Source: The Daily Star, 20-11-2000þ Summary: Even those too young ever to have seen their homes can describe them exactly, as well as tell who lived next doorþ Across the zone formerly known as Occupied, Lebanese citizens are free this year to celebrate a double independence: from the French Mandate in 1943 and the “Israeli” occupation in May 2000.þ But during the commemoration this Wednesday, spare a thought for those who have little reason to celebrate either event. For the residents of Teir Bikha, Ibl Qamah, Hounine, Malkieh, Nabi Yusha, Kades and Saliha the Seven Villages independence has yet to arrive.þ “We’re happy the South has been liberated and we will celebrate with them,” says Moussa Chahrour, whose grandfather Shaker Chahrour was mayor of Hounine. “But now we say it must be our turn to go home.”þ Strung along the old 1923 frontier between British Mandate Palestine and French Mandate Lebanon, the Seven Villages, which include more than 25 farms, were annexed to Palestine under the Al-Quds Treaty. No more than a line on a piece of paper, the Sykes-Picot Accord, which established the internationally-recognized frontier between the two colonial mandates, changed nothing for the residents of Jabal Amel, the mountainous region straddling the Lebanese-Palestinian border. At least, not at first.þ Initially, the incorporation of Shiite villages into a country with no Shiite population raised few feathers. The Lebanese census of 1933 asked the villagers whether they would like to remain in Palestine or be re-incorporated into Lebanon. Economically speaking, Palestine was a more attractive prospect and as Beirut was much farther away than Haifa, most villagers appeared happy to become Palestinian.þ To be fair, the concept of Lebanese or Palestinian meant little to people accustomed to the freedom of movement under Ottoman rule, freedom that continued during the Mandate era. The border was left unfenced out of respect for the centuries-old flow of trade and movement in the region, which meant traveling to Tyre or Sidon to sort out administrative tasks or pay taxes and down to Haifa to buy those little bits and pieces that didn’t quite make their way to the mountain.þ Residents were offered Palestinian identity cards but in recognition of complex historical, religious, and geographical ties, they were also allowed to retain their Lebanese identity papers. With no border fence, residents could cross back and forth whenever they liked.þ This easy existence came to an end in May 1948 when underground Jewish groups overthrew Palestine and proclaimed the State of “Israel”. Slowly but surely, the residents of the Seven Villages were forced off their lands. By 1949, the Seven Villages had fallen. And suddenly that line on a European map became frighteningly real.þ It’s no wonder that these days the question of where the villages belong elicits a more emphatic response. “Our family was Lebanese before the Ottomans, before the French, and before there was even a Lebanon,” says Hajj Abou Fawwaz Hassan Khodroj, who was just 13 when he left his home for the last time.þ “I’m Lebanese, and our land is Lebanese, there is no doubt about it.”þ This conviction appears to have been shared by successive Lebanese governments. Resi-dents of the Seven Villages, unlike their Palestinian counterparts, were granted Lebanese citizenship in the 1960s and records of the old land deeds still exist in Sidon and Tyre.þ The belief that the Seven Villages are Lebanese is even more evident in the younger generation of Houninites, too young to have ever set foot in the village.þ “We’re Shiites and we’re Lebanese. Why put our villages in Palestine? There are no Shiites in Palestine,” says 26 year-old Ali Kleit, for whom, like many others, returning to Hounine has become a mission.þ “We belong with the other villages in Jabal Amel.”þ At the moment, there is not even a glimmer of that happening soon to a place perched strategically on the cliffs above the Galilee Panhandle overlooking the shiny, white Jewish settlements dotting the fertile plain.þ Today, Hajj Abou Fawwaz lives in Shiyah in the southern suburbs of Beirut. His single-story house stands in stark contrast to the towering apartment blocks around him. The garden, full of jasmine and shaded by trees, is the closest approximation he can make to the home he last saw in 1948.þ “We left slowly, group by group; we did not run from Hounine but we were scared the Jews would come and massacre us,” he says surrounded by his wife and family. “My family went to Markaba but there were still people in the village so we left everything in our house. My parents told us we’d be back after a month.”þ Bitter words. Fifty-two years later, his parent’s words have yet to come true. As Jewish guerrilla gangs like Stern and Haganah consolidated their hold on Palestine, they used scare tactics to drive border residents away.þ Their methods detentions, kidnappings, and beatings were so effective that, according to organizations like Amnesty International and the Human Rights Watch, they are still used by the “Israeli” army today.þ As the situation deteriorated, Houninites left in greater numbers, moving temporarily to villages on the Lebanese side of the border. Hajj Abou Haidar, who left Hounine in May 1948 at the age of 17, remembers that for many fellow villagers, the last straw was the kidnapping of three Hounine women, taken as they worked in their fields down on the Galilee plain.þ “For a while, we still used to come to the village to pick fruit or check on our neighbors,” he says. “But it got more and more dangerous. The Jews would chase you if they found you. They took many people, some were gone for several weeks.”þ Tactics didn’t stop at intimidation. The Haganah and their counterparts were responsible for massacres all over Palestine. Deir Yassine is perhaps the most infamous, but several massacres were perpetrated in the Galilee. The worst was at Saliha in September 1948, when 105 residents were machine-gunned behind the village mosque. Later in October, a further 85 were killed in Houla.þ Hounine wasn’t spared. Before the guerrillas set about blowing up the village, destroying homes, farms and the 12th century village mosque, they rounded up the remaining 14 residents, mostly those too old to leave their lands, and shot them in the village square.þ With the village gone, Hounine lives on in the minds of its residents and is reborn in the minds of those who listen to the stories they tell. Memories, unlike bricks and mortar, are much harder to destroy.þ Even those too young to have seen Hounine can describe the house their family once owned. They know how many acres they planted, who lived next door, how long it took to get to Tyre, even the best place to nap on the way to Markaba. And naturally, they all dream one day of going home, whenever that day might be. It is this persistence of memory, passed down from generation to generation, that may, one day, pose the challenge to “Israel’s” control of the area.þ Last November, before prospects of a unilateral “Israeli” pull-out materialized, then-Premier Salim Hoss was quoted as saying that Lebanon “requires the return of the Seven Villages and all the other areas seized from Lebanon before and after 1949 and during the June (1967) war, including the Shibaa farms and the border areas in the qadas of Marjayoun, Bint Jbeil, and Hasbaya.”þ Once it became clear that an overall peace settlement was unlikely, the government’s stand on the issue had less immediacy. The worry was that in the absence of a comprehensive deal any demand for the return of the villages, and therefore a redrawing of the 1923 frontier, would lead to attempts by “Israel” to legitimize their occupation.þ In an article carried by one news service on Jan. 20, Hoss reported that “Lebanon’s borders are internationally recognized and are not subject to modifications or retracing, under an eventual settlement with “Israel”.”þ The only exception, he added would be to take in the Seven Villages “forcibly seized by “Israel” in 1949.”þ With the continued occupation of the Shibaa Farms, the violence in the occupied territories, and the deadlock in Syrian-”Israeli” negotiations, the prospect of peace with “Israel” looks dimmer than before. For now, the issue of the Seven Villages is again on the back burner. The villagers may have a long wait until, like their fellow residents of the South, they too have cause to celebrate each Nov. 22.þ But waiting is something Houninites do well. Until May, no one had caught a glimpse of their “piece of Heaven on Earth” for 18 years. The last time residents ventured onto what remained of their land was to pick fruit from trees their ancestors had planted. That was in 1982.þ Back then, it was possible to get up close to the settlement, even to talk to the new residents. At the time, they were Arab Jews from Yemen. Today, although the red-tiled homes seem close enough to touch, they are even further away than ever, separated from Lebanon by a tall barbed wire fence and border patrols. The orchards have been uprooted and the fields littered with landmines.þ Although the situation is still not resolved, residents have begun moving back. Those whose land is still under occupation, and the bulk of Hounine land is on the other side, have been given small plots by fellow villagers. Slowly, New Hounine is rising in sight of the old, its two-story buildings looking right into the Jewish settlement over the fence.þ “It’ll be sad to see Hounine and not be able to touch it,” says 14 year-old Mustafa Shbeeb with a shy smile. “But it is my village and even if I never live there, I know my children will.”