Israel's policy is an invitation to disaster

The country needs to remember that self-defence is not the same as smart defence.

So much has changed in the Middle East in the last couple of years. But it is uncanny how the events of the last week in Gaza have echoed the last war in Gaza – in 2008. Then, as now, US elections were recently behind us, Israeli elections were on the horizon (then Binyamin Netanyahu was the challenger, though, as now, Ehud Barak was Defence Minister), and the conflict was not predicted by the experts. Then, as now, the debates about "proportionality" were an offence to our intelligence. There is another parallel. After the killing and shelling is over, both Israeli and Hamas leaders will think they have won. In the Middle East, history repeats itself first as tragedy, and then as tragedy.

Labour shadow foreign secretary Douglas Alexander was ahead of the government in the UK in calling for a ceasefire, and for the UN Secretary General to visit the region to broker one. It is an irony that the world is holding its breath for the diplomatic effort – and restraint – of President Morsi in Egypt for the ceasefire that could save lives. The contrast with 2008, when President Mubarak was alleged by Israeli politicians and thinkers to be privately supportive, is striking.

In 2008, the phrase of the moment from the Israeli government in respect of rocket attacks was "intolerable". And if you visit Sderot, and talk to people there, life under the shadow of rocket attacks is miserable. But self-defence is not the same as smart defence. Certainly not if it compounds the problem. And if you believe that the fundamental problem for Israel is the diminishing prospect of an independent, viable, contiguous (West Bank plus Gaza) Palestinian state, whose creation triggers the normalisation of relations with the whole Arab world as per the Arab Peace Initiative, then the resort to war in Gaza is dangerous in at least three ways. The loss of life and property fuels hatred. The bombing marginalises the Palestinian Authority, and its President, who are Israel’s notional negotiating partners. And it entrenches the separate legitimacy, authority and status of the "government of Hamas" (apparently Ehud Barak used this phrase) in Gaza. It only makes sense if a two-state solution is dead and buried.

In 2012, the war probably also complicates the drive to build an effective coalition to heave Assad out of power in Syria, which in turn strengthens Iran. Little wonder a much decorated Israeli military chief, Efraim Halevy, wrote in the Financial Times yesterday about Israel needing a strategy not a war.

The truth is that the policy of "Gaza last" – pretend it doesn’t exist, ignore the political and socioeconomic realities on the ground, wish Hamas away – is an invitation to disaster. The policy of siege has funded Hamas through the tax they impose on the transfer of goods through the tunnels, while it has held back the people from the economic and social fulfillment that so many fervently seek. (In that context, note the promise of $250m for reconstruction from Qatar just a couple of weeks ago). Neither siege nor bombing is going to topple Hamas. In fact, Israel depends on Hamas to exercise security control in Gaza, and control the rockets from Islamic Jihad and other more radical groups. Egypt needs Hamas to control the border into Sinai, where various extreme groups want to mount attacks on Israel.

I sincerely hope that further loss of life is averted. Foreign policy is meant to be about stopping people killing each other. But there needs to be more. Without radical thinking, the two-state ideal will be gone – if we haven’t passed the point of no return already.

That means Palestinian politics needs to be reconstituted, across the West Bank/Gaza divide. The global consensus on what a two-state solution means – 1967 borders etc – needs to become the parameters around which negotiations are structured. The Arab world, led by a newly pivotal Egypt, needs to be played in (it is not properly represented by the Quartet). And to repeat something I tweeted last week (and I noticed John McCain mused about this too), President Obama needs his own Presidential envoy, and who better than Bill Clinton. Some people thought this was frivolous. It is deadly serious.

In January 2009, I spent three days at the UN authoring the peace resolution. Its central promises – stop the flow of arms and open the border crossings – have not been fulfilled. There are no winners from that.

This piece originally appeared on David Miliband's blog.

 

A Palestinian man inspects a damaged building following overnight Israeli air strikes on the southern Gaza Strip town of Khan Yunis. Photograph: Getty Images.

David Miliband is the  President and CEO of the International Rescue Committee
He was foreign secretary from 2007 until 2010 and MP for South Shields from 2001 until this year. 

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How Donald Trump is slouching towards the Republican nomination

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb.

In America, you can judge a crowd by its merchandise. Outside the Connecticut Convention Centre in Hartford, frail old men and brawny moms are selling “your Trump 45 football jerseys”, “your hats”, “your campaign buttons”. But the hottest item is a T-shirt bearing the slogan “Hillary sucks . . . but not like Monica!” and, on the back: “Trump that bitch!” Inside, beyond the checkpoint manned by the Transportation Security Administration and the secret service (“Good!” the man next to me says, when he sees the agents), is a family whose three kids, two of them girls, are wearing the Monica shirt.

Other people are content with the shirts they arrived in (“Waterboarding – baptising terrorists with freedom” and “If you don’t BLEED red, white and blue, take your bitch ass home!”). There are 80 chairs penned off for the elderly but everyone else is standing: guys in motorcycle and military gear, their arms folded; aspiring deal-makers, suited, on cellphones; giggling high-school fatsos, dressed fresh from the couch, grabbing M&M’s and Doritos from the movie-theatre-style concession stands. So many baseball hats; deep, bellicose chants of “Build the wall!” and “USA!”. (And, to the same rhythm, “Don-ald J!”)

A grizzled man in camouflage pants and combat boots, whose T-shirt – “Connecticut Militia III%” – confirms him as a member of the “patriot” movement, is talking to a zealous young girl in a short skirt, who came in dancing to “Uptown Girl”.

“Yeah, we were there for Operation American Spring,” he says. “Louis Farrakhan’s rally of hate . . .”

“And you’re a veteran?” she asks. “Thank you so much!”

Three hours will pass. A retired US marine will take the rostrum to growl, “God bless America – hoo-rah!”; “Uptown Girl” will play many more times (much like his speeches, Donald J’s playlist consists of a few items, repeated endlessly), before Trump finally looms in and asks the crowd: “Is this the greatest place on Earth?”

There was supposed to be a ceiling above which Trump’s popular support could not climb. Only a minority within a minority of Americans, it was assumed, could possibly be stupid enough to think a Trump presidency was a good idea. He won New Hampshire and South Carolina with over 30 per cent of the Republican vote, then took almost 46 per cent in Nevada. When he cleaned up on Super Tuesday in March, he was just shy of 50 per cent in Massachusetts; a week later, he took 47 per cent of the votes in Mississippi.

His rivals, who are useless individually, were meant to co-operate with each other and the national party to deny him the nomination. But Trump won four out of the five key states being contested on “Super-Duper Tuesday” on 15 March. Then, as talk turned to persuading and co-opting his delegates behind the scenes, Trump won New York with 60 per cent.

Now, the campaign is trying to present Trump as more “presidential”. According to his new manager, Paul Manafort, this requires him to appear in “more formal settings” – without, of course, diluting “the unique magic of Trump”. But whether or not he can resist denouncing the GOP and the “corrupt” primary system, and alluding to violence if he is baulked at at the convention, the new Trump will be much the same as the old.

Back in Hartford: “The Republicans wanna play cute with us, right? If I don’t make it, you’re gonna have millions of people that don’t vote for a Republican. They’re not gonna vote at all,” says Trump. “Hopefully that’s all, OK? Hopefully that’s all, but they’re very, very angry.”

This anger, which can supposedly be turned on anyone who gets in the way, has mainly been vented, so far, on the protesters who disrupt Trump’s rallies. “We’re not gonna be the dummies that lose all of our jobs now. We’re gonna be the smart ones. Oh, do you have one over there? There’s one of the dummies . . .”

There is a frenzied fluttering of Trump placards, off to his right. “Get ’em out! . . . Don’t hurt ’em – see how nice I am? . . . They really impede freedom of speech and it’s a disgrace. But the good news is, folks, it won’t be long. We’re just not taking it and it won’t be long.”

It is their removal by police, at Trump’s ostentatious behest, that causes the disruption, rather than the scarcely audible protesters. He seems to realise this, suddenly: “We should just let ’em . . . I’ll talk right over them, there’s no problem!” But it’s impossible to leave the protesters where they are, because it would not be safe. His crowd is too vicious.

Exit Trump, after exactly half an hour, inclusive of the many interruptions. His people seem uplifted but, out on the street, they are ambushed by a large counter-demonstration, with a booming drum and warlike banners and standards (“Black Lives Matter”; an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe, holding aloft Trump’s severed head). Here is the rest of the world, the real American world: young people, beautiful people, more female than male, every shade of skin colour. “F*** Donald Trump!” they chant.

After a horrified split-second, the Trump crowd, massively more numerous, rallies with “USA!” and – perplexingly, since one of the main themes of the speech it has just heard was the lack of jobs in Connecticut – “Get a job!” The two sides then mingle, unobstructed by police. Slanging matches break out that seem in every instance to humiliate the Trump supporter. “Go to college!” one demands. “Man, I am in college, I’m doin’ lovely!”

There is no violence, only this: some black boys are dancing, with liquid moves, to the sound of the drum. Four young Trump guys counter by stripping to their waists and jouncing around madly, their skin greenish-yellow under the street lights, screaming about the building of the wall. There was no alcohol inside; they’re drunk on whatever it is – the elixir of fascism, the unique magic of Trump. It’s a hyper but not at all happy drunk.

As with every other moment of the Trump campaign so far, it would have been merely some grade of the cringeworthy – the embarrassing, the revolting, the pitiful – were Trump not slouching closer and closer, with each of these moments, to his nomination. 

This article first appeared in the 28 April 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The new fascism