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presidency of Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan al Nahyan, founder of the UAE, had always been a tremendous
supporter of the Palestinian cause and the Palestinian people. The UAE had donated large sums to the
Palestinian cause and had opened its doors to many Palestinians so that they could work and live in
the UAE.
My father had been a vocal and committed supporter of the rights of the Palestinians and had been
heard making impassioned speeches at the UN General Assembly meetings in New York. For him to
be assassinated, and by a Palestinian, was a cruel irony and cause for anger. One close Palestinian
friend of my father told me that anyone not wearing traditional Emirati clothing was at risk of being
beaten by Emiratis wanting to take revenge. He himself found he was unable to attend the funeral
prayers in honor of his close friend due to fear. Similar feelings were expressed by others.
The papers were covered with the news. Page after page of photographs and minute descriptions
were provided. The clearest memory I have is the photograph of the windows partially shattered by
the bullets. There were black circles drawn around the holes on the hazy photos. The number of shots
was counted. The location of the shooter was outlined in another photograph on the first-floor
landing. He had shot from above and down into the group as they walked through the main doors to
the airport terminal.
I read and reread the papers from October 26, 1977, and of the few days that followed. As a child
I was eager to know what happened. I wanted to know every detail. I wanted to know why and how
and what and where, and then why again. I saw these newspapers for the first time in 1983 when I
was twelve years old. The emotional impact was heavy. I read the newspapers over the course of a
few days. Then I repacked them into the steel suitcases in which they had been stored by my mother
for safekeeping.
Over the next few years, I returned to them. I would notice a few more details as well as a few
more missing elements. No mysteries were solved but they left a set of impressions on me. It became
very clear to me as the years passed that the picture created by the papers over the course of a few
days showed that a man’s life can be ended brutally—without warning for reasons he could not have
guessed. Even in his last few moments of life, I can only imagine that my father would not have
guessed at a reason for why he had been shot that day. In fact, he might be surprised if he knew that in
2017, almost forty years after his death, his widow and his children still cannot make sense of it. It is
in a certain respect a comedy of deathly errors that involve a young Palestinian man with a gun and a
target, but who does not recognize which of the two men in suits of the same height and build is the
man he has been sent to kill.
It is with bitterness that I think of other instances where a lack of training and education lead to
tragedy in the Arab world. I am telling you this family history not just because it is part of your
history also. I am telling you because your grandfather’s killing has made me very aware of all the
other places where we use violence in order to get what we want. There is a way in which violence
is a part of our lives, and we cannot deny it. This is what you need to think about and question why.
Years later I was at an Abu Dhabi hospital seeing a doctor who had known my family for years.