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Home arrow Blog arrow April 2010 arrow April 20, 2010

April 20, 2010
April 20, 2010: A Letter and a story regarding Sabra-Shatilla  

I  begin with a letter by Franklin Lamb and end with an excerpt from KEEP HOPE ALIVE

A Letter To Janet About Sabra-Shatilla

By Franklin Lamb

17 April, 2010

Dr. Franklin Lamb is an American who has dedicated the best years of his life and more to the service of Palestinians. This is a letter to his wife Janet, that was published in Counterpunch, on the anniversary of the Sabra & Shatila Massacre, on Sept. 14, 2007 Today is the anniversary of the US Embassy Bombing in Beirut..  A very sad day for Mr. Lamb.  Please let him know that you have read his story. .

Dearest Janet,

It's a very beautiful fall day here in Beirut today. Twenty-five years ago this week since the massacre at the Palestinian refugee camps at Sabra-Shatilla. Bright blue sky and a fall breeze. It actually rained last night. Enough to clean out some of the humidity and dust. Fortunately not enough to make the usual rain created swamp of sewage and filth on Rue Sabra, or flood the grassless burial ground of the mass grave (the camp residents named it Martyrs Square, one of several so named memorials now in Lebanon) where you once told me that on Sunday September 19, 1982, you watched, sickened, as families and Red Crescent workers created a subterranean mountain of butchered and bullet-riddled victims from those 48 hours of slaughter. Some of the bodies had limbs and heads chopped off, some boys castrated, Christian crosses carved into some of the bodies.

As you later wrote to me in your perfect cursive:

"I saw dead women in their houses with their skirts up to their waists and their legs spread apart; dozens of young men shot after being lined up against an ally wall; children with their throats slit, a pregnant woman with her stomach chopped open, her eyes still wide open, her blackened face silently screaming in horror; countless babies and toddlers who had been stabbed or ripped apart and who had been thrown into garbage piles.”

Today Martyr's Square is not much of a Memorial to the upwards of 1,700 mainly women and children, who were murdered between Sept. 15-18. You would not be pleased. A couple of faded posters and a misspelled banner that reads: "1982: Saba Massacer", hang near the center of the 20 by 40 yard area which for years following the mass burial was a garbage dump. Today, roaming around the grassless plot of ground is a large old yellow dog that ignores a couple of chicken hens and six pullets scratching and pecking around.

Since you went away, the main facts of the massacre remain the same as your research uncovered in the months that followed. At that time your findings were the most detailed and accurate as to what occurred and who was responsible.

The old 7-storey Kuwaiti Embassy from where Sharon, Eytan, Yaron, Elie Hobeika, Fradi Frem and others maintained radio contact and monitored the 48 hours of carnage with a clear view into the camps was torn down years ago. A new one has been built and they are still constructing a mosque on its grounds.

I am sorry to report that today in Lebanon, the families of the victims of the massacre daily sink deeper into the abyss. No where on earth do the Palestinians live in such filth and squalor. 'Worse than Gaza!" a journalist recently in Palestine exclaims.

A 2005 Lebanese law that was to open up access to some of the 77 professions the Palestinians have been barred from in Lebanon had no effect. Their social, economic, political, and legal status continues to worsen.

"It's a hopeless situation here now," according to Jamile Ibrahim Shehade, the head of one of 12 social centers in the camp. "There are 15,000 people living in one square kilometer," Jamile runs a center which provides basic facilities such as a dental clinic and a nursery for children. It receives assistance from Norwegian People's Aid and the Lebanese NGO, PARD. "This whole area was nothing before the camps were here and there has been very little done in terms of building infrastructure," Shehade explained.

Continued misery in the camps has taken a heavy psychological toll on the residents of Sabra and Shatilla, aid workers here say. Tempers run high as a result of frustration from the daily grind in the decrepit housing complex. In all 12 Palestinian camps in Lebanon tensions and tempers rise with increasing family, neighborhood, and sect conflicts. Salafist and other militant groups are forming in and around Lebanon's Palestinian camps but not so much here in the Hezbollah controlled areas where security is better.

In Sabra-Shatilla schools will run double shifts when they open at the end of this month and electricity and water are still a big problem.According to a 1999 survey by the local NGO Najdeh (Help), 29 percent of 550 women surveyed in seven of the 12 official refugee camps scattered across Lebanon, have admitted being victims of physical violence. Cocaine and hashish use are becoming a concern to the community.

There is some new information about the Sabra-Shatilla massacre that has come to light over the years. Few Israelis but many of the Christian Lebanese Forces, following the national amnesty, wanted to make their peace and have confessed to their role. I have spoken with a few of them.

Remember that fellow you once screamed at and called a butcher outside of Phalange HQ in East Beirut, Joseph Haddad? At the time he denied everything as he looked you straight in the eye and made the sign of the cross. Well, he did finally confess 22 years later, around the time of his youngest daughter’s confirmation in his local parish. Your suspicions were indeed correct. His unit, the second to enter the camp, had been supplied with cocaine, hashish and alcohol to increase their courage. He and others gave their stories to Der Spiegel and various documentary film makers.

Many of the killers now freely admit that they conducted a three-day orgy of rape and slaughter that left hundreds, as many as 3,500 they claim, possibly more, of innocent civilians dead in what is considered the bloodiest single incident of the Arab-Israeli conflict and a crime for which Israel will be condemned for eternity.

Your friend, Um Ahmad, still lives in the same house where she lost her husband, four sons and a daughter when Joseph, a thick-set militiaman carrying an assault rifle bundled everyone into one room of their hovel and opened fire. She still explains like it was yesterday, how the condoned slaughter unfolded, recalling each of her four sons by name, Nizar, Shadi, Farid and Nidal. I asked Joseph if he wanted to sit with Um Ahmad and seek forgiveness and possible redemption since has now become a lay cleric in his Parish. He declined but sent his condolences with flowers.

Do you remember Janet, how we used to walk down Rue Sabra from Gaza Hospital to Akka Hospital during the 75-day Israeli siege in '82, as you used to say "to see my people"? Gaza Hospital is gone now. Occupied and stripped by the Syrian-backed Amal militia during the Camp Wars of '85-87. Its remaining rooms are now packed with refugees. One old lady who ended up there recited how it's her 4th home since being forced from Palestine in 1948. She survived the Phalangist attack on and destruction of Tel a Zaatar camp in 1976 fled from the Fatah al Islam Salafists in Nahr al Bared Camp in May of this year and wore out her welcome at the teeming and overwhelmed Bedawi camp near Tripoli last month.

Most of your friends who worked with the Palestine Red Crescent Society are gone from Lebanon. Our cherished friend, Hadla Ayubi has semi-retired in Amman, Um Walid, Director of Akkar Hosptial, finally did return to Palestine following Oslo, still with the PRCS. And its President, Dr. Fathi Arafat, your good friend, passed away in December of 2004 in Cairo less than a month after his brother Abu Ammar died in Paris. They both loved you for all you had done for their people.

That trash dump near the Sabra Mosque is now a mountain. Yesterday I did a double take as I walked by because I saw three young girls-as sweet and pretty as ever I have seen -- maybe 7 to 9 years old in rags picking thru the nasty garbage. Their arms were covered with white chemical paste. Apparently whoever sent to scavenge sought to protect them from disease. As I climbed thru the filth to give them my last 6,000 LL ($4) they managed a smile and giggle when I slipped on a broken thin plastic bag of juicy cactus fruit skins and plunged to my knees.

In some areas of the camps there are mainly Syrians. Selling cheap 'tax free' goods. Still some Arafat loyalists. Mainly among the older generation. Palpable stress among just about everyone it seems. One young Palestinian explained to me his worry that with the upcoming Parliamentary election to choose a new President scheduled for September 25, there may be fighting and his October 6 SAT exams may be cancelled and he won't be able to continue his studies.

When you and I last spoke Janet, it was on April 16 of that year and I was en route to the Athens Airport to catch a flight to Beirut to be with you, you told me you were working on evidence to convict Sharon and others of war crimes.

Twenty years later, lawyers representing two dozen victims and other relatives attempted to have Ariel Sharon tried for the massacre under Belgian legislation, which grants its courts "universal jurisdiction" for war crimes.There had been great expectations about the case among the Palestinians and their friends, since as you remember, Sharon had already been found to bear "personal responsibility" in the massacres by an Israeli commission of inquiry which concluded he shouldn't ever again hold public office. But hopes were dashed when the Belgium Court, under US and Israeli pressure, decided the case was inadmissible.I regret to report that all those who perpetrated the Massacre at Sabra-Shatilla escaped justice. None of the hundreds of Phalange and Haddad militia who carried out the slaughter were ever punished. In fact they got a blanket amnesty from the Lebanese government.

As for the main organizers and facilitators, their massacre at Sabra-Shatilla turned out to be excellent career moves for virtually all of them.

Arial Sharon, found by the Israeli Kahan Commission Inquiry " to bear personal responsibility " for allowing the Sabra-Shatilla massacre resigned as Minister of Defense but retained his Cabinet position in Begin's Government and over the next 16 years held four more ministerial posts, including that of Foreign Minister, before becoming Prime Minister in February, 2001. Following the Jenin rampage US President Bush anointed him "a man of peace."

Rafel Eytan, Israeli Chief of Staff, who shared Sharon's decision to send in the Phalange killers and helped direct the operation was elected to the Knesset as leader of the small ultra rightwing party, Tzomet. In 1984 he was named Agriculture Minister and Deputy Prime Minister in 1996. He currently serves as head of Tzomet and is jockeying for another Cabinet position in the next government.

Major-General Yehoshua Saguy, Army Chief of Intelligence: found by the Kahan Commission to have made "extremely serious omissions" in handling the Sabra-Shatilla affair later became a right-wing Member of the Knesset and is now mayor of the ultra-rightist community of Bat-Yam, a little town near Tel Aviv.

Major-General Amir Drori, Chief of Israel's Northern Command: found not to have done enough to stop the massacre, a "breach of duty", recently was named as head of the Israeli Antiquities Commission.

Brigadier-General Amos Yaron, the divisional commander whose troops sealed the camps to prevent victims from escaping and helped direct the operation along with Sharon and Eitan was found to have" committed a breach of duty". He was immediately promoted Major-General and made head of Manpower in the army, served as Director-General of the Israeli Defense Ministry and Military Attaches at the Israeli Embassy in Washington. He is currently working for various Israeli lobby groups as a scholar in 'think thanks'.

Elie Hobeika, the Chief of Lebanese Forces Intelligence, who along with Sharon master-minded the actual massacre fell out with the Phalange in 1980s under suspicion that he was involved in killing their leader, Bachir Gemayal.

He defected to the Syrians, acquired three Ministerial posts in post-civil war Lebanon Governments, including Minister of the Displaced (many thought he know a lot about this subject) of Electricity and Water and in 1996, Social Affairs.

On January 24, 2002, twenty years after his involvement at Sabra-Shatilla he was blown up in a car bomb attack in East Beirut. Two of his associates who were also rumored to be planning to 'come clean' regarding Sharon's role were assassinated in separate incidents. A few days before Hobeika's death he stated that he might reveal more about the massacre and those responsible and according to Beirut's Daily Star staff who interviewed him, Hobeika told them that his lawyers had copies of his files implicating Sharon in much more than had become public. These files are now is the possession of his son who, following Sharon's death, may release the files.

They still remember you in Burj al Buragne camp. A few weeks ago one old man told me: "Janet Stevens? No, I didn't know her. He paused and then said, .Oh! mean Miss Janet! She spoke Arabic...I think she was American. Of course I remember her! We called her the little drummer girl. She had so much energy. She cared about the Palestinians. That was so long ago. She stopped coming to visit us. I don't know why. How is she?"

And so, Dearest Janet, I will be waiting for you at Sabra-Shatilla , at Martyrs Square, on Saturday, September 15, 2007.

You will find me patting and mumbling to that old yellow dog. He and I have become friends and we will pay our respects to the dead and I will reflect on these past 25 years and we will watch for and wait for you. You will find us behind the straggly rose bushes on the right as you enter.

Come to us, Janet. We need you. The camp residents need you, one of their brightest lights, on this 25th anniversary of one of their darkest hours. You were always their mediator and advocate...and until today you are their majorette for Justice and Return to their sacred Palestine.

Forever, Franklin

Janet Lee Stevens was born in 1951 and died on April 18, 1983, at the age of 32, at the instant of the explosion which destroyed the American Embassy in Beirut. Twenty minutes before the blast, Janet had arrived at the Embassy to meet with US A.I.D. official Bill McIntyre because she wanted to advocate for more aid to the Shia of South Lebanon and for the Palestinians at Sabra, Shatilla, and Burg al Burajneh camps, stemming from Israel's 1982 invasion and the September 15-18 massacre. As they sat at a table in the cafeteria, where she had planned to ask why the US government has never even lodged a protest following the Israeli invasion or the Massacre, a van stolen from the Embassy the previous June arrived and parked just in front of the Embassy. Almost directly in front of the cafeteria. It contained 2,000 pounds of explosives. It was detonated by remote control and tons of concrete pancaked on top of Janet and Bill, killing 63 and wounding 120. Remains of Janet's body were found two days later, unidentified in the basement morgue of the American University of Beirut Hospital by the author. She was pregnant with our son, Clyde Chester Lamb III. Had he lived he would be 24 years old. Hopefully taking after his mother he would, no doubt, be a prince of a young man.

Franklin Lamb's book on the Sabra-Shatilla Massacre, now out of print, was published in 1983, following Janet's death and was dedicated to Janet Lee Stevens.Lamb, Franklin P.: International legal responsibility for the Sabra-Shatilla-massacre / Franklin P. Lamb - Montreuil: Imp. Tipe, 1983 - 157 S. Ill., Kt.He can be reached at .


Palestine Civil Rights Campaign-Lebanon


Excerpted from KEEP HOPE ALIVE:

The End Brings You Back Around



…Mary never again regained consciousness. Nine hours later, as silently as a butterfly hovers above a flower, she entered into eternity.

Six months later, Khaled shuffled through the newly built Orlando International Airport to start the first leg of his journey back to Majd Al Krum. He had insisted on taking this trip alone. As he walked, he thought, I cannot believe how much growth Orlando has seen in these twenty-odd years. It is phenomenal. America has so many opportunities for people who will work hard; they can all realize a future with hope.


Abruptly, he muttered aloud, “Damn you, Mary!” He looked sheepishly around and was grateful nobody paid him any attention. He thought, Mary, I cannot yet bear the thought of never holding you again; is too painful to bear. I respect and admire Fatiha. She has been a wonderful nurse and companion to you, a friend to me, and like a big sister to our daughter. Fatiha is already a part of our family! In fact, Ahmeena wanted her to accompany me on this journey, but I want to take this trip alone, with you in my mind and heart. I do not want to think any further into the future right now. I will think of that when I return to Orlando.


He thought of his brother Hamid, who would be picking him up at the Ben Guerin Airport after his first stop. Generations of Diabs continued to live in the same house that Khaled had left fifty years before. Hamid had told him of the many changes in Majd Al Krum since he had fled. The population was fourteen hundred when he had lived there, and now it was over twelve thousand and still growing.  When Khaled was a boy, the closest school was hours away in the town of Acre. Now, over two thousand children receive an education in their own neighborhood, and many go on to become professionals. Khaled smiled at the thought that one thing remained constant: families stayed together.


Khaled imagined Mary at his side and silently spoke to her. “I may have moved far away and traveled the world over, but my heart has never left Majd Al-Krum. But, after I land in Lebanon, I am going to spend my first night in the Shatilla refugee camp. From there, I will fly to Cyprus and on to Tel Aviv, where Hamid will pick me up and drive me home to Majd Al Krum.”


Hours after all the passengers had been asleep, Khaled recalled the day he and Mary had driven in the center lane of the broad bridge that led into Canada. He spoke to Mary as he recalled the border patrolmen who approached them just as he rolled down his window and naively said, ‘Hello?’


“Remember, Mary when he said, ‘Hello to you, and where were you born?’ and I began to tremble?


“‘In Palestine,’ I proudly rejoined!


“Then he turned to you and said, ‘And you, ma’am?’


“‘Fort Dodge, Iowa,’ was your reply.


“Then he turned back to me and shook his head as he said, ‘Alright, sir, exit the car, please. May I see your papers? Good, now follow me. Ma’am, please wait here.’

"I felt every eye from every car bore through me, as I followed behind the two lanes of stopped vehicles and entered into the office, where my green card, passport, and identification were carefully examined. Then, I was told with a smile, ‘Okay, you are free to go!’


“How difficult it was for me to walk back peacefully to you before I exploded, ‘Just because I was born in Palestine, I am considered a threat! I cannot bear to think how my Palestinian brethren must feel when they are confronted daily with demands to show proof of who they are! It is so unjust! First, the secular Zionists scared us out of our homes. They forced us to be refugees! And the Arab leadership is failing the people! There is no justice in the Holy Land. Palestinians are being born and dying in refugee camps, when for centuries, we lived on the land where our forefathers tended and cultivated fruitful trees of citrus and olive groves!


“Oh, sure, the UN passed Resolution 194 to allow my people to return home or be compensated, but it has yet to be enforced! No Palestinian can travel freely; they are all stopped and interrogated. It happened to me just that once, but I am still livid just the same! Being discriminated against because of where one was born--it’s unjust! Injustice only breeds despair and that births death. In my brain, I constantly hear Riad speaking, and I recall Jake quoting Pope Paul VI who also knew:


‘If you want peace, you must work for justice!’


"Oh Mary, their words torment me. I want peace, but I do not know how to fight the good fight for justice. I keep seeing parallels to what the American Indian and the American Negro have suffered because of injustice. My heart breaks, for my Palestinian brethren have no one fighting to bring justice to them. They have been forgotten by the world. I have not forgotten them; how I wish I knew what to do to help them.”


It was hours more before Khaled finally gave in to slumber. He dreamt he was in a long corridor with many closed doors. He walked slowly for what seemed like hours, until he spied two huge cathedral-size doors at the end of the long corridor. As he approached, they opened into the hidden space beyond and invitingly beckoned him in. He stood upon a mountaintop, and for miles and miles, he did see a Holy Land, wholly covered in olive trees. And everywhere were people of the human family, diverse in color, and of every creed. And they all rested in peace and harmony beneath the shade of olive trees.


When he woke up, he thought he heard Riad whisper in his ear:

You must give birth to your images.
They are the future waiting to be born.
Fear not the strangeness you feel.
The future must enter you long before it happens.

When Khaled disembarked in Lebanon, he hailed a cab and requested to be driven directly to the Shatilla refugee camp. The driver looked at him quizzically, but Khaled never noticed. His thoughts were of Mary, until the driver announced, “Here you are.”

As Khaled looked through the windshield, he was overwhelmed with a sense of desolation and foreboding. “My God, here I have been feeling sorry for myself for losing the love of my life, but I have enjoyed such comfort and security. Shatilla looks like a prison. I cannot imagine what I would be like today if I had remained at Shatilla. It looks like the worst ghetto I could imagine. A place to sequester the indigent, so many people crammed into such a small place. I was determined to spend the night, but now I see there may be no room for me, or anyone else at this inn!”


As Khaled neared the entrance, an old Palestinian with a deeply creviced and weather-worn face squinted at Khaled and inquired, “You look like an American; what are you doing here?”

“I am Khaled Diab, a Palestinian-American.”


“Khaled Diab, from Majd Al-Krum? It is you? I am Abu Hassan, your cousin. Don’t you recognize me? Remember when you and I walked together for twenty-one hours from home to Lebanon? It is so good to see you. I never had the chance to thank you for rescuing my son from here so he could go to school in America! And because he had that opportunity, he rescued his two brothers, and they have all graduated with degrees!”


After a lot of hugging and tears of joy at their reunion, Abu Hassan led Khaled by the hand through the twisting narrow alleys that snaked haphazardly through the over-crowded housing. “You must stay with my family tonight. Umm Hassan and I had one child when we entered here five decades ago. Now, we are a family of thirty-one, counting all the grandchildren.”


Khaled was distraught to see naked toddlers playing in mud mixed with sewage and crying for something to eat. He saw young boys playing ball in the alleys between the tenements. He walked by a school and heard children singing praises of their homeland, and he gave thanks for something positive, although he mourned the fact that they would probably never see the land of their grandparents’ birth. When they reached the particular door that looked like hundreds of others along the narrow street, Abu Hassan turned and commanded, “Wait here.”

When Abu Hassan reopened the door, five young men bolted out, and Khaled was welcomed in. Flat bread and zatar were placed on the table, and he was warmly invited to sit. Word traveled rapidly, and within minutes, neighbors began appearing, bringing pots and dishes of food to share. All Khaled could say was “Thank you for your hospitality, but I have come to visit with the hope of helping you.”

Abu Hassan lifted his arms and exclaimed, “But you already have when you sponsored Hassan. Now we have three college graduates in the family, and they send us money for food and clothing. If we were able to migrate anywhere, our boys would provide for us. Oh, Khaled, if only you could tell the world not to ignore us. We really only want justice! We are not idiots. We know our homes and olive groves have been plowed down.

"Resolution 194 stated that those who were forced from the land in 1948 should be allowed to return or be compensated. I am still waiting! I still have the key to my door. See? I wear it on a chain around my neck and wonder if it will still fit my front door. I am not an idiot; I know I have no home left, now. I would be grateful just to get out of this camp and put down new roots somewhere. We cannot get passports. We cannot come and go as free citizens. We are prisoners, and all because we were born Palestinian.”


Khaled prayed for words, but none came. Abu Hassan continued. “Did you notice the young men who left when you arrived? They are Fedayeen freedom fighters. They grew up witnessing explosions sent by the Israeli army that left men, women, children, and everything around them turned into charcoal. They grew up with helicopters, fighter planes, and tanks shooting at them. Even with the disparity in weapons, they believe they will liberate their people and themselves. They have been fed a diet of discrimination because they are refugees, people without a country. They have been taught to love their homeland, although they have never seen it. And now, the West calls the only ones who help us terrorists, while we know them as service providers! They have reached out to the young in our camp and have built schools and hospitals, and are very well organized. They provide services to the entire community, whether you join them or not; they do not discriminate.”


An ancient, yet strikingly tall, thin man with wide shoulders and penetrating eyes that appeared translucent at the same time had been leaning against the wall, listening and watching. When he cleared his throat, everyone hushed and turned towards him, and he spoke directly to Khaled. “Sir, do you remember me? I remember you; we both walked in the dark that October night so long ago. I was the one who shook the carob tree so you, your family, and others could quench their thirsts. It is true that despite the evil they perpetrate, *the Lebanese Hezbollah have provided us with a lot of comfort and support in the camp. I follow the Christian path, and I would like to know why the Christians in the West don’t do something to help us receive justice. Are the teachings of Jesus nothing to them but empty slogans?”

[*This an actual quote from a Christian in a refugee camp, The American Conservative, May 24, 2004. "The Forgotten Christians" ]



Khaled could only shrug and pray for an answer, as a flute began playing a familiar tune that changed the mood into a festive celebration. New neighbors kept arriving until after midnight, but the shepherd was ignored. When sleep began to overtake the crowd, Abu Hassan motioned Khaled to follow him outside, and the shepherd followed along. The trio stood under a full moon, and Khaled said, “Abu Hassan, I made a substantial living in the United States in the defense industry. Now, I wonder about a new kind of defense. Imagine if there were a branch in the American military that trained soldiers to provide community service; imagine the changes we might see in the world. Ah, it is only a dream, I know. Abu Hassan, I will take my leave when the sun begins to rise, and I thank you for your hospitality. I must continue on my journey back to Majd Al-Krum. My dear wife has passed away, and I am planting an olive tree there in her honor.”


Abu Hassan looked deep into Khaled’s eyes and boldly asked, “Will you plant one for my family, too?”


 “Of course I will plant one for you. And then I will plant another one. Why, in fact, that’s a great idea, Abu Hassan. Maybe I will plant a million trees! Say, can you imagine if a million olive trees were planted amass in the Holy Land? Why, imagine millions of trees being replanted where they had once grown, but have now been plowed down.

“Why, imagine the jobs that would generate. The local plant nurseries would have to hire, and the people who would plant the trees and tend them would receive more than trees. They would receive a gift of hope and a gift of peace. Imagine the harvesting of millions of olive trees and all the oil that would be pressed! Imagine industry to package soaps and jars of olives! Imagine the exportation of Holy Land olive oil! Imagine the youth of the Holy Land having a future with hope. Imagine Americans providing the funds for those olive trees! Why, the world would again see Americans are a people of compassion and generosity, a people who desire peace. Imagine the people of the Holy Land and America working together, planting olive trees like sisters and brothers! Why, I imagine possibilities for peace, reconciliation and opportunity. Yes! That’s it! Go PRO: possibilities for peace, reconciliation, and opportunity for all.”


The shepherd cleared his throat and promised:

“Blessed are the peacemakers; they shall be called the children of God."



"Keep Hope Alive"



"Palestine Civil Rights Campaign-Lebanon




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The Paradoxical Commandments
by Dr. Kent M. Keith

People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered.
Love them anyway.

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Do good anyway.

If you are successful, you win false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway.

The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway.

Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway.

The biggest men and women with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest men and women with the smallest minds.
Think big anyway.

People favor underdogs but follow only top dogs.
Fight for a few underdogs anyway.

What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway.

People really need help but may attack you if you do help them.
Help people anyway.

Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth.
Give the world the best you have anyway.

© 1968, 2001 Kent M. Keith

" In the final analysis, it is between you and God.  It was never between you and them anyway."-Mother Teresa

“You cannot talk like sane men around a peace table while the atomic bomb itself is ticking beneath it. Do not treat the atomic bomb as a weapon of offense; do not treat it as an instrument of the police. Treat the bomb for what it is: the visible insanity of a civilization that has obey the laws of life.”- Lewis Mumford, 1946

The age of warrior kings and of warrior presidents has passed. The nuclear age calls for a different kind of leadership....a leadership of intellect, judgment, tolerance and rationality, a leadership committed to human values, to world peace, and to the improvement of the human condition. The attributes upon which we must draw are the human attributes of compassion and common sense, of intellect and creative imagination, and of empathy and understanding between cultures."  - William Fulbright

“Any nation that year after year continues to raise the Defense budget while cutting social programs to the neediest is a nation approaching spiritual death.” - Rev. MLK
Establishment of Israel
"On the day of the termination of the British mandate and on the strength of the United Nations General Assembly declare The State of Israel will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel: it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion it will guarantee freedom of religion [and] conscience and will be faithful to the Charter of the United Nations." - May 14, 1948. The Declaration of the Establishment of Israel
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posted 3/25/2009

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