'Why do they hate us?'

In the past year of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, Atta has joined Hamas, the radical group responsible for recently sending most of the suicide bombers into Israeli towns. Frustration at watching the rising Palestinian death toll at the hands of the Israeli army played a large part in his decision, he says.

His resentment at Israel, though, dates back to his infancy, and the stories he heard of his village, Ras Abu Amar, which he never knew. That village is still alive for him, just as millions of Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip, and throughout the Middle East cherish photos, house keys, and deeds to homes that no longer exist or which have housed Israelis for generations.

Today he lives in his own house in Duheisheh, a sprawling tangle of densely packed concrete buildings that crowd snaking, narrow alleys. But he still dreams of the home he never knew, and recalls who took it from him, and remembers who they rely on for their strength.

What happened on Sept. 11 "was an awful thing, a tragedy, and since we live a continuous tragedy, we felt like this touched us," he adds. "But when we see something like this in Israel or the US, we feel a contradiction. We see it's a tragedy, but we remember that these are the people behind our tragedy."

"Even small children know that Israel is nothing without America," says Atta. "And here America means F-16, M-16, Apache helicopters, the tools Israelis use to kill us and destroy our homes."

Such weapons are very much the visible face of American policy in the Middle East, where military might has held the balance of power for 50 years. Thousands of US soldiers stationed in the Gulf, and billions of US dollars each year in military aid to Israel, Egypt, and other allies, have shored up Washington's interests in the strategically crucial, oil-rich region.

That military presence and power looks like swagger to some in the Muslim world, even far from the flashpoints. "Now America is ready with its airplanes to bomb this poor nation [Afghanistan], and most people in Indonesia don't like arrogance," says Imam Budi Prasodjo, an Indonesian sociologist and talk-show host.

"You are a superpower, you are a military superpower, and you can do whatever you want. People don't like that, and this is dangerous," he adds.

"America should spread its culture, rather than weapons or tanks," adds Mohammed el-Sayed Said, deputy director of Cairo's influential Al Ahram think tank. "They need to act like any respectable commander or leader of an army. They can't just project an image of contempt for those they wish to lead."

Ten years ago, at the head of a broad coalition of Western and Arab countries, the United States used its superpower status to kick the Iraqi army out of Kuwait. Since then, however, Washington has found itself alone - save for loyal ally Britain - in its determination to keep bombing Iraq, and to keep imposing strict economic sanctions that the United Nations says are partly responsible for the deaths of half a million Iraqi children.

Those deaths, and those bombs (which US and British planes drop regularly, but without fanfare), are felt keenly among fellow Arabs. And Saniya Ghussein knows all about bombs.

In the middle of the night of April 16, 1986, the deafening sound of anti-aircraft guns woke Saniya Ghussein with a sudden start. "My God," she thought, "there's a war being fought above my house."

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