by Radwa Ashour
Randa added, “And signé, too!”
I leaned over to Maryam and whispered, “What does signé mean?”
“Literally it means that it has a signature, and what’s meant is that it was made by a company famous all over the world—that it’s a worldwide, expensive brand.”
Abed began to laugh, to laugh aloud. For a moment Sadiq was confused; maybe he had lost his way. It looked as if he didn’t understand, and I didn’t understand, either. I thought, Abed is laughing out of embarrassment; but when the laughter increased, I became anxious. It had all begun as joking and bickering, but it would turn into trouble—Abed would become angry and refuse the gift, and Sadiq would be hurt and embarrassed by his brother’s behavior.
“God forgive you, Brother. How much did you pay for these clothes?”
“Tell me first what’s making you laugh?” Sadiq was annoyed.
“It’s because you took it on yourself to spend a large sum on clothes I won’t wear. Now let’s act wisely—come with me to return the clothes to the shop where you bought them and get your money back.”
“What’s wrong with my giving my little brother some elegant clothes?” His voice had begun to rise and it had an edge.
“Even if I need what they cost?”
“Take the gift and tell me how much you need and I’ll give it to you.”
“I need a million dollars, and if you could give me more, there’s no objection.”
“Slow down, Abed, stop joking. This talk is raising my blood pressure.”
“Since when do you have high blood pressure? No one told me. Do you take a pill every day?”
“It’s not the time for that. How much do you need? Why didn’t you tell me that you’re going through a financial crisis? Why should I work like a mule here if I can’t provide what my family needs?”
“First, I’m sorry to hear about the blood pressure—I hope you get better. Let’s talk calmly, and let’s not mix the subjects. The gift is one subject; the money I need is another, I came from Paris especially to talk to you about it. The problem is that your gift is expensive and its price could be added to the sum I came to ask you for.”
“Have you decided to get married?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Are you in debt?”
“No.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
“It’s the project. Listen.”
Randa withdrew. She said, “It will be a long night; I’m going to sleep.” It seemed to me that Abed might need to talk to his brother alone, so I said, “Let’s go, Maryam.”
Maryam said, “I want to know what the project is. I might be able to help Abed to convince Sadiq; didn’t Sadiq say that I would be a good lawyer?”
Abed said, “Sit with us, Mother, I want to hear your opinion. You stay too, Maryam, you might be able to help me defend the project.”
Maryam winked at him and said, “If I am convinced!” She laughed, but Sadiq did not laugh.
We sat until four in the morning. Abed explained his project at length, Sadiq interrupting him to question and to ask for clarifications, or to pose objections or protest, or to shake his head suddenly, as if he had realized that he had to wake up after roaming in the imaginary. At the end of the session Sadiq surprised me, he surprised me even though what he did was completely like him. He said, “I agree. I’ll give you a quarter of what I own.” He added, laughing, “According to the canonical law: a quarter for me and my family, a quarter for you, a quarter for Hasan, and a quarter for Mother and Maryam.”
I wanted to ask, “What do you mean, ‘according to the canonical law’?” but I didn’t. My energy was taken up with trying to keep from crying. I didn’t want to cry and divert their attention, or wake up Maryam, who had put her head on my shoulder and gone to sleep.
Sadiq said, “On one condition—that you take the gift.”
Abed said, “According to the canonical law. I’ll take a suit and a shirt and a pair of shoes.”
“What law?”
“My own law.”
“And the two other suits and the shirts? They’re not my size.”
“We’ll take them back to the shop and trade them for one for you and one for Hasan, or you will get your money back. It’s agreed.”
Perhaps Sadiq was exhausted. He said, “Okay. Good night, all.”
Abed leaned over Maryam and said in a loud voice, intending to wake her up: “Maryam, shall I carry you as I used to when you were little?”
She opened her eyes. “What happened about the project?”
45
By the Law
How can I describe the scene? I’m trying to recall it, yet I know it’s hard to describe—not because memory drops some things and adds others, or highlights some and pushes others into the background, but because what happened went beyond the words that were spoken. I write what was said in order to tell what happened, well aware that what I am describing is closer to a dream of something than it is to the thing itself. It’s as if it were a well of which we can see only the small amount that the bucket has scooped up. Tension? Yes, there was tension in the scene. Alarm? Perhaps. The relationship between the brothers was like a ship’s rope, thick, showing how firm it is when it’s pulled taut. Roles were reversed in the flash of an eye, and then were reversed again, and then a third time and a fourth. Which one was the older, then? Sadiq is fragile in his relationship with those he loves; it’s a natural thing, that’s how lovers are. Abed rushes ahead blindly, like an engine without a driver. Sadiq says, “I’m the eldest!” and he suddenly seems tyrannical. Then the wave of arrogance breaks when it hits the beach and becomes calm and tame, like the water in a stream. And Amin? He was present there, even if he did not appear, nor was his name mentioned. Was it a stormy session? Yes, but not sad; for when I was alone that night I cried, as if I had made peace with the world. As if it had accorded me what it had begrudged my mother.
Abed introduced his project with a long, expert speech about the back-and-forth contest taking place in Europe over internationally binding regulations. He said, “There is serious legal debate about the creation of an international court to punish individuals responsible for crimes of genocide or any crimes against humanity. There are groups actively pushing for this. Personally, I expect that in the next few years internationally binding regulations will appear, strengthening the Geneva Accords and the treaties concerning torture. This is in addition to the fact that the laws of some European states have clauses allowing that cases be brought against crimes not committed on their soil, in which the accused is not one of their citizens, and allowing the plaintiff to be an individual and not a state. And … .”
Sadiq interrupted him, “What does that have to with your project, Abed? What’s your project?”
“Have patience with me, Brother. Current regulations may not permit us to file suits, or else we haven’t studied these regulations enough to find the opening that would allow us to file suits. We have to prepare. Here’s the value of the project: I’ll sum it up for you now, in its essential elements.”
I nearly intervened. I wanted to say to Abed, what’s come over you, boy, do you believe that we can get our land back by bringing a suit before a European judge? But I said nothing. Sadiq said, “You’re nuts! You were one of the fedayeen, carrying arms. Why? Answer me, why?” He gave him no time to answer, but answered for him: “Because international law did not give you your rights, from the beginning to the end. No law or international society nor the United Nations guaranteed you the right of return, nor of reclaiming the lands occupied in ’67 or any right that had been usurped from you. How many resolutions were adopted by the United Nations? How many massacres occurred afterward? Was Israel punished, even once?”
“Our project rests on three bases: The first is the purely legal basis, which depends on studying the law in the various European countries, searching for openings we can use to file suits. The second is making a list with a number of potential suits, a
nd providing the necessary evidence for them—documents, testimony, studies, etc. The third basis is the human element: contacting the injured parties in whose names claims might be made or who would accept the role of witnesses, and contacting lawyers. What I mean is the formation of two networks, a network of injured parties and another network of jurists, lawyers, and legal consultants. That’s a rough summary, since I don’t want to go on and on, or drown you in legal jargon.”
“Abed, are you dreaming? Or looking for work for yourself? Damn it, Brother, what you’re saying isn’t worthy of a young man like you, who knows the history of the Palestinian cause and the role of the international community in our disaster.” Sadiq looked at me, mocking, “Your son has been affected by the talk going around about disavowing violence and the possibility of solving our problem peacefully. Have you visited Egypt recently, or have you met Abu Ammar?”
Abed’s face reddened, and he raised his voice, “Shame on you, Sadiq. I’m talking seriously. If you’re interested, listen to the end, if not, I’ll leave tomorrow.”
“Neither your mother nor Maryam nor I have any part in this visit! If only out of respect for us say, ‘I’ll leave the day after tomorrow, and I’ll spend the day with you because I miss you!’ What’s happened to you, have you gone mad? Sometimes I’m tempted to kidnap you and bring you here to work and get married and live like the rest of God’s creation. Europe has made you lose your mind—no wife and no suitable work, you dress like a bum and hang a backpack over your shoulder. What’s happened to you?”
Abed jumped up. “Do you have anything to drink?”
“Yes.”
“Will you have a glass?”
“I will.”
Sadiq got up and brought the bottle of whiskey, two glasses, and ice cubes, and poured for himself and for his brother. Abed looked at me.
“Will you join us?”
I laughed. “No, thanks. Enjoy it.”
“I’ll illustrate it for you by two examples, one easier and apparently simpler, and the other more difficult and more complicated. We can file a suit, not now but in a few years, since I expect new legislation to be promulgated in a year or two. We can file a suit against those responsible for what happened in Sidon, for example: shelling the school and killing everyone in it, the destruction of the hospital with those in it, what they did in Ain al-Helwa. What’s needed? First, that we contact the injured parties and we inventory the damages: mass murder, imprisonment, torture, destruction of homes, etc. One or more people will file the suit on their own behalf or on behalf of themselves and others. So the second requirement is to contact those people, to listen to them, to identify those best suited to file the suit and who want to do that, and those best suited to testify as witnesses. We can contact the director of the school and get detailed testimony from him. We can go back to the man responsible for civil defense in the south; he has the reports of foreign reporters published in their newspapers at the time. We have the mass graves, including the one now at the basketball court in the school courtyard, covered by asphalt.
“Who will you file the suit against?”
“Against the Israeli defense minister and the chief of the general staff, and others as well.”
“But it was war.”
“It was an invasion. But neither war nor invasions allow massacres or shelling the houses of civilians or destroying hospitals on top of their patients or killing children in their schools. The conventions on the treatment of prisoners of war do not permit torturing or killing them. All of that happened in Sidon and Ain al-Helwa. We will have to study what happened, to work on the legal definitions, to research criminal legislation in European states that allow claims of this kind to be made.”
“Let’s assume you can file the suit. Can the judgment be made in absentia? And does international law allow you to demand that the accused be handed over? What about state sovereignty and the immunity of national leaders?”
“The basic principle of internationally binding legislation gives states the right for their courts to investigate the most flagrant cases, specifically crimes of massacre, torture, war crimes, and crimes against humanity, even if these crimes occurred outside of their territories and if there is no direct link between these states and the criminal, the victim, or the site of the crime. Those who have immunity today, because they are prime ministers or ministers, will lose their immunity after a year or two. Now I’ll give you the other, more difficult example: imagine if the legislation that we expect will be promulgated, for which we are already seeing good omens, imagine if it allowed us to bring a case concerning Tantoura. Our mother could bring it: there’s the massacre, a war crime, and a crime against humanity. There’s the plunder, which requires compensation for the village lands, fields, plantings, and animals that they seized, and for the houses and furnishings.”
“Will we give up the right of return?”
“Of course not. That’s the right for you to return to your country. They threw us out, and we have the right to return. They plundered our private possessions, so we have the right to go to court to reclaim them.”
“Who would you bring the case against, in this instance? Would it fail because of how much time has passed? Most of the leaders of the Israeli army in ’48 have died, maybe all of them.”
“This point is subject to research, and we need dozens of things to research it: we need capable jurists, researchers, and historians, and we need to convince the residents of the usefulness of making the claim. Filing a suit is expensive, but I’m not talking about filing suits now, because that comes later and our project may not take part in it directly. We only want to prepare the ground, in the sense of a), researching the legal grounds; b), forming a network of residents whose interests are affected, on the one hand, and of capable jurists and lawyers who want to participate in the project, on the other; and c), setting up a database of documents and studies that will permit us to file suits in the future. Imagine, Brother, if a person or a group of people from a Palestinian village that was destroyed, where the lands and the residents’ possessions were plundered, brought suits—the courts would have 418 cases at the least. If the residents of the villages that experienced massacres brought suits, we have before us twenty massacres, some bigger than those in Tantoura and Deir Yasin. These massacres are well known, but researchers might discover others no one recorded.”
Sadiq was now pacing back and forth. He stammered, “You’re dreaming, Brother, by God, you’re dreaming. If only we could get our rights by law—who among us would choose all this blood?” He sat down suddenly and said, “Why didn’t you mention the case of the massacre in Sabra and Shatila, and the kidnap victims, when you have a direct interest in it, you and me and Hasan and Mother and Maryam?”
“There are ten files on the schedule, each of which has a probable case that needs work, including Sabra and Shatila, of course. Maybe the whole idea came to me when I was thinking about what happened in Acre Hospital. In short, Brother, we need time, we need money, and we need to work night and day.”
“And what will you do if none of these regulations that you are counting on is issued?”
“They will be issued, all the indications are that they will. In fact, a law of this kind was issued a few months ago in Belgium, but it’s not sufficient.”
“What if you file a case and a second and a third, and lose them, or what if contrary regulations were issued, limiting cases of this kind?”
“That could happen. You’re as likely as not to lose when you embark on a new project. But then the cases will generate public opinion, informing people of these crimes.”
“What people?”
“In Europe.”
“They can go to hell, they’re complicit. These crimes happen before their very eyes and they don’t lift a finger.”
“That’s an oversimplification, Brother. People in general are not that bad. There are giant corporations with vested interests who are murderers, prepared to go to any le
ngth. Then there are people, the mass of people, ordinary people who want to live securely, to raise their kids and to enjoy small pleasures, a soccer match, or two weeks of laziness on a sunny beach. People who are concerned and who feel real pain when they see children killed unjustly. They aren’t animals, just people like you and me, and sometimes better, because they haven’t experienced the violence that would breed violence in them.”
46
The Chain
I burst out laughing, and I laughed so much I had to hold my sides. I said, “You’re incredible, Abed!” We were sipping coffee, about to leave for the airport to see him off.
Sadiq said, “Be sure you have your passport and your plane ticket. Be sure you didn’t leave your wallet or any of your cards. Be sure …”
Maryam laughed. “Sadiq, why do you insist on treating us as if we were kids?”
Saying goodbye is hard. I think that I’ve gotten used to it, and then when the time comes, I discover that that’s a delusion. Abed looked at his watch. “We’re leaving in ten minutes, aren’t we? Five minutes and I’ll be ready.” He went into the room where he slept and came out carrying his small leather bag, hung over his shoulder, with a thick nylon case for the suit his brother had given him in his left hand, and a nylon bag in his right.
Sadiq commented, “What wrong with a suitcase? Wouldn’t that be better than having something in each hand, like this?”
Abed put down the bag with the suit next to him and opened the other bag, saying, “This bag is for you, it’s gifts.”
“What gifts?”