Liberating voices: The political implications of Palestinian mothers ...

Women’s Studies International Forum, Vol. 26, No. 5, pp. 391 – 407, 2003 Copyright D 2003 Elsevier Ltd Printed in the USA. All rights reserved 0277-5395/$ – see front matter

doi 10.1016/j.wsif.2003.08.007

LIBERATING VOICES: THE POLITICAL IMPLICATIONS OF PALESTINIAN MOTHERS NARRATING THEIR LOSS Nadera Shalhoub-Kevorkian Faculty of Law, Institute of Criminology, School of Social Work, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Israel

Synopsis — This article juxtaposes the different threads of the history and reality of the Palestinian nation under occupation, with women’s own narratives to the effect of such a history and reality on coping with losses emanating from such occupation. This article explores the effect of trauma and victimization of women in areas of political conflict as revealed through the voices of mothers of martyrs in Palestine who participated in an empowerment group that was termed ‘‘voice therapy’’ and their narratives were gradually unveiled. The study aims to reflect these mothers’ visions in coping with the agony of losing a child. In doing so, it shows how the common law of gender shapes the life and life choices of women. The mothers’ narratives have political and ideological implications, which highlight the need to re-examine the analytical framework with which to explain the conditions and reactions of women to trauma. In addition, they have theoretical, therapeutic implications; they reveal that we must pay more attention to the hidden casualties of armed conflicts and to the importance of building intervention programs that first and foremost acknowledge the muted voices of such casualties. D 2003 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.

INTRODUCTION The popular media have often portrayed Palestinian mothers as being jubilant when their children are martyred (killed by the Israelis). They also have been accused as active actors who encouraged their children to engage in resistance activities that led to the demise of their children. Irrespective of these claims and accusations, there exists ample documentation to show the severity, trauma, and agony the Palestinian population has endured under Israeli occupation, especially during the first Intifada (December 1987 to September 1993) and the current, ongoing Intifada which began in September 2000. Furthermore, empirical research findings (see for example Baker & Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1995; Elbedour, Baker, Shalhoub-Kevorkian, Irwin, & Belmaker, 1999) show the severity of psychological symptoms Palestinian mothers suffer as the result of being severely traumatized, especially in cases where they lose a child as a result of military or political oppression. Depres-

This study was funded by the Jerusalem Women’s Link. I would like to thank Odette Hanna for her constant help and support and Amneh Badran for making this project possible. I would also like to thank all the mothers who shared their ordeal with us. 391

sion, anxiety, psychosomatic symptoms, and symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder not only were found to be common amongst Palestinian women, but were also more intense than those experienced by their male counterparts (Abdel-hamid, Steffen, Bjertness, Grunfeld, & Hauff, 2002). The literature also shows that Palestinian women are also the victims of patriarchal oppression and gender discrimination (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1998, 2001). Studies on the status of Palestinian women’s civil and political rights (WCLAC, 2001a) violence against women, women and law (Khader, 1999) and others shows that Palestinian women face structural oppression that is constructed by society’s cultural norms, laws, and other social policies (see Wing, 1994). These three factors (psychological traumatization, political oppression, and gender discrimination) are believed to influence the individual perceptions of Palestinian women in terms of self, available personal, political, and social power, and the ability to cope with stress and its concomitant symptoms. The literature on Palestinian women has been dominated primarily by two independent streams of investigation. The first stream has focused on the role of women in the national liberation movement and the effects of occupation on their lives (Haddad, 1980; Talhami, 1984; Warnock, 1990). The second stream, on the other hand, examined the direct and

392

Nadera Shalhoub-Kevorkian

indirect effects of norms, traditions and patriarchy on women (Haddad, 1980; Warnock, 1990). Sayigh (1983) was the first to link the effects social and political oppression have on the lives of Palestinian women, although others have discussed the link between the political, the personal, and the sociocultural (see for example Sayigh, 1996; ShalhoubKevorkian, 1997; Warnock, 1990). Despite the emergence of recent literature treating the intersectionality between gender oppression and occupation (see for example, Hamami, 1990, 2001; Jad, 1990; Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2002b, 2003; Taraki, 1997; Thornhill, 1992) there exists a paucity of research on the effect of the internal dynamics of psychological trauma, political oppression, gender role, patriarchal structures, and social institutions on the reaction of women to the Israeli occupation as reflected in the trauma of losing a child. Thus, there is a need to resituate scholarship regarding women in a Palestine, while looking at both the micropolitics of the Palestinian context and struggle, and the more global economic/power/political macropolitics (Mohanty, 2003) when analyzing the effect of the trauma of martyrdom (Shahadeh) on mothers of martyrs (Umahat Al-Shuhada’).

WOMEN, VICTIMIZATION, POLITICAL CONFLICT AND THE PALESTINIAN INTIFADA The reaction of women to political conflict and warrelated situations was found to differ from that of their male counterparts, especially in the Middle East (Accad, 1990; Shehadeh, 1999). Women were found to be affected intensely not only by the political context, but also by the nature of the existing gender relations. For example, Accad (1990) stressed the correlation between sexuality and war in Lebanon, while exploring sociological, political and feminist interpretations of violence, aggression, war, oppression, love, power, and the role of women. She has analyzed the adequacy of the literature in terms of its ability to provide an understanding of the political and social realities. Sayigh (1996), on the other hand, employed life-stories, memories, and perception to study Palestinian women in refugee camps. Coping with the pain of a nation’s history and the agonies of harsh memories were discussed by various feminist writers (see for example Kaplan, Alarco’n, & Moallem, 1999). The correlation between a nation’s history, trauma, gender roles, and women’s personal lives is very important in the case of Palestinian women. No Western feminist has stressed the historical element and its interaction with the life and status

of women when writing about the struggle of women as did Stree Sakti Shanghatana (1989). Theoretically, as Sayigh stated: In feminism, too, the concept of history has had multiple uses, in theorizing and research as well as in consciousness-raising and mobilization. Particularly in the case of anti-colonial struggles, the discrepancy between women’s participation and their marginalization in national politics and histories has fuelled specific forms of feminism that often takes the form of attempts to reconstitute a ‘female collective memory’. (Sayigh, 1996, p.146) National and gender politics have been the core of various feminist writings, including those of Israeli and Palestinian feminists. For example, Abdo and Lentin (2002) discuss the connection between nationalism and feminism, as it is reflected in the Palestinian-Israeli case. As stated by Abdo: ‘‘I myself have gone through different phases of development in my feminism, from nationalist feminist to a feminism critical to all nationalisms, including my own’’ (Abdo & Lentin, 2002, p.3). They explained how the ‘‘Zionist myth of solving the problem of people (primarily European/Ashkenazi Jews) without land by settling them on a land (Palestine) without people’’ (Abdo & Lentin, 2002, p.4) has led to the emergence of new feminist scholarship that is both Palestinian (Abdo, 1994; Dajani, 1994) and anti Zionist (Lentin, 2000; Sharoni, 1994; Shochat, 1988; Yuval-Davis, 1982). Hence, the critical feminist voices in Abdo and Lentin have uncovered the personal/political effect of pain, suffering, struggle, and power of nationalism and feminism. The interrelationship between these factors serves as the main theme of this article; i.e., the relationship amongst personal pain, gender roles, and the collective/national struggle, and it’s interaction with those in/with power (global, local, political). The connection between feminism, the role of women, and nationalism also was discussed extensively in Middle Eastern countries such as Turkey, Iran, and Egypt. Kandiyoti (1996) has argued that consistent tension has always existed between modernist trends in nationalism that favored the expansion of women’s rights, and the anti-modernist stances that were concerned with cultural values and identity. This tension between feminism and nationalism raised serious dilemmas for feminist thought due to the complexity of nationalism. Nationalists and national movements encourage women to participate more fully in social and political life. By the same token, they reaffirm the boundaries of

Liberating Voices: The Political Implications of Palestinian Mothers Narrating Their Loss

culturally acceptable feminine conduct and exert power on women to control their gender roles through nationalist discourse. Consequently, women are perceived to have the freedom to choose their socio-political or personal roles and interests, but solely within the networks and power holders who produce them. Kandiyoti claims that the agenda of Muslim societies in the Middle East that are struggling against western acculturation, and the agenda of national movements preoccupied with Islamic dominance have constrained feminist scholarship amongst Middle Eastern women. The identification of cultural authenticity with Islam (see for example, Ahmad, 1990) situated women in a very delicate and problematic position, not only in terms of the practice of feminism, but also in terms of the role of women. Preserving cultural authenticity, therefore, can only be maintained either by denying that ‘‘Islamic’’ practices are oppressive, or by asserting that oppressive practices are not necessarily Islamic. Elsewhere I claim further that the national need to form a state in Palestinian society has, in some cases, empowered patriarchal/traditional powers, weaken the relationship between women and state institutions and exacerbated the complexity and challenges facing Palestinians in general and Palestinian women in particular (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2002b). This complexity led to a situation which we believe that Palestinian women face in three connecting forms: (a) The hegemony of the internal patriarchal/traditional and in some cases religious structures that calls for the preservation of cultural authenticity and the protection of women/nation. (b) External Israeli occupation that continues to oppress them and violate their human rights; and (c) External Western myths and prejudices against Arab/Palestinian women that stigmatize and accuse them as being provocateurs who take pleasure in encouraging their children to become martyrs. The proclivity of the Israeli and Western (mainly U.S.) media to employ ‘‘psychologized’’ norms of bereavement to examine the reactions of Palestinian mothers has constructed them as ‘‘unfit’’ mothers. This arbitrary interpretation has led to the portrayal of Palestinian women as captives of their ethnic (Arab) or religious origin (Islam), thus supposedly feeling thrill and joy at the funerals of their family members (see for more details a letter by Sama Aweidah (2001), WSC and WCLAC (2001a,b)). Such unsupported beliefs, myths, or claims should be scrutinized to determine their accuracy and validity prior to being accepted as sources of scholarly endeavor. Feminist writers (see for example, Afshar, 1993; Mohanty, 1986; Shiva, Gordon, & Wing, 2000;

393

Tucker, 1993) have emphasized the need to re-examine Western myths and generalizations such as the universality of Western feminist models to explain the status, reaction, and condition of Arab women, or the belief that Islam is the primary cause for the subjugation of females in the Arab world. The Arab feminist Fatima Mernissi (1987) highlights the subversive potential of universal discourses regarding human rights and citizenship in societies where submission to the will of God and temporal rules constitute powerful alternative paradigms (see Kandiyoti, 1996 for more details). Thus, for Mernissi, feminism is inseparable from a society’s democratic impulse. In addition, questions regarding the analysis of power hierarchies and the construction of the ‘‘other’’ have been central to the critique of Orientalism inspired by Edward Said (1979). His analysis of how ‘‘Oriental’’ women are depicted led to the development of postOrientalist scholarship that generated a new genre for the study of representation in the social sciences. This scholarly strategy stresses the importance of critically challenging traditional assumptions and the need to redefine the feminist voice within a Middle Eastern context; i.e., a feminist voice that is both dynamic and context-specific (Al-Ali, 2000; Huntington, 1997).

COPING WITH POLITICAL AND MILITARY OPPRESSION The debate over the Palestinian national struggle, mainly during the second Intifada has generated discrepancy between various social observers and political actors. Activists, feminists, local, national, international, whether supporters of the Palestinian anti-colonial struggle or not have been engaged in this debate. Some of those debates revolved around the ‘‘suicide bombs.’’ For others, the issue was resistance to the occupation. Because of the frequent loss of life on the Palestinian side for often what seemed to be no justified reasons, one mechanism of survival and coping—I think—has been the elevation of the concept and meaning of the ‘‘martyr’’ within Palestinian society. However, this has led to Palestinian women being blamed not only for being ‘‘bad’’ mothers by the international community, but also to bear additional burdens from within their community. Under the concept of ‘‘martyrdom’’, Palestinian society and culture demand of women to suppress their grief when their children are killed, for they are believed to have died a ‘‘noble’’, ‘‘worthy’’ and, indeed, ‘‘holy’’ death. Thus, women are often denied the right to cry openly, and are even urged to ‘‘ululate’’ in celebration, which many of them do while in a state of shock, hysteria or total breakdown

394


(Khamis, 2000). The literature shows that Palestinian and western researchers have studied the effects of the Israeli occupation on the mental health and social, physical, and educational statuses of Palestinians, especially during the first Intifada (December 1987 to September 1993) and the current Al-Aqsa Intifada. Although different populations (e.g., children, women) were used in these studies, they were in consensus that the occupation has had a profound effect on the wellbeing of Palestinians. Symptoms of depression, anxiety, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and somatic conditions were found to be elevated within Palestinian society (see for example Baker, 1991, 1992; Punamaki, 1990). Furthermore, the literature shows that religiosity and political conviction were found to play important roles and functions in the coping strategies of Palestinians (Baker & Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 1995). Individuals who participated actively in resistance and who held political convictions, or were moderately religious, displayed the least signs of helplessness, pessimism, or despair. Palestinians in general searched for different ways to cope and face the continuous political oppression and personal trauma. Palestinian women were very active socially and politically in resisting occupation—while connecting their gender roles with their national roles and constructing them as a new mode of coping. The issue of ‘‘Shahadah,’’ Martyrdom occupied many discussions, and resulted in different—if not contradictory—conclusions. The Encyclopedia of Politics and Religion defines martyrdom as: In its purest form, martyrdom is a voluntary, conscious, and altruistic readiness to suffer and offer one’s life for a cause. The Christian martyr seeks certain death. Islamic tradition gives first place to a soldier dying in a holy war, or jihad, who aimed to defeat an adversary without, necessarily, losing his own life. Jewish tradition assigns the honor not only to those who affirm the faith against threat, but to victims such as those of the Holocaust, who were not given the choice. (Wuthnow, 1998, p. 494) Due to the fact that this article focuses on the voices of Palestinian mothers of Martyrs, Umahat AlShuhada’a, I would like to stress the politico-cultural/ Palestinian meaning of the term Shaheed (single) or Shuhada’a (plural), based on my interpretation as a Palestinian woman activist that is drawn from the definition offered by Palestinian mothers of Martyrs and relies on the cultural (that includes religious) interpretation of Shahada—Martyrdom. In the con-

text of the Intifada—the Palestinian resistance to occupation—the local interpretation of the word Shaheed carries cultural, political and religious meaning and refers to any and every person who falls, dies or is being killed by the ‘‘enemy’’, in this case, Israel. This person could be a girl killed while playing in her house, a baby in his mother’s lap, a child on his way to school, a stone thrower, a suicide bomber, a woman who died during delivery due to the Israeli occupation’s prohibition to allow her to reach a hospital, an ambulance driver shot while on duty due to political reasons, etc. Thus the act of Martyrdom—Shahada—carries an expanded meaning of national victimization (and religious sacrifice) during a national resistance period, in this case—the Intifada. Thus Martyrdom could be an act of omission or commission of an individual in her/his process to survive, run her/his life while resisting the Israeli occupation in Palestine. This process of survival ends up in the person’s death. Martyr—Shaheed in religious terms—is a witness to one’s faith, including one who witnesses his or her death (martyrdom). In political terms, Shaheed is one who dies in the struggle for freedom and is honored as a hero. Mothers of Palestinian Martyrs are those mothers, as Um Ahmad one of the Martyrs mothers defined it, ‘‘who not only lost their children/beloved ones during a bloody political conflict. They were expected to react to the sudden death of their children with great pride (Bifakhr Wa ’etizaz) accepting death as an act of God and for God, for it is the Child’s fate and destiny (Qada’s Wa Qadar). Then needed to face the whole world that accused them as mothers that hopes/prays/causes the death and/or re-sending our children to die.’’ Palestinian women’s psychological situation following the loss of their loved ones was not the focus of the local or international power holders. For example, most of the media coverage of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict stressed and showed the ‘‘abnormal’’ joy expressed by Umahat Al Shuhada’a following such loss. In some cases, people have translated, or named, ‘‘Shaheed’’ as ‘‘suicide bomber.’’ Palestinian women have faced harsher experiences during the second Intifada in terms of trauma, loss, and oppression. Despite their continuous victimization, Palestinian women have been denied even an acknowledgment of their pain and loss (ShalhoubKevorkian, 1998). However, those living in political conflict and surviving its consequences need to speak out in their own voices—a voice that is specific to their socio-political, gender, and economic contexts. The question remains, however, to what extent does the perpetual subjugation to political oppression that


is encouraged due to the international lack of acknowledgement of the painful legacy and continuous trauma, affect the private and public lives of women? This article attempts to address this question.

METHODOLOGICAL FRAMEWORK When Chandra Mohanty published ‘‘Under Western Eyes’’ in 1986, she critiqued Western feminist scholarship on Third World Women via the discursive colonization of Third World women’s lives and struggle, aiming to expose the power-knowledge nexus. The connection between feminist scholarship and feminist political organization was highlighted while stressing the need to re-examine the political implications of our analytical strategies and principles. Mohanty’s main aim supports my choice of this article’s methodology, that is building a conceptual framework that is attentive to the micropolitics of the Palestinian context and struggle and the macropolitics of global economic and political systems and processes in relation to Palestine and the Palestinians (see also Mohanty, 2003). Such a methodology is also supported by Arab writers such as the Lebanese novelist and journalist Nohad Salameh. Salameh wrote in the Beirut French Language daily L’Orient-Le Jour, July 25, 1978, ‘‘If we care about not remaining intellectuals without history, we must write the unspeakable’’ (cited in Cooke, 1999, p. 73). The study presented here stems from the ideology of the voice that claims that there is no way one can study or understand individuals or their problems without listening to and acknowledging their voices, those voices that speak the unspeakable while being attentive to the surrounding macro and micro contexts. Here, the trauma of losing a child in the context of the Palestinian-Israeli political struggle was investigated by focusing on the voices of mothers of martyrs. This article makes heard the actual words of women when sharing the loss of their children with me (as a therapist). Choosing to allow the silenced voice to be spoken meant mostly listening to their discourses. Letting them choose their own words to express their realities was considered voice therapy or words therapy, for, as the Lebanese writer Etel Adnan writes: . . .words like little atoms, like particles emanating from our organism, like audible emanations of our mental and emotional make up, like creation closest to our being. These little ‘‘energies’’ are similar to atoms, in the sense that they contain tremendous power. Once they touch our psyche

395

they leave their imprint, their impact, and they seem to affect women most durably, even if it is simply because women traditionally were less in contact with the ‘‘outside’’ world, and remained closer to their inner selves and memory. . .. (cited in Cooke, 1999, p. 74) Mariam Cooke elaborated on the fact that women have the magic power to heal societal wounds with the atomic strength of their words. This article brings to the reader these women’s words, language, and voices, not as a decorative description of their losses, but more as a political and human vision, ideology, and philosophy (see also Shehadeh, 1999). Hopefully, reporting their voices in coping and facing the trauma of losing a child is a first step in making women’s voices heard in the context of the trauma of political conflict. This may help us to construct a more authentic language that is based on women’s own words. And we can react accurately to some of the accusations and stereotypical beliefs that Palestinian mothers abuse their children by sending them to die.

WHY GROUP VOICE THERAPY? A voice therapy group for trauma empowerment was established with 10 mothers, all of whom had lost a child within the last year. The children, all boys aged from 14 – 20 years (6 were between 14 – 17 years old), had all been shot to death. Four of the mothers in the group were relatives; their children who had been killed were cousins. The mothers ages ranged between 35 and 50, one of them was a university student, one other was a former teacher, the rest were married in early age and have only finished 6 – 9 years of schooling. Three of them came from the city area, three others came from a refugee camp and the rest came from one village near Jerusalem. Despite the difference in the mothers’ locations, educational level, and economic status (three of them came from a medium – high economic status, the rest from a low socioeconomic status), mothers felt very close to each other and expressed similar reactions to martyrdom. Despite the fact that group participants were not homogeneous (coming from different locations, education, or socio-economic status), their perceptions and definitions of loss and martyrdom were very similar. The author, a Palestinian therapist, was accompanied by a feminist activist who helped in organizing the meetings, inviting the participants, and following up with mothers in later stages. The aim of the trauma empowerment group was to search for the unvoiced feelings and pains in order to


396

liberate these voices, and to try to better and empower participants’ coping strategies. Core assumptions were that some dysfunctional behaviors or symptoms may have originated as legitimate strategies for coping with the loss, and that mothers of martyrs were deprived of the opportunity to develop certain skills for facing the trauma. This deprivation (in the context of continuous trauma and constant loss of loved ones, lands and economic means of survival due to the conflict situation) could possibly cause the women to feel powerless and to be unable to advocate for themselves. We worked with groups rather than individuals, as we believed that, when recovery occurs within a group format, women participants heal their losses while building new connections with those who suffered similarly. Connections in the context of healing are thus an essential part of the recovery. All the mothers who participated in the group expressed their willingness and need to do so. Umm Ahmad told us:

researcher to see women as the central constructors of my methodology, and allow them to choose the group setting as their favorite method to share, voice out and get support, made the group meeting a safe haven in the madness of the conflict. The security measures that we all endure as Palestinians to protect each other from any abuses inflicted by the Israeli Defense Forces, the choice regarding the meeting place, and the continuous changes (in time or place) we face to try and avoid any harm to both the participants and the therapist made this therapeutic act not only an address for advice, support, and empowerment, but also a source of strength and determination for all women to search for peace and keep up hope. This was more than a mere research methodology. It was activism that carried political, feminist, and human aims and meanings.

When I come here, I feel that I meet him, I can talk about him and show him my love without someone stopping me from doing so.

Working with women who were traumatized by the loss of their children during the second Intifada and due to the Palestinian-Israeli conflict gave great insight to the differential effect of trauma on women and men in Palestinian society. Through exposure to women’s voices, the personal pain, the violations of human rights, and the mental health issues, one becomes aware of the overwhelming impact of historical and political events on the medical and psychological problems of the individual. As the German pathologist Rudolf Virchow wrote in 1848, ‘‘Medicine is a social science, and politics is nothing but medicine on a grand scale’’ (cited in Rosen, 1947). Although tempted not to combine all these aspects and search for easier explanations, we were forced by the participants themselves to connect the history and macro-politics with their personal narratives and reactions. Voice therapy helped in relating the effect of the wider national environment and its connection with the structural or institutional conditions that resulted in loss, death, and pain. The sections below reflect the result of considering the social and political landscape while listening to the individual’s suffering and looking at the historical and cultural patterns that created the individual woman’s tragedy. Cognizant that the following analysis does not cover all the topics that were raised by mothers of martyrs, I hope to reflect some of their efforts to counteract the consequences of violence and their search in the group to heal their wounded memories.

Umm Mahmoud said: I participate in most of the activities that are tied to his martyrdom; for that is the only way I feel that I as a mother can show him my love and care. By empowering the mother’s coping strategies, the group sessions aimed to help the mothers cope with the trauma of the martyrdom of their sons. This idea may in some way be opposite to the religious concepts that mothers of martyrs should not consider the death as a loss but are lucky to be chosen to be such mothers. Yet our visits to the families and my work that lasted almost 4 months showed that family members felt the need to share their pain, loss, and trauma rather than ‘‘their happiness’’ as portrayed in some of the media coverage when discussing Palestinian martyrs and their mothers’ reaction s towards their martyrdom (WCLAC, 2001—in Arabic). The project thus aimed at helping mothers share their trauma with us in an atmosphere set apart from religious, political or social beliefs. It allowed mothers to re-define loss and martyrdom in their own words and according to their own perceptions, while supporting Mohanty’s (2003) call for the need to contextualize our analyses, and concretize their effect on women. My choice as a Palestinian

LIBERATING VOICES


NOT MY SON ALONE (FROM BEING MY SON ONLY TO BEING THE COLLECTIVE HERO/SON) This search aims at making women visible as historical, social, economic, and political actors. In including ‘‘women’s perspectives’’ by giving a stage to voices of mothers of Shuhada’a, we learn that participants felt their loss was not only their own; it became a collective national loss. A woman’s ‘‘private’’ son became the nation’s martyr, and she turned into the ‘‘mother of a martyr,’’ when, as one said, ‘‘I wanted to be the same mother, the nobody (nakirah), but with him beside me.’’ Thus, we need to search for alternative ways of analyzing and defining what happens to mothers after they stop being a mother like every other mother (as they stated) and become Um ElShaheed (mother of a martyr). Salwa, a young mother who had lost her child a month before the group therapy started, shared with us that she reacted in a happy and proud manner to her son’s Shahada-Martyrdom, ‘‘I even sang and gave chocolate to people during and after his funeral, my son is a hero, a national hero, everyone is proud of him, for he with his own body prevented them from getting into our house.’’ The rest of the participants looked at each other and said to me, ‘‘One day she will wake up, and it will be very painful.’’ Not long afterwards, in September, when school started, she came to the group meeting, her eyes full of tears and anger. She said: I couldn’t sleep the past month; I always wanted him to graduate from school. Today I went to the grave and screamed at him, and cursed all leadership. I told him, Get up, son! (Kum Yamma), don’t stay beneath the earth, get up. . . I prepared your schoolbag. . . all the kids went to school and you are lying here, get up! I don’t want a son who is a hero. . .. I want my son back. . .. He is my son. . .. I want him back. Mothers not only felt the deep pain of the social/ collective glorification of their son’s acts while having to deny their personal agony, they also complained of being deprived of the chance of ‘‘properly’’ saying goodbye to him. Typical statements were: I wish they allowed me to see him when he was still in the fridge. The curfew on the village prevented me from reaching the hospital, hugging him, and asking his forgiveness for not being able to see him before he was buried.I wish I had the

397

chance to hug and kiss him. My husband gave an order not to let me in. He did not want to be embarrassed by my reactions, and I failed to see him. . . if you only knew how much I dream of hugging him. . . kissing him. . .. It has torn me apart.I was forbidden to kiss him and to cry, for the Sheik told me that my tears could bring him pain, and would make him impure (Tunajesu). Due to the political situation (curfews, arrests, imprisonments, shootings, etc.) during both Intifadas, martyrs are buried very quickly in order to prevent further loss of life that could occur if the funeral breaks the curfew or results in confrontations. In addition, certain religious beliefs demand rapid burial (some mothers stated that in Islam it is preferred to bury the dead as soon as possible), so there is little time to pay the needed respect to the dead. Finally, rapid burial is also encouraged by rumors that Israel might use the martyrs’ body organs, and mutilate or torture the dead body. This whole situation creates further trauma for the mother. Fatima said: I was not home when they brought him [her son’s body] home, and so many people participated in the funeral, and I his mother. . . had no chance of even bidding him goodbye. . .. The words of Umm Mahmoud: The problem is that the doctors gave me sedatives...and that prevented me from even seeing the whole funeral. . . I wish they had not done that. Umm Ahmad shared with us how she ended up wrapping the body of her only son in plastic bags and hiding it beneath the seats of a cab so that it would not be found by Israeli soldiers: I was sitting on the cab’s seat, smiled and even talked to the Israeli soldier, and asked him to allow me to reach home safely. My daughter was sitting beside me, crying very loudly, and I needed to tell him that she is sick and that I had to take her to the doctor. I was so scared that he would ask us to get out of the cab and search it—for usually this is what they do, but they did not. I managed to sneak his body through, and reach home. At least he was buried without his body being violated by the Israelis. The patriarchal oppression that denied mothers the right to mourn, added to the religious and political

398


oppression, caused a great deal of psychological and psychosomatic suffering to mothers. They told how they kept on dreaming about their child, asking them to hug or kiss them, or talk to him. Um Ahmad said: I keep on seeing him coming with open hands and asking me to hug him. I feel that he is angry at me for failing to at least give him the last hug. . . if I was only a mother and not a martyr’s mother, I would have filled my heart with his hug. Many participants raised the importance of speaking to the Palestinian leaders and explaining to them that mothers need to pay a farewell to their children, and that despite the fact that he is a national hero, and his death is a national loss, he is their child. The sudden news of the loss of their child brought about so much pain, but at the same time, they were also given a very high social and religious status as mothers of martyrs. The new, high social and religious status involved in being the mother of a martyr deeply affected women’s ability to mourn the death of their sons. They were torn between the need to act according to their new status and the pain and agony they felt due to their loss. The question arises whether the collectivization and glorification of the loss springs from a socio-political and religious need to deny the individual mother’s trauma or whether it is a method of helping mothers (and the ‘‘mother nation’’) cope and ease the pain of loss, or both. Participants were also very confused in relation to the martyrdom. Some stressed their pride in their sons and brothers who died. One mother said, ‘‘Not like all deaths. . . this death does not mean the loss of someone, but it means that we Palestinians are persistent in our aim to stop the occupation, and stop the killing of our people.’’ This politicization of personal pain to ease the effect of the trauma was interchangeably used with the personalization of the particular pain of losing their special child. This mixed feeling was well reflected in one mother’s statement: I lost my son. . . and nothing is as hard as losing such a young man. Do you think I will ever forgive myself for not preventing him from going to school that day? I had the intuition that the army would invade the village, but how could I know for sure and he is dead now. Who cares, who cries, who lost? I lost. Do you think that the Palestinian Authority could bring him back? . . . Do you think they even know the kind of pain and suffering I am going through? Does anyone know

what it means for a mother to sleep in her bed when her own son is sleeping on the stones in that ugly cemetery? But enough with oppression and losses. . . we Palestinians can’t keep on accepting the loss of land, people, rights. . .. In Hizma (near Jerusalem) we did not fight with weapons, we fought with stones, with the lives of young people, we fought with our deep belief (Iman). This anger against the occupiers, the Palestinian Authority and themselves was clear in most mothers’ statements. But despite the pain, they always used the words hope (Amal), patience (Saber), and faith (Iman). The concept Iman was repeatedly used, for example: We should be tolerant. . . we should resist them with tolerance, but I know one thing. . . we will keep on fighting oppression with our belief that God will one day help us. . . And that he [God] won’t let go of us. . . He won’t let our hope die, our children injured, imprisoned or dead, He knows very well our need to live in dignity. This connection between faith, dignity, pride and search for hope was clearly reflected by Umm Ammar who recited a poem: La Tasqinni Ka’ssa Al-Hayyati Bithullattin, Bal Fasqinni Bil Izzi Ka’ssa Al-Handdali [Do not force me to drink from the cup of life in humiliation/rather would I proudly sip a bitter draft.] The loss of a child also evoked mothers’ memories of being refugees in 1948 due to the events surrounding the establishment of the state of Israel. Hence, despite their belief in God’s power to help and support them, mothers feared the future. Their belief in hope (Amal) was affected by their memories of their family’s ordeals, the fact that they had lost family members in the past and that the family is now scattered in various locations. Thus, trauma seemed to be cumulative and trans-generational. This re-examination of the nation’s history and the previous losses of the family raised a sense of hopelessness, on the one hand, but, on the other hand, encouraged others to search for a better life for their children, mainly because they believed that their children are persistent in struggling against oppression: We won’t allow them to kick us out of our homes, as in 1948. . . but we are afraid, and no one knows what the future holds for us. . .. Our belief in God


will always help us, for that’s all we have. All we hope that our son’s blood won’t be for nothing. The refusal to accept sadness as a method of coping brought about a search for hope and strength that was empowered by the use of religious explanations and cultural/political anecdotes. Umm Bilal explained: We should all be happy, for our kids did not die but rather went to enjoy a better place than ours. Martyrdom is not death, it is an extraordinary death with a divine status, we should thank God for what he gave us, and refrain from crying or feeling sad. The increase in the number of Israeli invasions of schools, villages and cities, the continuous bombings, the daily loss of life, imprisonment, confinement to one area, curfews, etc. (see B’etselem reports and information sheets between 2001 – 2003) have all raised children’s and men’s level of anger and violence. Some told the group that their children refused to go to school, as they believe that one day, they will be killed and so they have nothing to hope for. Mothers are well aware of this, and they explained how the political situation caused children to be restless, angry, and violent and in some cases, uncontrollable.

COPING WITH REMEMBRANCE WHILE FEELING DESPAIR WITHIN THE POLITICAL CONTEXT Each time I see the Shabab (young men) coming back from work, I start crying and singing lamentations (Bannaweh). I remember him coming back from work, giving me money behind his father’s back. . .. My Mahmoud left school two years ago, he was 16 years old, he wanted to help his father financially. He used to work in Israel, so as to support us economically, and he ended up paying with his life on his way to work. . . it is hard for me to cope with. Each time I see his friends, or hear them coming from work, I start calling him. . . as if I am sure that one day he will come back. Umm Rami said: Rami was in love with a young girl. Although he was very young, 15 years old, he was planning to marry her. He used to tell me his dreams about their getting married, and I even promised him that I would give him the upper room to live in.

399

Today, when I hear about a wedding I go crazy. I feel like screaming at anyone who comes to invite us to a wedding. I feel that no one has the right to marry, for my child was deprived of fulfilling his dreams. Every time I enter the house, I can smell him, I even see him sometimes asking me to hug him. I was his friend and he was mine. I refuse to go out of the house for fear of meeting his classmates, or hearing his voice calling me ‘‘Wein Ya Hajjeh?’’ (Where are you, respected Mother?), a phrase that he used to say very often, and I used to love it coming from his mouth, or looking at people’s eyes feeling sorry for me for losing him. It is hard to remember him, but it is harder to forget him. . . this pain of remembrance is torture. . . he was killed a year ago, and I still can’t avoid seeing and feeling him every day and every night around me. Coping with the memories and helping family members to handle them was very hard on mothers. Women’s strategies for coping with memories varied. Some tried to cope by denying their feelings. Others carried on their daily life in a state of ‘‘choiceful amnesia,’’ and others shared their anguish and sadness with family and friends. Fadwa said, ‘‘My son used to like eating a certain dish. . . and since his death I do not allow anybody to cook it in the house, for he is not here to eat it. . . and no one will eat it, and she burst into tears.’’ Umm Usama replied, ‘‘I do the opposite. . . because he used to like a certain dish. . . I always cook it. . . so as to remember him and keep him with me. . . I invite his friends over and feed them the same dish Usam used to like. Yes I do wish he was with us to eat, but thank God for our situation. . . I am a religious woman and can’t complaint against God’s will.’’ Unquestioning ‘‘God’s will’’ in taking their kids as seen previously, making oneself busy in social gatherings, political activities, or domestic duties were some of the methods of coping with loss. Participants learned that there is no right or wrong way of coping. Each person searches for her own way to reduce her pain and help her cope with the memory. The strongest trend apparent in the women’s reactions was their search for methods of survival, for hope and for power arising out of their sons’ martyrdom. They told us how they tried to support their other children mainly when the Martys’s sisters and/ or brother/s remembered him and/or started crying, cursing, or feeling pain while saying such words: Your brother would be proud of you if you get good grades.Your brother would be happy to see you happy and not crying.Your brother wouldn’t

400


let you throw stones, for he wants you to stay by me, he knows how painful for me it was to lose him. . . Yamma, (Mom) stay for me and make me happy. . . and let your sisters and brothers enjoy their lives with your presence, we lost one, let us enjoy what is left. Umm Ahmad shared with the group her oldest daughter’s refusal to get married or wear a white dress after the loss (Shahadaa) of her brother. She told us that each morning her daughter used to start crying while looking around her at her dead brother’s pictures. She explained that every time they woke up, prepared breakfast, read the newspaper, or drove the car, his sister mentioned him and her tears never dried up. She then shared with the group the way she convinced her daughter to get on with her life: You know Mom, God wanted us to know the meaning of life by taking one of us. . . one very dear. . . but he did that to teach us that life is very precious. . .. Now you are crying because you miss your brother. . . you said you do not want to get married. . .. No Mom. . . you should marry while wearing his picture. I will buy you a golden frame with his necklace and we will put Ahmad’s picture in it. . . so when you leave the house in your bridal dress he will be with you, and he will bless you and allow you to enjoy life. . .. He was asked by God to die and sacrifice his life. . . and by doing this he gave us the chance to live a better life. . . a life that is full of blessing Barakeh and pride Fakhr. Have you ever seen a bride as lucky as you are? Building power from pain was repeatedly discussed, while using various examples, stressing that the mothers’ role following the martyrdom of their children is harsher. Not only do they need to carry the pain of loss, they need to support the rest of the family and prevent them from losing hope. Mothers explained that remembrance was inevitable, and remembering their sons became harsher due to the deterioration of the political situation. They explained that each day another child was killed, another house was demolished, and so many people were imprisoned. Moreover, they showed that the killing of their sons did not end the agony, it was followed by the imprisonment of the father, brothers or sisters or close family members. Thus remembrance and mourning were more painful, as Nadia stated: ‘‘the problem is that our pain started with the loss of my child, but it never stopped afterward. We were harassed daily, night raids, imprisonment of my two brothers, and

lately the demolition of the house. . .. I feel sometimes that they want to burn our hearts—Bidhum Yehreou Klubna.’’ Women’s ways of coping with their loss can be summarized by helping and supporting family members (‘‘When I see the family content, it eases my pain’’), participating in activities with other mothers of martyrs, spending more time praying, visiting the martyr’s grave and planting it with flowers and shrubs. Mothers’ fear of future loss put them in continuous state of worry and tension. When they shared with the group their state of shock, numbness, and refusal to accept the loss, religious mothers refused to accept their pain. They explained to the group that mothers of martyrs should not mourn, since they were chosen by God. This religious explanation was partly accepted, but mothers kept stating that they missed their child; therefore they cry, go to the graveyard and feel angry. One of the mothers who denied mothers of martyrs the right to weep was asked by another mother what she did when she missed her son, for if it is religiously not right to cry, not right to visit the grave, and not right to speak to the dead, how did she cope with her feelings? She answered: I wake up each day, and before I go to pray, I open the door between my bedroom and my son’s room. I look at the floor. . . he was the one who put the nice tiles on the floor. . . so I go down, kiss the floor, and put my cheeks on the floor to feel his hands. . . if you only know how much do I miss him. Later on, some of the mothers decided to consult with a religious leader and returned with other religious interpretations that allow mothers to cry, mourn, and even visit the graveyard. However, note that those who gave or denied women the permission to cry and mourn were men. This male control over mothers’ reactions was well reflected in one mother’s statement, ‘‘They want to impose rules even on our tears. . . it seems that their control over our lives, marriage, and destiny is not enough for them.’’

HOW CAN I HELP AND PROTECT? Umm Mahmoud explained that her main problem is that their house is known to the soldiers as the house of a martyr. This situation made her feel that she has no control over her home and as much as she tries to protect her children, she feels that the house has become totally unsafe. She told us, ‘‘I started believing that when my kids are outside home; they are


safer. . . for the soldiers have raided the house so many times, broke the stove, two doors, the kitchen sink, terrified the kids to the degree that they wet themselves, screamed, and cried non-stop.’’ Umm Riad wondered, ‘‘I also believe that I should safeguard my family, but how can I do this when fear and horror (Ru’ob) face us day and night. We are not safe inside the house with us, nor are we safe outside?’’ Many queries regarding the safety of the rest of the family and the continuous threats and fears were raised, while stressing how their sons’ martyrdoms added pains and changed their lives. It was clear that the death of a child deeply affected the women’s behavior and protection strategies towards themselves and their mothering roles, their children and family and their environment. Some told us that they could not sleep since the death, or repeatedly dreamt of their child asking for help, and stressing the need to protect the living family members. Some were scared to leave the house or to close the door, in case he (the dead son) would come to visit and explain to her how to protect his sisters and brothers. Some mothers explained that the younger children either started sleeping next to them, or that they prevented the children from sleeping far away from them. Other participants explained to us how they refused to allow the other children to leave the house, play outside, go to friends, etc., for fear of losing them. They explained how the family could no longer feel safe. One said, ‘‘From now on-after the death of Ramihappiness and tranquility will never prevail in the house.’’ Another told us ‘‘Since his martyrdom, I prevent all the family from participating in happy occasions such as weddings. Each time they do, they come back sick, angry and without hope. . . as if happiness was stolen from our family when he left us.’’ Some mothers said that they were unable to do even routine housework, for example: I can’t cook or clean the house, I can’t sit with the kids at night. . . I keep on crying or isolating myself from the whole family. . . I felt that when I lost him, I also lost my will to live. . . and my power to be a mother. Other mothers said exactly the opposite; they felt that they could not rest or were very restless and felt the need to keep on working. These two patterns, of being paralyzed and unable to do their daily activities or of overworking themselves, were mentioned by most mothers, as if they were in a pendulum state between total paralyses and total power and determination to live, protect and cope. These reactions are all typical of mothers who have lost

401

children. Yet, the particularities of the political conflict in Palestine (i.e., the continuing danger to the remaining children and family and the continual reenactment of the trauma of oppression) further complicated the mothers’ reactions. One of the issues raised when discussing the issue of protection was the daily confrontation with the enemy. Meeting Israelis was considered by most women as causing pain, suffering and increasing sad memories. It was apparent that the other collective represented or was identified with the killers. Mothers talked about feelings of exhaustion, anger, and sadness when meeting a Jewish Israeli, as well as feelings of humiliation, despair, and powerless to protect and safeguard their loved ones. Some even shared their inability to keep on walking, and the feeling, as one said, ‘‘that I am breaking down.’’ Mothers discussed their struggle between their inner need to be with their kids and protect/help them, and their helplessness and powerlessness when they encountered Israeli tanks, Hummers (a kind of Jeep that Israelis used during the incursions), and other sophisticated weapons. Umm Ayman said that she fears becoming sick as this may mean being treated in an Israeli hospital (she lives in East Jerusalem and she should officially be medically served by the Israeli hospital Hadassah). She said, ‘‘I prefer to die rather than being sick. . . for I do not think I could see their faces.’’ Umm Rami took the opposite view: I personally have no problem meeting Jewish Israelis, even though we did not occupy their land, invade their villages and kill their sons, and they did. I could even tell you that my son’s employer was a Jewish Israeli, and he was very sad when he learned that my son was killed. He even expressed his willingness to participate in the funeral. . . but we feared for his life, and prevented him from coming. He called us and asked to see the video of the funeral, and we sent it to him. . . I believe that he felt very embarrassed to learn that my son was shot only 30 minutes after he left work. . . he knew very well what a good person they all lost. . . We shouldn’t be afraid of them. . . but be careful if they plan to attack us. One of the stories not only reflected meeting the enemy, but also the mothers’ priorities when needing to face the enemy and deal with their anger towards them and with their need to protect and survive: I go twice a week to Ramallah to sell yogurt, for my husband has been in prison since the martyrdom of my son, and I am the only breadwinner for

402


the family. I was on my way to Ramallah when a group of soldiers stopped me and many other male workers who were on their way to work early in the morning. Because I was pregnant, and was carrying a big pot of yogurt on my head, the soldiers suspected that I was carrying a bomb or something similar. They asked me to put the pot on the floor and took the cover off. They wanted to check whether there was something hidden in the yogurt, and were about to do it using their hands and their feet to stir the yogurt. I begged them not to do that and stirred it myself using the ladle (kafkeer). I also suggested they taste it, so as to show them that there was nothing wrong with it, I tasted it myself to prove it. After that, they wanted to check whether I had hidden something in my dress, since I was pregnant. They pulled up my dress up using their machine guns, and asked me to take the veil off my head and the pillow I had put on my head to carry the big yogurt pot. They drove me crazy to the point that the man standing in line behind me to be checked told me to just throw the pot at them. The feeling of anger, fear and frustration was so strong. . . but I looked at the man and told him, ‘‘Why should I waste the yogurt on the soldier. . . he doesn’t deserve a drop of the yogurt. . . my kids need every penny from the sale of the yogurt. . . and I prefer to go back to my kids with the 24 – 25 Shekels than with no money and lots of pain and agony.’’ She came to the group meeting to tell the group the story explaining that despite all the pain and the tears that she shed after being released from the ‘‘process of torture,’’ as she called it, she felt that ‘‘Women are strong and no-one, not even the enemy, can prevent them from finding a way of supporting their children. I came back home with 26 Shekels and managed to buy one chicken and two kilos of rice. . . on that day I protected my family from hunger. . . I wish I could do it all the time.’’ Women participants shared with us the countless strategies they used to protect their children and their people, and help them survive. The strategies involved protection methods both in the private/ family and the public/political spheres. Among others, the mothers mentioned strategies such as helping to hide pursued children, talking and facing Israeli soldiers in an attempt to prevent them from abusing Palestinians, screaming in a very loud voice to call for help or incapacitate the enemy during raids on their homes. They showed how they cooked for all

the neighborhood when there was no accesses to the food, picked up school books from other villages when the ones they had were destroyed, protected men and children on check points when harassed by the IDF, participated in funerals of other martyrs, even when they did not know the person, just to support, help and protect other families when facing loss and pain. They stressed their daily planning for the night, so as to attract children to be home early and participate in the family activities, songs, gatherings, food, talks, etc., and even shared their lullabies with the group to help their very small children go to sleep.

MARTYRDOM AND ACCEPTANCE OF DEATH: IN SEARCH OF A BETTER LIFE Did mothers wish martyrdom for their children? That was a very harsh and painful question that Palestinian mothers in general and mothers of martyrs in particular wanted to discuss. Palestinians have been accused of pushing their children to die. The narratives that were shared in this group therapy help shed light on this issue. Mothers stated that they did all they could to prevent the death of their children. Some told how they used to run after the children, searching everywhere for them and preventing them from participating in the confrontations (Muwajahat). The mothers not only discouraged their children from participating in confrontations, at times they reverted to the use of punishment to stop them. Sometimes the children reacted against their mothers. Umm Khaled told how, when her children feel she is being overprotective to the degree of driving them crazy, they threaten her and tell her that they want to die as martyrs. All the others shared with us their extreme state of shock and pain on learning that they had lost their loved ones. They all told stories about their reactions, such as blaming themselves for allowing their children to go out and play in the yard, or for not preventing them from leaving the house. Some even explained in detail the fact that they did their utmost to prevent the children from going out. The need to search for an answer to the question ‘‘Why was he killed? Why my son?’’ made mothers accept any explanation in order to ease their pain. Participants explained that their loved ones ‘‘chose to die, so as to give others life’’. Nadia said: I am in such pain, but what makes me feel better is the belief that my son chose to be martyred (Yistashhed). He was asking me to pray for him to


die as a martyr (Shahid). . . for he hoped that his death could ease the life of those he loved. For martyrdom (Shahadeh) is not death. . . this is giving life to others, or allowing others to live a better life. Umm Bilal said: Martyrdom is like a soldier that died in a war. . . the soldier’s death is not an ordinary death. . . it is a death which brings life and safety to others, life to those Palestinians who are striving to live. Let me tell you how his father lost his job, and how life became so tough on us, no money and no way of keeping up with the very basic needs of life. This is why he felt bad, despair and agony were filling him, and he was looking for ways to help solve the hardships. . . he left school because we were unable to pay for his education, he tried to find a job, but failed. . . and then he decided to get organized with the other youths (Shabab) so as to protect his land. And Umm Rami: After Rami’s death. . . none of the kids wants to live or continue. . . they all want to die. . . for they believe and hope that life after death will be better than their life now. Martyrdom (Shahada) was interpreted in different ways, but all agreed that it resulted from the child’s dissatisfaction with political oppression, his unwillingness to accept horror as a normal part of his daily life and his need to protect the land and his loved ones from further humiliation. Mothers gave many examples when their children witnessed and experienced humiliation, violence and disdain. They sensed the anger and despair of their children, but as one quoted, ‘‘The eye observes but the hand is helpless’’ (El-Ein Bassirah Wil Eid Qassirah). Despite all the ‘‘positive’’ connotations given to martyrdom that seemed to ease some of the pain, reduce their anxieties and depression and encourage the search for survival, participants continuously expressed the horror of their sudden loss. Umm Mahmoud said: ‘‘It is still death,’’ to which one replied, ‘‘How can we reach a point where we can get more support from God and others without losing our loved ones? How can we help our families without ending up losing them?’’ Another added: ‘‘Lately I feel that death became the road to life. . . it is like equating life to death. . . Is this life as Palestinians, is it either we

403

live while dying each day million time, or we die in order to live?’’

FIGHTING DENIALS: BETWEEN THE POLITICS OF SILENCE AND THE HEGEMONY OF SCIENCE/TRUTHS In war, conflict areas, and other situations of violence women may gain awareness and become gender sensitized, and politicized; they are targeted in particular ways because they are women and perhaps their speaking about and coping with this (violence) reflects a basic level of ‘‘feminist’’ and ‘‘humanist’’ consciousness, especially if they want to fight back as women. In our case-study Ummahhat Al-Shuhada’a (mothers of martyrs) showed their awareness to the various layers of oppression as victims and survivors. Their coping/adjustment and/or rejection of complying with the political, gender and structural oppression and their readiness to fight back in multi level ways while constructing new measures of coping uncovered the power of the powerless and the hope of the persecuted. This article reflected to a large degree the way power holders, international, local (Palestinian), or politically conflicting (Israeli) mute women voices while using the hegemony of science and the politics of silence. The local Palestinian power holders used religious interpretations, patriarchal/traditional values, or political beliefs to affect/block mothers of martyrs’ modes of coping when losing a child. The international power holders used the hegemony of ‘‘Western Science’’ (Nandy, 1998) such as psychological theories on parenting/mothering and traumatological theories on modes of coping with loss to show that Palestinian women are ‘‘unfit’’ mothers and ‘‘abnormal’’ mourners. The Israeli political opponents used their political and military power in the name of ‘‘national security’’ and ‘‘survival needs’’ to further oppress Palestinian women. Despite all the previously mentioned muting strategies women constructed a new mode of coping characterized by Palestinian mothers’ will to protect, love, search for survival techniques, reject oppression and create hope. Palestinian women’s coping discourse was a love/peace discourse that aimed at containing frustration, hatred, and helplessness. This work set out to explore how gendered methods of coping with trauma, and ‘‘the politics of loss’’, were connected to the ‘‘politics of resistance’’ to oppression, the politics of silence, and the ‘‘politics of truth/s.’’ A group of mothers of martyrs in Palestine participated in empowerment meetings

404


that were termed ‘‘voice therapy’’ and their narratives were gradually unveiled. The weekly discussions of those mothers have redefined old epic notions of glorious political conflict transferring them to a setting where it is the victims who are seen as the true heroes. Looking at the effect of the political situation through the mothers’ eyes helped me understand the effect of the cruelty, loss and imposed oppression on their natural responses of love, protectiveness, and grief. Thus, and even from their expressions of despair the mothers searched for hope. More than just passive victims, they became creators of safety nets in the face of the cruelties imposed upon them. Their reactions to this cruelty has unified them in their gender roles, but also diversified them in their personal reactions to the trauma of loss. The mothers showed a firm grip on reality throughout the meetings, when some were more fixed in the past, some retained a strong grasp on the possible and the present, while the rest were obsessed with the future. No matter what path each individual mother chose, they all resolved to survive through hoping for glory in their son’s death, examining the refuge of madness/illness to survive the pain of loss, clinging to the past, or abandoning the past in search for a better future. When revealing the gendered methods of coping with trauma and the way oppression connects ‘‘the politics of loss’’ with the ‘‘politics of resistance’’ we learned that women’s narratives tell us that the reaction of Palestinian mothers of martyrs to their loss does not differ from those of other mothers who have lost a child under traumatic conditions. In addition, Palestinian mothers see themselves as protectors of their children and families rather than as promoters or encouragers of reckless or risktaking behaviors. The trauma suffered by Palestinian mothers of martyrs is compounded by political and gender oppression, making coping with loss harsher. Moreover, and despite the enormous trauma inflicted upon these mothers, and the continued incapacitation by political and social institutions, they did not break down. There is a silent note of strength that appears primarily in the company of other women. Despite the fact that this article is based on the voices of a small number of women, we believe that the group meetings and the support mothers got from sharing their narratives and caring and supporting each other, helped us reveal hidden ‘‘truths.’’ It showed us some of the hidden, humane and more sophisticated aspects of ‘‘proper mothering,’’ ‘‘trauma,’’ and ‘‘loss’’ in the Palestine context of martyrdom, stressing the aspects listed below.

FORCING ORDER ON CHAOS Although women participants spoke for themselves, their words and reactions show insight into a more comprehensive aspect of the Intifada, united and allowed them discursively to re-structure society around a new center and a new image, searching and creating a safe milieu that is filled with their love, care, and protection. Forcing order on the chaos of emotions, motivations and Intifada outcomes, the mothers managed to expose their thoughts and pains, while re-interpreting their situation through their visions. Their voices that discussed their reactions following the loss of their child, their continuous search for the child to return, their dreams of hugging and kissing them, their child’s pictures all over the house, their poetry, songs, writings, stories, silence, and yelling, their sleeplessness or oversleeping, their depressions, sadness or somatic illnesses, their states of denials—all tell us at least one fact—they lost a child. Women participants certainly lay to rest the accusation that Palestinian mothers send their children to die, and cheer upon their child’s death. The group meetings brought many stories and incidents where mothers did things such as hiding a child’s schoolbag, or hitting him in front of his peers while preventing him from joining in the resistance activities, locking the house door, pretending to be sick, actual imprisonment of a child, moving to a different house and so on, to prevent a child from being injured or killed. Thus women participants challenged the universal perceptions of Palestinian mothers of martyrs and redefined loss, trauma, and martyrdom in their own words and based on their socio-political context. Women who participated in the group were able to heal through the process of voicing out the situation (see also Amyuni, 1999, p. 108). I believe that there is consistency in risking their lives to protect their children from harm, facing and fighting the Israeli soldiers and their highly sophisticated weapons, tanks and arms, and helping in preserving a normal family and social life brought about some order in the midst of uncontrollable chaos, and showed that Palestinian women are front line warriors, who used weapons of love, care, protection, and tenderness to fight oppression and create a safe cocoon for their loved ones.

OPPRESSION AND THE DENIAL OF WOMEN’S PAIN Palestinian mothers live in a masculine world (Shalhoub-Kevorkian, 2002a,b; Taraki, 1997; Wing, 1994). Women participants defined social attitudes


to women’s feelings saying: ‘‘Women usually react in a totally abnormal manner bringing disdain and ridicule to their surroundings.’’ In this world, women are considered the problem, while men and masculinity are unnamed norms. Giving each woman the right to tell her own story of the conflict is therefore a political act of self-actualization. This act allowed us to replace the masculinized discourses of martyrdom with a feminized maternal discourse. When the women discussed how Palestinian society reacted to the loss of their children, they stressed their criticism of how they were prevented from expressing their pain and loss. They talked of being prevented for participating in their own child’s funeral, seeing him for the last time in the hospital, being able to hug him and kiss him for the last time etc. As Umm Riad stated: ‘‘. . . even when we are in mourning, we still need to behave according to expected codes and male orders.’’ This masculinized sanction against normal morning created a new challenge/hardship. The imprisonment of voice, tears and emotions brought about the discovery of a new mode of coping that increased the need to forcefully protect the remaining members of the family, singing, ululating, and/or participating in public political activities that glorify the Shaheed. They described the continuous devastation and destruction of lives and properties that prevented them from feeling their pain, or finding a safe place to express their suffering and share their feelings. They also raised factual issues such as the high unemployment rate, massive imprisonment of individuals, continuous harassment and oppression on checkpoints and the inability to commute from one place to the other that caused almost total incapacitation and a high level of frustration. This frustration turned women in some cases, into the punching bag of their male counterparts and increased the men’s aggressive behaviors and violence (for more details see a letter by WCLAC, 2001a,b). Thus, in addition to their loss, mothers needed to cope with further oppression, frustration and aggression. I would like to argue that women’s life philosophy breaks the barriers of circumscribed ‘‘feminist’’ or ‘‘womanist’’ appropriate behavior, for they alone cannot rise above the common law of gender, politics or oppression. Thus, given the right to tell their own story of the conflict and acknowledging their voices as constructors of history is of focal concern. I believe that narratives are creations for authorizing one’s own story and theory. Judging Palestinian mothers without understanding the context and using psychological/ political theories on mothering, trauma and loss to

405

label mothers as abusers is an additional ‘‘scientific’’ method of abuse. This hegemony of science and objectivity as reflected in the immorality of denying oppressed groups their mere rights to define their feelings and coping strategies should be further studied and examined (Nandy, 1998; Shiva et al., 2000).

LINKING SUFFERING WITH HOPE The group sessions clearly revealed the mothers’ great potential for survival and their personal power to mobilize resources from the painful past in the healing process. Linking suffering with hope was one of the main methods the women used to cope with their losses. Their symbolic expressions of the effect of trauma also showed how they used religious and cultural barriers and beliefs to communicate and share painful feelings with the group. In their narratives the women uprooted and rerooted themselves to create new spaces where they can imagine alternatives. Despite their continuous emphasis that ‘‘nothing will change’’ and that ‘‘our life won’t be free of oppression’’—that is, despite expressing apparent hopelessness and helplessness— women found ways, as one stated ‘‘of creating hope’’ (Bakhleq Amal) in their daily activities. Because of and despite their feelings of ‘‘nothingness,’’ the weight of their feelings and thoughts and the oppressive and threatening fear of ongoing losses, the women found the power to resist suffering and search for hope. It may seem strange to derive hope from loss, but the great weight of the pain of loss activates the women’s inner power.

CONCLUSION There is a great difference between those who invert the patriarchal order by putting women in the center and those who deconstruct that order and perceive women as the center—as I do. By presenting the narratives of Palestinian mothers of martyrs, I hope to open up room within scientific discourse to acknowledge of the differences and tensions arising when considering women in different cultural, social and political situations. Weaving together the various strands of dichotomized ‘‘public’’ and ‘‘private’’ narratives arising in a situation of political conflict, I have tried to juxtapose the different threads of a nation’s history with the individual history of mothers of martyrs, showing how both histories are interconnected (see also Griffin, 1993; Kandiyoti, 1996; Sayigh, 1996). The narratives of the mothers of martyrs in Palestine


406

revealed many strands of individual experience. Personalizing the nation’s history and contextualizing mothers’ history has uncovered the face of women as the previously unrecognized public warriors. The findings described in this case study have many implications for researchers, practitioners and policy makers. Researchers must be aware that the essence they seek may not be apparent at surface level, and gender in some cases could be silenced as an analytical category, as if masculinity has a cultural superiority and epistemological certainty. The ‘‘true’’ feelings of mothers embroiled in political conflicts of liberation are ‘‘hidden’’ within the folds of cultural and political repression. Such sentiments cannot be examined through superficial questionnaires and ‘‘journalistic’’ interviews, nor could they be revealed when one carries stereotypical beliefs and myths regarding specific women. They surface only after a safe and unprejudiced space has been constructed to re-assure the participants, respect their voices, and create rapport. The second main implication is that such women are in need of therapeutic strategies that are not based on conventional western paradigms or practices. Their traumas do not emanate solely from the loss of their children, but also from the political and social repression they experience. Hence, their traumas are not ‘‘classical’’ but rather compounded, intricate, and embedded. Therapeutic techniques utilized with such women must be holistic, contextual, and penetrating. Finally, the findings point to other serious sociopolitical implications. Mothers of martyrs should not be projected as ‘‘super women.’’ Losing a child to a just political cause does not obviate the maternal feelings of these mothers towards their children. More importantly, their ‘‘willingness’’ to accept the noble fate of their children does not mean that they wish or desire this fate for them. All the mothers I spoke to, given the choice, would have traded the exalted title of martyr in return for the lives of their children. The false accusations levied at them that they encourage their children to seek the martyr title not only compound their suffering, but also complicate their recovery. Despite the enormous traumas and difficulties to which Palestinian mothers have been subjected, they display hidden reserves of strength that should be developed and encouraged. Liberating their mute voices begins the road towards such encouragement. REFERENCES Abdel-hamid, Afana, Steffen, Odd, Bjertness, Espen, Grunfeld, Berthold, & Hauff, Edvard (2002). The prevalence and associated socio-demographic variables of PTSD among patients attending primary health care

centers in Gaza Strip. Journal of Refugee Studies, 15(3), 283 – 295. Abdo, Nahla (1994). Nationalism and feminism: Palestinian women and the Intifada—no going back? In Valentine M. Moghadam (Ed.), Gender and national identity: Women politics in Muslim societies. London: Zed Books. Abdo, Nahla, & Lentin, Ronit (Eds.) (2002). Women and the politics of military confrontation: Palestinian and Israeli gendered narratives of dislocation. Oxford: Berghahn Books. Accad, Evelyne (1990). Sexuality and war: Literary masks of the Middle East. New York: New York University Press. Afshar, Haleh (Ed.) (1993). Women in the Middle East: Realities and struggles for liberation. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Ahmad, Leila (1990). Women and gender in Islam: Historical roots of a modern debate. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Al-Ali, Nadje (2000). Secularism, gender and the state in the Middle East: The Egyptian women’s movement. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Amyuni, Mona Takieddine (1999). A panorama of Lebanese women writers, 1975 – 1995. In Lamia R. Shehadeh (Ed.), Women and war in Lebanon. Miami: University of Florida Press. Aweidah, Liftawi Sama (2001). An open letter to the Queen of Sweden: Your majesty the queen, This is what we are: Mothers! Jerusalem: Women’s Studies Center. Baker, Ahmad, & Shalhoub-Kevorkian, Nadera (1995). Differential effects of trauma on spouses of traumatized households. Journal of Traumatic Stress, 18(1), 61 – 73. Baker, Ahmad M. (1991). The psychological response of Palestinian children to environmental stress associated with military occupation. Journal of Refugee Studies, 4, 237 – 247. Baker, Ahmad M. (1992). Gender, urban – rural-camp, and regional differences among self-esteem scores of Palestinian children. The Journal of Psychology, 126, 207 – 209. B’etselem reports and information sheets between 2001 – 2003. Cooke, Miriam (1999). Mapping peace. In Lamia R. Shehadeh (Ed.), Women and war in Lebanon. Miami: University of Florida Press. Dajani, Souad (1994). Between national and social liberation: The Palestinian women’s movement in Israelioccupied West Bank and Gaza Strip. In Tamar Mayer (Ed.), Women and the Israeli occupation: The politics of change. London: Routledge. Elbedour, Salman, Baker, Ahmad, Shalhoub-Kevorkian, Nadera, Irwin, Michael, & Belmaker, Robert H. (1999). Psychological responses in family members after the Hebron massacre. Depression and Anxiety, 9, 27 – 31. Griffin, Susan (1993). A chorus of stones: The private life of war. New York: Anchor/Doubleday. Haddad, Yvonne (1980). Palestinian women: Patterns of legitimation and domination. In Khalil Nakhleh & Elia Zureik (Eds.), The sociology of the Palestinians. London: Croom Helm. Hamami, Rema (1990, May – August). Women, the HIjab, and the Intifada. Middle East Report, No. 164/165 ( pp. 24 – 30). Hamami, Rema (2001). Intifada in the Aftermath, October 30, 2001 MERIP Press Information Note 74.


Huntington, Samuel P. (1997). The clash of civilizations and the remaking of world order (London: Touchstone). Jad, Islah (1990). From salons to popular committees; Palestinian women, 1919 – 1989. In Jamal Nassar & Roger Heacock (Eds.), Intifada: Palestinian at the crossroads ( pp. 125 – 142). New York: Praeger Publishers. Kandiyoti, Deniz (1996). Gendering the Middle East: Emerging perspectives. London: I.B. Tauris Pubishers. Kaplan, Caren, Alarco’n, Norma, & Moallem, Minoo (1999). Between women and nation: Nationalism, transnational feminisms, and the state. Durham: Duke University Press. Khader, Asma (1999). Al-qanoun Wa Mustaqbal Al-Mar’a Al-Filistinyyeh [Law and the future of the Palestinian woman]. Jerusalem: Women’s Center for Legal Aid and Counseling. Khamis, Vivian (2000). Political violence and the Palestinian family: Implications for mental health and wellbeing ( pp. 66 – 78). Oxford: The Haworth Maltreatment and Trauma Press. Lentin, Ronit (2000). Israel and the daughters of the Shoah: Reoccupying the territories of silence. Oxford: Berghahn Books. Mernissi, Fatima (1987). The veil and the male elite: A feminist interpretation of women’s rights in Islam. Paris: Addison-Wesley Publishing. Mohanty, Chandra Talpade (1986). Under Western eyes: Feminist scholarship and colonial discourses. Boundary, 212(3), 333 – 358. Mohanty, Chandra Talpade (2003). ‘‘Under Western eyes’’ revisited: Feminism solidarity through anticapitalist struggles. SIGNS: Journal of women in culture and society, 28(2), 499 – 535. Nandy, Ashis (Ed.) (1998). Science, hegemony and violence: A requuiem for modernity. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Punamaki, Raya (1990). The relationship between political violence and psychological response among Palestinian women. Journal of Peace Research, 27, 75 – 85. Rosen, George (1947). What is social medicine? A genetic analysis of the concept. Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 21, 674 – 733. Said, Edward (1979). Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books. Sayigh, Rosemary (1983). Women in struggle: Palestine. Third World Quarterly, 5(5). Sayigh, Rosemary (1996). Researching gender in a Palestinian camp. In Deniz Kandiyoti (Ed.), Gendering the Middle East: Emerging perspectives ( pp. 145 – 167). London: I.B. Tauris Pubishers. Shalhoub-Kevorkian, Nadera (1997). Tolerating battering: Invisible way of social control. International Review of Victimology, 5, 1 – 21. Shalhoub-Kevorkian, Nadera (1998). Crime of war, culture, and children’s rights: The case-study of female Palestinian detainees under Israeli military occupation. In Gillian Douglas & Leslie Sebba (Eds.), Children’s rights and traditional values ( pp. 228 – 248). Aldershot, England: Darmouth Press. Shalhoub-Kevorkian, Nadera (2001). Using the dialogue tent to break mental chains: Listening and being heard. Social Service Review, 75(1), 135 – 150. Shalhoub-Kevorkian, Nadera (2002a). Growing from with-

407

in: The decolonization of the mind. In Nahla Abdo & Ronit Lentin (Eds.), Women and the politics of military confrontation: Palestinian and Israeli gendered narratives of dislocation ( pp. 176 – 194). Oxford: Berghahn Books. Shalhoub-Kevorkian, Nadera (2002b). Femicide and the Palestinian Criminal Justice System: Seeds of change in the context of state building? Law and Society Review, 36(3), 577 – 605. Shalhoub-Kevorkian, Nadera (2003). Re-examining femicide: Breaking the silence and crossing scientific borders. SIGNS: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 28(2), 581 – 608. Shanghatana, Stree Shakti (1989). We were making history: Women and the Telengana people’s struggle. India: Kali For Women. Sharoni, Simona (1994). Homefront as battlefield: Gender, military occupation and violence against women. In Tamar Mayer (Ed.), Women and the Israeli occupation: The politics of change. London: Routledge. Shehadeh, Lamia R. (Ed.) (1999). Women and war in Lebanon. Miami: University of Florida Press. Shiva, Vandana, Gordon, Rebecca, & Wing, Bob (2000). Global Brahmanism: The meaning of the WTO protests: An interview with Dr. Vandana Shiva. ColorLines: Race, Color, Action, 3(2), 30 – 32. Shochat, Ella (1988). Sepharadim in Israel: Zionism from the standpoint of its Jewish victims. Social Text: Theory, Culture, Ideology, 19 – 20, 1 – 34. Talhami, Ghada (1984). Palestinian women: The case for political liberation. Arab Perspective, 4. Taraki, Lisa (1997). Contemporary realities and trends. Birzeit University Women’s Studies Program Report, 12, 3 – 8. Thornhill, Teresa (1992). Making women talk: The interrogation of Palestinian women detainees by the Israeli General Security Service. London: Lawyers for Palestinian Human Rights. Tucker, Judith (Ed.) (1993). Arab women: Old boundaries, new frontiers. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Warnock, Kitty (1990). Land before honour. London: Macmillan. WCLAC (Arabic, 2001a). Report on the Status of Palestinian Women based on the CEDAW (Convention on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women) framework Compiled and published by WCLAC. WCLAC (2001b). A report on the Situation of Women’s Human Rights during the ‘Second Intifada’ presented by the Women’s Centre for Legal Aid and Counseling (WCLAC) and the Women’s Studies Center (WSC) to the UN Human Rights Commission Fact-finding Mission on 16 February, 2001. Wing, Adrien Katherine (1994). Customs, religion, and rights: The future legal status of Palestinian women. Harvard International Law Journal, 35(1), 149 – 200. Wuthnow, Robert (Ed.) (1998). Encyclopedia of politics and religion, 2 vols. ( pp. 494 – 497). Washington, DC: Congressional Quarterly. Yuval-Davis, Nira (1982). Israeli women and men: Division behind the unity. London: Change International Reports, Women and Society.