Bourj
el-Barajneh: Searching For Meaning In A Refugee Camp
16 August 2010By Ramzy Baroud
Two young girls stood, as if frozen, starting below
them at an ever vibrant Beirut. Their balcony, like
the rest of their house and most of their refugee camp
was of an indistinct color. It was dirty, as were
their clothes. They, on the other hand, looked
beautiful and bright, although their future didn’t.
Here in Bourj el-Barajneh, one of a dozen Palestinian
refugee camps in Lebanon, time seems to have stood
still for years. Generation after generation, children
grow up in the same desperate reality, punished for
crimes they did not commit, injured by a history not
of their making. They stand on dirty balconies,
cracked beyond repair, watching Beirut and the world
go by.
The city is abuzz with life, politics, rumors,
anticipation and intrigue. It remains perpetually
divided between many worlds and contradictions, in a
way that seems almost impossible to reconcile or
bridge.
Bourj el-Barajneh has grown into a ‘municipality’
since its original inception as a ‘temporary’
accommodation for the Palestinian refugees who were
expelled from their homes and land in Palestine
between 1947 and 1948. The Palestinian physical share
of the camp has largely remained the same, although
the numbers have significantly grown. Influxes of Shia,
Sunni, and more recently Iraqis have moved in and
around the vicinity of the camp. Little was put in
place to accommodate the natural growth, or to
regulate the latter population influxes. Some
self-servingly argued that allowing Palestinian
refugees to improve their conditions would disconnect
them from their homeland and sense of belonging.
Therefore, suffer they must, with little work
opportunity, no civil rights, and no cement or
building material to repair their pitiful existence.
A state of arrested development has defined this
particular refugee camp and Lebanon’s relationship
with refugees. Those opposed to the refugee presence
fear that incorporating Palestinians into Lebanese
society might be the prelude to incorporating them
into the country’s political landscape. This might
risk further complicating an already messy demography.
While Christian sects in Lebanon are the most fearful,
others are also anxious.
In 1982, a constant state of siege received a boost
when the Israeli army, along with their allies among
Christian Phalangists, laid a brutal and deadly siege
around Bourj el-Barajneh. Palestinians and Lebanese
resisted, but lightly armed refugees could only go so
far in withstanding the might of regional superpowers
armed by a world superpower. The camp eventually
collapsed, as many of its buildings fell. Whatever
remained standing was dotted with holes and painful
memories.
Another siege followed, and lasted for almost exactly
three years, between 1984 and 1987. The perpetrator
this time was the Amal militia. This incident also
left its own evidence of ailing walls and cracked
windows. With rebuilding made illegal by law, and very
little by way of funds, the dust of war was the only
fresh coat of paint the camp could possible hope for.
But they are many in Lebanon who still want to see
improvement - whether slight or significant to the
lives of Palestinian refugees, whether in Bourj el-Barajneh
or elsewhere. Hezbollah has, till now, guarded various
refugee camps against many threats. Palestinians here
gratefully acknowledge that without Hezbollah serving
as a bulwark against the many looming dangers, the
plight of the refugees would have been much worse. But
Hezbollah, a Shia group, can also be hostage to
Lebanon’s abhorring sectarian divisions, demography
and political forces. Palestinians here are counting
on Hezbollah to step up its support. They need the
group to challenge the rejectionist forces in the
Lebanese parliament, and demand civil rights for
Palestinian refugees. Much is being debated at this
time, and there are many backdoor discussions over
details, semantics, and more.
Meanwhile, the two Palestinian girls continue to stand
on the discolored balcony. They are sisters of about
eight and ten years old. They were born after the two
terrible sieges and much of the war that tormented
their family for generations. But they were here to
witness the 2006 war. Their refugee camp is a short
distance from the Dahiya, the predominantly Shia
neighborhood where Hezbollah is headquartered. Tough
men and women withstood the unimaginable firepower
directed at that tiny stretch of land, as in many
other parts of Lebanon. Now, most of Dahiya has been
rebuilt, with final touches being laid to edifices of
concrete that will soon – if another war doesn’t erupt
– become hospitals, schools, offices and subsidised
residential areas for the poor.
But the same is not true for Bourj el-Barajneh. The
camp continues to carry the physical and philological
scars of past wars, each generation passing them on to
the next. A paradigm shift here is only possible when
the balance of power significantly shifts in favor of
one party or another. Aside from admiring its stiff
resistance against Israel, Palestinians in Lebanon
place so much hope in Hezbollah, believing it will be
the party that finally tips the balance of power in
favor of justice for the refugees.
Bourj el-Barajneh roughly translates into ‘Tower of
Towers’. And in many ways it is. It has stood the test
of time and bombs. Its people have surpassed the
limits of human endurance and determination in a way
that should be scientifically recorded. In some areas
it towers over Beirut, from the Haret Hreik direction.
Illegal construction and limited space for horizontal
expansion forced the refugees to build in some parts
in a vertical fashion, creating a Kafkian-like
reality, true but surreal.
And the refugees too are teetering between the lines
of an almost pseudo-reality. They find themselves held
hostage in time and space, in a growing city, a
hectically changing world, frozen in time and
increasingly lowered expectations.
The two girls continued to stare, clearly without a
specific target in mind, while people below them
walked on, unhindered by their confusion. I too walked
away. For a minute I hoped for a sign, anything that
could assure me that there was some meaning behind all
this strangeness, all this injustice. I am sure there
is, but today, I could find none.
- Ramzy Baroud (www.ramzybaroud.net) is an
internationally-syndicated columnist and the editor of
PalestineChronicle.com. His latest book is My Father
Was a Freedom Fighter: Gaza's Untold Story (Pluto
Press, London), now available on Amazon.com.
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