Mona El-Ghobashy, Bread and Freedom: Egypt’s Revolutionary Situation (New Texts Out Now)

Mona El-Ghobashy, Bread and Freedom: Egypt’s Revolutionary Situation (New Texts Out Now)

Mona El-Ghobashy, Bread and Freedom: Egypt’s Revolutionary Situation (New Texts Out Now)

By : Mona El-Ghobashy

Mona El-Ghobashy, Bread and Freedom: Egypt’s Revolutionary Situation (Stanford University Press, 2021).

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

Mona El-Ghobashy (MEL): I wanted to reconstruct what happened in Egypt’s uprising. Soon after Hosni Mubarak was ousted on February 11, 2011, explanations focused on why it was bound to happen. Then they shifted to ample critiques of Egypt’s dysfunctional transition. When elected president Mohamed Morsi was deposed by a military coup on July 3, 2013,  it was normalized as the  logical outcome of the ostensibly chaotic transition. This  tendency to quickly assimilate rapid and unexpected changes into analytical frameworks that make them less surprising is part and parcel of explanatory social science, but it leads to a subtle kind of forgetting. We forget how improbable the Arab uprisings were, how precarious and fragile from the outset, and that they came about through a confluence of many distinct actions and interactions that could not be anticipated—but can be reconstructed. I wanted to recover the indeterminacy and uncertainty in Egypt’s uprising from the very first planned protest event of January 25, 2011, to political dynamics a decade later, when the uprising had been defeated by a full-fledged counterrevolution.

When you look at it this way, you immediately run up against the staggering number of events that constituted the uprising. These were so numerous, compressed in time, simultaneous and not only sequential, and involving so many social actors, groups, and demands. The biggest challenge was that of selection: how do I select what to focus on? After all, between the initial January 25 protest action and the counterrevolutionary offensive three years later in 2014, Egyptians heatedly debated and fought over police reform, constitution-writing, privatization and economic restructuring, the efficacy of sustained protests, election laws, repatriation of national assets, foreign policy, municipal politics, civil-military relations, Coptic-Muslim relations, legislative-judicial relations, center-periphery relations (Cairo and the provinces), and lustration (holding Mubarak regime officials to account). No coherent account can take in all these issues, at least not within the covers of a non-encyclopedic book. So I had to choose, and my choices were governed by the book’s anchoring concept of a “revolutionary situation,” a juncture when state power comes under serious assault but does not collapse.

Democratization is just as dangerous and ambivalence-inducing as revolution; it poses an existential threat to stakeholders in the status quo, and generates mixed feelings among various publics.

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

MEL: I engage with the scholarship on the Arab uprisings published after 2011. The sociological literature on revolutions and the political science literature on democratic transitions were also a great aid and inspiration to me. But these two academic literatures on revolution and democracy exist in separate universes, having more to do with the disciplinary division of knowledge in the Anglo-American social sciences than with any fundamental difference in their outlooks. At first I was confused because I thought had to choose one corpus and go with it, but that kept creating problems. If I used the political science literature on democratic transitions, which is dominated by the idea that democratization happens through negotiations and sagacious compromises, then Egypt’s revolutionary politics looked bizarre, disorderly, and completely dysfunctional. If I went with the sociology of revolution, then I could explain the causes of revolution and its outcomes— that is, what came before the revolution and what came after—but not so much the stakes and struggles of revolutionary politics.

Late in the research, I abandoned the idea of having to choose and made use of both literatures, especially works that I had never read (Vladimir Lenin’s lesser-known writings) or had read many years ago and did not appreciate (Guillermo O’Donnell and Philippe Schmitter’s Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions about Uncertain Democracies). I realized that they were grappling with the same issue of indeterminacy and high-stakes conflict in times of political upheaval, but using different vocabularies and concepts. The most satisfying hours of research were when I encountered phrases and analyses in these two literatures that mapped uncannily well onto events in Egypt, or helped dispel my confusion or incomprehension about why something happened as it did, or how it connected to something else that I thought was separate. This recursive process is how I came to the book’s master concept of a “revolutionary situation,” an idea originally coined by Vladimir Lenin, honed by Leon Trotsky, then resuscitated by American political sociologists Charles Tilly and Arthur Stinchcombe. A revolutionary situation is a shift in power over the state that generates both exceptional threats and opportunities to old and new groups, including surviving elements of the old political elite. 

The book’s argument is that Egypt’s uprising, and I would venture the Arab uprisings as a whole, are productively characterized as revolutionary situations where ruling elites disintegrated, but were not swept away in toto. Their remnants faced off against new claimants to state power, with mobilized publics and foreign actors entering the fray, now supporting new forces and now siding with the reconstituted elites. The concept of revolutionary situation makes sense of the simultaneous mass protests, elections, legislative maneuvers, political violence, and judicial actions that make the uprisings seem so chaotic. It brings together revolution and democracy, long separated in the social sciences but integrated by historians investigating “democratic revolutions.” I use the concept to argue that revolutions do not transcend politics but grow out of a country’s existing conflicts, and that democratization is not only a matter of reasoned compromise, as dominant views in the political science literature would have it. Democratization is just as dangerous and ambivalence-inducing as revolution; it poses an existential threat to stakeholders in the status quo, and generates mixed feelings among various publics.

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

MEL: While researching and writing the book I made explicit what I had implicitly done in prior research: construct a relational account of political conflict. Very broadly, approaches to democratization and revolution are classified as either top-down or bottom-up. Top-down approaches focus on elites (within the state but also within society such as business networks) and bottom-up approaches follow the actions of specific sectors (labor, women’s groups, advocacy networks). Both obviously tell us much, and my work is often categorized as bottom-up, even though state actors are very visible in it, constantly acting and responding to bottom-up pressures. The complex nature of revolutionary politics demands that we keep both sets of actors in view: various state elites, and various popular forces. Bread and Freedom is my conscious attempt to demonstrate this interactionist methodology, to write a text that shows how social outcomes are rarely the doing of only elites or only social groups. 

To say that events are the product of multiple agencies is not to say that the agencies are equal. For example, the military commanders on the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) that edged out Hosni Mubarak had far more power (not least in the form of foreign support) than virtually any other single actor in Egypt’s post-2011 politics. But they had to confront, contain, and repress other parties with potent sources of social power of their own. It was not a foregone conclusion that the uprising would end in a military dictatorship, as many retrospective accounts would have us believe.

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

MEL: I wrote the book with two audiences in mind. The first are readers who were too young to live through the Arab uprisings, but also those who lived through these years but have only a hazy recollection of what happened, and would like to know more about what the concrete issues of contention were. The second audience are those who followed and lived the uprising and its aftermath day-by-day, and sometimes hour-by-hour! These are the Egyptians, Egypt-watchers, and Egypt-lovers who are still reeling from the sheer rapidity and pile-up of events, and are stricken by the catastrophic state of Egypt’s political repression today. I count myself in this second audience. My hope is that these groups will see with fresh eyes events and episodes with which they are familiar, but look different in my analytical reconstruction. Perhaps they can find a strange solace in the book, even as I am certain they will experience some very painful emotions and memories.

J: What other projects are you working on now? 

MEL: One of the things I learned anew in the course of research was how central constitution-making was in Egypt’s revolutionary politics, and there is plenty in the book about how fights over the constitution intersected with and drove other political collisions. But I want to zero in more directly on constitutional contention and its distinct phases, the multiple actors it pulled in, and the range of issues that were at play. Unlike what is often assumed about constitutional politics in Egypt (and Tunisia), the role of religion in state and society was hardly the sole crux around which constitutional contention revolved. There were other bedrock issues besides religion, principally the question  of who would write the constitution, or in other words, who had constituent power. So I am conducting research on constitution-making in the revolution, both in Egypt and more abstractly. If a revolutionary situation is by definition a fragmentation in control over the state, it is bound to feature competing claims to sovereignty, or ultimate political authority. Constitutions spell out where sovereignty lies. So there is an organic connection between revolutions and constitutions that I am beginning to understand.

 

Excerpt from the book (from Chapter 1, “Narratives of Egypt’s Revolution,” pp. 27-32)

The 2011 uprising was the biggest accident in Egyptian political history, anticipated neither by its champions nor its adversaries. Every step during the Eighteen Days was marked by uncertainty. If on the evening of January 24, some imaginative soul had suggested that in four days’ time, masses of people would vanquish the police and army tanks would roll onto streets, he would have been dismissed as a dreamer. If on February 2, an observer believed that the Battle of the Camel would eventually be won by the unarmed demonstrators, his judgment would have been impugned, and impugned again if he had forecast that on February 6, the return to a precarious normalcy would also bring the resumption of labor strikes. The uprising began as a familiar protest action within an established repertoire of opposition politics, then developed into something much bigger, not in the manner of a growing snowball hurtling down a slope but as an assortment of local incidents, miscalculations, extraordinary cooperation, escalation, and the sheer unpredictable logic of social interaction. 

Knowing how things turned out makes us flatten and forget the many contingencies making up grand happenings. What if the Sidi Bouzid community protest a day after Mohamed Bouazizi’s self-immolation had remained a hyperlocal Tunisian disturbance? What if January 25 had not been a public holiday that freed up citizens for political demonstration? What if Suez police had not killed three demonstrators on that day, breaking from the violent but nonlethal pattern of protest policing that had developed under Mubarak? What if civil servants had stayed at their desks and industrial workers at their machines, ignoring the Tahrir opposition movement as irrelevant to their concerns?

By the standards of statistical probability and expert analysis, the uprising was not simply contingent but highly improbable. Analysts have found that undemocratic regimes collapse more often through elite intrigue and palace coups than popular uprisings. Before 2011, one scholar of Egypt considered that mass mobilization was the least likely scenario for regime change. The revolt also departs from historical precedent. Egypt’s nationwide anticolonial rising in spring 1919 had strikingly similar features to 2011—mass marches in Cairo and provincial capitals, use of lethal force by British-controlled police, torching of government buildings, a crippling strike by civil servants, and rousing nightly gatherings in al-Azhar mosque, the era’s Tahrir Square. But the early twentieth century movement pursued a comparatively modest goal: protesting Britain’s deportation of Egyptian politicians seeking an audience at the Paris Peace Conference to negotiate Egyptian independence. In 2011, the demand was nothing less than upending the system of rule. “People should not be afraid of their governments, governments should be afraid of their people,” read the English-language graffiti on an incinerated police-truck-turned-dumpster in Tahrir Square.

My central purpose in this book is to show how the unexpected uprising opened up several possibilities for how Egypt would be governed. It destroyed Hosni Mubarak’s dynastic ambition to transfer power to his son, clearing other untrodden paths. Most observers expected a fledgling multiparty democracy with a lively civil society and culture of street demonstrations, essentially an unfettered version of Egypt’s contentious politics that had developed during Mubarak’s three-decade rule. Unknown was the precise constitutional form this would take; parliamentarism and a mixed regime had their impassioned advocates, and virtually everyone valorized the judiciary and supported granting it more independence. The corollary unknown was the position of the military high command that had responded to the growing Tahrir protest by edging out Mubarak on February 11. The Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) declared themselves dictators, in the Roman sense of a temporary executive, and pledged to organize free elections and hand over power to elected civilians within six months. 

Few seriously expected the generals to gallantly step aside and hand power to civilians without rigorous guarantees, but even fewer believed that the military wanted to or would be able to rule directly. Between these limits lay several possibilities for a civilian-military settlement, some form of a tutelary democracy. It could have been a constitutional veto role for the generals, on the model of Turkey before 2002; a presidential regime with a dual executive, one a transient civilian politician and the other a conclave of generals; a parliamentary regime with rigorous military reserved points, placing entire policy areas and public offices under exclusive jurisdiction of the armed forces. Three years after Mubarak’s ouster, in February 2014, Egypt had gone through a sixteen-month period of interim military rule; one crisis-filled year under a civilian president; then a popularly supported military coup where the leading general was about to become president in plebiscitary elections. By 2019, the same general had built a personalized dictatorship, a counterrevolutionary regime dedicated to the erasure of practices of revolution using the state’s ample resources of force, myth, and law.

How did this happen? The events constituting this juncture are so interlocking and multivalent that the overwhelming impulse is to evade them as noisy details and embark on a quest to uncover “what went wrong.” Works in various genres repeatedly invoke “tragedy” as the lens to make sense of the Arab uprisings as a whole, the staggering state violence, population displacements, impoverishment, and regional realignments that continue to unfold ten years after the Tunisian revolt that started it all. Of Egypt in particular, as soon as the 2013 coup occurred, perspectives shifted and the regime changes of 2011 to 2013 were forgotten, replaced by a determinist argument that the military was plotting to rule all along and merely engaged in strategic deception until their swift strike. Some lamented the pitifully divided state of the civilian opposition as the enabling condition for military intervention. My study starts from a different premise: many-sided complexes such as uprisings are irreducible to the actions of single or even a handful of collective actors. Egypt’s uprising is not well characterized as an epic misfortune, failed revolution, dysfunctional democratic transition, or master class in military planning. Moving away from dramaturgical tropes of hopeful beginnings and calamitous endings, I reexamine the uprising in the largest Arab state as a concrete political phenomenon, an example of what happens when, to paraphrase Vladimir Lenin, rulers and ruled cannot go on as before, but a new political order is by no means assured. I resurrect the forgotten concept of a “revolutionary situation” to illuminate the conflicts that ensue when state authority comes under fierce assault but does not collapse.

Democracy’s New Pioneers

At this point, ten years after the Tuesday protest that started it all on January 25, 2011, it is worth revisiting the heady international reception of Egypt’s uprising to see why political analysis fell by the wayside as impassioned outpourings of acclamation took over, then gave way to expressions of consternation. In February 2011, celebrity philosopher Slavoj Žižek enthused, “The uprising was universal. It was immediately possible for all of us around the world to identify with it, to recognize what it was about, without any need for cultural analysis of the features of Egyptian society.” Citizens the world over who felt alienated from their own political institutions felt genuinely inspired by Tunisian and Egyptian protesters’ revival of the power of mass politics. Representations of Arabs went from stubborn exceptions to the “Third Wave of Democracy” to “Democracy’s New Pioneers.” Marxist philosophers Antonio Negri and Michael Hardt saw in the teeming public plazas of Arab countries an instantiation of their concept of multitudes, creating “original experiments that open new political possibilities, relevant well beyond the region, for freedom and democracy.” Political economists Daron Acemoglu and James Robinson opened their influential treatise with the Tahrir protesters’ insistence that Egypt’s economic ills were the outcome of misrule. Judith Butler waxed philosophical about “the way a certain sociability was established within the square,” announcing new relations of equality and nonviolence. Less than two weeks after Mubarak’s fall, American public workers protesting an antiunion bill in the state of Wisconsin held up signs that said, “Egypt, Save Us” and, in the words of the pop song, exhorted “Walk like an Egyptian!”

The exultant mood left no room for or interest in reliving the precariousness of the days leading up to Hosni Mubarak’s fall. A commemorative genre began to develop, featuring stories of the uprising and experiences of its participants, including a whole subgenre of Tahrirana recalling the ambience and civic spirit of the square. Soon precariousness was expunged entirely and improbability forgotten, replaced by compelling stories of an expertly designed uprising. A dramaturgical storyline imputed shrewd planning and creative leadership to a core group of attractive protagonists. Not surprisingly, the leading role was assigned to social media-using youth. A Time magazine cover featured seven young highly privileged Egyptians under the headline, “The Generation Changing the World.” Sociologist Jeffrey Alexander used a performance metaphor to portray the Eighteen Days as an expertly choreographed drama:

The agents who were at the core of this performative project formed the revolution’s “carrier group.” It was they who projected the symbols, and after they made the connection with audiences, directed the revolutionary mise en scène. The “scene” of the revolutionary drama was peopled by the hundreds of thousands of protestors, but this unfolding mise en scène was directed, not by the mass of people, but by movement intellectuals who tried to work out the script and choreograph street actions in advance.

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.