05.14.08
Avnery: the next sixty years
by Uri Avnery
Antiwar.com (May 07 2008)
Every time I hear the voice of David Ben-Gurion uttering the words
“Therefore we are gathered here …” I think of Issar Barsky, a charming
youngster, the little brother of a girlfriend of mine.
The last time we met was in front of the dining hall of Kibbutz Hulda,
on Friday, May 14 1948.
In the coming night my company was to attack al-Qubab, an Arab village
on the road to Jerusalem, east of Ramle. We were busy with preparations.
I was cleaning my Czech-made rifle, when somebody came and told us that
Ben-Gurion was just making a speech about the founding of the state.
Frankly, none of us was very interested in speeches by politicians in
Tel Aviv. The city seemed so far away. The state, we knew, was here with
us. If the Arabs were to win, there would be no state and no us. If we
won, there would be a state. We were young and self-confident, and did
not doubt for a moment that we would win.
But there was one detail that I was really curious about: what was the
new state to be called? Judea? Zion? The Jewish State?
So I hastened to the dining hall. Ben-Gurion’s unmistakable voice was
blaring from the radio. When he reached the words “namely the state of
Israel”, I had had enough and left.
Outside I came across Issar. He was in another company, which was to
attack another village that night. I told him about the name of the
state and said “take care of yourself!”
Some days later he was killed. So I remember him as he was then: a boy
of nineteen, a smiling, tall Sabra full of joie de vivre and innocence.
The closer we come to the grandiose sixtieth anniversary festivities,
the more I am troubled by the question: if Issar were to open his eyes
and see us, still a boy of nineteen, what would he think of the state
that was officially established on that day?
He would see a state that has developed beyond his wildest dreams. From
a small community of 635,000 souls (more than 6,000 of whom would die
with him in that war) we have grown to more than seven million. The two
great miracles we have wrought - the revival of the Hebrew language and
the institution of Israeli democracy - continue to be a reality. Our
economy is strong and in some fields - such as hi-tech - we are in the
world super-league. Issar would be excited and proud.
But he would also feel that something had gone wrong in our society. The
kibbutz where we put up our little bivouac tents that day has become an
economic enterprise, like any other. The social solidarity, of which we
were so proud, has collapsed. Masses of adults and children live below
the poverty line; old people, the sick, and the unemployed are left to
fend for themselves. The gap between rich and poor is one of the widest
in the developed world. And our society, which once raised the banner of
equality and justice, just clucks its collective tongue and moves on to
other matters.
Most of all he would be shocked to discover that the brutal war, which
killed him and wounded me, together with thousands of others, is still
going on at full blast. It determines the entire life of the nation. It
fills the first pages of the newspapers and heads the news bulletins.
That our army, the army that really was “we”, has become something quite
different, an army whose main occupation is to oppress another people.
That night we indeed attacked al-Qubab. When we entered the village, it
was already deserted. I broke into one of the homes. The pot was still
warm, food was on the table. On one of the shelves I found some photos:
a man who had obviously just combed his hair, a village woman, two small
children. I still have them with me.
I assume that the village which was attacked by Issar that night
presented a similar picture. The villagers - men, women, children - fled
at the last moment, leaving their whole life behind them.
There is no escape from the historic fact: Israel’s Independence Day and
the Palestinians’ Naqba (Catastrophe) Day are two sides of the same
coin. In sixty years we have not succeeded - and actually have not even
tried - to untie this knot by creating another reality.
And so the war goes on.
With the sixtieth Independence Day approaching, a committee sat down to
choose an emblem for the event. The one they came up with looks like
something for Coca-Cola or the Eurovision song contest.
The real emblem of the state is quite different, and no committee of
bureaucrats has had to invent it. It is fixed to the ground and can be
seen from afar: The Wall. The Separation Wall.
Separation between whom, between what?
Apparently between Israeli Kfar Sava and neighboring Palestinian
Qalqiliyah, between Modi’in Illit and Bil’in. Between the state of
Israel (and some more grabbed land) and the occupied Palestinian
Territories. But in reality, between two worlds.
In the fevered imagination of those who believe in the “clash of
civilizations”, whether George Bush or Osama bin Laden, the Wall is the
border between the two titans of history, Western civilization and
Islamic civilization, two mortal enemies fighting a war of Gog and Magog.
Our Wall has become the front line between these two worlds.
The wall is not just a structure of concrete and wire. More than
anything else, the wall - like every such wall - is an ideological
statement, a declaration of intent, a mental reality. The builders
declare that they belong, body and soul, to one camp, the Western one,
and that on the other side of the wall there begins the opposing world,
the enemy, the masses of Arabs and other Muslims.
When was that decided? Who made the decision? How?
One hundred and two years ago, Theodor Herzl wrote in his groundbreaking
oeuvre, Der Judenstaat, which gave birth to the Zionist movement, a
sentence fraught with significance: “For Europe we shall constitute
there [in Palestine] a sector of the wall against Asia, we shall serve
as the vanguard of culture against barbarism”.
Thus, in 22 German words, the worldview of Zionism, and our place in it,
was laid down. And now, after a delay of four generations, the physical
wall is following the path of the mental one.
The picture is bright and clear: We are essentially a part of Europe
(like North America), a part of culture, which is entirely European. On
the other side: Asia, a barbaric continent, empty of culture, including
the Muslim and Arab world.
One can understand Herzl’s worldview. He was a man of the 19th century,
and he wrote his treatise when white imperialism was at its zenith. He
admired it with all his soul. He endeavored (in vain) to arrange a
meeting with Cecil Rhodes, the man who symbolized British colonialism.
He approached Joseph Chamberlain, the British colonial secretary, who
offered him Uganda, then a British colony. At the same time, he also
admired the German Kaiser and his so well-ordered Reich, which carried
out a horrible genocide in southwest Africa in the year of Herzl’s death.
Herzl’s maxim did not remain an abstract thought. The Zionist movement
followed it from the first moment on, and the state of Israel continues
to do so to this very day.
Could it have been different? Could we have become a part of the region?
Could we have become a kind of cultural Switzerland, an independent
island between East and West, bridging and mediating between the two?
One month before the outbreak of the 1948 war, seven months before the
state of Israel was officially founded, I published a booklet entitled
“War or Peace in the Semitic Region”. It began with the words:
“When our Zionist fathers decided to set up a ’safe haven’ in Palestine,
they had the choice between two paths:
“They could appear in West Asia as a European conqueror, who sees
himself as a bridgehead of the ‘white’ race and master of the ‘natives’,
like the Spanish conquistadors and the Anglo-Saxon colonialists in
America. Like, in their time, the Crusaders in Palestine.
“The other path was to see themselves as an Asian people returning to
its homeland - seeing themselves as an heir to the political and
cultural tradition of the Semitic region”.
The history of this country has seen dozens of invasions. They can be
divided into two main categories.
There were the invaders who came from the West, such as the Philistines,
the Greeks, the Romans, the Crusaders, Napoleon, and the British. Such
an invasion establishes a bridgehead, and its mental outlook is that of
a bridgehead. The region beyond is hostile territory, its inhabitants
enemies who have to be oppressed or destroyed. In the end, all of these
invaders were expelled.
And there were the invaders who came from the East, such as the
Emorites, the Assyrians, the Babylonians, the Persians, and the Arabs.
They conquered the land and became part of it, influenced its culture
and were influenced by it, and in the end struck roots.
The ancient Israelites were of the second category. Even if there is
some doubt about the Exodus from Egypt as described in the Books of
Moses, or the Conquest of Canaan as described in the Book of Joshua, it
is reasonable to assume that they were tribes that came in from the
desert and infiltrated between the fortified Canaanite towns, which they
could not conquer, as indeed described in Judges 1.
The Zionists, on the other hand, were of the first category. They
brought with them the worldview of a bridgehead, a vanguard of Europe.
This worldview gave birth to the Wall as a national symbol. It has to be
changed entirely.
One of our national peculiarities is a form of discussion where all the
participants, whether from the Left or from the Right, use the clinching
argument: “If we don’t do this and this, the state will cease to exist!”
Can one imagine such an argument in France, Britain, or the USA?
This is a symptom of “Crusader” anxiety. Even though the Crusaders
stayed in this country for almost 200 years and produced eight
generations of “natives”, they were never really sure of their continued
existence here.
I am not worried about the existence of the state of Israel. It will
exist as long as states exist. The question is: What kind of state will
it be?
A state of permanent war, the terror of its neighbors, where violence
pervades all spheres of life, where the rich flourish and the poor live
in misery; a state that will be deserted by the best of its children?
Or a state that lives in peace with its neighbors, to their mutual
benefit; a modern society with equal rights for all its citizens and
without poverty; a state that invests its resources in science and
culture, industry and the environment; where future generations will
want to live; a source of pride for all its citizens?
That can be our objective for the next sixty years. I think this is what
Issar would have wanted, too.
Copyright 2008 Antiwar.com
http://www.antiwar.com/avnery/?articleid=12797