Hussam R. Ahmed, The Last Nahdawi: Taha Hussein and Institution Building in Egypt (New Texts Out Now)

Hussam R. Ahmed, The Last Nahdawi: Taha Hussein and Institution Building in Egypt (New Texts Out Now)

Hussam R. Ahmed, The Last Nahdawi: Taha Hussein and Institution Building in Egypt (New Texts Out Now)

By : Hussam R. Ahmed

Hussam R. Ahmed, The Last Nahdawi: Taha Hussein and Institution Building in Egypt (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2021).

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

Hussam R. Ahmed (HRA): This book, which is based on my doctoral dissertation, is a social biography of one of the most iconic figures in the history of the Arab world, the intellectual and educator Taha Hussein (1889-1973). Known as the “Dean of Arabic Literature” for his remarkable contributions as a writer and a literary critic, Hussein has also been a major influence on generations of Arab intellectuals. His legacy continues to provoke heated debates in Arab and Western circles, especially between secularists who idolize him and consider him the symbol of an unfinished battle for freedom of thought and expression, and Islamists who demonize him and accuse him of having westernized the Arab-Muslim mind. For someone who matters so much to generations of Arabs and whose ideas fuel passionate debates half a century after his death, there was a curious lack of scholarly single studies of him in English or French. Even studies that deal with Hussein have often been susceptible to a narrow focus on some of his published work and literary debates. After some preliminary research, it became clear to me that exploring Hussein’s understudied career in politics and the civil service would fill an important gap in the scholarship, including scholarship in Arabic, and allow for a critical reassessment of his overall legacy by focusing on his history as a social actor, and not just his ideas.

Central as Hussein is to this book, he is not its sole focus, however. A social biography helps us gain a greater understanding of particular institutions and forms of social change by analyzing how they had been understood and negotiated by particular individuals, allowing us to work with and against the grand narratives that usually fail to match the experience of individuals on the ground. In that way, I wanted to use Hussein’s life and work as a lens to understand some of the important social and cultural transformations that occurred in Egypt during the first half of the twentieth century. At the time, Egypt was witnessing many changes, such as the introduction of a new secular university, a burgeoning press, and intense public debates over nationalism, the role of religion, women, and education in making a modern nation. Hussein was a catalyst for all of these debates and experienced these transformations firsthand. The book is therefore built around this double-focus: Taha Hussein and his sociopolitical context.

In the introduction, I describe the book as the story of the life and death of an alternative Egyptian history, the story of what modern Egypt could have become, and I wanted to tell that story. Whether we agree or disagree with Taha Hussein’s vision for what modern Egypt should have become or should become, the questions to which his project tried to respond are still pertinent. This is because he grounded his project in people’s daily lives, expectations, and demands—demands that sound eerily familiar and which we continue to hear in different parts of the Arab world today, demands for freedom, justice, and human dignity.

I shift the focus away from Taha Hussein the Dean of Arabic Literature and turn to Hussein the lesser-known politician and civil servant.

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

HRA: In the book I shift the focus away from Taha Hussein the Dean of Arabic Literature and turn to Hussein the lesser-known politician and civil servant. Drawing on documents from the Egyptian National Archives, the Archives of the Ministère des Affaires Étrangères in France, the archives of Cairo University and the Ministry of Education, as well as Hussein’s private papers, the book is a careful reconstruction of Hussein’s sociocultural project, its development in the period between Egypt’s nominal independence from Great Britain in 1922, and his eventual marginalization in the early 1960s. Hussein was an institution builder and his commitment to institution building was a result of his belief that only strong educational and cultural institutions could develop the necessary national leadership and an educated, politically active, and modern citizenry, strengthen the country’s political independence, and open the way to a versatile and open culture deeply rooted in the Arab-Islamic tradition but also integrated with, and a contributor to, contemporary Western culture. Hussein tried to extend and deepen the Arab Nahda project by insisting that proper, state-funded higher institutions, like secular universities and the Arabic Language Academy were needed to provide the modern teaching and research methods necessary to engage critically with the tradition and the challenges of the present. Scholars would then use this knowledge to design a sophisticated national curriculum to be disseminated in primary and secondary education, which Taha Hussein made free in 1944 and 1950 respectively. 

Reading these sources closely allowed me to look beyond Hussein’s familiar published work and instead to follow him in his meetings and understand his executive responsibilities as a senior civil servant and how he had to navigate a complex state bureaucracy and work within a network of intellectuals and statesmen to build and restructure these institutions. As he implemented his project, Hussein mocked clear-cut distinctions between thought and action and between culture and politics, despite his own public claims that art and culture should remain above political motives. The book shows that Hussein was a practical thinker who developed his ideas in tandem with concrete policy debates and decisions. Thus an intellectual history relying solely on his published work is reductive, and it is essential to consider his long political career to produce new, contextually rich readings of his ideas. 

With its focus on educational and political reform, the book builds on existing scholarship that has examined reform efforts during Egypt’s parliamentary period (1922-1952) focusing on how women, the family, the peasantry, and education were to contribute to creating a modern nation. Whereas scholars have often emphasized the problems and frustrations of this period, the book accounts for important achievements in culture and education, such as introducing free education, opening Egyptian universities to women, making classical Arabic more accessible to teachers and students, and resisting French cultural policies in North Africa. By tying Hussein’s institution building efforts to the emergent democratic practices of the parliamentary period, the book situates Hussein’s campaign for institutional reform and universal education within serious attempts made during his period to promote state accountability and renegotiate the social contract by convincing Egyptian voters that the state was there to serve them and provide the education and dignified life they demanded.

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

HRA: Broadly speaking, I am interested in the history of the relationship between culture and politics, and in exploring the role of the humanities, or adab, in the making of modern Egypt, particularly in relation to the ways in which cultural and educational institutions developed both as state bureaucracies and as arbiters of political ideology. Studies of cultural and literary production in the Arab world often focus on individual works and their canonical creators. This analysis rarely considers the history of state and private institutions with which Arab educators, writers, and journalists negotiate constantly. My research focuses on the history of these institutions and the logic by which they articulated different visions for the state, religion, culture, and society. Such institutional histories allow us to understand figures like Taha Hussein and others, not as great men and women whose ideas float above their political, economic, and personal circumstances, but as historical actors whose thoughts and actions were deeply embedded in human struggles and specific societal structures and constraints. 

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

HRA: I hope that anyone interested in modern Egypt, the Arab world, and the humanities would find this book of value, especially scholars of the Middle East, of course. I tried to make the book accessible to non-specialist audiences so that readers would be in a position to understand the complex colonial context in which Hussein and his generation worked. I hope readers would be able to learn about an Arab-Muslim encounter with modernity in which reformers like Hussein faced the challenge of the West with self-confidence and believed that embracing what these reformers saw as the new (the secular university, new kinds of knowledge, new research methods) did not mean giving up their own traditions and literary heritage, but rather continuing them. They were embarking on a project of natural synthesis based on an active critical appropriation rather than a passive reception of ideas coming from Europe. 

The book, however, neither tries to redeem Hussein and his generation nor claims that they did everything right. Rather, it is an attempt to understand them in their own context and not through the lens of all that has come since. As political events since Gamal Abdel Nasser’s time made their project of natural synthesis impossible, history was rewritten in Egypt itself in a way that lumped these intellectuals together on one side or the other, for example “culturally authentic” or “westernized.” Taha Hussein is a prime example of such an intellectual who remains trapped in these binaries, which overlook the context in which he wrote and the bureaucratic and institutional constraints in which he made decisions—whether by Islamists or equally by their opponents. This has also been paralleled by postcolonial literary scholars in the West who draw on select passages in public writings by Hussein and his generation to create an image of them as uncritical intellectuals who were infatuated by European culture. 

J: What other projects are you working on now? 

HRA: My second book project explores the evolution of Egypt’s cultural and educational institutions under Nasser’s authoritarian rule (1954-1970). While Hussein’s free education policies and the institutions he established continued under Nasser, a rupture occurred in the relationship between these institutions and the state. Hussein implicitly expected the multiparty system and a free press to regulate the state’s involvement in education by holding governments accountable and pushing for transparency in budgetary allocation and decision making. In the transition to a more authoritarian state, the checks and balances of the parliamentary system Hussein had envisaged became untenable. In my new project, I therefore examine Nasser’s cultural and educational policies in order to assess their impact on intellectuals and cultural production more broadly.

 

Excerpt from the book (from Introduction, Taha Hussein’s Anti-Colonial Project, pp. 24-28) 

            …

Besides ignoring the actual reform program in favor of analyzing the introduction, most debates involving The Future of Culture in Egypt overlook the exceptional political circumstances to which Hussein was responding. His work should be read in the context of the interwar period and the euphoria surrounding the signing of the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty in 1936, the ending of the Capitulations, and joining the League of Nations in 1937, the hallmark of independence at the time. While Egyptians successfully wrestled these concessions from European powers, the continued presence of British forces in Egypt was a constant reminder of the deeply rooted presumption among colonial powers of colonized peoples’ inability to rule themselves. Hussein’s book was an intervention calling on Egyptians to vindicate themselves and to prove they could handle the responsibilities of their independence. Much like David Scott’s thoughtful reading of C.L.R. James’ account of Toussaint Louverture’s revolutionary struggle against the French in Black Jacobins (also written in 1938), Hussein’s call for vindication took the form of a “romantic” story of an anti-colonial liberation struggle that was supposed to end in victory and enlightenment. Unlike Louverture’s armed struggle, however, Hussein’s solution was institutional, and he proposed building an integrated Egyptian system of knowledge production that was to achieve intellectual parity with Europe and place Egypt on equal standing with the more “advanced” nations of the world. This romantic mode of history writing, in which Hussein drew on Egypt’s long historical interaction with the Mediterranean world and on Greek philosophy’s influence on Islamic thought, was triggered by a political necessity, and was a mode of writing he deemed necessary to shatter notions of inherent incompatibility between Egyptians and Europeans, and thus assert Egypt’s right to self- determination. In our reading of works by anti-colonial figures such as James and Hussein, Scott reminds us that they were writing at a “present” triggered by a different “horizon of expectation,” and that their political thought was governed by a “problem- space” animated by different disputes and questions, the understanding of which becomes necessary to make sense of their intellectual production and political maneuvers, especially in what Scott sees as our “postcolonial nightmares,” in which cynicism has replaced the optimism of “anticolonial utopias.” Independence was one of the most pressing concerns at the time, and as Elizabeth Thompson’s recent research has shown, in the Middle East, “sovereignty was viewed as the primary prerequisite for justice and rule of law.” For Hussein, independence was the priority, and with independence came the— now defunct— assumption that once the colonizers left, everything would fall into place. 

Our sinister postcolonial present impacts the way we understand Hussein’s project and leads us to find his excitement in 1938 naive and even off-putting. Readers today are often suspicious or even dismissive of Hussein’s firm belief in democracy and institutions. Many readers have been desensitized to the discourse on democracy, people’s rights, and the state’s responsibility toward the people, because for decades, postcolonial states in the region and imperial powers have used the same discourse to legitimize their repressive agendas while suppressing the same rights they claim to defend. Even western democracies are currently facing a dire moment with the rise of right-wing populism. It takes much effort on the part of today’s reader to go beyond what could come across as futile clichés and to read Hussein carefully and critically, and understand that, in Hussein’s present in the interwar period, “promoting true democracy,” “respecting the constitution,” “holding the state accountable,” and “achieving full independence” were all feasible and interdependent goals. 

Hussein understood that Europe was setting the terms, and if Egypt were to maintain its nominal independence and turn it into a fuller one, then it had to be practical and play by the rules Europe recognized and imposed on the world. In his thought and action, Hussein accepted the premises informing those European rules: the nation-state, progress, and reason. In recognizing the obligation to build his project in terms set by the modern West, Hussein can be seen as a conscript of western modernity, a term David Scott borrows from Talal Asad and uses to describe Louverture and other colonial subjects who believed they were resisting European colonialism but who were, often unconsciously, obliged to think and act in conditions determined by European modernity. While Asad is more interested in the power differential between colonizer and colonized and how power transforms colonial subjects, this study focuses on Hussein’s agency and creative efforts within that colonial context. Moreover, Hussein was conscious of modernity’s transformative power when he provocatively stated, decades before postcolonial studies, that Egyptians were already leading a European life in both its physical and intellectual aspects. Hussein was in the middle of a battle of emancipatory politics, in which immediate political action was required and in which tough decisions and compromises had to be made regarding the direction in which the country was headed. In his understanding of the way forward after 1936, knowledge-producing institutions had to be implemented along European lines so Egyptian researchers, planners, and policymakers could master the dominant language, the language Europe understood and enforced elsewhere. In that sense of being “conscripted” and having “no choice,” Hussein’s comment that those who preached otherwise were either “deluding or deluded” makes more sense.

This constant negotiation between the universal and the particular informs Hussein’s project for culture and education in Egypt. As this study shows, he did not begin working on institutions in 1938, with The Future of Culture in Egypt, but earlier, in 1922, right after Egypt achieved nominal independence. He repeatedly expressed his view that it was his duty as an intellectual and an academic to explain to the public the importance of reforming Egypt’s educational system, which he believed had suffered under the British administration and was in serious need of reform. Immediately after independence, he called for reforming the Ministry of Public Instruction and ridding it of all British influence, which he believed had been responsible for reducing the number of schools, introducing tuition fees, and favoring the kuttab over higher education. Higher education, and especially the Egyptian University’s Faculty of Arts, quickly became the cornerstone of Hussein’s project, as he hoped the university would create the nation’s much-needed “thinking elite.” Besides the university and the ministry, a third key institution in which Hussein was especially active as member and president (1940–1973) was the Arabic Language Academy. The academy brought together experts, from Egypt and abroad, to work to protect the language and respond to the modern challenges it was facing. Besides his work with these three key institutions, as minister of public instruction (1950–1952), Hussein created several institutes and university chairs for Arabic and Islamic studies around the Mediterranean, hoping to extend Egypt’s “awakening” and its cultural influence beyond its borders. To ensure the proper operation of all these institutions, he created or restructured what he called “technical councils,” bodies that he believed would empower technocrats and shield them from divisive partisan politics. These technical councils included the Supreme Council of Education, the Supreme Council of the Universities, and the technical office of the language academy, all of which still exist today.

[…]

This book also explores the end of Taha Hussein’s institutional project and his inability in the 1950s and ’60s to continue promoting critical thinking and academic freedom. The Second World War and the ongoing British occupation showed the futility of the 1936 Anglo-Egyptian Treaty and quickly put an end to his interwar euphoria. His resentment of the ensuing corrupt politics and the failure of successive governments to address the three famous societal ills of poverty, ignorance, and disease became clear in the series of books and articles he published in the 1940s. His support for patient, peaceful, and long-term negotiations with the British came to an end with his full endorsement of Prime Minister Mustafa al-Nahhas’ decision to abrogate the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty in 1951, authorizing armed combat against British forces in the Suez Canal Zone. He then supported the Free Officers’ coup on July 23, 1952, and initially saw Gamal Abdel Nasser as a heroic figure who could break the political deadlock and achieve full independence. But to Hussein’s dismay, the sixth principle of the 1952 coup, calling for creating a healthy democratic life, was put on hold. Then the era of decolonization and state authoritarianism in the 1950s and ’60s dealt heavy blows to his project and his institutions. He was also horrified by the crimes committed by the French in North Africa and these colonizers’ double standards, and he was disheartened by young Arab intellectuals whom he accused of having turned literature into a propaganda machine for the state and willingly giving up their freedom in the name of social realism and committed literature. Increasingly isolated, he found it impossible to advocate his project of natural synthesis between the old and the new, and he died shortly after having confided to Ghali Shukri that he was leaving with “much pain and little hope.” By accepting David Scott’s invitation to read the legacy of anti-colonial figures as tragedies instead of romances, this present study tells the tragic story of the life and death of an alternative Egyptian history, the story of what modern Egypt could have become.

  • ALSO BY THIS AUTHOR

    • Hussam R. Ahmed, “The Nahda in Parliament: Taha Husayn’s Career Building Knowledge Production Institutions, 1922-52” (New Texts Out Now)

      Hussam R. Ahmed, “The Nahda in Parliament: Taha Husayn’s Career Building Knowledge Production Institutions, 1922-52” (New Texts Out Now)

      There are many question marks over the impact of Taha Husayn’s works and intentions. Decades after his death, he continues to provoke heated reactions among many people, including Arab and Western scholars. Some glorify him as a first-class “enlightened” thinker, while others vilify him as a “collaborator” with Western orientalists who undermined the tradition. When I decided to write a social biography for my PhD, I wanted to use his life and work as a lens to understand the important social and cultural transformations that occurred in Egypt during the first half of the twentieth century.

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.