by Tony Judt
In the second place, something fundamental has changed in the Palestinian condition. For four decades millions of Palestinian Arabs—in Israel, in the occupied territories, in refugee camps across the Arab world, and in exile everywhere—had been all but invisible. Their very existence was long denied by Israeli politicians; their memory of expulsion had been removed from the official record and passed unmentioned in history books; the record of their homes, their villages, and their land was expunged from the very soil itself. That, as Said, noted, was why he kept on telling the same story: “There seems to be nothing in the world that sustains it; unless you go on telling it, it will just drop and disappear.” And yet “it is very hard to espouse for five decades, a continually losing cause.” It was as though Palestinians had no existence except when someone committed a terrorist atrocity—at which point that is all they were, their provenance uncertain, their violence inexplicable.10
That is why the “right of return” had so central a place in all Palestinian demands—not because any serious person supposed that Israel could take “back” millions of refugees and their descendants, but from the deeply felt need for acknowledgment: a recognition that the initial expulsion took place, that a primordial wrong was committed. That is what so annoyed Said about Oslo: It seemed to excuse or forgive the Israelis for the occupation and everything else. But “Israel cannot be excused and allowed to walk away from the table with not even a rhetorical demand [my emphasis] that it needs to atone for what it did.” (“What Price Oslo?” Al-Ahram, March 2002). Attention must be paid.
But attention, of course, is now being paid. An overwhelming majority of world opinion outside of the United States sees the Palestinian tragedy today much as the Palestinians themselves see it. They are the natives of Israel, an indigenous community excluded from nationhood in its own homeland: dispossessed and expelled, illegally expropriated, confined to “Bantustans,” denied many fundamental rights, and exposed on a daily basis to injustice and violence. Today there is no longer the slightest pretence by well-informed Israelis that the Arabs left in 1948 of their own free will or at the behest of foreign despots, as we were once taught. Benny Morris, one of the leading Israeli scholars on the subject, recently reminded readers of the Israeli daily newspaper Ha’aretz that Israeli soldiers did not merely expel Palestinians in 1948-49, in an early, incomplete attempt at ethnic cleansing; they committed war crimes along the way, including the rape and murder of women and children.11
Of course Morris notoriously sees nothing wrong in this record—he treats it as the collateral damage that accompanies state building.12 But this brings us to the third ground for thinking Said may be right about the chances for a single state. Just as the Palestinian cause has begun to find favor in public opinion, and is gaining the moral upper hand, so Israel’s international standing has precipitately collapsed. For many years the insuperable problem for Palestinians was that they were being expelled, colonized, occupied, and generally mistreated not by French colons or Dutch Afrikaaners but, in Edward Said’s words, by “the Jewish citizens of Israel, remnants of the Nazi Holocaust, with a tragic history of genocide and persecution.”
The victim of victims is in an impossible situation—not made any better, as Said pointed out, by the Arab propensity to squeeze out from under the shadow of the Holocaust by minimizing or even denying it.13 But when it comes to mistreating others, even victims don’t get a free pass forever. The charge that Poles often persecuted Jews before, during, and after World War II can no longer be satisfactorily deflected by invokingHitler’s three million Polish victims. Mutatis mutandis, the same now applies to Israel. Until the military victory of 1967, and even for some years afterwards, the dominant international image of Israel was the one presented by its Left-Zionist founders and their many admirers in Europe and elsewhere: a courageous little country surrounded by enemies, where the desert had been made to bloom and the indigenous population airbrushed from the picture.
Following the invasion of Lebanon, and with gathering intensity since the first intifada of the late 1980s, the public impression of Israel has steadily darkened. Today it presents a ghastly image: a place where sneering eighteen-year-olds with M-16 carbines taunt helpless old men (“security measures”); where bulldozers regularly flatten whole apartment blocks (“collective punishment”); where helicopters fire rockets into residential streets (“targeted assassination”); where subsidized settlers frolic in grass-fringed swimming pools, oblivious of Arab children a few meters away who fester and rot in the worst slums on the planet; and where retired generals and cabinet ministers speak openly of bottling up the Palestinians “like drugged roaches in a bottle” (Rafael Eytan) and cleansing the land of its Arab cancer.14
Israel is utterly dependent on the United States for money, arms, and diplomatic support. One or two states share common enemies with Israel; a handful of countries buy its weapons; a few others are its de facto accomplices in ignoring international treaties and secretly manufacturing nuclear weapons. But outside Washington Israel has no friends—at the United Nations it cannot even count on the support of America’s staunchest allies. Despite the political and diplomatic incompetence of the PLO (well documented in Said’s writings); despite the manifest shortcomings of the Arab world at large—“lingering outside the main march of humanity ”;15 despite Israel’s own sophisticated efforts to publicize its case, the Jewish state today is widely regarded as a—the—leading threat to world peace. After thirty-seven years of military occupation, Israel has gained nothing in security; it has lost everything in domestic civility and international respectability; and it has forfeited the moral high ground forever.
The newfound acknowledgement of the Palestinians’ claims and the steady discrediting of the Zionist project (not least among many profoundlytroubled Israelis) might seem to make it harder rather than easier to envisage Jews and Arabs living harmoniously in a single state. And just as a minority of Palestinians may always resent their Jewish neighbors, there is a risk that some Israelis will never forgive the Palestinians for what the Israelis have done to them. But as Said understood, the Palestinians’ aggrieved sense of neglect and the Israelis’ insistence on the moral rectitude of their case were twin impediments to a resolution of their common dilemma. Neither side could, as it were, “see” the other. As Orwell observed in his Notes on Nationalism, “If one harbors anywhere in one’s mind a nationalistic loyalty or hatred, certain facts, though in a sense known to be true, are inadmissible.”
Today, in spite of everything, there is actually a better appreciation by some people on both sides of where—quite literally—the other is coming from. This, I think, arises from a growing awareness that Jews and Arabs occupy the same space and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. Their fates are hopelessly entangled. Fence or no fence, the territory now ruled by Israel can only be “cleansed” of its Arab (or its Jewish) residents by an act of force that the international community could not countenance. As Said notes, “historic Palestine” is now a lost cause—but so, for the same reasons, is “historic Israel.” Somehow or other, a single institutional entity capable of accommodating and respecting both communities will have to emerge, though when and in what form is still obscure.
The real impediment to new thinking in the Middle East, in Edward Said’s view, was not Arafat, or Sharon, nor even the suicide bombers or the ultras of the settlements. It was the United States. The one place where official Israeli propaganda has succeeded beyond measure, and where Palestinian propaganda has utterly failed, is in America. American Jews (rather like Arab politicians) live in “extraordinary self-isolation in fantasy and myth” (“Crisis for American Jews,” May 2002). Many Israelis are terribly aware of what occupation of the West Bank has done to their own society (if somewhat less sensitive to its effect on others): “Rule over another nation corrupts and distorts Israel’s qualities, tears the nation apart, and shatters society” (Haim Guri).16 But most Americans, including virtually eve
ry American politician, have no sense of any of this.
That is why Edward Said insists in these essays upon the need for Palestinians to bring their case to the American public rather than just, as he puts it, imploring the American president to “give” them a state. American public opinion matters, and Said despaired of the uninformed anti-Americanism of Arab intellectuals and students: “It is not acceptable to sit in Beirut or Cairo meeting halls and denounce American imperialism (or Zionist colonialism for that matter) without a whit of understanding that these are complex societies not always truly represented by their governments’ stupid or cruel policies.” But as an American he was frustrated above all at his own country’s political myopia: Only America can break the murderous deadlock in the Middle East, but “what the U.S. refuses to see clearly it can hardly hope to remedy.”17
Whether the United States will awaken to its responsibilities and opportunities remains unclear. It will certainly not do so unless we engage a debate about Israel and the Palestinians that many people would prefer to avoid, even at the cost of isolating America—with Israel—from the rest of the world. In order to be effective, this debate has to happen in America itself, and it must be conducted by Americans. That is why Edward Said was so singularly important. Over three decades, virtually single-handed, he wedged open a conversation in America about Israel, Palestine, and the Palestinians. In so doing, he performed an inestimable public service at considerable personal risk. His death opens a yawning void in American public life. He is irreplaceable.
This essay was written as an introduction to Edward Said’s posthumous essay collection From Oslo to Iraq and the Road Map, published by Pantheon in 2004. It also appeared in the Nation in July of that same year.
NOTES TO CHAPTER X
1 See Edward Said, Humanism and Democratic Criticism (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004), 10, 136.
2 See Edward Said, Culture and Imperialism (New York: Vintage Books, 1994), xxii; Edward Said, Orientalism, “Preface to the Twenty-fifth Anniversary Edition” (New York: Vintage Books, 1994), xxiii.
3 In his 1961 preface to the French edition of Frantz Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth, Sartre described the violence of anticolonial revolutions as “man recreating himself . . . to shoot down a European is to kill two birds with one stone, to destroy an oppressor and the man he oppresses at the same time: there remain a dead man and a free man; the survivor, for the first time, feels a national soil under his foot.” Jean-Paul Sartre, preface to The Wretched of the Earth by Frantz Fanon (New York: Grove Press, 1968), 21-22. Contrast Said, whose models for Palestinian resistance are Gandhi’s India, King’s civil rights movement, and Nelson Mandela (see “The Tragedy Deepens,” December 2000, in the From Oslo to Iraq).
4 See “Israel, Iraq and the United States,” Al-Ahram, October 10-16, 2002, in ibid; Said, Culture and Imperialism, xxv.
5 To its lasting credit, Columbia University withstood considerable internal and public pressure to censure or even remove Said because of his public interventions on the Palestinian behalf.
6 Edward Said, The Politics of Dispossession: The Struggle for Palestinian Self-Determination 1969- 1994 (New York: Vintage Books, 1995), xxxiv.
7 This had the paradoxical consequence of segregating Jews and Arabs even as they became ever more economically interdependent: Israelis relying on cheap Palestinian labor, Palestinians dependent upon Israel for jobs and access to markets.
8 See, e.g., Edward Said, “Who Would Speak for Palestinians,” New York Times, May 24, 1985.
9 Said, The Politics of Dispossession, p. xliii.
10 Said, The Politics of Dispossession, pp. xviii, 118. For the quite remarkable thoroughness with which Israeli archeologists and bureaucrats “cleansed” Israel of all evidence of its Palestinian past, see Meron Benvenisti, Sacred Landscape: The Buried History of the Holy Land Since 1948 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000).
11 Benny Morris, interviewed in Ha’aretz, January 8, 2004.
12 “I don’t think that the expulsions of 1948 were war crimes. You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs.” Ha’aretz, January 8, 2004.
13 See Said, The Politics of Dispossession, p. xviii; and “Barenboim and the Wagner Taboo,” Al-Ahram , August 16-22, 2001.
14 Already in 1975 the head of the housing department of Israel’s Interior Ministry was reporting to Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin that Israel’s own Arabs were a “cancer in the Jewish body that has to be curbed and contained.” See Ilan Pappe, A History of Modern Palestine: One Land, Two Peoples (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 227. Thirty years on, only the metaphor has changed: “Something like a cage has to be built for them [Palestinians]. There is no choice—there is a wild animal there that has to be locked up.” Benny Morris, Ha’aretz, January 8, 2004.
15 Said, The Politics of Dispossession, p. 371.
16 Quoted in Tom Segev, Elvis in Jerusalem (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2002), 125.
17 Edward Said, “Suicidal Ignorance,” Al-Ahram, November 15-21, 2001, in From Oslo to Iraq; and “Blind Imperial Arrogance,” Los Angeles Times, July 20, 2003.
Part Three
LOST IN TRANSITION: PLACES AND MEMORIES
CHAPTER XI
The Catastrophe: The Fall of France, 1940
Europeans today live at peace with one another. They even like each other. In EU-sponsored “Eurobarometer” polls taken over the past decade, it is striking how far mutual suspicion has been diluted by closer acquaintance. There are exceptions, of course: Most of the small countries of Central and Eastern Europe retain some wariness of their immediate neighbors (thanks in part to forty years of enforced “fraternalism”); Italians esteem other Europeans but mistrust their fellow citizens (as do Greeks); the English popular press is alternately suspicious or contemptuous of the French, a sentiment warmly reciprocated. And then there are the Balkans. But by and large Europeans get on well together—the French and the Germans better than most.
The last of these is a very recent development. In 1946 in a speech in Zurich, Winston Churchill observed that “the first step in the recreation of the European family must be a partnership between France and Germany.” The auspices were not promising. Between 1800 and 1940 the French and the Germans fought five major wars: in 1806, when Napoléon crushed the Prussians at Jena; in 1813-15, when the Prussians got their revenge; in 1870-71, a Prussian victory that led to the declaration of a German Empire in occupied Versailles; in 1914-18; and again in 1940. In every case the military victory was followed by a settlement and an occupation deemed unjust and degrading by the losers. National memory on both sides of the Rhine was steeped in resentment. Prussians perceived the French after 1806 as harsh and humiliating victors, and the brutality of Prussian troops in occupied France after 1815 and again in 1871 was popularly regarded as just revenge—the wife of Otto von Bismarck, the German chancellor, notoriously suggested in the course of the Franco-Prussian War of 1870-71 that the French should be “shot and stabbed to death, down to the little babies” (her husband demurred).
In the course of World War I, when German troops once again occupied a segment of northern France, there were widespread rumors of atrocities against civilians. When the war ended and Germany was defeated, the French pressed more urgently than most for retribution. Alsace-Lorraine (annexed to the German Empire in 1871) was returned to the French, who also secured reparations considerably exceeding the large indemnity that the Germans had taken in the 1870s. When the Germans failed to pay up, the French premier Raymond Poincaré sent troops to occupy the Ruhr in 1923. This move secured little for France save widespread German antipathy and the long-remembered accusation that French soldiers had abused and mistreated unarmed civilians.
When Hitler’s armies attacked France on May 10, 1940, both the conduct of the war and the apprehensions of civilians were thus shaped by seven generations of mutual antagonism. In their planning, the French high command thought exclusively of a war against Germany.
When war broke out, millions of French civilians fled before not just the armies of the Third Reich but the remembered and recounted exploits of the Kaiser at Verdun, General Moltke at Sedan in 1870, and Marshal Blücher at Waterloo. German officers and their troops remembered the Ruhr, the Western Front, and Napoléon, preserved in cautionary tales for naughty children and hours of staff college lectures. Renewed hostilities between Germany and France would be a serious matter.
All of this was to be expected. What almost no one anticipated was the course of events in 1940 itself. It took the German armies just seven weeks to invade Luxembourg, break through the Ardennes forests into France, sweep the French before them, force the British, French, and Belgian armies into a pocket at Dunkirk, impose an armistice on the new French government of Marshal Pétain, occupy Paris, and stage a victory parade for Adolf Hitler on the Champs-Élysées. In six weeks of fighting, the French lost 124,000 dead, and a further 200,000 were wounded. At one point in the battle, on May 16-17, General Erwin Rommel took 10,000 French prisoners for the loss of one German officer and forty men. In the words of the historian Nicole Jordan, “The French military collapse in 1940 was one of the great military catastrophes in world history.”1