Introduction
In 1955, a Palestinian-led mob torched a refugee rehabilitation project near Jericho. But this wasn’t a colonial outpost. It was the dream of Musa Alami, a respected Palestinian nationalist who sought to give his people dignity through education, agriculture, and self-reliance.
He wasn’t in Israel. He wasn’t working with Zionists. He was in the West Bank—then under Jordanian control—building something for Palestinian orphans and refugees.
So why did they burn it down?
Because for some, dignity and independence were seen as betrayal.
This isn’t just a historical anecdote. It’s a window into the internal dynamics that continue to shape the Israel-Palestine conflict. Here’s what this overlooked story tells us:
1. Internal Sabotage Has Long Undermined Palestinian Progress
Musa Alami’s Arab Development Society (ADS) was revolutionary—not because it had foreign backing, but because it didn’t.
He took a barren desert tract near Jericho and, with deep-well irrigation and relentless effort, built a farm, a school, a clinic, and housing for orphans. Refugees were trained in trades and agriculture. It was a rare moment of hope.
But to some Palestinian factions, hope was dangerous.
They feared that empowering refugees in the West Bank would undermine the “right of return” and normalize displacement. So instead of supporting the project, they torched it.
The attackers weren’t Israelis. They were fellow Arabs.
This wasn’t just tragic—it was deliberate. A symbol of rebuilding was destroyed in the name of ideology.
2. The “Right of Return” Was Used to Undermine Real Solutions
Why was Alami’s project so threatening? Because it offered displaced Palestinians something tangible: land, livelihood, and dignity—outside Israel.
And that terrified hardliners.
If refugees rebuilt their lives in Jericho, what would happen to the call to return to Haifa or Jaffa? Some saw that as a threat to the long-term goal of reversing Israel’s existence entirely.
So instead of embracing progress, they destroyed it.
This shows how the “right of return” has been used not only as a legal argument—but as a political weapon to block any solution short of Israel’s dismantling. Even today, efforts to integrate or assist Palestinian refugees in host countries often face pushback—not from Israel, but from within the Arab world.
3. There Were Always Alternatives to War—and They Were Rejected
Musa Alami wasn’t trying to erase the past. He was trying to build a future. His vision wasn’t pro-Israel or anti-Israel—it was pro-Palestinian.
And for that, he was targeted.
His story reveals that peaceful, constructive paths were always on the table. But those options were often crushed by factions more invested in struggle than in progress.
The destruction of ADS wasn’t an isolated act of violence. It was part of a broader pattern: whenever empowerment threatened the politics of resistance, someone lit a match.
Legacy: A Symbol of What Could Have Been
Alami eventually rebuilt the project with support from abroad, especially from American donors. But it was never the same. The ADS continued to operate into the 21st century in a limited form, but its spirit was dimmed.
His legacy, however, endures—not just in buildings or farms, but in a question we still haven’t answered:
Will we choose to build or to burn?
Musa Alami chose to build—and paid the price. But his example remains a powerful challenge to all those who claim to speak for the Palestinian cause while rejecting every real path to stability.
Sources:
- Alami, Musa. The Lesson of Palestine. 1949.
- Palestine Remembered: The Arab Development Society
- Mitchell, Timothy. Rule of Experts: Egypt, Techno-Politics, Modernity. 2002.
- Shlaim, Avi. The Iron Wall. Oxford University Press.
- Various reports from UNRWA and Jordanian archives on post-1948 refugee policy
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