"There's No Future"

High wire fences separate the United Nations refugee camp at Dheisheh from the rest of Bethlehem. Within, Palestinian children, hiding behind mounds of trash and rubble, sometimes hurl stones at passing cars. Deeper in the shadows, young Arab men vie for political ascendancy with threats of violence. Misbah Mohammed Rizq, 58, is Dheisheh's camp leader. For 30 years Abu Nabil, as Rizq is known, has doled out the U.N.'s meager rations, seen that the camp's fetid sanitation system works and interceded with the Israeli military government to keep his people out of trouble. He performs his difficult job with the skill of a professional refugee, which he has been since his family fled central Israel in 1948. Twinkling eyes and a flashing smile belie his anguish. "The reality I can manage," he says. "But there's no future."

Amid the squalor, Abu Nabil's family, including four of his children and four grandchildren, live comfortably in an airy two-story concrete house. Nabil receives $650 a month from the U.N. and an additional $500 from a son in Saudi Arabia, enough money to leave the camp. The Rizqs remain, however, hoping to remind the world that the Palestinian problem still exists. Abu Nabil says firmly, "Even if you are doing well yourself, the occupation is a terrible thing."

One of his younger sons, Emad, 23, typifies the pain of the occupation. He has not been given permission to work in the West Bank or to emigrate elsewhere because of the fiery anti-Israeli speeches he delivered at Bethlehem University. Young people are coming to believe that only force can bring a solution. Though Abu Nabil does not believe violence will win back the homeland, he reluctantly agrees that words are not enough. "My generation can fight only with our tongues," he warns. "Theirs will have to fight with guns."