Salih Can Açıksöz, Sacrificial Limbs: Masculinity, Disability, and Political Violence in Turkey (New Texts Out Now)

Salih Can Açıksöz, Sacrificial Limbs: Masculinity, Disability, and Political Violence in Turkey (New Texts Out Now)

Salih Can Açıksöz, Sacrificial Limbs: Masculinity, Disability, and Political Violence in Turkey (New Texts Out Now)

By : Salih Can Açıksöz

Salih Can Açıksöz, Sacrificial Limbs: Masculinity, Disability, and Political Violence in Turkey (University of California Press, 2019).

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

Salih Can Açıksöz (SCA): Sacrificial Limbs is a historically informed ethnographic study of war disability, masculinity, and nationalism in Turkey. Chronicling the everyday lives and political activism of the disabled veterans of Turkey’s Kurdish War, the book explores how these veterans’ gendered and classed experiences of war and disability are hardened into political identity and collective action. More specifically, the work shows how disabled veterans’ efforts to recover their health and sense of masculinity have historically been entangled with the work of an ultranationalist movement fighting against political reforms, minority rights, and present-day Turkey’s bid for European Union membership. 

This book was born out of multiple concerns. I grew up in Turkey in the 1980s and ‘90s, during the heyday of the Kurdish conflict, which persists into the present. I witnessed firsthand the maddening violence that engulfed the country as the state deployed millions and millions of soldiers and paramilitaries in the counterinsurgency against the guerillas of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK). This conflict continues to dictate the parameters of Turkey’s political life, but hitherto no work had been done on the actual subjects—that is, the conscripted soldiers—who have been tasked with fighting this war. I wanted to write a book that would foreground the experiences of former conscripts, who literally embody the costs of the chauvinistic militarism deeply ingrained in the country’s political culture. 

Then, I did my research in an American academic context, post-9/11, that was being shaped by the US wars and occupations in the Middle East, tying my interest in Turkey’s own brand of “war on separatist terror” to the so-called Global War on Terror. Confronted with the increasing public visibility of disabled veterans in both countries, I wanted to offer an ethnographic vantage point from which to see how such wars have long-lasting political ramifications through their bodily, psychic, and social effects on combatants.

As I was actually writing the book, one of the project’s animating questions gained even greater significance amidst the global trend of right-wing political victories (Brexit; Erdoğan, Modi, and Trump’s wins): How do right-wing nationalist movements manage to affectively mobilize whole groups of people, especially those who are most harmed by their policies? In attempting to answer this question by placing violently disabled bodies at its center, I wanted to provide an account of how a politically engaged anthropology could help us come to grips—morally, intellectually, affectively, and politically—with the suffering of those whose politics we find reprehensible, even inimical, to our lifeworlds, political ideals, and understandings of truth and justice.

... disabled veterans live a double life as their bodies traverse two opposing regimes of value.

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

SCA: To address this broad question, I will start by referencing the title of the book. I borrow the phrase “sacrificial limbs” from the nationalist state propaganda crib sheets, in which disabled veterans are always hailed as “ghazi heroes who sacrificed their legs and arms for the indivisible unity of the state with its territory and nation.” The phrase also rhymes with and evokes the notion of the “sacrificial lamb,” which, in Abrahamic tradition, refers to an animal or person sacrificed for the greater good. That parallel is no coincidence because conscripts are metaphorically and affectionately called sacrificial (“hennaed”) lambs in Turkish nationalist political culture. Finally, “sacrificial limb” resonates with another, lesser-known term, “sacrificial leg.” Sacrificial leg is an industrial term that denotes the replaceable section of a warehouse storage system, a part that can be sacrificed to save the overall integrity of the costly structure. In that sense, it is a very apt metaphor for conscripted soldiers’ bodies, which are politically constructed as expendable and disposable, illustrating the modern economic logic of state violence. 

“Sacrificial Limbs” neatly captures one of my central arguments about the ultranationalist politicization of Turkish disabled veterans: disabled veterans live a double life as their bodies traverse two opposing regimes of value. In one regime, they are lionized as religio-national heroes who have attained the highest possible spiritual rank before martyrdom, as saintly warriors whose place in heaven is reserved alongside prophets. In another, they are stigmatized as dependent, beggar-like men in a deeply ableist society and subjected to different forms of structural and symbolic violence under a rapidly neoliberalizing economy. The gendered tensions of this double life steer the veterans’ political activism, as well as the narrative arc of the book. I trace the veterans’ life trajectories, first through counter-guerrilla warfare, then in hospitals and wartime communities, and finally within the textures of lower-class urban life and political militancy, to show how their experiences of leading a double life are politicized through ultranationalist conspiracy theories.

What role do the gendered body and embodied experience play in macro-level politics? This question stands at the center of the book’s analysis of the material and symbolic production, governance, experience, and politics of war disability. I seek to answer this question by building on a diverse array of disciplinary and theoretical orientations, ranging from medical and political anthropology to disability studies, feminist and queer theory, and a psychoanalytically inflected Marxist cultural theory. I knot together these orientations to provide an ethnographic account of the lived experiences at the intersection of disability, masculinity, and nationhood. Along the way, I examine the militarization of public culture and the politics of suffering that animates right-wing politics and the medical, social, and political aftermath of counterinsurgency warfare. My account also considers the co-constitutive, yet tension-ridden relations between militarized nationalism and neoliberal capitalism.

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

SCA: Sacrificial Limbs will appeal to anyone with an interest in war and political violence, the far right, gender, disability, nationalism, and Turkey’s Kurdish conflict. In line with the work’s emphasis on the centrality of embodied emotions in the formation of political knowledge and subjectivity, I wanted to write in a way that would affectively move the reader by conveying—even performing—the impact of the narrated events. That meant experimenting with different styles and genres of writing that did not conform to the conventions of a dry and detached academic voice. It is theoretically dense, but it is written in accessible language, and all citations and theoretical discussions are placed in the endnotes rather than in the main body of the text. I also used several photographic images—some taken by me, others by professional photographers—to visually communicate the charged objects, spaces, and practices that I describe in the book. I hope that the resulting affective quality approximates the emotional landscape that characterizes the disabled veterans’ lives and activism, epitomized by the powerful artwork on the book’s cover—the ambivalent merging of violence, vulnerability, care, and intimacy.

Sacrificial Limbs is a book about political violence. It is challenging to write on violence without reducing it to an epiphenomenon or sensationalizing it into a pornography of violence. I approach violence as not only a destructive force, but also as a generative force that gives way to new forms of subjectivity, community, and agency through its embodied effects. This force hijacks young male conscripts’ normative life trajectories and propels them into an ambivalent space, where the distinctions and boundaries between perpetrator and victim, sacred and profane, hero and abject get puzzlingly blurred. Venturing into this ethically and politically ambivalent space, I seek to implode the militarist and nationalist reification and glorification of war-related loss and suffering, without glossing over my informants’ own political horizon or turning them into anti-war icons that they are not. I offer the book to anyone who wants to reflect on the political and ethical quandaries of violence from the viewpoint of people who are both perpetrators and victims of state violence. 

J: What other projects are you working on now? 

SCA: My new book project continues my interest in the nexus of health and politics. Tentatively entitled Humanitarian Borderlands: Medicine and Terror at Turkey’s Syrian Border, the work focuses on the heated political and legal disputes over healthcare provision to combatants and refugees along and across the Turkish-Kurdish-Syrian border. I draw from my fieldwork with Islamist, Kurdish, and socialist humanitarian doctors, as well as from materials in legal and media archives, to explore how contestations over the meanings of health, humanitarianism, and terrorism have led to new forms of medical care and ethics in zones of political violence. More broadly, I seek to illustrate how the practice of humanitarian medicine is inescapably bound up with the question of sovereignty. In sum, I am exploring what humanitarianism means practically at a time when all states have a hand in global assemblages of counter-terror.

 

Excerpt from the book (from the introduction)

In a country with compulsory military service, any inquiry regarding war disability and masculinity must begin with an analysis of the ways in which the production of gendered and militarized bodies is knotted together with the making of the state, citizenship, and sovereignty. This story begins, therefore, where it all began for veterans—with conscription. 

Compulsory military service is one of the most entrenched institutions in Turkey, thanks in large part to its imbrication with heteronormative masculinity. Enlistment is mandatory for all (temporarily) able-bodied male citizens with the exception of openly gay and transgender men. Because draft evaders are all but stripped of their citizenship rights and because the completion of military service operates socially as a prerequisite for employment and marriage, all young men are expected to submit themselves to the sovereign power’s grip if they are to become sovereign masculine citizen-subjects. Thus, compulsory military service operates historically as a key rite of passage into normative adult masculinity, sealing the heteropatriarchal contract between the state and its male citizenry.

Masculinity, the military, and the state are often construed as existing in harmonious and mutually affirming relations. War disability, however, disrupts, attenuates, and subverts the possibility of such a political equation remaining unproblematic. For my interlocutors, conscription failed to deliver on its gendered promise. Confronting them with the intimate violence of the armed conflict, it instead brought about bodily loss and disability, turning them into what the ableist Turkish public calls “half-men” or “the half-dead.” Nearly all the disabled veterans I knew hailed from poor working-class families and were further marginalized by being denied access to blue-collar wage labor, a situation that persisted until consolidation, in the early 2000s, of a special welfare regime for disabled veterans of the Kurdish conflict. This social and economic dependency resonated within Turkish society with the abject figure of the disabled street beggar and catalyzed their exclusion from the marriage market and forms of domestic and public citizenship. In short, through their embodiment of war disability, they were emasculated and stigmatized as gender-nonconforming bodies. 

Standing at the intersection of disability, class, gender, and sexuality, veterans’ embodied predicaments are subjectively felt and socioculturally constructed as a masculinity crisis for which the state is accountable. In the following pages, I provide numerous examples of the ways in which this crisis is addressed and mobilized, and at times subverted, both by disabled veterans and by different social actors invested in ameliorating or instrumentalizing their social suffering. Yet even as I highlight this strong sense of crisis, I want to resist the urge to simply equate disability with emasculation, and more so with feminization. As I hope to show in this study, the relationship between masculinity and disability is much more nuanced and historically contingent, in this case on the vicissitudes of the armed conflict and the changing biopolitics of war disability. 

Fracturing the militarized gender-production machine and state-enforced heteronormative and ableist conceptions of adult masculinity embedded in compulsory military service, disabled veterans’ gender trouble is a driving force behind political and biopolitical efforts to remasculinize them. Utilizing multiple forms of power and knowledge, state and medical institutions act upon the intimate details of veterans’ lives, technoscientifically fixing their embodied capacities and refashioning them into productive and reproductive bodies. Nevertheless, the efforts to draw disabled veterans into the world of conjugal domesticity and heteroreproductive sexuality are not straightforward or unproblematic. I trace the quandaries entailed in this process across a variety of fields, ranging from nationalist representations, to TV mafia series, to veterans’ intersubjective practices of care and fleshly intimacy, to veterans’ welfare and political activism. 

One idiosyncratic element of the state-led project to recuperate the (hetero)masculinity of disabled veterans is particularly important for the story told here. The state bestows on disabled veterans of the Kurdish conflict the honorific military title of Gazi, a religiously loaded and symbolically dense nationalist title that has historically been associated with medieval warrior-proselytizers of Islam and with Ottoman sovereigns and commanders, as well as with the founding father of the secular republic, Gazi Mustafa Kemal (Atatürk). Harnessing the Islamic models of warrior masculinity for the militaristic ends of the secular nationalist state, this symbolic act has provided the secular state with a much-needed religious legitimacy in the ongoing ethnopolitical conflict. Drawing the disabled veteran’s body, violently made “unfit for military service” by injury, back into the militarist imaginary, the conferral of the Gazi title has also fixed veterans’ masculinity crisis by inscribing them with a sanctified hypermasculine moniker, with the expectation that it will counter the gendered stigma of disability. In the process, the state has firmly anchored veterans’ entitlements and welfare benefits to their status as transcendental political subjects who embody the unwavering military spirit of the Turkish nation. With their governmental remasculinization process tethered closely to the state’s ethnic nationalist politics, disabled veterans have easily transitioned to ultranationalist politicization. 

In contemporary Turkey, Kurdish conflict veterans’ disabilities render their bodies simultaneously sacred and abject. Disabled veterans, especially amputees, are valorized as saintly gazi warriors—sanctified heroes and “living martyrs” who have attained the highest spiritual rank before martyrdom by sacrificing their bodies for the Turkish nation-state. Potent objects of nationalist reverence, their lost limbs are imagined through sacrificial discourses and imageries as bodily relics whose absence sanctifies the remainder-body of the disabled veteran and, by extension, the Turkish body politic. But while their bodies and sacrificial limbs accrue political value that intensifies the governmental project of remasculinization, they are still stigmatized as beggar-like, dependent men who evoke pity and revulsion in a deeply ableist society. Subjected to the structural and symbolic violence of ableism, class inequality, and a rapidly neoliberalizing economy, they face anxieties about socioeconomic marginalization, discrimination, and emasculation. It is precisely this gendered double bind which structures their everyday lives and steers them toward political activism. Exploring the tensions between the ideological construction of the disabled veteran body and veterans’ embodied experiences, this study pries open the dialectic between political rites of sacrifice and quotidian moments of desecration to reveal the generation of impactful nationalist affects. Condensed in the bodies of disabled veterans, these political affects have been culturally articulated and politically mobilized by a novel ultranationalist movement that has stamped the political culture of the country.

In the 2000s, an emergent ultranationalist movement that had begun to challenge the hegemony of the governing neoliberal Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi, hereafter AKP) cashed in politically on disabled veterans’ embodied predicaments, taking on their work safety problems in state institutions (chapter 3) and their failed prosthesis payments (chapter 6) as pet political projects. Putting the government under fire for having compromised state sovereignty by pursuing membership in the European Union and peace negotiations with the PKK, the ultranationalist media presented veterans’ welfare and disability problems as a manifestation of the government’s betrayal. Explaining to disabled veterans why they are profaned by the same state that has sanctified them as gazis, this strategy has proved remarkably successful in interpellating disabled veterans within the circles I attended during my fieldwork. Hitching disabled veterans’ arduous quest to recover their masculine sovereignty to the ultranationalist political agenda of “restoring” state sovereignty, ultranationalism has opened up a political space where the former soldiers who are now disabled veterans can once again become the masculine subjects of political violence in the name of sovereignty.

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.