'I Have a Homeland; It’s Palestine': For Palestinian-Jordanians, Jordan Is Their Country, but Not Their Home

Despite living in Jordan their entire lives and being generations removed from their ancestors who fled Palestinian territories decades ago, many Palestinian-Jordanians identify as Palestinians and reject their Jordanian identity, which, in their words, has been "forced" upon them.

This is a feeling passed down for generations, according to those interviewed for this article. Throughout the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, Jordan has been seen, and continues to be seen, as an "alternative homeland" for Palestinians, denying the need for a Palestinian state. But many Palestinian-Jordanians, especially those of the younger generation, do not feel "at home."

While looking at his Palestinian grandparents' old papers, Ali Sabtein—a descendant of Palestinian refugees from the 1948 war known as the Nakba, or “Catastrophe” in Arabic—pulled out the title deed for their home in Lifta, a city just outside of Jerusalem. 

“Oh, this one is important,” he said as he started to translate the document. “This is for our house in Lifta, in 1939.”

He put away the title deed and pulled out a passport. “This is a very old one, 1914, from the Othmani (Ottoman) time.” There were about 50 different documents Ali brought out that belonged to his grandparents. He went through all of them. 

“It's all they took with them,” Ali said, putting the documents back in their case. “Now in my village, Lifta, they are going to have a big settlement on it they are talking about in two years.” He paused and pulled out his phone to show a news article about it. The headline read, “Pre-Nakba Palestinian village Lifta to become Israeli neighborhood.”

He sighed, “It's my grandmother and my grandfather's land, OK, how am I going to forget it?” 

The question that sparked a long discussion and the hours spent going through old documents, coins, and keys was a simple one: “What do you identify as: Palestinian or Jordanian?” The question was posed to both 61-year-old Ali and his 29-year-old son, Ala.  

“We are living here in Jordan because we have to, we are forced to live here,” Ali said without hesitation. “If I had the chance to go back to my country, I would go.” 

“But us as Palestinian-Jordanians, do we have the right to return?” Ala asked his father. “If you say Jordanian, in any way, it's the same Israeli narrative, you are Jordanian … I don't have any Palestinian documents myself … I was born and raised here.” He stopped and asked his father again, “I don't have the chance, of course, but do I have the right?”  

The right of return is not granted in regard to Palestinian refugees or their descendants, such as Ali or Ala. They cannot enter Israel or the Occupied Palestine Territories, despite having their ancestors' documents.

Under international law, as specified by the United Nations, it is a fundamental individual right of a person to return to their native home country. However, Israeli authorities have blocked the descendants of Palestinian refugees from returning to Israel or the Occupied Palestinian Territories since the conflict began 76 years ago, which, according to Human Rights Watch, is against international human rights law. Palestinians nonetheless continue to fight for their fundamental right to return to their homeland and pass this fight on from generation to generation. 

“Even though I am Jordanian now, I am going to ask to go back,” Ali said. “If I don’t, my kids, they are going to ask to go back to their country. This is my family’s land, I want to take it back now, after 10 years, after 20 years, and so on.” 

Many argue Palestinians already have a homeland: Jordan. Jordan is home to 3 million Palestinians and is considered the “Watin al-Badil,” meaning “alternative homeland” in Arabic, for Palestinians. The country granted immediate citizenship to refugees from the Nakba, stated in the Jordanian Nationality Law of 1954, and integrated them into its population. Ali’s Palestinian grandparents were granted Jordanian citizenship when they fled to Jordan from Lifta in 1948, a citizenship status they passed on to their descendants, including Ali and Ala. 

When asked whether he was Palestinian or Jordanian, Ala's response differed from his father’s. “I will give you my personal answer because I don't see it this way,” he said. “Yes, I was born and raised in Amman so I am Jordanian, and at the same time I have my roots in Palestine. This means that I have two identities, one of them is being erased and one of them is stable as a Jordanian.”

Ala continued, “So my duty as someone who has those two identities is bringing my Palestinian identity on every single occasion because this is where my effort and energy need to go. And this is not only my case, this is the case for everyone. They know that this identity is threatened by being erased.” 

The concept of putting “effort” into his Palestinian identity and not his Jordanian one as Ala described manifests itself in his life and the life of all Palestinian-Jordanians in many ways: “We keep our culture, our traditions, we celebrate our music, our food, our Dabke, our embroidery, you name it,” Ala said. “We don’t have a land, no one is going to give us a land, it's not about the land, it's about us who remain.” 

This can also be as simple as just existing as a Palestinian, Ala explained, refusing to lose any of the culture. “We have a saying, existence is resistance, right, and this is how we have been for the past 76 years, we just exist.”

“We just tell their stories,” which is what Ali and Ala were sharing, their story, their families story, and how they preserve their Palestinian identity. “We have no platform, we have no media, we have no tools, we don't have a presence, everything is being banned and weaponized and fabricated, the only thing we have left to say is our story,” Ala said.

“Even if you don’t have the chance,” Ala concluded. “You know for a fact: I come from there and I have a right to come from there, and if I don’t make it in my lifetime then I am going to tell my children and my children will tell my grandchildren. This is a very important part of being Palestinian.”

When Ala left the room, Ali said, “It's not about the land, like the West Bank is almost gone, it's just a few small Palestinian cities here and there. So it's not about the land, it's about the identity. This is the thing I would say [Israel] failed to shift, change, and erase is the identity.”

“You notice,” he said, “Ala is more passionate about this than me, and I believe his son more than him, and his son, and on and on.”

Jordanians of Palestinian origin, like Ala and Ali, make up over half of the country’s population, according to Human Rights Watch. Their Palestinian heritage is deeply woven into the fabric of Jordan, with reminders of their past visible throughout the capital, Amman.  

Hanging on the wall of coffee shops, you see the shop owner's family’s old street address from Palestine hung on the wall. Walking down the street, Palestinian street art fills the landscape, reflecting their culture or calling for the right of return. All of this shows that even after generations, the push for Palestinian recognition, the right of return, and statehood will not go away; it will only grow, as seen in just one family from Amman, between a father and a son.

Many of the Palestinians interviewed in Jordan said the old generation is “tired” from fighting, they have seen many wars, many atrocities. However, the new generation is not. And now through social media, they have an outlet to share their stories and speak up about their rights to everyone in the world. Like Ala said, while they want their land back, “it's not about land,” it's about preserving their culture, identity, and sharing their stories.