a light in Chatila

Every year, hundreds of Palestinians and many friends from all over the world gather in Martyrs' Square at Chatila Camp. They come to commemorate the anniversary of the Sabra and Chatila massacre. We mourn and remember those who lost their lives so cruelly, ensuring that they will not be forgotten and paying tribute to their families.

But in such short passages, fully absorbed in our sadness and grief, we may forget that life did not cease after this horrific event. Tarek Charara's book is a tribute to life in Chatila.

It's also a book about the friendship that exists between the French and Chatila, between the French and the Palestinians, be they Muslims, Christians or Jews. It shows that barriers can be broken down for an embrace between peoples.

I feel inadequate to describe this book and can only share what my heart feels as I look at these photos over and over again. I am not, of course, a neutral observer: thirty years ago, in August 1982, I arrived at the Chatila refugee camp, west of Beirut, as a young volunteer surgeon for the Gaza hospital. I had never heard of the Palestinians before then. Shortly after my arrival, the Palestine Liberation Organization evacuated Lebanon. This was the price demanded to stop the intensive bombardment of Lebanon and the ongoing blockade of Beirut for food, medicine and water. Fourteen thousand able-bodied men and women members of the PLO, some of them fighters, left the area with guarantees from the Western powers that the lives of their remaining loved ones would be protected and spared. A few weeks later, 3,000 unarmed camp inhabitants were murdered in what is now known as the Sabra and Chatila Massacre.

The images of the massacre remain deeply etched in my memory; painful memories of bodies piled up in the street, simple bodies that only a few days ago were living human beings, full of life and hope, rebuilding their homes, confident that they would be left in peace to raise the younger generations after the evacuation of olp. There were the patients we couldn't save, those brought to the hospital already dead, all leaving behind orphans and widows. There were the women who were raped before being murdered, leaving horrific psychological scars on their surviving children.

The horrified faces of families rounded up by armed men, the desperate young mother who tried to give me her child so that I could take him to safety, the stench of decomposing bodies in the mass graves that were discovered every day - these are images that will never leave me. The screams of women who recognize their loved ones in a few shreds of clothing, in a refugee card, memories that haunt me.

A painful question haunts me, one that our generation must answer: why did they die as refugees? After 64 years, how can we tolerate the fact that the only mark of human identity is a refugee card? This question has haunted me for thirty years and remains unanswered.

This book is remarkable for the portrait it paints. These images have reassured me that the individuals, the Palestinians of Chatila, have survived and will continue to live. I now see life in the very place where, thirty years ago, there was only death. Having emerged from desolation and isolation, I now see the Palestinians as partners in the international community.

Despite the pain and injustice inflicted on Chatila, humanity, dignity and beauty continue to shine through. When I look at this book, I look beyond sadness and death to life.

Is there humanity in Chatila? Yes, there is! And as if to defy those who tried to rob and obliterate them, they are fully human, filled with love and dignity. Is there beauty in this refugee camp where journalists see only filth? Yes, there is! Beauty exists in the love and concern of loved ones, in the smiles of children, in the sparkle of their eyes.

Is there any hope for the Palestinians? They lost their country 64 years ago, and have found themselves in a foreign land that has not granted them even the most basic civil rights. Those living in Gaza or the West Bank are under siege, imprisoned behind the Wall. In Chatila, the younger generation came into the world in the shadow of this horrific massacre. The wounds remain unhealed.

But there is hope. As a people, and against all odds, they have survived. Their friends and supporters are growing in number by the day, inspired by their courage and resilience. When they feel weary or discouraged, solidarity workers will do well to look at the faces in this book.

For those of us lucky enough to enter their lives and receive their generous hospitality, our gratitude knows no bounds. We discover true friendship. We learn that poverty and deprivation are no obstacle to dignity. By sharing their daily struggle, we hope to acquire a little of their courage. When one of their children hugs us, we feel life and hope flooding in. Despite the darkness that surrounds them, they hold their heads high. Darkness cannot hide light; light always illuminates darkness.

Tarek Charara's book is an invitation to share a little of the light of Chatila.

Dr. Swee Chai Ang, August 2012

Dr Swee Chai Ang is a survivor of the 1982 Sabra and Chatila massacres.