The Dome of the Rock in the al-Aqsa compound in the old city of Jerusalem. Photograph: Getty Images
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Yearning for the same land

There is nothing in the idea of Zionism that leads inexorably to Jewish settlements on the West Bank. And a one-state solution to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict would be the worst of all worlds.

I write regularly on Israel and the Middle East, but there is one word apparently central to the topic I use only rarely: Zionism. That is because the word has become so misunderstood, so freighted with excess baggage, that it has become all but impossible to deploy it without extensive explanation and qualification. Most of the time, it is best avoided.

Part of the trouble is that a single variant – right-wing Zionism – has come to stand for the whole. Many otherwise well-informed people will reserve the word Zionist for, say, militant West Bank settlers, implying that Israel’s own anti-occupation or peace movements are non- Zionist or even anti-Zionist. That is a false assumption resting on a false premise, for most Zionists use the term to describe not the expansionist desire to control the entire biblical land of Israel, but the more modest claim that there should be a Jewish national home within historic Palestine. That’s all Zionism amounts to. As to the exact size and shape of that home, prescriptions vary from one Zionist to another.

Hence the observation by the Israeli novelist and long-time peacenik Amos Oz that the term Zionism makes most sense when preceded by a modifier, as in “secular Zionism”, “religious Zionism”, “left-wing Zionism” or “rightist Zionism”. Zionism is merely the family name: you need to know a person’s first name to know who they really are.

So, yes, there are hawkish Zionists, heirs of the revisionist tradition of Vladimir Jabotinsky, who are territorial maximalists, eager to fly the Israeli flag over all of the West Bank, which they would call Judaea and Samaria. But there are also left-leaning Zionists who believe the original movement’s goal was the liberation of people, not land; that the security, viability and even the ethical character of the Jewish state matter more than its size – and who are therefore not just willing but eager to see territory now occupied by Israel ceded to become sovereign Palestinian land. These people are no less Zionist than their right-wing opponents. Indeed, they can claim to be the true Zionists, in that the 45-yearlong occupation is jeopardising the founding Zionist goal of a Jewish, democratic state.

To distinguish between left and right Zionisms in this way has become unfashionable. More modish is the view, presented robustly on these pages by Geoffrey Wheatcroft, that any difference is and was cosmetic,that Israel’s founders were all equally ruthless towards the Palestinians they dispossessed, regardless of their nominal ideological stripe. Puncturing the myth of left Zionism is a favourite sport in anti-Zionist circles, particular pleasure attaching to the exposure of brutalities committed by the heroes of labour Zionism, with Israel’s first prime minister, David Ben-Gurion, top of the list.

What should today’s left-leaning supporter of that basic Zionist proposition – that the Jews, like every other people, have a right to self-determination in the historic land of their birth – do in the face of such evidence? Should they recoil in horror and abandon the entire Zionist idea as morally tainted?

The first step is surely to face the historical record with honesty. It is no good to pretend, as Israel’s supporters did for several decades, thatthe violent dispossession of the 1947-49 perioddid not happen. It did and there needs to be a reckoning. Instead of seeking to ban all public recognition of the Naqba, as the Knesset did last year, Israel needs to look plainly at the circumstances of its birth and understand why Palestinians regard that event as a catastrophe.

That process has begun: what’s more, the work of revising the original Zionist narrative, excavating the truth of 1948 from the archives, was done by Israel’s own “new historians”. Of course it needs to go further. Several years ago the Israeli daily Haaretz aired a proposal for a national memorial day to mark the Arab dispossession, along with a project to name and commemorate each of the Arab villages that was left empty by its inhabitants, who had either fled or been expelled. The idea found few takers.

And yet to admit that bloody past need not lead inexorably to the negation of Israel’s right to exist, as some Israelis fear. Once again, it is Oz who explains it best. He argues that, besides the legal right bestowed by the UN’s 1947 resolution to partition Palestine into two states, one Jewish and one Arab, Israel had a moral right – the right of the drowning man. Such a man is entitled to grab hold of a piece of driftwoodeven if another man is already holding it. The drowning man can even make the other man share it, by force, if necessary. His moral right ends, however, the moment he pushes the other man into the sea.

The Jewish people, scythed by the Holocaust and after centuries of persecution, were gasping for breath in 1948; their need for a home was as great as that of any people in history. They had the right to act, even though the cost for another people, the Palestinians, was immense. The turning point came, however, after 1967, when Israelis began to settle in the newly occupied West Bank and Gaza. Now Israel was denying the Palestinians the possibility of a sovereign national home, pushing them off the driftwood that fate had ordained they share.

Some like to argue that the post-1967 occupation was the inevitable consequence of 1948, that the latter logically entailed the former. If that were true, then opponents of the current occupation would have to renounce their belief in the Zionist enterprise, reluctantly conceding that it was morally doomed from the start. Yet there is no such logical entailment. The initial decision to allow extreme religious nationalists to settle in the West Bank and Gaza was not the ineluctable consequence of Zionism – as the Israeli right argued then and now. It was not necessary, but utterly contingent, a political choice made by the then-ruling Labour Party that was fatefully, calamitously wrong. (Ben Gurion insisted that, stirring though it was to see those freshly conquered lands, Israel would have to give them back.)

History might have taken a different turn, on both the Israeli and Palestinian sides. As late as 1988, when the Palestine Liberation Organisation made its epochal shift, recognising Israel and foreseeing a future Palestine alongside it, there was no irresistible logic stopping Israel from grasping that opportunity, ending the occupation and the settlement project and constructing a two-state reality. The same is true of Oslo in 1993 and Camp David in 2000. Each time, human choices on both sides were to blame – along with the cruel fate that cut Yitzhak Rabin and Ariel Sharon down at just the point when they understood, and were apparently ready to act on, the case for partition.

There is no denying that it has been hard for progressives to stomach the reality of Israeli policy over decades and that it has pushed the two-state solution ever further out of reach, the dense latticework of settlement making eventual disentanglement a daunting task. Yet it’s a foolish logic which says that because something is this way, it could never have been any other way. If two states now appears a vanishing prospect, that is because of bad decisions that could have been otherwise – not because of something immutable in the Zionist idea.

Which brings us to those said to be abandoning the two-state goal. Perhaps the best-known volte-face came from the late Tony Judt, who floated in a 2003 essay, “Israel: the Alternative”, the notion of a single, binational state encompassing the terrain that is now Israel, the West Bank and Gaza. Yet Judt’s apparent conversion was powered less by the theoretical flaws of Zionism than by an exasperated despair with the political situation. It was more pragmatic than ideological, a reaction to the collective failure to pursue a two-state solution.

In fact, the very manner of Judt’s intervention was pragmatic. He and I met shortly after his essay had appeared in the New York Review of Books. We were from similar backgrounds, both raised in London, from self-described socialist-Zionist youth movements, and I had a lot of questions. One centred on the mood of deep, occasionally ugly antagonism towards Israel and Zionism that had then developed in Britain and Europe, in the heat of the second intifada. Given that climate, I asked if he would have published his article in the London Review of Books. To my surprise, he said he would not. He did not want to join a stampede already trampling on the Zionist idea; it was the complacency of the American debate he sought to shake. He aimed to reveal the baleful destination towards which Israel and Zionism were heading, believing that fear of the one-state prospect might shock US Jews in particular into action. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but I did not leave that encounter believing that Judt had abandoned entirely the attachments of his youth.

The funny thing is, much Palestinian advocacy of a single state strikes me the same way – as a cry of despair, or else a threat: “See what we’ll start demanding if we don’t get our own state?” The Palestinian thinkers to whom I’ve spoken on this subject exhibit little enthusiasm for the one-state idea except as a tactic to force Israel to pursue two states in earnest.

That makes sense, because the one-state solution is nothing of the sort. It is the lose-lose scenario, in which two peoples who have long yearned for self-determination are both denied. It gives no one, neither Palestinians nor Jews, what they want, namely the chance to be master of their destiny. It suggests that two nations that could not negotiate a divorce should get married instead. It demands that two peoples that have fought bloodily for nearly a century should now live in harmony. It asks of Jews and Arabs the very thing that proved impossible for Czechs and Slovaks – to share a single state. If those mild-mannered central Europeans couldn’t manage it, why do we think Jews and Palestinians would fare better?

The very last people who should want it are those who claim to be pro-Palestinian. Surely it is obvious who will be the weaker partner in this binational equation: economically and by every other measure, Israeli Jews will be the stronger party. Little wonder that the voices agitating loudest for one state these days are on the aggressive Israeli right. Its only appeal is its untried novelty. It is a diversion from the hard, grinding pursuit of the only outcome that can bring a measure of justice – incomplete, to be sure – to these two peoples, fated to seek their dreams in the same land. It is true that the two-state solution, like Zionism itself, has not worked out the way the dreamers hoped. But the fault lies in the execution, not the idea.

This article first appeared in the 23 July 2012 issue of the New Statesman, Israel: the future

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Why Jeremy Corbyn is a new leader for the New Times

In an inspired election campaign, he confounded his detractors and showed that he was – more than any other leader – in tune with the times.

There have been two great political turning points in postwar Britain. The first was in 1945 with the election of the Attlee government. Driven by a popular wave of determination that peacetime Britain would look very different from the mass unemployment of the 1930s, and built on the foundations of the solidaristic spirit of the war, the Labour government ushered in full employment, the welfare state (including the NHS) and nationalisation of the basic industries, notably coal and the railways. It was a reforming government the like of which Britain had not previously experienced in the first half of the 20th century. The popular support enjoyed by the reforms was such that the ensuing social-democratic consensus was to last until the end of the 1970s, with Tory as well as Labour governments broadly operating within its framework.

During the 1970s, however, opposition to the social-democratic consensus grew steadily, led by the rise of the radical right, which culminated in 1979 in the election of Margaret Thatcher’s first government. In the process, the Thatcherites redefined the political debate, broadening it beyond the rather institutionalised and truncated forms that it had previously taken: they conducted a highly populist campaign that was for individualism and against collectivism; for the market and against the state; for liberty and against trade unionism; for law and order and against crime.

These ideas were dismissed by the left as just an extreme version of the same old Toryism, entirely failing to recognise their novelty and therefore the kind of threat they posed. The 1979 election, followed by Ronald Reagan’s US victory in 1980, began the neoliberal era, which remained hegemonic in Britain, and more widely in the West, for three decades. Tory and Labour governments alike operated within the terms and by the logic of neoliberalism. The only thing new about New Labour was its acquiescence in neoliberalism; even in this sense, it was not new but derivative of Thatcherism.

The financial crisis of 2007-2008 marked the beginning of the end of neoliberalism. Unlike the social-democratic consensus, which was undermined by the ideological challenge posed by Thatcherism, neoliberalism was brought to its knees not by any ideological alternative – such was the hegemonic sway of neoliberalism – but by the biggest financial crisis since 1931. This was the consequence of the fragility of a financial sector left to its own devices as a result of sweeping deregulation, and the corrupt and extreme practices that this encouraged.

The origin of the crisis lay not in the Labour government – complicit though it was in the neoliberal indulgence of the financial sector – but in the deregulation of the banking sector on both sides of the Atlantic in the 1980s. Neoliberalism limped on in the period after 2007-2008 but as real wages stagnated, recovery proved a mirage, and, with the behaviour of the bankers exposed, a deep disillusionment spread across society. During 2015-16, a populist wave of opposition to the establishment engulfed much of Europe and the United States.

Except at the extremes – Greece perhaps being the most notable example – the left was not a beneficiary: on the contrary it, too, was punished by the people in the same manner as the parties of the mainstream right were. The reason was straightforward enough. The left was tarnished with the same brush as the right: almost everywhere social-democratic parties, albeit to varying degrees, had pursued neoliberal policies. Bill Clinton and Tony Blair became – and presented themselves as – leaders of neoliberalism and as enthusiastic advocates of a strategy of hyper-globalisation, which resulted in growing inequality. In this fundamental respect these parties were more or less ­indistinguishable from the right.

***

The first signs of open revolt against New Labour – the representatives and evangelists of neoliberal ideas in the Labour Party – came in the aftermath of the 2015 ­election and the entirely unpredicted and overwhelming victory of Jeremy Corbyn in the leadership election. Something was happening. Yet much of the left, along with the media, summarily dismissed it as a revival of far-left entryism; that these were for the most part no more than a bunch of Trots. There is a powerful, often overwhelming, tendency to see new phenomena in terms of the past. The new and unfamiliar is much more difficult to understand than the old and familiar: it requires serious intellectual effort and an open and inquiring mind. The left is not alone in this syndrome. The right condemned the 2017 Labour Party manifesto as a replica of Labour’s 1983 manifesto. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

That Corbyn had been a veteran of the far left for so long lent credence to the idea that he was merely a retread of a failed past: there was nothing new about him. In a brilliant election campaign, Corbyn not only gave the lie to this but also demonstrated that he, far more than any of the other party leaders, was in tune with the times, the candidate of modernity.

Crises, great turning points, new conjunctures, new forms of consciousness are by definition incubators of the new. That is one of the great sources of their fascination. We can now see the line of linkage between the thousands of young people who gave Corbyn his overwhelming victory in the leadership election in 2015 and the millions of young people who were enthused by his general election campaign in 2017. It is no accident that it was the young rather than the middle-aged or the seniors who were in the vanguard: the young are the bearers and products of the new, they are the lightning conductors of change. Their elders, by contrast, are steeped in old ways of thinking and doing, having lived through and internalised the values and norms of neoliberalism for more than 30 years.

Yet there is another, rather more important aspect to how we identify the new, namely the way we see politics and how politics is conceived. Electoral politics is a highly institutionalised and tribal activity. There have been, as I argued earlier, two great turning points in postwar politics: the social-democratic era ushered in by the 1945 Labour government and the neoliberal era launched by the Tory government in 1979.

The average Tory MP or activist, no doubt, would interpret history primarily in terms of Tory and Labour governments; Labour MPs and activists would do similarly. But this is a superficial reading of politics based on party labels which ignores the deeper forces that shape different eras, generate crises and result in new paradigms.

Alas, most political journalists and columnists are afflicted with the same inability to distinguish the wood (an understanding of the deeper historical forces at work) from the trees (the day-to-day manoeuvring of parties and politicians). In normal times, this may not be so important, because life continues for the most part as before, but at moments of great paradigmatic change it is absolutely critical.

If the political journalists, and indeed the PLP, had understood the deeper forces and profound changes now at work, they would never have failed en masse to rise above the banal and predictable in their assessment of Corbyn. Something deep, indeed, is happening. A historical era – namely, that of neoliberalism – is in its death throes. All the old assumptions can no longer be assumed. We are in new territory: we haven’t been here before. The smart suits long preferred by New Labour wannabes are no longer a symbol of success and ambition but of alienation from, and rejection of, those who have been left behind; who, from being ignored and dismissed, are in the process of moving to the centre of the political stage.

Corbyn, you may recall, was instantly rejected and ridiculed for his sartorial style, and yet we can now see that, with a little smartening, it conveys an authenticity and affinity with the times that made his style of dress more or less immune from criticism during the general election campaign. Yet fashion is only a way to illustrate a much deeper point.

The end of neoliberalism, once so hegemonic, so commanding, is turning Britain on its head. That is why – extraordinary when you think about it – all the attempts by the right to dismiss Corbyn as a far-left extremist failed miserably, even proved counterproductive, because that was not how people saw him, not how they heard him. He was speaking a language and voicing concerns that a broad cross-section of the public could understand and identify with.

***

The reason a large majority of the PLP was opposed to Corbyn, desperate to be rid of him, was because they were still living in the neoliberal era, still slaves to its ideology, still in thrall to its logic. They knew no other way of thinking or political being. They accused Corbyn of being out of time when in fact it was most of the PLP – not to mention the likes of Mandelson and Blair – who were still imprisoned in an earlier historical era. The end of neoliberalism marks the death of New Labour. In contrast, Corbyn is aligned with the world as it is rather than as it was. What a wonderful irony.

Corbyn’s success in the general election requires us to revisit some of the assumptions that have underpinned much political commentary over the past several years. The turmoil in Labour ranks and the ridiculing of Corbyn persuaded many, including on the left, that Labour stood on the edge of the abyss and that the Tories would continue to dominate for long into the future. With Corbyn having seized the political initiative, the Tories are now cast in a new light. With Labour in the process of burying its New Labour legacy and addressing a very new conjuncture, then the end of neoliberalism poses a much more serious challenge to the Tories than it does the Labour Party.

The Cameron/Osborne leadership was still very much of a neoliberal frame of mind, not least in their emphasis on austerity. It would appear that, in the light of the new popular mood, the government will now be forced to abandon austerity. Theresa May, on taking office, talked about a return to One Nation Toryism and the need to help the worst-off, but that has never moved beyond rhetoric: now she is dead in the water.

Meanwhile, the Tories are in fast retreat over Brexit. They held a referendum over the EU for narrowly party reasons which, from a national point of view, was entirely unnecessary. As a result of the Brexit vote, the Cameron leadership was forced to resign and the Brexiteers took de facto command. But now, after the election, the Tories are in headlong retreat from anything like a “hard Brexit”. In short, they have utterly lost control of the political agenda and are being driven by events. Above all, they are frightened of another election from which Corbyn is likely to emerge as leader with a political agenda that will owe nothing to neoliberalism.

Apart from Corbyn’s extraordinary emergence as a leader who understands – and is entirely comfortable with – the imperatives of the new conjuncture and the need for a new political paradigm, the key to Labour’s transformed position in the eyes of the public was its 2017 manifesto, arguably its best and most important since 1945. You may recall that for three decades the dominant themes were marketisation, privatisation, trickle-down economics, the wastefulness and inefficiencies of the state, the incontrovertible case for hyper-globalisation, and bankers and financiers as the New Gods.

Labour’s manifesto offered a very different vision: a fairer society, bearing down on inequality, a more redistributive tax system, the centrality of the social, proper funding of public services, nationalisation of the railways and water industry, and people as the priority rather than business and the City. The title captured the spirit – For the Many Not the Few. Or, to put in another way, After Neoliberalism. The vision is not yet the answer to the latter question, but it represents the beginnings of an answer.

Ever since the late 1970s, Labour has been on the defensive, struggling to deal with a world where the right has been hegemonic. We can now begin to glimpse a different possibility, one in which the left can begin to take ownership – at least in some degree – of a new, post-neoliberal political settlement. But we should not underestimate the enormous problems that lie in wait. The relative economic prospects for the country are far worse than they have been at any time since 1945. As we saw in the Brexit vote, the forces of conservatism, nativism, racism and imperial nostalgia remain hugely powerful. Not only has the country rejected continued membership of the European Union, but, along with the rest of the West, it is far from reconciled with the new world that is in the process of being created before our very eyes, in which the developing world will be paramount and in which China will be the global leader.

Nonetheless, to be able to entertain a sense of optimism about our own country is a novel experience after 30 years of being out in the cold. No wonder so many are feeling energised again.

This article first appeared in the 15 June 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn: revenge of the rebel

Martin Jacques is the former editor of Marxism Today. 

This article first appeared in the 15 June 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Corbyn: revenge of the rebel

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