- Link by Jillian Kestler-D’amours, October 13, 2009.
Photo: Stefan Christoff. Wires in sky, Ein el-Hilweh, Palestinian camp, Lebanon.
Pictures of Fouad Sakr’s family line the walls of his modest Park Extension apartment in Montreal north.
“My son’s wedding in Lebanon,” said Sakr, pointing to a framed photograph displaying the smiling faces of his son, his son’s bride, his wife and himself.
On the other side of the room, school photos of Sakr’s granddaughters hang beneath two recognizable images: a small Palestinian flag and the Lebanese cedar tree, the country’s national symbol.
“They say, ‘Please come. We want to see you. We love you. Come,’” said the 63-year-old Palestinian refugee, about his family who live mostly in Lebanon. He has yet to see some of his youngest grandchildren.
“Only in photos on the Internet,” he explained, taking a sip of Arabic coffee.
Forced out
Sakr was two-and-a-half when he and his family had to leave their home in the northern Palestinian village of Akka (now known as Acre) in 1948.
Israeli soldiers captured the village in Operation Ben’Ami in May of that same year, causing most of the indigenous Palestinian population to flee to Lebanon or to the nearby town of Nazareth.
“All my family was from there,” said Sakr, explaining that his ancestors had lived in the region for “maybe 300 years, maybe longer.”
After leaving their home, the Sakr family stayed for a short time in the small village of Jwaye on the southern Lebanese coast, less than three kilometres from Akka. They then moved to the Lebanese refugee camp of Ein El-Hilweh, near the Lebanese coastal town of Saida, which is now the most populated Palestinian refugee camp in the country.
Sakr explained that his family—he, his parents, two brothers and three sisters—received a tent from aid workers, used shared bathroom facilities and had no access to running water or electricity there.
“The life was very bad in the camp,” Sakr said. “I feel so sorry for the people [in Lebanon]. It’s a bad life.”
A nomadic lifestyle
In 1968, Sakr earned a diploma in nursing and left Lebanon soon thereafter for Kuwait. He spent over 20 years there, working as the head nurse at a general hospital. He married and raised four children there as well, three boys and one girl.
“I was very happy there,” said Sakr, explaining that the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1990 forced the family to go back to Lebanon.
Moving back to near Saida, Sakr quickly discovered that as a Palestinian refugee, finding employment as a nurse in Lebanon would be impossible.
“The government of Lebanon is very strict for Palestinian people. If you want to go from your home to the [refugee camp’s communal] toilet, without your ID, they will give you a ticket,” said Sakr, who spent most of his family’s savings while unemployed.
Palestinians make up the largest and longest-standing refugee population in the world.
Until recently, Palestinians living in Lebanon had been barred from participating in over 70 different professions. Some—including law, medicine and engineering—are still off limits to them.
According to Rex Brynen, a McGill political science professor specializing in Middle Eastern politics and peace-building, these employment restrictions are merely “a fancy way of keeping Palestinians out of the professions.”
“There are a series of barriers which have prevented Palestinians from more effectively integrating into the Lebanese economy,” he said. “They are a marginalized and excluded population.”
Brynen explained that, historically, there have been fears within Lebanese society that the country’s already fragile sectarian balance would be disrupted if full rights were given to Palestinian refugees, the majority of whom are Sunni Muslims.
“There has always been a concern on the part of non-Sunni groups—particularly Christian groups—that naturalizing Palestinians would work to the favour of one group over the others,” Brynen said, adding that “it’s been very convenient for the Lebanese to use the Palestinians as a scapegoat” for many problems within the country.
Life in Canada
After a failed attempt at making some money by starting a business with friends in Bulgaria, Sakr came in Montreal on Nov. 1, 2001 with his younger brother.
Although they arrived together, his brother’s claim for refugee status was quickly approved while Sakr’s was denied.
“I wrote a million letters to [Canada Customs and] Immigration, judges, Parliament… Nothing,” Sakr lamented, claiming discrimination against Arabs was what really hindered his case.
While acceptance rates for Palestinian refugees are higher than for other groups in Canada, they still face many complicated obstacles, said Jared Will, Sakr’s lawyer since 2008.
“Palestinians have difficulties because they have trouble establishing their identity. Another problem they have is getting here,” said Will, alluding to the restrictions imposed on them in terms of freedom of movement and travel.
“Because it’s a political sensitivity issue, there are people within the bureaucracy and decision makers who have very strong anti-Palestinian sentiments,” he added.
Karine Mac Allister, a PhD student in international law at Université de Montréal, explained that Canada does not—but should—apply the United Nations Human Rights Council’s interpretation of what constitutes a Palestinian refugee under Article 1D.
According to the Article, refugee status is automatically granted to Palestinian refugees from both the 1948 and 1967 wars who were living outside the United Nations Relief and Works Agency’s operating area.
“[This is] something Canada does not recognize, which means that Palestinian refugees have to undergo individual refugee status determination here. Canada should apply Article 1D to Palestinian refugees in accordance with UNHCR’s interpretation,” Mac Allister said.
Though he applied for it in 2004, Sakr was finally granted refugee status on humanitarian grounds six months ago. His permanent residency claim is still pending approval.
Sakr explained that, despite going over seven years in Montreal without any formal documentation and running the risk of deportation, the constant threat didn’t faze him.
“I was not afraid. I am not afraid from anybody,” said Sakr. He admitted, though, that living in Canada without papers made it harder to sleep at night.
“I was looking only at the ceiling thinking about my wife, son, daughter,” he said. “For eight years I have been in a prison. For eight years I have been alone.”
Still separated from family and Palestine
Sakr explained that if he could, he would go back to his home to live with his family.
“Of course I want to go back. I hope for salaam [peace] in this war. But where is my country? My country is Israel now,” Sakr said.
According to Mac Allister, who spent over three years as the legal advocacy coordinator at the BADIL Resource Center for Palestinian Residency and Refugee Rights in Bethlehem, it is highly unlikely that Palestinian refugees will be allowed to return to their homes, especially with [Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin] Netanyahu in power. A lot will have to change within Israeli society,” she said.
A 2008 BADIL survey states that at least 67 per cent of the worldwide Palestinian population—which constitutes approximately 7.1 million people—have been forcibly displaced. Among that number, at least 6.6 million are Palestinian refugees and 455,000 are internally displaced persons who have been forced from their homes but remain in Palestine.
The same report estimates that between 43,900 and 52,200 Palestinian refugees currently live in Canada.
A major obstacle to solving the problems of Palestinian refugees and internally displaced persons is the fact that no UN agency is directly involved, Mac Allister added.
“[This leaves] the entire process to politicians and the so-called peace process, which is determined by the balance of power and not international law,” she explained. Still, she said, the Palestinian resolve to remain hopeful is inspiring.
“Palestinians are very resilient,” Mac Allister continued. “Steadfastness has become part of the culture. To me, that’s what’s the most inspiring thing: despite a situation that looks hopeless, they are still standing.”
Today, Sakr explained that he is trying to get his wife, who still lives near Saida in Lebanon, the proper documentation to be able to come to Canada.
Likening the travel document issued to Palestinian refugees in Lebanon to a “grocery store receipt,” Sakr isn’t sure when he will see her again, or if they will ever live in Palestine together.
“When I see my country, I will cry. My country… Everybody has a country but only I am without a country. I feel very bad, very sad,” he said. “This is our country. We don’t want to be fighting anymore.”
For now, Sakr has only the photographs lining his apartment walls to keep the memories of his family, his culture, and, perhaps most importantly, his country alive.
