Not quite. After six weeks of self-rule, the Palestinians are struggling
by Todd Shields, David Makovsky, Jihan El-Tahri, Khaled Abu Toameh
______________________________________
There is trash in the courtyard of the Rimal health clinic in Gaza City; inside, linoleum is peeling from the floors. In a bleak room containing little more than a filing cabinet and an examining table cloaked by a faded curtain that still bears the Hebrew lettering of the territory's former Israeli occupiers, Dr. Sohel Abou Hassira greets his Palestinian patients.
Like many other Palestinians waiting for their government to kick into gear in the Gaza Strip and West Bank town of Jericho, Hassira is happy that the Israelis are gone, but the spartan realities of Gaza City keep his hopes in check. "I don't believe in anything," he says, "until I see it."
After six weeks of Palestinian self-rule, a sense of joy still lingers in the territories and popular support remains strong for Yassir Arafat and his Palestine Liberation Organization authorities. But there is little to see in the way of tangible benefits. Gazans have no postal service. Health care has not improved. There is no bureaucracy to collect taxes for the nascent ruling structures. Not all the 24 members of the Palestinian Authority, which is to rule the areas, have been named. And Arafat keeps pushing back his arrival, as aides complain that more and quicker funding for self-rule is needed and that the Israelis are restricting actions by Palestinian authorities.
Nuts and bolts. Arafat's supporters insist the glitches are the natural teething problems of a people starting from scratch. Critics say that the delays point to fundamental difficulties to come and charge that Arafat intends to extend to self-rule the same chaotic, dictatorial leadership style he has exercised through decades of struggle against his new Israeli partners. Palestinian and Israeli analysts warn that support for self-rule and for the wider peace process will erode unless quick progress is made to improve the economy and to establish the nuts and bolts of day-to-day government. "It is time for [Arafat] to come and stay, not just for a few days," says Saeb Erekat, a member of the Palestinian Authority. "For the moment, we are surviving on people's hopes for change, but how long can that last?"
Arafat's weeks of tarrying at his faraway Tunis headquarters while the embryonic bureaucracy has idled in Gaza and Jericho have reinforced fears that the man Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin has called "the master of survival and builder of nothing" might remain just that. Even allies concede that the 64-year-old Arafat must abandon the life of a jet-set revolutionary who reserves all decisions for himself and accept the more plodding role of conventional politician and bureaucrat who can meet a budget and keep water and electricity flowing.
Eager to jump-start self-rule, international donors met in Paris in early June and agreed to deliver $42 million to Arafat to cover his start-up costs. But many donors and prospective private investors still question whether Arafat's government can be trusted to impartially run aid, commerce and taxation.
$2 billion. Inside sources say that Arafat has already established at least one so-called technical committee in Tunis that could exercise a political veto over decisions by the Palestinian Economic Council for Development and Reconstruction, or PECDAR, which was formed to coordinate the more than $2 billion in aid anticipated in the next five years.
Even staffers at PECDAR's bustling headquarters, a villa on the outskirts of Jerusalem, privately express disquiet over the heavy hand from Tunis. "They're either doubtful or they come right out and say that Arafat will, just as he's used political funds for the last 27 years, use economic aid to build political support," says one Western diplomat. A PECDAR spokesman acknowledges the existence of the technical committee but claims ignorance of its functions. Meanwhile, say sources, foreign companies and even governments are going straight to Tunis for deals, bypassing PECDAR completely.
In the void created by political and financial uncertainties, the new Palestinian police force has emerged as the main manifestation of self-rule in Jericho and the Gaza Strip. The force now numbers 4,000 men, and is slated to grow to 9,000 members.
On the street, where legally armed Palestinians are both a thrilling novelty and a tangible symbol of self-rule, the welcome for the police has been warm. Residents have rushed to donate food, housing and even office furniture.
At the political level, however, there is growing apprehension that the police are bent on establishing iron rule in order to guarantee Arafat's continuing authority. Mahdi Abdel-Hadi, a leading Palestinian intellectual, warns that unless there are prompt elections and creation of stable political and judicial systems, "We have replaced Israeli military rule by a Palestinian military government."
"[Arafat] has installed his loyal generals, he is buying off most of the local figures, and he has managed to destroy every form of local organization," adds a grass-roots leader of Fatah -- Arafat's leading PLO faction -- who was ousted by newly arrived authorities from Tunis.
Maj. Gen. Nasr Yousef, Arafat's handpicked head of Palestinian security, has been singled out for criticism by the fundamentalist Hamas group and secular leaders for intervening in civilian affairs. A police order -- as yet unenforced -- forbidding political sermonizing in mosques has raised the prospect of tensions with powerful Islamic activists, who reject the peace accord as ratification of Israeli hegemony. The arrest and detention without charge for 27 days of an Islamic activist suspected in the slaying of two Israeli soldiers also raised eyebrows among locals.
Confrontation. Signs are that Arafat is keeping local authorities on a short leash. The PLO's first confrontation with Israel under self-rule came in early June, when the Israelis released hundreds of Palestinian prisoners but stipulated that many of them be confined to Gaza or Jericho, as provided in the self-rule agreement. But when local Palestinian authorities accepted the restrictive terms, Arafat summoned Ziad AlAtrash, the popular head of civil defense, to Tunis and dismissed him.
For now, the popularity of self-rule has subdued tensions with Islamic fundamentalists. Deriding the new autonomy "would be like showing a delicious meal to a group of hungry people and asking them not to eat," says a leading Islamic activist. "All we can do is wait. And after they eat, they will get a stomachache. It is then that we can prescribe the remedy."
The uncertainty over PLO rule has prompted some Palestinians to begin figuring how best to protect themselves if things go sour. In housing-short Jericho, a sweltering oasis town favored as a winter retreat by Jerusalem's Palestinian elite, some property owners are seeking long-term leases with foreigners to protect against possible confiscation by the national authority that will be based there. And U.S. News has learned that the number of Arab Jerusalemites applying for Israeli citizenship has skyrocketed, from 90 in 1992 to more than 240 in the first four months of this year alone, as residents hedge both against feared Israeli moves to force them out of the contested city and against becoming subjects of Arafat's administration.
Guarding Arafat. In Israel, aides to Prime Minister Rabin fret that right-wing critics will galvanize broad public opposition to the peace process once Arafat, the man Israelis most love to hate, makes an appearance. Approximately 20,000 Israeli police -- half of the country's force -- reportedly will be needed to safeguard the PLO leader. Posters throughout Jerusalem depict Arafat wearing a military helmet and exhorting Israelis to "wake up" because "the mass murderer is coming." Mayor Ehud Olmert, a leading Rabin critic and membe
