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Special
Features:
Portraits of Palestinian Refugees
Architect in Exile
Mahmoud Kaddoura – Toronto, Canada
by Hazem Jamjoum*

“Our lives became so much more
complicated when Saddam’s Iraq invaded Kuwait”
Having been born and raised in Kuwait, Mahmoud’s
perception of his being a Palestinian refugee revolved around his father’s
stories about their village of Suhmata and its people, the pools, the castle
and the stories of his childhood visits to Balbaak’s Thakanet Ghoro (Gouraud)
refugee camp. He would also hear about ‘Ein El-Hilweh, the refugee
camp in Sidon where his mother was raised. “In Kuwait, it was very normal
for you to be Palestinian or Yemeni or Indian, or indeed from anywhere in
the world since most of the labor done in that country came from elsewhere.”
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Depopulated village of Suhmata (source:palestineremembered.com)
Suhmata. The ethnic cleansing of Palestine was well under
way when Israel’s Golani brigade began its bom bardment of the
village of Suhmata in late October 1948. The over 1100 in
habitants of the village were expelled to Lebanon and Syria with
only a tiny proportion of the villagers managing to stay in
their country. Around 600 of the people of Suhmata are Israeli
citizens today, with the colonies of Tzuri’el and Chosen, as
well as part of the Israeli city Ma’alot built on the village
lands. At the beginning of January 2008, the Israeli Northern
District Planning and Building Com mittee announced new plans to
con struct yet another new neighborhood east of Ma’alot on
Suhmata’s confis cated lands. The neighborhood will consist of
an estimated 3500 hous ing units, annexing what remains of
Suhmata’s lands. Internally displaced Suhmatans have set up a
website for the people of the village, and have launched a
campaign to prevent Ma’alot’s expansion on what remains of their
village lands. For more see http://www.suhmata.com
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Years later when Mahmoud
lived in Lebanon, the grandfather he was named after would tell him long
stories of his days working at the Akka docks, about his memories in Suhmata,
the road to Safad, the agricultural school that they took so much pride in
having despite the village’s small size, the neighboring towns of Tarshiha,
Al-Jish and Deir Al-Qasi that everyone had relatives in, and about how many
of the men and women of Suhmata organized themselves into popular resistance
committees in 1948 to try to prevent their expulsion at the hands of the
Zionists.
Although they were not rich,
the lives of the Kaddouras in Kuwait was comfortable, especially compared to
what people underwent in Lebanon in those wretched years of the Israeli
occupation, Lebanese civil war, and the war of the camps. Then came August
2, 1990 and Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait. Daily life turned into a quest for
the basic needs of survival; queuing for endless hours to get the meager
rations of bread, cooking gas, drinking water, and whatever was available
for the month.
Everyone who could leave
left, including the Kuwaitis themselves. Those that stayed did so out of
necessity; either they did not have the means to leave, or they were from
Gaza or Lebanon; places that were in an even worse condition than Kuwait.
Most brutal was the uncertainty, stories of Iraqi soldiers abusing Kuwaitis
began to spread, and news of the US amassing allies and troops at Kuwait’s
doorstep in preparation for war made it clear that the worst was yet to
come.
“For those of us in Kuwait, 1991
was another Palestinian Nakba like ‘48, ’67 and ‘82”
Even before the war, the idea that Palestinians
were no longer welcome had begun to surface. In 1975 Kuwait stopped granting
entry permits to Palestinians with refugee documents mainly from Lebanon.
That year Mahmoud’s uncle Mustafa was supposed to start work in Kuwait and
obtained a work permit to do so, but while at the airport discovered that he
would not be allowed entry as the new law had come into effect. Later, a
Kuwaiti law was passed that effectively stripped foreigners including
Palestinians of residency rights once they turned eighteen, unless they were
enrolled at the University of Kuwait, however only Kuwaitis were accepted
into that university unless they had very good connections or ranked the
highest in the country. This was affecting the
family since Mahmoud’s older sister Leena was to start high school, and the
family had to think of a place for her to go once she graduated. Another law
was that any non-Kuwaiti whose salary was less than 300 Dinars was not
allowed to marry; so “ultimately Egyptians went back to Egypt, Pakistanis to
Pakistan, where were we supposed to go?”
There was also the palpable bond
between Palestinians and Iraqis in Kuwait; “when the Iraqi football team
would come to play in Kuwait, half of those who came out to cheer them would
be Palestinians.” The leadership of the PLO was playing a very risky, and
ultimately disastrous, game in taking a strong official position endorsing
Saddam
Hussein in the war with the US and its allies. As a result, and despite some
Palestinians playing important roles in training and supporting Kuwaitis
fighting against the Iraqi occupation, Kuwait began to see Palestinians as
part and parcel of the Saddam regime, indeed many Palestinians had rejoiced
when Saddam entered Kuwait, and many were supporters of his regime because
he was against Israel.
Within weeks of the February 27, 1991
liberation of Kuwait, Kuwaiti militant groups had been formed both
unofficially by local warlords and by the state itself. Iraqis,
Palestinians, Sudanis, and Yemenis were the “four nationalities” targeted by
these groups with more than the mere complicity of the regular Kuwaiti
security apparatus. It also became known that people from various
communities were collaborating with Kuwaitis, informing on anyone who hosted
Iraqi soldiers in their homes or even offered them a glass of water during
the days of the occupation. Mahmoud began to notice and hear of
disappearances from the Palestinian community and several Palestinians’
bodies had been found tortured and killed. Abdallah Abdun, a very kind and
generous Sudanese man who was a very close friend of the family had sent his
wife and daughter back to Sudan to wait for him while he got his affairs in
order before leaving himself was intentionally run over by a car that had
chased him. What made it particularly difficult for Palestinians was the
lack of any kind of representative that could follow up on these cases.
Mahmoud admits that “until today, I don’t know if anyone is even asking
about what happened to those who disappeared during those horrible days.”
Mahmoud’s father began to seriously
consider moving the family to Lebanon, despite the horror stories that were
reaching Kuwait from Lebanon. He planned to wait for compensation from work
in order to be able to afford the move, and hoped that in the meantime the
situation would quiet down in Lebanon. During this period, Mahmoud and his
friend were randomly and with no reason, other than their Palestinian
identity, arrested by militants and beaten mercilessly for most of the day.
It was clear that they would be killed, and at one point they overheard that
they were indeed to be taken to a desolate area and executed. Luckily for
the two young men, one of their neighbors had told their families about the
kidnapping and the families had gone to people they knew in the government
and the allied military, which in turn showed up at the scene and prevented
the executions from taking place. Their captors were released immediately
with no charges laid, while the two Palestinians were then handed over to an
official state prison where they were further interrogated about their
connections to the Iraqi occupation, and ultimately set free when none were
found. With his son bruised from head to toe, Mahmoud’s father could no
longer postpone the relocation of his family to Lebanon.
“In the 1990s as in the
1980s, we Palestinians were the most vulnerable group in Lebanon”
Life in Lebanon was very difficult
at first. There was not enough room for the newly arrived family in
relatives’ homes, so Mahmoud and his brother joined his aunt’s family ending
up in a Kharroub
juice factory building with another five families.
Through out the civil war, these families had sought refuge there from Tal
El-Za’tar camp, Al-Damur (Lebanon), Al-Rashdiyyah camp, and Tyre. His
mother, two sisters and two younger brothers stayed in Sidon at his
grandmother’s home.
After six months passed, and with
Mahmoud’s father reunited with the family, they were able to acquire an
apartment in Sidon with a Lebanese sponsor. Mahmoud and his siblings
enrolled at the school in ‘Ein El-Hilweh
camp. There was great concern over how they
would be able to afford enrollment at university. While the two older
siblings, Lina and Fadi, enrolled in UNRWA’s Seblin Vocational School,
Mahmoud went to the Beirut Arab University, and he was only able to do so
with the help of his aunts and the PLO’s Palestinian Students Fund. “This
fund was perhaps the most important thing set up by the PLO for young
Palestinians; some of my friends were fully dependent on it. I hear that its
services are now dwindling and that it is under-funded, this is a disaster.
I can easily say that it would have been impossible for us to continue our
studies without it.”

The 1990s were a time when the
Islamist currents were hegemonic, “which made sense because what we saw of
resistance to Israel and the US was carried out by Islamic currents, whether
by Hizbollah in Lebanon or Hamas in Palestine.” The main issue was the peace
process, and a rift developed between those for and against the Oslo
agreements and its ramifications.
“Those defending Oslo would say that it would provide us
with a launching ground to liberate the rest of Palestine, as if Arafat was
engaged in a strategy where he would somehow trick the US and Israel, those
people were very embarrassed when the Aqsa Intifada erupted and construction
of the apartheid wall began. Those from the Islamic currents saw Oslo as a
way of getting the Palestinian leadership into Palestine to do Israel’s
dirty work and repress the Islamic resistance. I remember people talked
about how it was a conspiracy to resettle the refugees; every time someone
saw a new housing project being built they would report that it
was to permanently resettle us there, or if a high ranking
foreign official would visit, it was to discuss ways to get rid of the right
of return. Some put a lot of emphasis on making sure they had their UNRWA
ration cards to prove that they were refugees in case compensation was going
to be paid out.”
Mahmoud experienced a significant shift in his perception
of Palestine with the advent of satellite television broadcasts and the
internet, especially when he moved to Beirut to study architecture in 1995,
and even more when he moved to Australia to complete his Masters degree.
“Haifa, Akka, Nazareth, Umm El-Fahem were places from my grandfather’s
stories or from patriotic poems, now I could see live pictures of them. More
shocking was seeing Tel Aviv, and seeing Israeli civilian politicians on
television; I began to see Israel and Israelis as not being only soldiers at
checkpoints shooting kids, but as a real colonial settlement project, they
had kicked us out and saw themselves as being in Palestine to stay.”
Another important thing for me was based on remembering West Bank
Palestinians in Kuwait who would hear our accents and call us Lebanese,
through satellite TV I saw people like Azmi Bishara and Jamal Zahalka who
spoke with the same accents as us, and they were there, in the towns and
villages we were kicked out of, and they were talking about our return, and
about preserving and developing their Palestinian identity.”
While in Australia, Mahmoud supplemented whatever support
he could get from his family by working at a convenience store. He would
communicate regularly with people in Palestine through the internet, which
is how he met Nadia, and the two would soon fall in love. Upon graduation,
he discovered that he could not stay in Australia. He returned to Lebanon,
where the situation of Palestinian youths was, as it continues to be, very
difficult. With very little in the way of job opportunities most young
Palestinian men looked for a way to find a way to leave Lebanon, and Mahmoud
was no exception. He got the chance to immigrate to Canada, a place where he
could also arrange to meet Nadia and ask for her hand, and so it was that in
2005 he arrived in Toronto. It is here that Mahmoud’s talent as an artist
and architect have been able to flourish as he completes project after
project of some of the most innovative architectural designs around the
country, and it is here that he was finally able to unite with his
sweetheart after years of phone calls and internet conversations.
As we end our conversation talking about the projects he
has worked on, Mahmoud tells me “while
things are finally looking good for me, I still feel a sense of hollowness
since I do not have the chance to use my skills and research to help build
my own country and people. Wherever I have lived, Palestinians have been the
most vulnerable with no one to really represent and protect us; look at
what’s happening to Palestinians in Iraq and Nahr El-Bared camp. My dream is
to live in a place that I belong to culturally; geographically; politically;
to feel a part of it; and to use whatever skills and resources I have as an
architect and as a person to make it a free and thriving place. Even though
I have never been allowed to be there, I know that the only place that I can
feel and do this is Palestine.”
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*Hazem Jamjoum is the English Information - Media Officer
at Badil. You can contact him at mediaenglish@badil.org |