Seventy-six years of occupation, ethnic cleansing and settler-colonisation leading up to today’s genocide in Gaza cannot disappear overnight. In light of this, does the historical Palestinian and anti-Zionist Jewish vision for a single democratic state where Palestinians and previous Israelis coexist make any sense? How would such a state guarantee the security of its citizens—wouldn’t previous oppressors and victims be at each other’s throats?
Zionism claims that Jews have always been and will always be persecuted. Accordingly, it presents a model for a state exclusive to Jews as the only solution and promotes this apartheid throughout the world by taking advantage of the long history of European anti-Semitism to encourage Jewish immigration to Palestine to leave their societies, cleansing non-Jews from Palestine using different means of violence and even supporting similar identitarian projects in Algeria, Sudan, Lebanon, Syria and other countries. In other words, Zionism claims that violence is inherent to having different identities and that separation is the only solution. The Palestinian liberation movement, on the other hand, has historically declared that violence in the region is the outcome of an oppressive settler colonial project and that dismantling it is the solution.
Who is right? Could a democratic state guarantee peace and security for all its citizens? And what do historical cases of colonisation and decolonisation have to teach us?
Dismantling colonial relations of power, establishing the legitimacy of the democratic state
In Ghassan Kanafani’s Returning to Haifa, the Palestinian child raised by Israeli settlers ended up joining the occupation forces. One could also easily imagine a settler’s son raised by Palestinians joining the resistance. This shows that violence, both the occupiers’ and the occupied’s, results from a political structure rather than any inherent qualities. The fact that over 90 per cent of Jewish Israelis side with the genocide in Gaza and that most Palestinians side with armed resistance is the result of colonial relations of power that were imposed by a colonial state. In other words, the role of the decolonial democratic state is not to “inherit” a cohesive society but to build and develop cohesion within it. In the words of Frantz Fanon: “Decolonisation brings a natural rhythm into existence … Decolonisation is the veritable creation of new men.” This required understanding how the settler state imposed colonial relations of power and then determining what policies would dismantle them. The democratic state is a democratising state.
For example, the state will grant Palestinians the rights that the Zionist state had deprived them of, particularly the right of return and the right to compensation, without being unjust to Jews. It will implement a model that would be fair to all, regardless of socio-economic status. It will abrogate racist laws such as the Basic Law or Citizenship Law, ensuring that all are totally equal before the law, and will criminalise political Zionism and all kinds of settler colonial ideologies. Instead of having different school curricula for Jews and non-Jews, it will unify the curriculum and will make sure that universal civic values replace Zionist values in it. At the socio-economic level, it will establish a comprehensive safety net with universal free education, universal health care and full equality in hiring and wages, closing today’s income, poverty and education gaps. Previous war crimes will also have to be investigated, although the mechanisms will need to be determined by the future citizens of that state—both Palestinians and their Israeli partners.
The state will also have a monopoly on violence, which includes disarming segments of the population that are currently armed. To quote Ner Kitri in his article, “The transition from a Jewish state to true democracy will benefit all”, it will use this monopoly to “protect its citizens’ lives rather than colonial privileges.” Finally, the state will commit not to use its armed forces for expansionist purposes as Israel historically has. As in the cases of Kenya, South Africa and Algeria, which we will discuss in more detail below, deportation will not be on the table. Israelis who feel a genuine connection to the land (be it for religious, cultural or other reasons) will enjoy life as equals in a dezionised Palestine, while those who choose to leave will be able to do so peacefully.
By eliminating colonial privileges while guaranteeing rights to all, the new Palestinian state will establish and solidify its legitimacy in the eyes of its society. Crucially, instead of legitimising its existence on the basis of representing sectarian interests, it will do so on the basis of its functional capacity to administer the affairs of its society and to guarantee its citizens’ rights—rights that Israel denies Palestinians and failed to deliver to Jews. This change—this decolonisation, in the fullest sense of the word—will signal a rupture with Zionism and the global colonial project. The result will be a society where tribal identities will melt away, and citizens will not merely “coexist” but actually live together, the two previous demographic groups forming a single “mosaic of life”, as Ilan Pappe expressed it.
This said—is this a realistic vision of what could happen? What does the history of Palestine, as well as historical cases of decolonisation, have to teach us?
Violence under colonisation and after it: Historical examples
Palestine has always been the home of Christians, Muslims, Jews, Bahai and observers of many different religions who lived together in peace. Before colonial Zionists, Palestine welcomed non-Palestinians such as Kurds, Armenians, Circassians and European Jews. For example, the Zionist education initiative “TBTN” indicates that there was an: “Important and vital Jewish community in Gaza during the early Muslim period” and that “the Jewish community experienced a period of prosperity under Ottoman rule.” TBTN explains this peace was disturbed on two occasions: First, in 1799, when Jews fled Gaza ahead of Napoleon’s invasion of Palestine: “Marking the temporary end of a Jewish presence in the area.” These Gazans returned in the 19th century and the city was again an “important Jewish centre”. This ended in the 1920s when, following the mass migration of Jews to Palestine and Balfour’s promise to establish “a national home for Jews in Palestine”, riots started throughout Palestine and Gazan Jews fled once again. In both cases, violence was the result of European colonial interference, not of inherent religious or cultural differences. As expressed in the Palestinian letter “To Our Other”: “It is Zionism that has stood in the way of life, common life, on the basis of freedom and fairness.”
Some recognise the above and understand that Jews and Palestinians can coexist in a dezionised land but fear that in this specific case—over 76 years of oppression—it will prove impossible for previous oppressors and victims to live together. Feelings of supremacy on the one hand and of revenge on the other are to be expected. Interestingly, historical cases of decolonisation seem to reveal a pattern: when the balance of forces tips in favour of the indigenous, a transition that is more or less rough happens, a large number of settlers leave and those willing to let go of colonial privileges remain in peace. In other words, history shows that although the process of liberation can be violent, the liberation actually ends, not increases, violence between previous enemies.
Kenya is one such example. The Mau Mau uprising began in the early 1950s and was a significant and violent resistance movement against British colonial rule. After years of unrest and increasing pressure, the British government was forced to negotiate the independence of Kenya with the native liberation movement. The new state promoted a policy of forgiveness and reassured settlers that they could stay and contribute as equals. Many settlers left, fearing reprisals. Those who stayed had to relinquish privileges, particularly regarding land and resource redistribution, but there were zero cases of large-scale revenge.
The Évian Accords that ended the French colonisation of Algeria stated that Europeans could depart, remain as foreigners, or take Algerian citizenship. In his article “The Liberation of Palestine and the Fate of the Israelis”, Eitan Bronstein Aparicio explains that following the announcement: “A violent terrorist organisation named OAS (Organisation Armée Secrète or “Secret Army Organisation”) emerged and caused many casualties, mainly Algerians but also anti-colonial French, in an attempt to prevent the liberation of Algeria.”
This violence subsided within two months. After which, Aparicio continues: “Most [settlers] chose to leave Algeria. They ran away in panic, out of fear of the day their domination would be over. But in fact, there was no real existential threat to them. They left because they were captive in their own colonial identity. In other words, they could not imagine a situation in which they would live in equality with the Algerians. And they paid a huge price for being uprooted from their home due to their own occupier mentality … [While] 200,000 French decided to stay and live in the liberated Algeria. From their testimonies, we learn that they saw Algeria as their home and had no reason to leave.”
The end of apartheid in South Africa followed the same pattern. The negotiations between the apartheid government and the African National Congress (ANC) were accompanied by considerable violence and unrest, including clashes between rival political groups, police crackdowns and incidents like the Boipatong massacre and the assassination of Chris Hani, a prominent ANC leader. The first democratic elections, however, were marked by a high turnout. The government enacted decolonial policies such as Black Economic Empowerment and land reforms that stripped settlers of a number of their privileges, and settlers who chose to remain as citizens did so peacefully.
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission also provided an interesting model, investigating past abuses and allowing perpetrators of human rights violations who provided full disclosure of their actions and demonstrated that their crimes were politically motivated (truth) to apply for amnesty (reconciliation), thus judging the colonial political programme that had caused the crimes rather than the human tools it had used to do so.
Other cases of decolonisation seem to follow the same pattern, showing that what we need to fear is not the dismantling of the colonial Israel state or the establishment of a democratic Palestinian state but the unfolding of the transitionary period between them. This danger can be minimised, or even averted, by learning from and improving on the South Africa and Kenya models when the Palestinian liberation movement and their Israeli partners for decolonisation and peace work together on it.
The colonised have made it clear, decade after decade, that a democratic state is what we want to see from the river to the sea. They must work to make this vision even clearer to both friend and foe. We invite our other—today’s colonisers—to “upgrade from settlers to citizens”, as our Israeli comrade Kitri beautifully expressed, and to join us in our common fight for freedom for all.
“[We were led] to believe we could not live without the nation-state, lest we not only be denied its privileges but also find ourselves dispossessed in the way of the permanent minority. The nation made the immigrant a settler and the settler a perpetrator. The nation made the local a native and the native a perpetrator, too. In this new history, everyone is colonised—settler and native, perpetrator and victim, majority and minority. Once we learn this history, we might prefer to be survivors instead.” — “Neither Settler Nor Native”, Mahmood Mamdani.
Seventy-six years of occupation, ethnic cleansing and settler-colonisation leading up to today’s genocide in Gaza cannot disappear overnight. In light of this, does the historical Palestinian and anti-Zionist Jewish vision for a single democratic state where Palestinians and previous Israelis coexist make any sense? How would such a state guarantee the security of its citizens—wouldn’t previous oppressors and victims be at each other’s throats?
Zionism claims that Jews have always been and will always be persecuted. Accordingly, it presents a model for a state exclusive to Jews as the only solution and promotes this apartheid throughout the world by taking advantage of the long history of European anti-Semitism to encourage Jewish immigration to Palestine to leave their societies, cleansing non-Jews from Palestine using different means of violence and even supporting similar identitarian projects in Algeria, Sudan, Lebanon, Syria and other countries. In other words, Zionism claims that violence is inherent to having different identities and that separation is the only solution. The Palestinian liberation movement, on the other hand, has historically declared that violence in the region is the outcome of an oppressive settler colonial project and that dismantling it is the solution.
Who is right? Could a democratic state guarantee peace and security for all its citizens? And what do historical cases of colonisation and decolonisation have to teach us?
Dismantling colonial relations of power, establishing the legitimacy of the democratic state
In Ghassan Kanafani’s Returning to Haifa, the Palestinian child raised by Israeli settlers ended up joining the occupation forces. One could also easily imagine a settler’s son raised by Palestinians joining the resistance. This shows that violence, both the occupiers’ and the occupied’s, results from a political structure rather than any inherent qualities. The fact that over 90 per cent of Jewish Israelis side with the genocide in Gaza and that most Palestinians side with armed resistance is the result of colonial relations of power that were imposed by a colonial state. In other words, the role of the decolonial democratic state is not to “inherit” a cohesive society but to build and develop cohesion within it. In the words of Frantz Fanon: “Decolonisation brings a natural rhythm into existence … Decolonisation is the veritable creation of new men.” This required understanding how the settler state imposed colonial relations of power and then determining what policies would dismantle them. The democratic state is a democratising state.
For example, the state will grant Palestinians the rights that the Zionist state had deprived them of, particularly the right of return and the right to compensation, without being unjust to Jews. It will implement a model that would be fair to all, regardless of socio-economic status. It will abrogate racist laws such as the Basic Law or Citizenship Law, ensuring that all are totally equal before the law, and will criminalise political Zionism and all kinds of settler colonial ideologies. Instead of having different school curricula for Jews and non-Jews, it will unify the curriculum and will make sure that universal civic values replace Zionist values in it. At the socio-economic level, it will establish a comprehensive safety net with universal free education, universal health care and full equality in hiring and wages, closing today’s income, poverty and education gaps. Previous war crimes will also have to be investigated, although the mechanisms will need to be determined by the future citizens of that state—both Palestinians and their Israeli partners.
The state will also have a monopoly on violence, which includes disarming segments of the population that are currently armed. To quote Ner Kitri in his article, “The transition from a Jewish state to true democracy will benefit all”, it will use this monopoly to “protect its citizens’ lives rather than colonial privileges.” Finally, the state will commit not to use its armed forces for expansionist purposes as Israel historically has. As in the cases of Kenya, South Africa and Algeria, which we will discuss in more detail below, deportation will not be on the table. Israelis who feel a genuine connection to the land (be it for religious, cultural or other reasons) will enjoy life as equals in a dezionised Palestine, while those who choose to leave will be able to do so peacefully.
By eliminating colonial privileges while guaranteeing rights to all, the new Palestinian state will establish and solidify its legitimacy in the eyes of its society. Crucially, instead of legitimising its existence on the basis of representing sectarian interests, it will do so on the basis of its functional capacity to administer the affairs of its society and to guarantee its citizens’ rights—rights that Israel denies Palestinians and failed to deliver to Jews. This change—this decolonisation, in the fullest sense of the word—will signal a rupture with Zionism and the global colonial project. The result will be a society where tribal identities will melt away, and citizens will not merely “coexist” but actually live together, the two previous demographic groups forming a single “mosaic of life”, as Ilan Pappe expressed it.
This said—is this a realistic vision of what could happen? What does the history of Palestine, as well as historical cases of decolonisation, have to teach us?
Violence under colonisation and after it: Historical examples
Palestine has always been the home of Christians, Muslims, Jews, Bahai and observers of many different religions who lived together in peace. Before colonial Zionists, Palestine welcomed non-Palestinians such as Kurds, Armenians, Circassians and European Jews. For example, the Zionist education initiative “TBTN” indicates that there was an: “Important and vital Jewish community in Gaza during the early Muslim period” and that “the Jewish community experienced a period of prosperity under Ottoman rule.” TBTN explains this peace was disturbed on two occasions: First, in 1799, when Jews fled Gaza ahead of Napoleon’s invasion of Palestine: “Marking the temporary end of a Jewish presence in the area.” These Gazans returned in the 19th century and the city was again an “important Jewish centre”. This ended in the 1920s when, following the mass migration of Jews to Palestine and Balfour’s promise to establish “a national home for Jews in Palestine”, riots started throughout Palestine and Gazan Jews fled once again. In both cases, violence was the result of European colonial interference, not of inherent religious or cultural differences. As expressed in the Palestinian letter “To Our Other”: “It is Zionism that has stood in the way of life, common life, on the basis of freedom and fairness.”
Some recognise the above and understand that Jews and Palestinians can coexist in a dezionised land but fear that in this specific case—over 76 years of oppression—it will prove impossible for previous oppressors and victims to live together. Feelings of supremacy on the one hand and of revenge on the other are to be expected. Interestingly, historical cases of decolonisation seem to reveal a pattern: when the balance of forces tips in favour of the indigenous, a transition that is more or less rough happens, a large number of settlers leave and those willing to let go of colonial privileges remain in peace. In other words, history shows that although the process of liberation can be violent, the liberation actually ends, not increases, violence between previous enemies.
Kenya is one such example. The Mau Mau uprising began in the early 1950s and was a significant and violent resistance movement against British colonial rule. After years of unrest and increasing pressure, the British government was forced to negotiate the independence of Kenya with the native liberation movement. The new state promoted a policy of forgiveness and reassured settlers that they could stay and contribute as equals. Many settlers left, fearing reprisals. Those who stayed had to relinquish privileges, particularly regarding land and resource redistribution, but there were zero cases of large-scale revenge.
The Évian Accords that ended the French colonisation of Algeria stated that Europeans could depart, remain as foreigners, or take Algerian citizenship. In his article “The Liberation of Palestine and the Fate of the Israelis”, Eitan Bronstein Aparicio explains that following the announcement: “A violent terrorist organisation named OAS (Organisation Armée Secrète or “Secret Army Organisation”) emerged and caused many casualties, mainly Algerians but also anti-colonial French, in an attempt to prevent the liberation of Algeria.”
This violence subsided within two months. After which, Aparicio continues: “Most [settlers] chose to leave Algeria. They ran away in panic, out of fear of the day their domination would be over. But in fact, there was no real existential threat to them. They left because they were captive in their own colonial identity. In other words, they could not imagine a situation in which they would live in equality with the Algerians. And they paid a huge price for being uprooted from their home due to their own occupier mentality … [While] 200,000 French decided to stay and live in the liberated Algeria. From their testimonies, we learn that they saw Algeria as their home and had no reason to leave.”
The end of apartheid in South Africa followed the same pattern. The negotiations between the apartheid government and the African National Congress (ANC) were accompanied by considerable violence and unrest, including clashes between rival political groups, police crackdowns and incidents like the Boipatong massacre and the assassination of Chris Hani, a prominent ANC leader. The first democratic elections, however, were marked by a high turnout. The government enacted decolonial policies such as Black Economic Empowerment and land reforms that stripped settlers of a number of their privileges, and settlers who chose to remain as citizens did so peacefully.
The Truth and Reconciliation Commission also provided an interesting model, investigating past abuses and allowing perpetrators of human rights violations who provided full disclosure of their actions and demonstrated that their crimes were politically motivated (truth) to apply for amnesty (reconciliation), thus judging the colonial political programme that had caused the crimes rather than the human tools it had used to do so.
Other cases of decolonisation seem to follow the same pattern, showing that what we need to fear is not the dismantling of the colonial Israel state or the establishment of a democratic Palestinian state but the unfolding of the transitionary period between them. This danger can be minimised, or even averted, by learning from and improving on the South Africa and Kenya models when the Palestinian liberation movement and their Israeli partners for decolonisation and peace work together on it.
The colonised have made it clear, decade after decade, that a democratic state is what we want to see from the river to the sea. They must work to make this vision even clearer to both friend and foe. We invite our other—today’s colonisers—to “upgrade from settlers to citizens”, as our Israeli comrade Kitri beautifully expressed, and to join us in our common fight for freedom for all.
“[We were led] to believe we could not live without the nation-state, lest we not only be denied its privileges but also find ourselves dispossessed in the way of the permanent minority. The nation made the immigrant a settler and the settler a perpetrator. The nation made the local a native and the native a perpetrator, too. In this new history, everyone is colonised—settler and native, perpetrator and victim, majority and minority. Once we learn this history, we might prefer to be survivors instead.” — “Neither Settler Nor Native”, Mahmood Mamdani.
