EVEN as the UN Security Council dithers on granting Palestine full membership in the world body, it would be useful to recall the fate of the millions of dis-possessed Palestinians spread across the Arab world and beyond.

Perhaps one of the most poignant reminders of their statelessness is found in the Sabra and Shatila camps in Lebanon, which almost 30 years ago during the civil war, were the scene of a mass killing committed by the Christian Lebanese Phalangists, under the watchful eyes of the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF).

I recently visited Shatila, wanting to hear first-hand accounts of what happened that September night and see for myself the kind of scars the slaughter of hundreds had left in its wake. The taxi stopped on the opposite road to the main entrance of the camp. The hustle bustle in the area is a far cry from the silence of the graveyard that had pervaded the place so many years ago. The main entrance is swamped with makeshift shops on pushcarts, owned largely by Syrians selling CDs and DVDs with Palestinian anthems reiterating the right of the refugees to return.

The fourth generation since the Nakba — 'the day of catastrophe' observed by the Palestinians as the time of their displacement when Israel came into existence — may have the tenacity to survive, but in the eyes of the older generations there were shattered hopes.

Oblivious to their surroundings children played happily in and around the camp. Others, among them a mother with her child, hovered around the camp in the hope of receiving alms.

Further into the camp, a convoluted network of electric wires is the only source of intermittent power. Down below, the water line runs adjacent to a cluster of broken cables. Posters of those killed recently on the Nakba anniversary this year adorn the walls — in many ways, they keep the Palestinian cause alive. The other posters are of those who were killed in the 1982 tragedy.

At the time of the latter killings, Operation Peace in Galilee had recently achieved its goal of forcing the Palestinian Liberation Organisation (PLO) and its Syrian supporters out of Beirut.

Because of the presence of the PLO, the inhabitants of West Beirut regularly faced massive pounding by the IDF who had practically laid siege to the city after invading Lebanon's south. But the carnage witnessed that summer night at Sabra and Shatila was like none other.

Tensions had reached a pitch when president Bashir Gemayal was assassinated on Sept 14, 1982. He represented the Maronite Christians who, wary of the growing Palestinian presence in Lebanon, feared a shift in the traditional confessional power structure. They were viewed by Israel as a natural ally.

Furious militia members of the Hezb al-Kata'eb al-Lubnaniyya or the Lebanese Forces (LF) of the Phalange Party that Gemayel represented sought revenge as they suspected Gemayel's assassination to be the work of Palestinian militiamen whom they believed were amongst the thousands of refugees inhabiting Shatila and its adjoining areas in Sabra. The massacre took place under the IDF's nose.

The 36-hour killing spree that began from Aka Hospital outside Shatila engulfed the camp and Sabra. “I was among the first to hear the screams of the female doctors and nurses inside,” reminisced Khaled, an ambulance driver. The medical staff was being raped and killed by the militia. At some distance, was a kindergarten. “All the children here were found dead,” he said, rage overcoming him.

As attacks on innocent civilians intensified, thereby increasing the number of casualties, the ambulance team that Khaled belonged to was summoned for help. Two ambulances were sent. “Three days later, the bullet-ridden bodies of the ambulance drivers, with torture marks all over them were discovered,” he remembered.

Sixty-four year Abdallah Abdar Rahman, another survivor, saw a Lebanese Muslim man being shot. “They first asked him what faith he belonged to. Others of the militia skimmed through the identity cards of the people.”

But it was not only the Palestinians who were killed. Witnesses say a number of Lebanese, Pakistanis, Iranians and Syrians living in and around the camp were also massacred. There is a theory that this was done to give the impression of inter-communal strife.Once the Phalangists retreated, other camp inhabitants, Rahman among them, came forward. “There were putrid bodies in pools of blood; men had been axed to death; pregnant women were ripped apart; and dead children had been thrown on to heaps of trash. IDF shelling had razed many of the mud hovels on higher ground. The sound of wailing filled the air.” Rahman utters these words, emotionless. The sorrow lay only in his eyes.

An investigation by the Lebanese intelligence was conducted, but its findings buried in the name of 'protecting the conciliation process'. Many of those behind this horrendous crime were elected to government.

Israel's Ariel Sharon, defence minister at that time, was elected prime minister in later. Elie Hobieka, LF commander accused of leading the massacre, held several ministerial positions and served as MP in the Lebanese parliament. He was assassinated in a car bomb attack in 2002.

Almost three decades after, life goes on for the Palestinian refugee communities in the camps. Largely forgotten by the international community, the tragedy continues to haunt its survivors. They believe that any bid for statehood in the United Nations is futile unless Palestinians are allowed to return to their own land.

The writer works for a local NGO.

gloriacaleb@cyber.net.pk