To know what it is like to live in Yarmouk, turn off your electricity, water, heating, eat once a day, live in the dark, live by burning wood.
—ANAS, YARMOUK REFUGEE CAMP (UNRWA, 2014)
Most houses have no doors or windows, and in the snow storm life became harder. We depend on radishes and lettuce and green things grown in the camp, but those food items had frozen. The water pipe exploded because of the snow.
—RAED’A, YARMOUK REFUGEE CAMP (UNRWA, 2014)
At 7 A.M. I walk one kilometer to get water for my home. I usually spend five hours a day collecting water, but I only collect water every five days because it is only available every five days.
—AZIZ, AGE TEN, YARMOUK REFUGEE CAMP (UNRWA, 2014)
The stories of Anas, Raed’a, and Aziz describe the Palestinian struggle to survive in Yarmouk refugee camp in Syria in 2014. In 2014, Yarmouk, a Palestinian refugee camp that was established shortly after the 1948
Nakbah, was under siege and UNRWA was able to bring food rations on only 113 days, averaging eighty-nine boxes per day over the year (
http://www.unrwa.org/crisis-in-yarmouk). To meet the minimum needs of people, UNRWA should have delivered four hundred boxes of food each day (
http://www.unrwa.org/crisis-in-yarmouk). As the protracted Syrian civil war pushes slowly toward a conclusion, Palestinians will have to renegotiate institutions in the refugee camps in conditions not of their choosing. What experiences will they strategically draw from to find protection amid chaos?
The Palestinian narrative and the theoretical findings from refugee camps in Lebanon and Jordan have direct links and clear implications for the Palestinian refugee community struggling to find protection in Syria today. Interestingly, Ali L.’s story that began this book closely parallels Palestinian refugee stories in Syria that describe the fear, terror, risk, and utter chaos of finding protection in the impossible conditions of violent conflict. Unlike the Palestinian voices from Yarmouk in 2014, Ali L.’s story traced the progression from chaos to order through the creation of informal and formal property rights. His story provides hope for protection in the midst of chaos. When the Syrian conflict one day reaches its end, Palestinian refugees will push for protection and will renegotiate the formation of property rights. It is my contention that Palestinians in Syria can learn from the most recent reconstruction efforts of refugees in Nahr al-Bared.
To make the connection to the current Palestinian refugee crisis in Syria, I begin with a brief review of results from Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon and Jordan. After the review, findings are extended to Palestinian refugee camps in Syria before the 2011 civil war. In particular, a preliminary set of data I collected in Palestinian refugee camps in Syria in 2007 traces the formation and evolution of property rights in Homs refugee camp. Faced with another catastrophe when their camps were destroyed during the 2011 Syrian civil war, Palestinians are, once again, searching for order in chaos. To forge a pathway to protection and stability, Palestinian refugees in Syria can learn from the recent reconstruction efforts in Nahr al-Bared camp in Lebanon.
First, Palestinians were not passive purveyors of their refugee camp conditions. Detailed interviews with refugees in seven camps across Jordan and Lebanon showed a vibrant community that actively sought to protect itself in the midst of chaos. Most Palestinians lost everything in 1948 and lived in abysmal conditions in the early years inside the camps. There were conflicts and intra-camp battles over resources, geographic positioning inside the camps, and political dominance. At the same time, entrepreneurial Palestinians created small businesses and slowly grew a customer base inside the camps and in neighboring villages. In the meantime, Palestinians felt they had to find a way to get along and looked to their pre-1948 village practices on property management and conflict resolution to anchor behavior in the refugee camps. The initial development of informal property rights was consistent with a “spontaneous order” explanation for institutional evolution. The community selected shared understandings of acceptable behavior and enforcement mechanisms like notions of family honor and shame to govern the camps in the absence of a state authority. In response to the 1948 Nakbah or Catastrophe, they developed informal institutions of property rights patterned on strategically selected pre-1948 norms of defining and enforcing property.
After a series of crises following the Arab defeat in the 1967 war, the 1969 Cairo Accords, and Black September in 1970, Palestinian refugees in camps across Jordan and Lebanon had to contend with new ruling coalitions. In Jordan, a huge influx of Gazans and Fatah’s attacks against Israel prompted Jordanian authorities to clamp down on the refugee camps. Following the bloody Black September battles in 1970, Palestinians were forced to negotiate the formalization of property rights with the Hashemite monarchy. Jordan sought to dominate and control the camps. Palestinians hoped to protect their assets and avoid state incorporation. In response to the constraints of Jordanian authority, Palestinians converted pre-1948 methods of communal enforcement to gel with the Jordanian judicial system. The dual system gave refugees a voice and melded a Palestinian system of protection with a Jordanian model. Though it offered some protection of community assets, Jordanians often engaged in predatory behavior toward the most vulnerable subset of Gazan Palestinian refugees. Despite the shortcomings of the system, Palestinians strategically navigated the transitional landscape and managed to protect their community from outside domination with all odds against them.
In Lebanon after the 1969 Cairo Accords, Palestinian refugees negotiated the formalization of property rights with an outside Palestinian political group called Fatah. Fatah touted a revolutionary agenda that would activate and advocate for refugee interests domestically and internationally. Despite the positive aspects of their revolutionary slogans and local interest, they still sought to dominate and control the camps. In response to Fatah’s new ruling coalition, Palestinian refugees negotiated the formalization of property rights at camp committee offices. Business owners hoped to create an efficient registration process. Palestinian refugees asserted their identity apart from Fatah using informal communal norms of compromise and family agreement to enforce titles. Though the negotiated system provided protection of assets and preserved camp communal behavior, Fatah still engaged in predatory practices with respect to shared resources like electricity and water in the camps. The limits of locally contrived property rights revealed the precarious balance refugees must strike between finding protection with new ruling coalitions and exposing themselves to predation by outsiders.
Finally, the 2007 destruction of Nahr al-Bared camp provides another example of how Palestinians negotiated for protection in the face of outside domination. They mapped pre-2007 practices of titling and enforcement during the “validation process” in which camp residents met with a reconstruction commission to establish property claims in the new camp. Despite their vulnerability to Lebanese mukhabarat or secret police, their ability to infuse Palestinian norms of protection in the confusing post-conflict space reveals the resiliency of communities in finding protection in transitional settings.
The results from findings in refugee camps in Jordan and Lebanon contribute to theoretical discussions of institutional formation and evolution. Contrary to strict path-dependent interpretations of institutional formation, my study shows that history might constrain but does not completely shackle the role of individual agency in building institutions. Palestinian refugees operated within strict parameters of outside control and rule. Their lives were often subject to broad geopolitical forces not of their choosing. Transitional settings, by their very nature, lack the stability associated with other political landscapes. Despite the limitations, communities can navigate the transitional terrain with a great deal of success and craft property rights that effectively define and enforce claims. Certainly, if conditions had been better, better forms of property rights might have developed. But as Qian (2003) notes, this is not a world in which communities should search for the “best” path, rather they should follow the “feasible” path to institutional formation.
Next, my findings in refugee camps suggest that the “feasible” path is not a linear one. As Thelen (2004) and Pierson (2004) hypothesized, institutional formation and evolution are iterative and dynamic processes. Institutions are not “locked in” but renegotiated in the face of shifting conditions on the ground. For Palestinians, critical junctures like the 1948 Nakbah, the late 1960s introduction of new ruling coalitions in camps across Lebanon and Jordan, and the 2007 reconstruction of NBC created moments in which the community was forced to devise new systems of property rights for protection. Rather than resign themselves to the domination and institutional system of the new and more powerful ruling coalition, refugees found protection when they devised strategies to meld their own Palestinian ways of managing property with outside groups.
Third, Palestinians treated past community experiences in managing and enforcing property rights as malleable identities that could meet the challenges of life in a transitional setting. A rigid understanding of communal identity would have had difficulty in adapting to shifting economic conditions and ruling coalitions in the conditions of refugee camp life. In transitional spaces where everything, including one’s life, is under threat, then Palestinians strategically deployed parts of their pre-
Nakbah ways of life, kinship ties, and enforcement practices to meet the challenges of life in the refugee camps. Like a lizard that changes colors to meet the challenges of its environment, a malleable communal identity permitted the community to camouflage itself in the face of dangerous and more powerful outsiders.
Existing approaches undertheorize the limitations of “feasible” property rights in transitional settings. When transitional communities, like Palestinian refugees, must negotiate institutions with more powerful groups, like states or military forces, they often risk endangering the very assets and identity they sought to protect from outsiders. In the Palestinian refugee case, outside groups wanted to control and consolidate power in the refugee camps. Though Palestinians negotiated compromises in enforcement mechanisms by infusing Palestinian methods of adjudication with state judicial systems, they were still vulnerable to predation. By institutionalizing the outside enforcers, they also formalized the dominance of an outside group that controlled more resources and power than the Palestinian community. Striking a balance between protection and predation is not easily achieved in transitional settings when one community is so much weaker from a political perspective than the outsider.
PALESTINIAN REFUGEE CAMPS IN SYRIA PRE-2011
These findings are extendable beyond Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon and Jordan. In particular, there are a significant number of Palestinian refugees that have lived in refugee camps in Syria since 1948. Palestinian refugees in Syria are now doubly dispossessed because all twelve of UNRWA-operated camps have been severely damaged or rendered inoperable during the Syrian civil war. A scant few Palestinians have been able to flee to neighboring Arab countries due to entrance restrictions established in May 2014. Understanding conditions in Syria prior to 2011 sets the foundation for examining the community’s prospects for protection in the face of this latest iteration of chaos.
The Palestinian story in Syria begins in much the same way that it began in Lebanon and Jordan. In the aftermath of the 1948 Nakbah, refugees from the northern part of Palestine, mainly from Safad, Haifa, and Jaffa, ended up in Syria. Following the 1967 war and the Israeli occupation of the Golan Heights, 100,000 more Palestinians fled to Syria (unrwa.org). Prior to the 2011 conflict, 526,744 Palestinian refugees were registered across twelve Palestinian refugee camps in Syria (unrwa.org). Of the twelve refugee camps, three are considered “unofficial.” A number of so-called unofficial refugee camps were established over time by the host government to provide accommodation for Palestinian refugees. “In all respects, refugees in official and unofficial camps have equal access to UNRWA services, except that UNRWA is not responsible for solid waste collection in the unofficial camps” (unrwa.org).
To dig deeper into the transformation from chaos to protection through property rights in refugee camps across Syria prior to 2011, I visited Homs refugee camp. In 2007, I had the good fortune of collecting preliminary data there. Six surveys like the ones used in Jordan and Lebanon were dispatched in Homs. Admittedly, this is a tiny number of interviews. Originally, I planned follow-up trips to Homs, but political unrest, even in 2007, and the subsequent Syrian uprising and civil war that began in 2011 hindered such efforts. Nevertheless, the interviews suggest how property rights evolved in Palestinian refugee camps across Syria.
Prior to the outbreak of the civil war, 22,000 registered refugees lived in Homs camp (unrwa.org). The camp was established in 1949 on 0.15 square kilometers of land (unrwa.org). Most of the refugees that lived in Homs camp fled from Haifa, Tiberias, and Acre in northern Palestine in 1948 (unrwa.org). Homs refugee camp is located close to the Syrian-Lebanese border and is roughly 160 kilometers from Damascus. Like refugee camps in Lebanon and Jordan, the physical landscape of Homs camp was dotted with small businesses, construction industries, cramped homes, and tiny alleyways.
Results from my small number of interviews reaffirmed the pattern identified in other camps. In the main, the Palestinian community in Syria desired to protect itself through property rights. Notably, the pattern of formalizing property rights closely mimicked findings in Jordan. Like the Jordanians, formal property rights served as a critical linchpin in state-building and consolidation efforts for Syrian officials. Syria made a strategic decision to incorporate Palestinian refugee camps into surrounding areas (Hanafi and Knudsen 2010a, 30). On January 25, 1949, Law 450 was created to regulate Palestinian refugee behavior (Hanafi and Knudsen 2010a, 39). Law 450 provided for the administration of Palestinian refugee affairs and ensured their needs would be met through the establishment of Palestinian Arab Refugee Institute (PARI) under the auspices of Syrian Social Affairs and Labor Ministry (Hanafi and Knudsen 2010a, 39). PARI was later replaced with the General Administration for Palestine Arab Refugees (GAPAR) (Hanafi and Knudsen 2010a; unrwa.org). Syria further incorporated Palestinians into state structure through Law 260. On October 7, 1956, Law 260 granted Palestinian residents nearly the same status as Syrians in their ability to have equal rights in education, own property, have access to labor and employment, engage in trade, and commit to military service (Hanafi and Knudsen 2010a). Importantly, Palestinians were not granted national or political rights. In sum, Palestinians retained their Palestinian nationality while having many rights and privileges that everyday Syrians enjoyed.
Syrian officials established local camps offices under the control of the Syrian government through the branch of the Ministry of the Interior (I-1S). It was at these offices located on the outskirts of each camp that Palestinian refugees engaged in micro-level negotiations with Syrian authorities over the setup of a formal titling system (I-5S). In particular, refugees visited offices to record business transactions, register titles, report property disputes, and seek adjudication (I-3S).
The six interview respondents maintained that they developed formal property titles establishing ownership and protection of their investments inside the camp (I-1S through I-6S). An aluminum business owner explained property rights and practices in Homs refugee camp: “In Syria, the land is owned by the government. But we have the right to use the land and develop it as we see fit. I have a clear right to own businesses and homes in Homs camp. I have a title and if I want to sell my business I would change the name and transfer the business at the Palestinian Foundation Office” (I-1S). An iron business owner said,
The Syrian government gave us land in Homs refugee camp to use for building on and developing for one hundred years. I have a title in my name that establishes my ownership of my business. I would go to the office of Palestinian Affairs with the Syrian Minister of Interior to change the name of the owner if I were to sell my place. It feels like we are treated, at least, equal to or better than Syrian citizens in terms of our rights to own here. The only thing I can’t do is run for office! Hah. (I-2S)
Like the Jordanians, the Syrians played a central role behind the formalization of titles. For example, Syria’s leadership sought control and co-optation of the Palestinian political identity and used the formalization process to shore up this endeavor (I-3S). Palestinian refugees, faced with the constraints of Syrian domination, crafted a system of property rights enforcement that melded their own forms of communal conflict resolution with Syrian rules to avoid total incorporation into the Syrian state apparatus (I-5S). A carpenter from Homs refugee camp explained the strategic use of practices from Palestine before 1948 in the new camp settings: “We lived in a farming village. I had papers that show my family owned the farm. If we had problems with defining or protecting access to the farm we figured them out within the family or with village elders. These are practices we knew how to use, even outside of Palestine” (I-5S).
Though the Syrians had police forces and courts that could enforce titles, Palestinians preferred to resolve intra-camp conflict concerning property rights using traditional community methods like village elders, religious sheiks, and family meetings to reach compromise, determine punishments, and seek restitution (Hanafi and Knudsen 2010a). “If it is a big case we would go to the Syrian courts because they do work, especially if we can’t figure it out. But by keeping it [conflict resolution] within the Palestinian community we protect ourselves from too much Syrian involvement in camp affairs” (I-1S). From this evidence, we can see how Palestinians strategically melded their own past experiences of conflict resolution with Syrian rules to protect assets and avoid state incorporation. Prior to the Syrian civil war, there were similar patterns to the evolution of property rights across Palestinian refugee camps in Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria.
SYRIAN CIVIL WAR CHAOS
For Palestinian refugees in Syria, life was relatively stable and better when compared to Palestinians living in refugee camps across Jordan and Lebanon. The imperfect but feasible system of formal property rights inside the camps provided a good measure of protection until 2011. In 2011, during the early days of the Arab Spring Revolution blooming across the region, a small uprising spread like wildfire across Syria. Minor demonstrations began on January 26, 2011, in the city of Homs but were quickly dispersed by the secret police or mukhabarat. Many academics and policy experts thought President Bashar al-Assad of Syria would remain unscathed by protest because of his popular “nationalist” stands against the West, but by March 18, 2011, deadly clashes between protesters and the state flared again. What began initially as a small skirmish later ballooned into a violent and brutal civil conflict with a variety of local groups funded by international interests and the state regime vying for control and power. Caught in the crosshairs of the conflict, Palestinian refugees were thrust into a new chaos.
According to UNRWA, all twelve of the refugee camps have been either completely destroyed or rendered inoperable. In the early days of the conflict, a small number of Palestinians managed to flee to Jordan, Lebanon, or Turkey for safety and retained refugee services through UNRWA field offices in neighboring host countries. Astonishingly, a majority of the 526,744 registered Palestinian refugees remain trapped inside Syria today. By May 2014, Jordan and Lebanon closed their borders to Palestinian refugees from Syria. Syrian citizens could find refuge in many of those countries, but not Palestinian refugees. As of January 2015, there are 450,000 registered Palestinian refugees internally displaced in Syria (
www.unrwa.org). Many Palestinian refugee communities like the one under siege in Yarmouk in 2014 are starved, frozen, subjected to regular bombings, and confronted with sniper attacks. For the time being, the international aid community and Palestinians are focused on the basic struggle to survive with adequate food, water, and shelter. Though the situation seems hopeless, an internationally brokered resolution to the civil war is inching forward. For Palestinian refugees in Syria, they will confront a new challenge to rebuild order and find protection amid post-war reconstruction. How will Palestinian refugees in Syria find protection in the confines of post-conflict Syria?
LESSONS FROM NAHR AL-BARED’S RECONSTRUCTION
In the midst of a civil war, Palestinian refugees in Syria can learn from the 2007 reconstruction of Nahr al-Bared refugee camp to guide their path to protection through property rights. Palestinians from Nahr al-Bared were a doubly dispossessed refugee community, just like the Palestinian refugee community from Homs and Yarmouk camps in Syria. After violent battles between Fatah al-Islam and Lebanese forces destroyed Nahr al-Bared in 2007, Palestinians struggled to survive in temporary living conditions in neighboring Beddawi refugee camp. Ultimately, the international aid community and the Lebanese government agreed to rebuild NBC. The reconstruction plan in NBC brought partnerships together between international donors, Lebanese officials, Palestinian officials, engineering firms, and UNRWA. Though this process was laborious and intensive, it worked in reconstructing a new NBC that preserved the social structure and informal property claims of camp residents. The success of the NBC reconstruction plan suggests an innovative pathway forward for the eventual rebuilding of Palestinian refugee camps in Syria. The NBC reconstruction process will be a useful template for Palestinians in Syria to follow because it remains a fresh collective memory in the international, regional, and humanitarian aid communities; it is an accessible blueprint because the Palestinian communities face similar constraints across host countries and most importantly it worked.
Though the reconstruction process resulted in the successful recreation of NBC, Palestinian refugees faced difficult parameters to finding protection of their assets and community identity. For example, during the reconstruction of NBC, Lebanon asserted that it would rule the new camp with military force and abolish pre-2007 Palestinian institutions. Moreover, Lebanon said Palestinians would not be allowed to formally “own” homes or businesses inside the newly rebuilt NBC. When pushed to ascertain who owned their homes and whether residents of NBC could pass their homes on to their children, there was no clear answer. The messiness and ambiguity was problematic for donors and officials, but Palestinians, like the Zomias of Scott’s (2009) study, used the ambiguity to push their claims to assets forward and protect their communal identity from Lebanese predation.
Palestinian refugees from Syria can learn from the strategies of NBC residents during the reconstruction process. Within the strict parameters of Lebanese military rule, refugees capitalized on informal claims and remnants of titles from Fatah’s era of rule to find voice during the process of camp reconstruction. Similarly, Palestinians in Syria will confront tight military restrictions during the reconstruction of their camps. The new ruling regime (or the new iteration of the old Syrian regime) will surely push to control and consolidate power in Palestinian camps. These confinements should not deter Palestinian refugees in Syria from seeking protection of their community assets and identity. Recall that during the reconstruction of Nahr al-Bared, residents converted earlier institutional practices into the mapping of the newly reconstructed Nahr al-Bared camp. During the “validation process” of reconstruction in particular, Palestinian refugees urged aid organizations and engineering firms to use informal refugee claims and pre-2007 titles to define the footprint and location of homes and businesses in the new camp. They brought in evidence of home or business ownership to substantiate their claims. For example, some brought in titles, photographs, receipts of inventory, and in cases where the family had no physical evidence of a claim, they used neighbors and community leaders to validate ownership. Based on their evidence during the validation process, a map was created to rebuild the new camp. In effect, outsiders admitted de facto Palestinian “ownership” in the new Nahr al-Bared camp by using pre-2007 claims and titles. Though the Lebanese military denied Palestinians formal ownership of assets, refugees strategically used traditional family and religious values to enforce protection of property in the camps.
Similarly, the validation process should serve as a critical point of leverage for the Palestinian refugee community in Syria. Using their own tattered pre-2011 titles, photographs, receipts of inventory, and informal witness statements, Palestinians in Syria can recreate physical maps of their camps. By preserving the physical and social structure of the old camp in the new landscape, Syrians should be able to protect their assets and community identity using traditional notions of honor and shame. Neighbors, family, and friends will remain closely tied to one another in the physical landscape of the new camp such that pre-2011 kinship bonds that fomented an atmosphere for trust and security in the camps can persist even in the uncertainty of post-conflict Syria. Though the new camp will be imperfect and the system of property rights will remain vulnerable to forces beyond their control, at the very least the Palestinian refugee experiences described in this book encourage us to reframe our understanding of transitional settings and realize a community’s own potential for protection through property rights even in the most chaotic conditions.