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In Gaza it seems that everyone carries with them a well-honed set of opinions ready to blurt out for international journalists and other interested foreigners. Of course, I don’t doubt their substance but I must confess that, despite the horrors of military occupation and the terrible life in Gaza, many stories begin to sound the same. This may well be another reflection on the tragedy that is Gaza—so many heartwrenching anecdotes of human sacrifice are trivialized by the sheer quantity of victims.

During the first Intifada, the Palestinian cause caught the world’s sympathetic attention as images of children throwing rocks at tanks hit television screens worldwide. For a short time, the Palestinian resistance movement was entirely nonviolent. Citizens staged strikes, held public demonstrations at military checkpoints and for a while it seemed that the brutality of Israeli occupation was finally being exposed to the world. But it was not to be. Israel responded with Yitzhak Rabin’s notorious “break their bones” policy—and Israeli soldiers literally set about breaking the bones of children caught throwing stones.

The crushed hopes of the peace process and the endless Israeli expansion of settlements destroyed any possibility for a Palestinian state. On top of this, Israeli military measures grew ever more draconic.

When the second Intifada began, the situation on the ground had deteriorated in all aspects. Gaza in 2000 was poor, desperate, struggling, disillusioned and bitter. On this background, a fractured Palestinian resistance composed of numerous factions and political loyalities prosecuted a war of attrition against Israel… Suicide bombers were enthusiastically deployed and, in stark contrast to the resistance movement of the late 1980s and early 1990s, such tactics recieved widespread public support. As part of my thesis research, I have been conducting interviews with local Palestinians in hopes of gaining perspective on the symbolic role of martyrdom in Palestinian nationalism.

Khalil abu Shammala is the director of the Al-Dameer Association for Human Rights in the Gaza Strip, which (along with the Palestinian Centre for Human Rights and Al-Mezan Center for Human Rights) is one of the three full-time human rights organizations in Gaza.

Kris Petersen: Before we begin, perhaps you can explain your position and a little about your background?

Khalil Abu Shammala: I started my work at al-Dameer in 1998 and before this I was a student. I was arrested by the Israel Occupation Forces and spent two years in administrative detention. I spent all of this period in the Negev desert jail and I was interrogated four times besides the two years in administrative detention. I joined human rights work because I believe that human rights is not something related to a specific nation or to a specific people. We have to join all of the human rights activist efforts all over the world to achieve the meaningful message relating to the respect—to guarantee respect for at least the minimum conditions, the minimum conditions of human rights.

Unfortunately, I think that the Palestinians live in a very unique situation. With this point, they suffer and they still suffer a lot because… the main reason for the Palestinians’ suffering is not only the occupation itself, but also the Arab countries, the International Community—The International Community who don’t respect the international conventions and the international human rights law and international humanitarian law. To the extent, I believe that the international community, a long time ago… they payed and the Palestinians payed. Now we have reached a period that the international community, Arab countries and some of the Palestinian political factions also pay the ordinary people…Palestinians pay. And the victims are those who are ordinary people—not “decisives” [leaders]. They cannot express themselves in a powerful way.

KP: I have some rather generic questions, but I would appreciate if you could elaborate on them. So here is the first one: How proud are you of being a Palestinian?

KA: This is a very difficult question. If you ask any Palestinian he may have just two answers: The first one is “Yes, I’m proud” but the second may be something else, something different: “I wish I was not a Palestinian. I wish I had any other citizenship.” This is why there are so many Palestinians who work to emigrate.

KP: But although some emigrate, many hold onto their former national identity.

KAS: Yeah, but I have met so many people—Palestinian people—in different countries in Europe. I did not feel that they have the reality for the Palestinians. They change and… they start to be familiar with the new culture, the new people, and the new situation that they are in.

But to me, I have to be proud. I have to be proud. And this answer is not clear enough. This question cannot be answered “yes” or “no” and I will explain why. When I see… I don’t considered myself as an ordinary person. I was involved in the national struggle and I was beaten and arrested by the Israeli forces. Until now, I suffer because I am not allowed to go to the West Bank. I’m 37 and I have never been to the West Bank or in any Palestinian area outside of Gaza. But I can travel through Rafah border. I’ve tried so many times to have permission from the Israeli government but they always say that I am on the blacklist. Why? Because of my past. They know that I am a human rights activist now and I stopped all of my political activities—and this is real. I stopped my political activities since I started my work at al-Dameer, since 1998. And I am a pure human rights activist because I believe in this. And I don’t believe anymore in the Palestinian political parties and there are so many reasons behind this.

But, to see Palestinians behave… and practice such violations is shameful. How can I—and this is the contradiction—how can I raise my voice in the international seminars and workshops and conferences condemning the Israeli crimes against the Palestinians when at the same time, everybody sees that the Palestinians commit more severe crimes [against each other] than the crimes committed by the Israeli occupation? And this is an occupation! What should we expect from an occupation? They kill, they arrest, they abuse the human rights of the Palestinians… but you cannot imagine that we are abused by each other! We kill each other; we arrest each other; we torture each other in the most unbelievable ways. That’s why I’m… That’s why it’s difficult for me to answer “yes” or “no”, “proud” or “not proud”, “less” or “more”.

KP: How proud are you of Palestinian resistance to Israeli occupation?

KAS: Resistance means that we have to study the atmosphere and circumstances and then choose the suitable style for resistance. Nowadays the resistance is the rockets—the useless rockets—which target the civilians if they target anything.

KP: If the Intifada regains momentum and a major battle erupted between the Israeli army and Palestinian forces, would you be willing to fight and potentially die for Palestine? And please explain.

KAS: No, no, no. I will not participate and sacrifice myself. Why? Because we have to learn from experience and what we have had during the last 14 year is not a struggle for the objective that we have struggled for in the past. The struggle now is a matter of competition between powers… The main concepts for the struggle are who will control Gaza? Who will control the cigarette butts? I would not sacrifice myself for [Mohammed] Dahlan or [Ismail] Haniyeh.

KP: Have you known anyone who has become a martyr?

KAS: Yes. A lot. During the first Intifada for example, I was involved in resistance against the Israeli soldiers. Some of my friends and some of my group members were killed by the Israeli forces.

The most important case… he was my neighbor. He considered me as a model, although he was from Islamic Jihad. He committed a suicide bombing in Tel Aviv and killed 20 Israeli civilians in the center of Tel Aviv.

KP: What was his name?

KAS: Rami Zabeit. [the Dizengoff Center bomber of 1996] In fact, I was not expecting him to do this because he seemed as if… He was very polite, a good painter and he was so interested in reading and asking about facts. So I was not expecting him to do this. It was a big surprise for me. When he was killed, it was in 1996 in Khan Younis—the Palestinian security system refused to let his family organize a funeral. I was the one who organized… I challenged the security system and they arrested me.

It was difficult for Islamic Jihad to appear at that time because they were wanted by the Palestinian security system. There was a campaign to arrest the Hamas members and the Islamic Jihad members. I felt that Rami must be honored—at least because of his family. So I decided to organize a funeral and we achieved a very good funeral. But they arrested me, just for one day and then they apologized!

KP: Now I would like if you could explain in some depth what you believe to be the symbolic difference to Palestinians, as well as to yourself, between voluntary and involuntary martyrdom.

KAS: Look, I believe in resistance to the occupation according to international law. International law says that people who are subjected to occupation have the right to resist and to use all means of resistance, starting from the word and the pen until military operations. But what are these military operations? I believe in resisting the soldiers; I am against targeting civilians.

The Palestinian must think: “I have to love life—I am resisting because of life, not because of death. I have to fight the Israeli soldiers [planning] to return back.” Not to go without returning.

KP: Do you think many Palestinians, when they think about the concept of shahada (martyrdom), would you say they give equal consideration to both types?

KAS: It is related to the culture and the bylaws of every political party. According to Hamas, they teach their members how to die, not how to live—because Allah and the virgins are waiting for them. So life is nothing, life is useless, life is something like a train and you have to stand at any station. But if you come to Fatah and the national political parties, they believe in military operations but not because of death, because of life.

KP: But what about the al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigade, which is affiliated with Fatah?

KAS: Yes. Some of them are influenced by [the Qassam Martyrs Brigades], by Hamas. But also, you will find some others that have the same concepts… I mean that they resist because of their families, because of themselves, because of their children, because of the coming generation.

KP: But for the common Palestinian, when you talk about these ideas… how are they considered?

KAS: It also has to do with how they understand religion. If you discuss this with a fundamentalist, they just have one answer: “We have to go to martyrdom. We have to look for it.” But I don’t think that Gazans are fundamentalist. They are conservatives, yes. They are Muslims. But they are not fundamentalists—most of them.

KP: What would you say, for example—because I have read many statistics about this—during the second Intifada, almost 70% of the Palestinian population supported suicide attacks at the peak of its popularity?

KAS: This is untrue. The people in Gaza feel that they are victims and that all of the sides, that the international community and the Arab countries are against them. So they think… why should they continue their lives? They don’t live like others. They cannot provide milk for their children. Most of the workers have lost their jobs. They feel embarrassed when they stand before their children… when they ask for one shekel they are unable to provide it.

KP: Do you think many people then only symbolically support suicide tactics?

KAS: Look, I am sure you will never find or see this number at mosques. These people [most Gazans] are empty. They don’t have anything to spend time focusing on. I mean, they don’t have businesses and income, they lost their education, they live in refugee camps… so what do you expect of them? But on the other hand, there are some people… some of the refugees have opportunities by one way or another—some of them travel, some of them started a business—and their families begin to have a new culture and new perspective on life, a new point of view on everything! These people who go to the mosques have nothing else to do.