach other,and evenaftercamerashad recordedthe
of theslayings.
brutality
Akka Hospital,occupiedby theIsraelis,and acrossfroman entrance
to Shatila,is nottwohundredyardsfromthecamp,butforty.Theysaw
nothing,heardnothing,understoodnothing?
Because that'sjust whatBegindeclaredto the Knesset:"Goyim kill
go-im,and theycome to hangtheJews."
I mustconclude mydescriptionof Shatila,whichwas brieflyinterrupted.HerearethebodiesI sawlast,on Sunday,abouttwoo'clock inthe
whentheInternational
Red Crosscame in withitsbulldozers.
afternoon,
The stenchof deathwas comingneitherfroma house nor a victim:my
body,mybeing,seemedto emitit. In a narrowstreet,in theshadowofa
wall, I thoughtI saw a black boxer sittingon the ground,laughing,
surprisedto havebeenknockedout. No one had had thehearttoclose his
eyelids,hiseyesas whiteas porcelainand bulgingout,werelookingatme.
He seemedcrestfallen,
withhisarmraised,leaningaginstthisangleofthe
wall. He was a Palestinianwho had been dead two or threedays. If I
mistookhimatfirstfora blackboxeritis becausehisheadwasenormous,
swollenand black,likeall theheadsand all thebodies,whetherinthesun
or intheshadowofthehouses.I walkednearhisfeet.I pickedup an upper
dentalplatein thedustand setit on whatremainedofthewindowledge.
The palmofhishandopen towardsthesky,his open mouth,theopening
in hispantswherethebeltwas missing:all hiveswhereflieswerefeeding.
I steppedoverone corpse,thenanother.Thereinthedust,inthespace
betweenthetwobodies,therewas at lasta verylivingobject,intactin the
carnage,a translucent
pinkobject whichcould stillbe used: an artificial
in
leg,apparently plastic,and wearinga blackshoe and a graysock. As I
looked closer,it becameclearthatit had been brutallywrenchedoffthe
amputatedleg,becausethestrapsthatusuallyhelditto thethighwereall
broken.
Thisartificial
legbelongedto thesecondbody,theone on whichI had
noticedonlyone legwitha footwearinga blackshoe and a graysock.
In the streetperpendicular
to the one whereI leftthe threebodies,
therewasanother.Itwasnotcompletelyblockingtheway,butitwaslying
at theentranceofthestreetso thatI had to walkbyitand turnaroundto

SHATILA

19

see thesight:seatedon a chair,surroundedbyfairlyyoungand silentmen

and women,a woman-in Arabdress-was sobbing;shecould havebeen
sixteenor sixty.She was cryingover her brotherwhose body almost
blockedtheway.I camecloserto her.I looked morecarefully.
She had a
scarftiedaroundher neck. She was crying,mourningthe deathof her
brothernexttoher.Herfacewaspink,a babypink,thesamecolorall over,
verysoft,tender,butwithouteyelashesor eyebrows,and whatI thought
was pinkwas not thetop layerof skinbut an underlayeredgedin gray
skin.Herwholefacewasburned.I don'tknowbywhat,butI understood
by whom.
Withthefirstbodies, I triedto countthem.When I gotto twelveor
fifteen,
surroundedbythesmell,thesun,stumbling
overeach ruin,itwas
impossible;everything
becameconfused.
I haveseen lotsofcrumbling
buildingsand guttedhousesspillingout
eiderdownand havenotbeenmoved,butwhenI lookedat thosein West
Beirutand ShatilaI saw fear.The dead generallybecome veryfamiliar,
evenfriendly
to me,butwhenI sawthoseinthecampsI perceivedonlythe
hatredand joy ofthosewho had killedthem.A barbaricpartyhad taken
placethere:rage,drunkenness,
dances,songs,curses,laments,moans,in
honorofthevoyeurswhowerelaughingon thetopfloorofAkkaHospital.
In France,beforetheAlgerianwar,theArabsweren'tbeautiful,their
gaitwas awkward,shuffling,
theyhad uglymugs,and almostsuddenly
victorymadethembeautiful;buta littlebeforevictorywasassured,while
morethanhalfa millionFrenchsoldierswerestraining
and dyingin the
Auresand throughout
Algeria,a curiousthinghappenedto thefacesand
bodies of theArab workers:somethingliketheintimation,
thehintof a
stillfragilebeautywhichwas goingto blindus whenthescalesfinallyfell
fromtheirskin and our eyes. We had to admit it: theyhad achieved
politicalfreedomin orderto be seen as theywere:verybeautiful.In the
same way, once theyhad escaped fromthe refugeecamps, fromthe
and theorderofthecamps,froma morality
morality
imposedbytheneed
to survive,once theyhad at the same timeescaped fromshame,the
fedayeenwereverybeautiful;and sincethisbeautywas new,shallwe say
pristine,naive, it was fresh,so alive that it discoveredat once what
connected it to all the beauties of the world, freeingthemselves
fromshame.
Lots of Algerianpimps walkingthroughPigalleat nightused their
charmsintheserviceoftheAlgerianrevolution.Virtuewasalso there.Itis
HannahArendt,I believe,whodistinguishes
betweenrevolutions
accord-

20 JOURNAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES

ing to whethertheyaspire to freedomor virtue-and therefore

work.
Perhapswe should also recognizethatrevolutionsor liberationsaimobscurely-at discoveringor rediscovering
beauty,thatis theintangible,
unnamableexceptbythisword.Butno, on theotherhand:letus meanby
insolencegoadedbypastunhappiness,
andmen
beautya laughing
systems
responsibleforunhappinessand shame,above all a laughinginsolence
whichrealizesthat,freedof shame,growthis easy.
But on thispage we should also addressthefollowingquestion:is a
a revolutionwhenithas notremovedfromfacesandbodiesthe
revolution
dead skinthatmadethemugly?I am notspeakingaboutacademicbeauty,
but about theintangible-unnamable-joyof bodies,faces,cries,words
whichareno longercheerless,I meana sensualjoy so strongthatit chases
awayall eroticism.
*

Here I am againin Ajloun, in Jordan,thenin Irbid.I removewhatI

believeis one ofmywhitehairsfrommysweaterand putit on thekneeof
Hamza,sittingnearme. He takesitbetweenhisthumband middlefinger,
looks at it, smiles,puts it in the pocket of his black jacket,and pats it
saying:
"A hairfromtheProphet'sbeatd is worthless thanthat."
He takesa slightly
deeperbreathand startsover:
"A hairfromtheProphet'sbeardis not worthmorethanthat."
He was only twenty-two
yearsold, his thoughtsleaped easilyhigh
above the Palestinianswho wereforty,but he was alreadybearingthe
signs-on himself,on his body,in his actions-which linkedhimto the
olderones.
In theold daysfarmers
used to blow theirnosesin theirfingers.
Then
theyflippedthe snot into the thorns.They wiped theirnoses on their
corduroysleeves,whichat theend ofa monthwerecoveredwitha pearly
luster.So did thefedayeen.Theyblewtheirnosesthesamewaynoblemen
and churchmentook snuff:slightlystooped over. I did the same thing,
whichtheytaughtme withoutrealizing.
And thewomen?Nightand day theyembroideredthesevendresses
(one foreach day of the week) of theengagement
trousseaugivenby a
generallyolder husbandchosen by the family,painfulawakening.The
Palestiniangirlsbecame verybeautifulwhentheyrevoltedagainsttheir
fathersand broke theirneedlesand embroideryscissors.It was on the
mountains
ofAjloun,Saltand Irbid,intheforeststhemselves
thatsensual-

SHATILA

21

ityhad come down,freedby therevolutionand byguns,let'snot forget

theguns.Thatwasenough,everyonewas happy.Withoutrealizing
it, the
fedayeen-isit true?-wereperfecting
a newbeauty:thelivelinessoftheir
actionsandtheirobviousfatigue,
thequicknessandbrightness
oftheireyes,
theclearertoneofvoiceharmonized
withtheswiftness
and brevity
ofthe
reply.Withitsprecisiontoo. Theyhad done awaywithlongsentences,
learnedand glibrhetoric.
fortheirrotting
ManydiedinShatila,and myfriendship,
myaffection
corpses was also immense,because I had known them. Blackened,
swollen,decayedby thesun and by death,theywerestillfedayeen.
Aroundtwo o'clock in theafternoonon Sundaythreesoldiersfrom
theLebanesearmydroveme,at gunpoint,to a jeep wherean officerwas
dozing.I askedhim:
"Do you speakFrench?"
" English.
"
The voicewas dry,maybebecause I had awakenedit witha start.He
lookedat mypassport,and said to me,in French:
"Have youjustbeen there?"He pointedto Shatila.
"Yes."
" And did you see?"
"Yes."
"Are yougoingto writeabout it?"
"Yes."
He gavemebackmypassport.He signaledmeto leave.The threerifles
were lowered.I had spent four hours in Shatila. About fortybodies
remainedi6 mymemory.Allofthem-and I meanall-had beentortured,
thesmellof
probablyagainsta backdropofdrunkenness,
song,laughter,
gunpowderand alreadyof decayingflesh.
I was probablyalone, I mean the only European (with a few old
Palestinianwomenstillclingingto a tornwhitecloth;witha fewyoung
unarmedfedayeen),but if thesefiveor six humanbeingshad not been
thereand I haddiscoveredthisbutcheredcity,blackand swollenPalestinians lyingthere,I would have gone crazy.Or did I? That citylyingin
whichI saw or thoughtI saw, whichI walkedthrough,felt,
smithereens
and whosedeathstenchI wore,had all thattakenplace?I had explored,
and poorlyat that,onlya twentieth
of Shatilaand Sabra,nothingof Bir
Hassan,nothingof Bourjal-Barajneh.

22 JOURNAL OF PALESTINE STUDIES

It's not because of my leaningsthatI lived throughthe Jordanian

periodas ifit werea fairytale.Europeansand NorthAfricanArabshave
told me about thespellthatkeptthemthere.As I livedthroughthislong
spanofsixmonths,barelycoloredbynightfortwelveor thirteen
hours,I
ofwhatwas happening,theexceptionalquality
discoveredtheethereality
of thefedayeen,but I had a premonitionofthefragility
ofthestructure.
inJordanwherethePalestinianarmyhadassembled,nearthe
Everywhere
JordanRiver,therewerecheckpointswherethefedayeenwereso sureof
theirrightsand theirmightthatthearrivalofa visitor,bynightor byday,
at one ofthecheckpointswasa pretextfortea,fortalkmixedwithbursts
oflaughterand brotherly
kisses(theone theyembracedwouldbe leaving
thatnight,crosstheJordanRiverto plantbombs in Palestineand often
wouldnotreturn).The onlyislandsofsilenceweretheJordanian
villages;
theykept theirmouthsshut. All the fedayeenseemed to be walking
slightly
above theground,liketheeffectof a verylightglassof wineor a
dragon a littlehashish.What was it?Youth,obliviousofdeathand with
Czechand Chineseweaponsto fireintotheair.Protectedbyweaponsthat
talkedso big,thefedayeenweren'tafraidof anything.
Anyreaderwhohas seena mapofPalestineandJordanknowsthatthe
landis notlikea sheetofpaper.AlongtheJordanRiverthelandis inhigh
relief.This whole escapade should have been subtitledA Midsummer
betweentheforty-year-old
Night'sDreamin spiteoftheflare-ups
leaders.
All thatwaspossiblebecauseofyouth,thejoy ofbeingunderthetrees,of
playingwithweapons,of beingaway fromwomen,in otherwords,of
and themost
conjuringawaya difficult
problem,of beingthebrightest
forwardpointoftherevolution,ofhavingtheapprovalofthepopulation
ofthecamps,orbeingphotogenicno matterwhat,andperhapsofforeseeingthatthisrevolutionary
fairytalemightsoon be defiled:thefedayeen
didn'twantpower;theyhad freedom.
At the Damascus airporton my way back fromBeirutI met some
youngfedayeenwho had escapedfromtheIsraelihell.Theyweresixteen
or seventeen.Theywerelaughing;theywereliketheones in Ajloun.They
willdie likethem.The struggle
fora countrycan filla veryrichlife,buta
shortone. Thatwas thechoice,as we recall,of Achillesin theIliad.
Translated
byDaniel R. Dup&her
and MarthaPerrigaud