In Beit Hanun, few believe in peaceful solution
Matthew Gutman Jun. 25, 2003 - JERUSALEM POST
Squinting into the noonday sun as he surveyed his Beit Hanun fields, Fawaz al-Zanin's flickering eyes finally settled on the citrus saplings he had planted after the IDF uprooted his 45-dunam (11.25-acre) orchard from which Hamas fired Kassam rockets at Sderot.
"It will be eight-to-10 years before these trees bear fruit. [The replanting] is for my children. I may never live to see the fruit," said the 37-year-old farmer who was born and raised in this town in the northeast corner of the Gaza Strip.
His father had planted the orchard 45 years ago
Like many locals who are anxious for Israel to withdraw, in the first scheduled phase of the road map, so they can return to their daily routines, Zanin was critical of Hamas's use of his and other fields as launch pads for Kassams.
"It is not worth it, terrorizing Israelis, this land is too old to lose," he said.
Tanks moved into Beit Hanun on May 20 in an effort to block the firing of Kassams, and have remained there since.
Large swaths of the orchards, once the Palestinian Authority territories' largest producer and exporter of citrus, are now wastelands. The IDF has made it clear that areas used for launching rockets will be destroyed.
"They are not harming Israel but terrorizing it," Zanin said, acknowledging that the Kassams have produced little physical damage. Of the some 2,000 Kassams fired over the past 1,000 days, only a few have caused minor injuries.
Like members of the PA's security apparatuses operating in Beit Hanun and northern Gaza, Zanin claims that he has never actually seen Hamas men setting up the rockets.
"No, no, I never see them. They come in the middle of the night or in the early morning and then leave," he said.
To Zanin's dismay, much of his future depends on the ability of the PA's security forces ability to clamp down on Hamas activity in this town of 30,000.
Like Zanin, Brig.-Gen. Saeb el-Ajez, of the National Security Agency, is not hopeful. Responsible for enforcing the PA's decision to stop terror attacks from Gaza, he flatly stated in an interview: "I don't want this job. It is a nightmare being the security head for this region."
He waffled expertly on what type of action his officers would take to shut down Hamas's use of Beit Hanun. First he said that to do the job, his officers require better equipment, from guns to communication devices to tents.
Then he wondered aloud why Israel continues to harp on the launching of Kassams, when the damage they do is so minimal. Finally, he sketched out a diagram, showing how difficult it is to apprehend the culprits.
"They come in the middle of the night, often only one or two people. They set up the rocket and then sometimes launch it by remote control. It is almost impossible to catch them, but if we find them, we can arrest them," he said.
His forces have been buffeted by both public opinion in Gaza, which strongly supports Hamas, and the IDF, which he claimed "often attacks our ambushes, only apologizing later when they realize their mistake."
Only the political legitimacy which a cease-fire will bring will enable the PA to actively pursue those "fringe elements" who break the cease-fire. Until that time, the PA will be unable to accept security responsibility for the Strip.
Another PA official said that while the PA could certainly crack down on rocket launchings, it is "fearful of doing so before Israel withdraws and before Hamas commits" to a cease-fire.
Abdul Rahman el-Masri, director of the PA Ministry of Local Government in Beit Hanun, said he is hopeful that an agreement will be reached soon. He said his town "needs $1 billion to rehabilitate waterways, bridges, roads, homes, fields, sewage system, etc." While the price tag might be exaggerated, the damage is certainly extensive.
But Beit Hanun also suffers from a crisis in leadership. On a visit to the town on Tuesday, except for Masri, there was not a leader to be found. The mayor resides and works in Gaza City. Not a single high or mid-level police officer was to be found in the police station.
But not everyone is anxiously awaiting the IDF withdrawal. Abdel Abu Hamdan, the father of one of four young men killed when the bomb they were rigging exploded, said: "I will feel bad when they leave. There is so much damage we have not yet seen."
Abu Hamdan, who insisted than an IDF shell had killed his son and his three friends, said his son, Muhammad, was a "community builder" rather than a bungling terrorist. His photograph, in which he posed brandishing an AK-47, hung from every rafter of the funeral tent.
Like Abu Hamdan, few here believe in peace. Even Masri believes that "the withdrawal will not help if Israel wants peace. It must first withdraw to the 1967 borders."
The cycle of violence here seems irrevocably branded on this town. Locals know that each terror attack brings destruction to their property or the loss of their sons. But they seem unwilling to give in to what they acknowledge as the sheer force of the IDF, and their thirst for retaliation and revenge never seems quenched.
"When someone comes into your house and kills your wife and your child, what do you do?" asked Tammer, one of Masri's nephews. "You have to go to his house and kill his wife and child, no?"
Nodding, Masri added, "And sometimes it is even harder to lose a tree you saw your grandfather plant when you were a child than it is to lose three or four children."
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