Mohammed Massoud Morsi, The Palace of Angels (New Texts Out Now)

Mohammed Massoud Morsi, The Palace of Angels (New Texts Out Now)

Mohammed Massoud Morsi, The Palace of Angels (New Texts Out Now)

By : Mohammed Massoud Morsi

Mohammed Massoud Morsi, The Palace of Angels (Wild Dingo Press, 2019).

Jadaliyya (J): What made you write this book?

Mohammed Massoud Morsi (MMM): In 2014 and 2015, I freelanced for a Danish NGO (DCA) in Gaza and the West Bank. I was immersed in the stories of Palestinians, in particular Gazans, who opened up their homes and hearts. I listened to human stories of suffering. I listened to intimate dreams. In Israel, I was met with suspicion but, surprisingly, also with much curiosity. I was told stories which traversed the prescribed narrative, often presented in no more than two shades of black. 

The stories in The Palace of Angels do not take up much space in the debate, receiving little energy or focus. Hatred often shone, but I also discovered that behind the pain it covered, there were much brighter visions—whispered, only voiced over board games or chopping cleavers. Having returned to Copenhagen for a debriefing in 2015, I literally watched “It is only in Gaza you die twice,” a feature article I had written just days earlier in Gaza, being wrapped around a fish. I could have had my back to the basement shop, I could have looked in any other direction, but some force drew my attention to the shopkeeper, her white plastic apron crusted with dried-out fish guts as she flung the pages indiscriminately around the slimy creature. She tied a red ribbon around a complimentary lemon before handing the package to the customer. Journalists like to crack the line: “If it is not good enough, do not worry, someone will wrap a fish with it.” It was then when I felt the calling, stronger than ever before, to write the stories that form the trilogy of novels: The Palace of Angels.

It was a calling to never give up on the belief that we can be better and that we can understand each other, with all of our differences. I believe we will only find our true freedom, our true sense of belonging, by facing our pain and not passing it on to our children. I had to write the stories so they would not disappear. They lived inside of me—and they will remain there for as long as I live. Perhaps one day they will serve as a glimpse of what was, an unrecognizable past. 

Another reason I wrote these stories is because it does not matter how we see ourselves, or with which concepts or doctrines we identify; the stories relate to all of us, regardless.

The stories that matter are often shadowed by the symbiosis between hatred and pain.

J: What particular topics, issues, and literatures does the book address?

MMM: The Palace of Angels uses the Palestinian fight for liberation to challenge our perceptions of identity, conflict, and love. It questions the relationships we form, with others and ourselves, the traditions and rituals we exercise, both good and bad—but also the restrictions beyond and within ourselves that shape who we imagine ourselves to be.

Although there are some historical, political, and legal references in the stories, they are focused on the personal narrative. Nobody is just a do-gooder. What might not be relevant to the mud-throwing media discourse is imperative to the understanding of our nature and why it is crucial for all of humanity to take a stand and bring the Israeli Apartheid regime to an end. The book demonstrates the belief that the power of the human story far exceeds that of law and politics, of historical narratives on either side.

The book uses fiction to address real life, but rarely mentioned possibilities. The stories that matter are often shadowed by the symbiosis between hatred and pain. The approach is based upon true stories, where political and historical references follow the narratives to show just how important a common vision is—and that the only just solution for liberation is equality.  

J: How does this book connect to and/or depart from your previous work?

MMM: My previous work as a photographer and a journalist focused on the personal story. What began as research for newspaper features, some of which were published, became the foundation for The Palace of Angels.

The Palace of Angels is a trilogy of novels. They are interconnected, but in ways I believe readers should discover for themselves. The first story deals with conceptualizing one’s self in conflict, trying to solve the internal questions of conflict by engaging in conflict. “What Is Past Is Dead” is the gamble between identity and life.

“Twenty-Two Years to Life” centers on the dichotomy between love and war, and what happens to our sense of self when we entrench ourselves with the shovels of hatred, when we are bereft of hope and experiencing unimaginable loss. 

The Palace of Angels,” the last story in the trilogy, is the story of what is possible when we change the very fabric of our thought and when that leads to different actions it in leads to different emotions. It is the story of love and loss, of the challenge of change, and finally it is the questioning of who we imagine ourselves to be. 

J: Who do you hope will read this book, and what sort of impact would you like it to have?

MMM: I would like the book to be read by both Israelis and Palestinians—and also by readers in the United States and the rest of the world. I believe factual works in non-fiction are important, but I also believe it is the human story that will shift minds and soften hearts, and thus be the most powerful tool in the Palestinian fight for liberation. The book is also relevant to all of us, regardless of national concepts or religious doctrines. It carries a universal message. 

The Palace of Angels has been underway for five years and, in that time, both Palestinians and Israelis have read it. I would love to have my belief reaffirmed—that the power of human stories can connect us on a much deeper level than the attempts of the bolstered hatred of corporate media to separate us. 

The Palace of Angels also carries the message that our fighting hides our pain, our lost sense of belonging. That we—in all the faces of our humanity—are in dire need for a vision for the future. One that underscores the importance of human rights and works for a safe and sustainable existence for future generations. If we can redefine ourselves by that vision, we have already begun our path to a different and better humanity. The message is also that for us to be able to do that, we must have the courage to let go of our past and adapt our rituals (culture) and beliefs to shape our identities in a changing world. 

I would like to see the last story in the book, “The Palace of Angels,” used as an example of what is possible for Palestine. That once upon a time Muslims and Jews mutually supported each other, and today the number of Jewish organizations working to end the Zionist occupation has never been greater. I would love to see all the stories be assigned to literary classes around the world—to understand how fiction can be used to show and also challenge the personal narrative, the personal conflict within the physical conflict, and to encourage journalists to embrace fiction as a means of telling the stories that remain untold in mainstream news. 

J: What other projects are you working on now?

MMM: Together with a Palestinian-Syrian woman, I am working on a novel set in Lebanon in 2006 and 2014, with the working title: War and Plastic Surgery. It is a deep story about fleeing war in Syria and falling in love with a man chasing war in Lebanon. And so much more...

I am also working on a short story collection with stories from around the last twenty years.

J: What are the most important messages in The Palace of Angels?

MMM: That people, not states, have a right to exist. The book attempts to show—through the absurdity of occupation—the tragedy, despair, and also the compassion in the personal and collective lives of the stories.

A key message is that we can overcome our differences and that there is an alternative to conflict by moving away from the false dilemma of having to choose a side. We are victims of our own psychological prisons which convince us to remain in the trap. It is a false choice, driven by painful emotions instead of wisdom (without emotions), which benefits those who do not wish to challenge the framing of the Palestinian question, those who bring arms to the table, who brand the power games of our adult playgrounds, and perpetuate the pain.

The message is that we must “light a candle (place our energy with organizations and people promoting co-existence and peace) and not remain cursing the darkness”, for there will be no change with the latter. This is what forms most of the discourse—and the lack of it. It only requires a bit of browsing online to witness this fact. The energy is wasted on arguments that can never be resolved, for it draws on that false dichotomy of sides. Our thoughts remain blinded and lead to the exact same actions and experiences which eventually produce the same emotions. And it is those emotions which form the basis of our choices. Once we decide to change them, we can make different choices, but we must begin with our thinking. That is, the place in our minds where we talk to ourselves. 

 

Excerpt from the Book

Dedicated to you, whose tears fell into the well of my soul, whose voices planted stories in the depth of my heart.

From “What Is Past Is Dead”:

The young woman opened the driver’s door and flicked a switch, illuminating the back in a blue light.

Hand and finger marks in dried blood were daubed all over the walls. Towards the back doors, blood had run from a large splattered blotch on the wall, down to the floor. A small pool had formed and dried up. Straight in front of me, on the back wall, someone had written something in Arabic. It had clearly been written in blood and was all smeared except for a small part.

I made out: ‘Tomorrow the sun will shine and I…’ and then the line of the last letter was dragged all the way to the side, ending in a blotch of blood splashed in every direction, like the remnant of a blast. The floor was full of dried-up blood pools, drops and smears, scratched and marked with bare feet and boots.

Whoever had been in there had either been bludgeoned or taken their last breaths. The comparison with the Mukhabarat my mind had previously conjured, suddenly vanished. I watched Mido swallow deeply and he looked over at me with the most terrified eyes I had ever seen.

I wanted to say something, but at the edge of my vision were three soldiers with smug grins on their lips.

I grabbed the rope handle on one end of the large crate in front of us and gave Mido a reassuring look, as if to say, ‘come on, let’s get this over with’. He grabbed the other end.

We loaded the first dozen rifles into our van.

From “Twenty Two Years To Life” (the middle story):

Mohammed was a tall and handsome man. His eyes were like honeycomb on fire, his hair pitch black in contrast. His skin was coloured like rye and his beard—as black as the rest of his hair— followed the lines of his square cheeks. Sarah was Mohammed’s second wife. Zeinab, his first wife, was killed when the taxi she and their children were in, stopped at a jam-packed intersection. It was rush hour. Kids were crossing the streets in all directions, young men hastily trying to sell handkerchiefs or washing windscreens as the cars came to a standstill. An Israeli F-16 fighter jet with a pilot that followed orders without question had already locked in on the car right next to them and pushed the button. In the time it would have taken the missile to ignite, fly through the air, reach the car and explode, Zeinab and their two sons, Abdul-Halim and Haydar, would only just have managed to look out the window and chase the roar of the fighter jet. Then it was all over. 

The explosion created a large hole in the street and in it, the car that had carried a family of four, not some prominent military figure, had been turned into a mash of shrapnel and body parts. The other cars had been crushed against each other and the carnage suggested that of a human slaughterhouse. Flying glass had cut into scores of people, and although most survived, those surrounding the bullseye were immolated.

I had to get four other men to help throw Mohammed to the ground and we tied him up against a lamppost, screaming and kicking, until I had removed his children. Words fail to describe the silent conversation I had with death when I removed the two six-year-old twin boys who were left frozen in an incinerated pose of shielding themselves.

Both Haydar and Abdul-Halim were in their first week of school and had been carrying their little plastic backpacks. The explosion had melted the bags onto their skin and turned their clothes into ash. Haydar was still warm, charred beyond recognition. I knew it was him because he was the one with the large appetite. He was stiff and his skin felt hard and brittle under my fingertips. A man from the Red Crescent helped as we wrapped both of them in towels to be taken to Zeinab’s parents.

I went back to Mohammed who, tied to the lamppost, looked like a crazy animal: foaming mouth, kicking legs and twisting body, screaming at me with his mighty voice to let him loose, threatening to kill me if I didn’t. I got on my knees, unable to stop shaking, and looked him in the eyes. I tried to utter something, just one word, but nothing came out. Mohammed fell to sobbing as he stared back at me, tears running from his eyes. I went around to his back and untied him. He got up and straggled his way towards the taxi. Several men surrounded him, some wanting to stop him, some telling the others to wait and let him be. I didn’t move. I watched my childhood friend try to lift the body of his beloved Zeinab out of the car, only to have her tear apart like a papier-mâché Catrina with warm pulp bursting out from inside.

The following day Mohammed tried to touch Haydar and Abdul-Halim, but every time he came close, he stopped an inch away from their black bodies as if trying to find a place to lay his strong hands without hurting them. Instead, he prayed a single prayer, kissed the bodies of both his sons gently on the forehead, whispered something in Zeinab’s ear and stroked what was once her face with the back of his hand, like running a feather on soft skin. He didn’t shed a single tear. He rose like a lion standing upright, and then fainted to the ground. 

We buried his family in a silence of low muffled prayers.

From “The Palace of Angels”:

We all, disregarding the name of our God, deserve to know there is a better way. We deserve a new reality where we all live together in peace. I’m part of my country and it is Palestine to me. To Linah, it is Israel. Do not ask us where we are from. Ask us where we wish to go, who we wish to become. We are part of this planet, part of the universe. Part of me, however small that part is, is a part we all share. It lives within us all—holds our integrity as human beings. 

That part of us that will free us from ourselves. 

For Linah and me, for us to share a life together, we had to leave. We went to northern Sweden where the only prison is the darkness of winter. Compared to the turnstiles and yellow of the checkpoint nights, compared to the horror of children, men and women being slaughtered before my eyes, compared to the daily humiliation and punishment for no reason, it’s as bright as the sun on the clearest summer’s day.

New Texts Out Now: Mandy Turner and Cherine Hussein, guest eds. "Israel-Palestine after Oslo: Mapping Transformations in a Time of Deepening Crisis." Special Issue of Conflict, Security & Development

Conflict, Security and Development, Volume 15, No. 5 (December 2015) Special issue: "Israel-Palestine after Oslo: Mapping Transformations in a Time of Deepening Crisis," Guest Editors: Mandy Turner and Cherine Hussein.

Jadaliyya (J): What made you compile this volume?

Mandy Turner (MT): Both the peace process and the two-state solution are dead. Despite more than twenty years of negotiations, Israel’s occupation, colonization and repression continue–and the political and geographical fragmentation of the Palestinian people is proceeding apace.

This is not news, nor is it surprising to any keen observer of the situation. But what is surprising–and thus requires explanation – is the resilience of the Oslo framework and paradigm: both objectively and subjectively. It operates objectively as a straitjacket by trapping Palestinians in economic and security arrangements that are designed to ensure stabilization and will not to lead to sovereignty or a just and sustainable solution. And it operates subjectively as a straitjacket by shutting out discussion of alternative ways of understanding the situation and ways out of the impasse. The persistence of this framework that is focused on conflict management and stabilization, is good for Israel but bad for Palestinians.

The Oslo peace paradigm–of a track-one, elite-level, negotiated two-state solution–is therefore in crisis. And yet it is entirely possible that the current situation could continue for a while longer–particularly given the endorsement and support it enjoys from the major Western donors and the “international community,” as well as the fact that there has been no attempt to develop an alternative. The immediate short-term future is therefore bleak.

Guided by these observations, this special issue sought to undertake two tasks. The first task was to analyze the perceptions underpinning the Oslo framework and paradigm as well as some of the transformations instituted by its implementation: why is it so resilient, what has it created? The second task, which follows on from the first, was then to ask: how can we reframe our understanding of what is happening, what are some potential alternatives, and who is arguing and mobilizing for them?

These questions and themes grew out of a number of conversations with early-career scholars – some based at the Kenyon Institute in East Jerusalem, and some based in the occupied Palestinian territory and elsewhere. These conversations led to two interlinked panels at the International Studies Association annual convention in Toronto, Canada, in March 2014. To have two panels accepted on “conflict transformation and resistance in Palestine” at such a conventional international relations conference with (at the time unknown) early-career scholars is no mean feat. The large and engaged audience we received at these panels – with some very established names coming along (one of whom contributed to this special issue) – convinced us that this new stream of scholars and scholarship should have an outlet.  

J: What particular topics, issues, and literatures do the articles address?

MT: The first half of the special issue analyzes how certain problematic assumptions shaped the Oslo framework, and how the Oslo framework in turn shaped the political, economic and territorial landscape.

Virginia Tilley’s article focuses on the paradigm of conflict resolution upon which the Oslo Accords were based, and calls for a re-evaluation of what she argues are the two interlinked central principles underpinning its worldview: internationally accepted notions of Israeli sovereignty; and the internationally accepted idea that the “conflict” is essentially one between two peoples–the “Palestinian people” and the “Jewish people”. Through her critical interrogation of these two “common sense” principles, Tilley proposes that the “conflict” be reinterpreted as an example of settler colonialism, and, as a result of this, recommends an alternative conflict resolution model based on a paradigm shift away from an ethno-nationalist division of the polity towards a civic model of the nation.

Tariq Dana unpacks another central plank of the Oslo paradigm–that of promoting economic relations between Israel and the OPT. He analyses this through the prism of “economic peace” (particularly the recent revival of theories of “capitalist peace”), whose underlying assumptions are predicated on the perceived superiority of economic approaches over political approaches to resolving conflict. Dana argues that there is a symbiosis between Israeli strategies of “economic peace” and recent Palestinian “statebuilding strategies” (referred to as Fayyadism), and that both operate as a form of pacification and control because economic cooperation leaves the colonial relationship unchallenged.

The political landscape in the OPT has been transformed by the Oslo paradigm, particularly by the creation of the Palestinian Authority (PA). Alaa Tartir therefore analyses the basis, agenda and trajectory of the PA, particularly its post-2007 state building strategy. By focusing on the issue of local legitimacy and accountability, and based on fieldwork in two sites in the occupied West Bank (Balata and Jenin refugee camps), Tartir concludes that the main impact of the creation of the PA on ordinary people’s lives has been the strengthening of authoritarian control and the hijacking of any meaningful visions of Palestinian liberation.

The origin of the administrative division between the West Bank and Gaza Strip is the focus of Tareq Baconi’s article. He charts how Hamas’s initial opposition to the Oslo Accords and the PA was transformed over time, leading to its participation (and success) in the 2006 legislative elections. Baconi argues that it was the perceived demise of the peace process following the collapse of the Camp David discussions that facilitated this change. But this set Hamas on a collision course with Israel and the international community, which ultimately led to the conflict between Hamas and Fateh, and the administrative division, which continues to exist.

The special issue thereafter focuses, in the second section, on alternatives and resistance to Oslo’s transformations.

Cherine Hussein’s article charts the re-emergence of the single-state idea in opposition to the processes of separation unleashed ideologically and practically that were codified in the Oslo Accords. Analysing it as both a movement of resistance and as a political alternative to Oslo, while recognizing that it is currently largely a movement of intellectuals (particularly of diaspora Palestinians and Israelis), Hussein takes seriously its claim to be a more just and liberating alternative to the two-state solution.

My article highlights the work of a small but dedicated group of anti-Zionist Jewish-Israeli activists involved in two groups: Zochrot and Boycott from Within. Both groups emerged in the post-Second Intifada period, which was marked by deep disillusionment with the Oslo paradigm. This article unpacks the alternative – albeit marginalized – analysis, solution and route to peace proposed by these groups through the application of three concepts: hegemony, counter-hegemony and praxis. The solution, argue the activists, lies in Israel-Palestine going through a process of de-Zionization and decolonization, and the process of achieving this lies in actions in solidarity with Palestinians.

This type of solidarity action is the focus of the final article by Suzanne Morrison, who analyses the “We Divest” campaign, which is the largest divestment campaign in the US and forms part of the wider Palestinian Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions movement. Through attention to their activities and language, Morrison shows how “We Divest”, with its networked, decentralized, grassroots and horizontal structure, represents a new way of challenging Israel’s occupation and the suppression of Palestinian rights.

The two parts of the special issue are symbiotic: the critique and alternative perspectives analyzed in part two are responses to the issues and problems identified in part one.

J: How does this volume connect to and/or depart from your previous work?

MT: My work focuses on the political economy of donor intervention (which falls under the rubric of “peacebuilding”) in the OPT, particularly a critique of the Oslo peace paradigm and framework. This is a product of my broader conceptual and historical interest in the sociology of intervention as a method of capitalist expansion and imperial control (as explored in “The Politics of International Intervention: the Tyranny of Peace”, co-edited with Florian Kuhn, Routledge, 2016), and how post-conflict peacebuilding and development agendas are part of this (as explored in “Whose Peace: Critical Perspectives on the Political Economy of Peacebuilding”, co-edited with Michael Pugh and Neil Cooper (PalgraveMacmillan, 2008).  

My first book on Palestine (co-edited with Omar Shweiki), Decolonizing Palestinian Political Economy: De-development and Beyond (PalgraveMacmillan, 2014), was a collection of essays by experts in their field, of the political-economic experience of different sections of the Palestinian community. The book, however, aimed to reunite these individual experiences into one historical political-economy narrative of a people experiencing a common theme of dispossession, disenfranchisement and disarticulation. It was guided by the desire to critically assess the utility of the concept of de-development to different sectors and issues–and had a foreword by Sara Roy, the scholar who coined the term, and who was involved in the workshop from which the book emerged.

This co-edited special issue (with Cherine Hussein, who, at the time of the issue construction, was the deputy director of the Kenyon Institute) was therefore the next logical step in my research on Palestine, although my article on Jewish-Israeli anti-Zionists did constitute a slight departure from my usual focus.

J: Who do you hope will read this volume, and what sort of impact would you like it to have?

MT: I would imagine the main audience will be those whose research and political interests lie in Palestine Studies. It is difficult, given the structure of academic publishing – which has become ever more corporate and money grabbing – for research outputs such as this to be accessed by the general public. Only those with access to academic libraries are sure to be able to read it – and this is a travesty, in my opinion. To counteract this commodification of knowledge, we should all provide free access to our outputs through online open source websites such as academia.edu, etc. If academic research is going to have an impact beyond merely providing more material for teaching and background reading for yet more research (which is inaccessible to the general public) then this is essential. Websites such as Jadaliyya are therefore incredibly important.

Having said all that, I am under no illusions about the potential for ANY research on Israel-Palestine to contribute to changing the dynamics of the situation. However, as a collection of excellent analyses conducted by mostly early-career scholars in the field of Palestine studies, I am hopeful that their interesting and new perspectives will be read and digested. 

J: What other projects are you working on now?

MT: I am currently working on an edited volume provisionally entitled From the River to the Sea: Disintegration, Reintegration and Domination in Israel and Palestine. This book is the culmination of a two-year research project funded by the British Academy, which analyzed the impacts of the past twenty years of the Oslo peace framework and paradigm as processes of disintegration, reintegration and domination – and how they have created a new socio-economic and political landscape, which requires new agendas and frameworks. I am also working on a new research project with Tariq Dana at Birzeit University on capital and class in the occupied West Bank.

Excerpt from the Editor’s Note 

[Note: This issue was published in Dec. 2015]

Initially perceived to have inaugurated a new era of hope in the search for peace and justice in Palestine-Israel, the Oslo peace paradigm of a track one, elite-level, negotiated two-state solution is in crisis today, if not completely at an end.

While the major Western donors and the ‘international community’ continue to publicly endorse the Oslo peace paradigm, Israeli and Palestinian political elites have both stepped away from it. The Israeli government has adopted what appears to be an outright rejection of the internationally-accepted end-goal of negotiations, i.e. the emergence of a Palestinian state based on the 1967 borders with East Jerusalem as its capital. In March 2015, in the final days of his re-election campaign, Israeli Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, visited the Jewish settlement of Har Homa in Palestinian East Jerusalem, which is regarded as illegal under international law. Reminding its inhabitants that it was him and his Likud government that had established the settlement in 1997 as part of the Israeli state’s vision of a unified indivisible Jerusalem, he promised to expand the construction of settlements in East Jerusalem if re-elected. And in an interview with Israeli news site, NRG, Netanyahu vowed that the prospects of a Palestinian state were non-existent as long as he remained in office. Holding on to the occupied Palestinian territory (oPt), he argued, was necessary to ensure Israel’s security in the context of regional instability and Islamic extremism. It is widely acknowledged that Netanyahu’s emphasis on Israel’s security—against both external and internal enemies—gave him a surprise win in an election he was widely expected to lose.

Despite attempts to backtrack under recognition that the US and European states are critical of this turn in official Israeli state policy, Netanyahu’s promise to bury the two-state solution in favour of a policy of further annexation has become the Israeli government’s official intent, and has been enthusiastically endorsed by leading ministers and key advisers.

[…]

The Palestinian Authority (PA) based in the West Bank also appears to have rejected a key principle of the Oslo peace paradigm—that of bilateral negotiations under the supervision of the US. Despite a herculean effort by US Secretary of State, John Kerry, to bring the two parties to the negotiating table, in response to the lack of movement towards final status issues and continued settlement expansion (amongst other issues), the Palestinian political elite have withdrawn from negotiations and resumed attempts to ‘internationalise the struggle’ by seeking membership of international organisations such as the United Nations (UN), and signing international treaties such as the Rome Statute, the founding treaty of the International Criminal Court. This change of direction is part of a rethink in the PA and PLO’s strategy rooted in wider discussions and debates. The publication of a document by the Palestine Strategy Study Group (PSSG) in August 2008, the production of which involved many members of the Palestinian political elite (and whose recommendations were studiously discussed at the highest levels of the PA and PLO), showed widespread discontent with the bilateral negotiations framework and suggested ways in which Palestinians could ‘regain the initiative’.

[…]

And yet despite these changes in official Palestinian and Israeli political strategies that signal a deepening of the crisis, donors and the ‘international community’ are reluctant to accept the failure of the Oslo peace paradigm. This political myopia has meant the persistence of a framework that is increasingly divorced from the possibility of a just and sustainable peace. It is also acting as an ideological straitjacket by shutting out alternative interpretations. This special issue seeks a way out of this political and intellectual dead end. In pursuit of this, our various contributions undertake what we regard to be two key tasks: first, to critically analyse the perceptions underpinning the Oslo paradigm and the transformations instituted by its implementation; and second, to assess some alternative ways of understanding the situation rooted in new strategies of resistance that have emerged in the context of these transformations in the post-Oslo landscape.

[…]

Taken as a whole, the articles in this special issue aim to ignite conversations on the conflict that are not based within abstracted debates that centre upon the peace process itself—but that begin from within the realities and geographies of both the continually transforming land of Palestine-Israel and the voices, struggles, worldviews and imaginings of the future of the people who presently inhabit it. For it is by highlighting these transformations, and from within these points of beginning, that we believe more hopeful pathways for alternative ways forward can be collectively imagined, articulated, debated and built.