HOPELESS IN GAZA

By KARSTEN PRAGER

When Palestinian self-rule expands to embrace most of the West Bank, its success or failure--absent extremist spasms--will rest on two ingredients: the cooperation of Israel and the presence of a competent, politically open Palestinian administration. On both counts, a chastening lesson comes from the Gaza Strip, where self-rule began with the establishment of Yasser Arafat's Palestinian Authority in May 1994. That dust-blown, dirt-poor piece of land, home to nearly a million Palestinians, is as sad a place now as it was then--and Israelis and Palestinians share the blame for its mood of discontent.

Perhaps predictably, the main complaint in Gaza is that Palestinian Authority or not, Israel is still calling the shots. Gazans initially were jubilant over the redeployment of Israeli troops from populated areas to strategic roads and strong points--no more identity checks, no more nightly curfew. By now they have concluded that in psychological terms the occupation continues. "We still feel the heavy hand of Israel," says Aown Shawa, the mayor of Gaza City. "Getting in and out, for example, is worse than before." Israel's eight closures of the border this year--for security, say Israelis; for harassment, say Palestinians--have kept the 12,000 Gazans who depend on jobs in Israel from working more than an average of seven days a month. Unemployment estimates range from 40% to 60%. Shipments to the West Bank of fruits and vegetables, the Strip's only exports, have been curtailed. Investment, aside from a boomlet in construction, is minimal. Shawa says Gaza needs an immediate infusion of $400 million for development, but only $120 million has been pledged by international donors, and a mere $12 million has been delivered. "People's souls are dying slowly," says Asia Abdul-Hadi, a Gaza journalist. "That's worse than being shot."

While Israel naturally draws the lion's share of Gazan criticism, Arafat and his Authority are not exempt from it. "The Chairman thinks ideologically," says a human-rights worker who, revealingly, does not want to be named. "He is focusing on the basic principle, namely Palestinian independence. He's not interested in day-to-day problems, in infrastructure where we are starting from below zero. The few changes for the better have been trivial, cheap cosmetics. Paving a few roads, some improvement in education and public health--that's it." More trenchant complaints focus on corruption and nepotism in the Authority, the intimidating presence of several Palestinian security services and the lack of legal recourse. "No one feels free to talk," says Abdul-Hadi. "Even during the intifadeh [the 1987-94 Palestinian uprising] we could speak more freely." Since the Authority took control, about 1,500 people, most described as Arafat opponents, have been detained, often without formal charges. A State High Security Court, whose legal foundation is the revolutionary code that the Palestine Liberation Organization adopted in Lebanon in 1979, has tried at least two dozen Palestinians and handed down harsh sentences. "There's been no improvement in human rights--except for the decline in violence toward Palestinians due to the Israeli army's withdrawal," says activist Raji Surani, who was held for 18 hours last February after he criticized the security tribunal.

Arafat still enjoys majority support among Gazans, but only because they assume his hands are tied by Israeli restraints. That won't last forever, especially as his writ begins to extend into the West Bank. Palestinians, not just in Gaza, are taking note. "I haven't lost hope," says Surani, "but ..."