Category Archives: Anti-occupation

Who “only understands force”? On the limits of force in politics

The sudden, rapid and unanticipated collapse of Assad’s Ba’athist regime in Syria a few days ago is an historic episode that demonstrates the limitations of force in politics. A brutal regime that had crushed dissent for decades by using military and police violence, torture, incarceration and mass executions of opponents imploded in a matter of days. Yes, it did so in the face of an armed offensive by Hayat Tahrir al-Sham in the north of the country whose success soon prompted other armed rebels against the dictatorship to join in, notably the Southern Operations Room which seized control of Damascus. There were some battles on the roads to Aleppo, Hama, Homs and Damascus, but the key development was the melting away of the military might available to the regime. Soldiers stripped off their uniforms, abandoned their weapons and blended into the civilian population. The regime’s main ally, the Iranian government, evacuated its personnel because the Syrian government forces had no will to fight. The story here is that the seemingly formidable power of the regime vanished.

It is not surprising that some compared the regime’s collapse to the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, when German civilians demolished some of that symbol of the Soviet regime. These episodes in which regimes that rely on force and violent repression dissolve seem miraculous. Yet they are apprehensible according to theories of power that grasp that political power and obedience ultimately come from below, from the consent of those who are ruled. In Gene Sharpe’s approach to these theories, which were part of the playbook for the democratic movements of the Arab Spring, the emphasis is on non-violence as the appropriate strategy to bring down repressive regimes.

That was not quite the case in Syria, but the essence of the theory still pertains. Repressive regimes such as Assad’s dictatorship work only so long as the people believe the regime is to be feared and so long as the government’s agents believe that the people are afraid of them. Without the mantel of fear, statues of Assad, like the idols in Abraham’s father Terah’s shop, are just lumps of stone and metal. When the compact of fear fails for significant numbers of people, the repressive emperor has no clothes. The soldiers’ uniforms no longer signify that they command fear from the population, so they take them off and flee, afraid themselves that what they have done to others will be done to them. And hence the latest episode in the long struggle against Assad’s regime was relatively bloodless.

A truck pulls the head from the toppled statue of late Syrian president Hafez al-Assad through the streets of the captured Syrian city of Hama © MUHAMMAD HAJ KADOUR / AFP

Other autocratic regimes in the Arab world would do well to heed the warning about the limitations of violent repression and follow the example of those who have taken some steps towards democratic reform. But there is another regime in the region that relies on force and violent power, one which has never even sought to make itself legitimate in the eyes of its subjects. The Israeli occupation of Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza has at best offered some crumbs of its own economic prosperity to non-citizen Palestinians under its rule in return for acquiescence. It has never given them any grounds to consent to Israeli rule, to appropriation of land and resources, restrictions on movement, denial of rights, other than fear of the consequences of resistance, whether armed or non-violent.

The apartheid character of the Occupation becomes daily more evident, more nakedly an assertion of alleged Jewish rights and disregard for Palestinian rights. The Occupation regime becomes ever more dependent on bare force. Ironically, it is Israelis who tell each other that “they” (Palestinians, Arabs, Muslims) only understand force, while subjecting Palestinians to rule that will last only as long as occupied and occupier believe that brute force can sustain Occupation. “We will always live by sword,” repeats Netanyahu and as his words are echoed and enacted, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. As Palestinian historian Rashid Khalidi put it in a recent interview with Ha’aretz, when asked if Israel had a real opportunity to break out of the cycle of bloodletting: “It’s been the Iron Wall since Jabotinsky. Force and more force. You’ve been trying to impose a reality that has sent shock waves throughout the Middle East since the 1920s.”

The Israeli government’s response to the toppling of Assad’s regime has been a massive unleashing of military violence to destroy as much as possible of Syria’s military capacity. Israel has also occupied the demilitarized buffer zone between Israeli and Syrian positions established by the 1974 armistice agreement between the two countries. Other governments are opening channels of communication with the new rulers in Damascus, but the Israeli government assumes that Hayat Tahrir al-Sham and its partners will use military force against Israel if they have the means or let them fall into the hands of others who will, such as Hezbollah. We don’t have the luxury of others to get to know these people, an Israeli spokesperson tells Channel 4 news, so first we bomb them. He might as well add: we only understand force.

There is no guarantee of if or when force will cease to work as the compact between occupier and occupied. So far in this phase of violence since October 7th 2023, only a few Israelis such as Soul Behar have refused to put on their uniforms. Most are too afraid that what they have done to others will be done to them, a fear which has also been brought from other places where terrible things were done to their ancestors. Palestinians under Occupation have already shown that they are no longer afraid of the force wielded by the occupiers, notably at the start of the First Intifada when most of the resistance to Occupation was non-violent or unarmed. But what if more Israelis begin to see themselves as Palestinians see them, as inflicting force as violent, merciless and devastating as the Assads’ assaults on their own people? And what if more Palestinians who have survived the violence and are subject to Occupation can see that competing with Israeli violence is not a winning strategy? Assad’s regime has fallen because of the limits of force in politics. The Occupation will end for the same reason.

Refusal

Here is another extract from an autobiographical book I am writing about how my life has crossed paths with Israel-Palestine. In this passage I recount my refusal to serve in the in the Israeli army in the Palestinian Occupied Territories in 1995.

Having remained a temporary resident in Israel for as long as I could, I had delayed my compulsory service. By the time I became a citizen I was only required to serve three months, but I had postponed even that duty by going away for a year for my postdoctorate. In 1994 the army caught up with me again and I was due to serve in early 1995. It was already very clear in my mind that I would refuse to serve in the Occupied Territories, which would mean spending some time in military jail. There was no way I was going to become the military occupier of my Palestinian dialogue partners. I knew people who had been through the experience, especially Lev Grinberg, who had refused to serve in Lebanon, and Ofer Cassif, the first reservist to refuse to serve in the Occupied Territories during the intifada. Lev also put me in touch with other members of Yesh Gvul so I could hear from others, including one person who had become fairly well-known because the army insisted on calling him up again as soon as he was released, meaning he was given repeated sentences of imprisonment. I also read accounts by a couple of refuseniks who had been jailed. Having put off my service so long, I was already classed as a reservist, so I knew I would be locked up with other reservists, mostly people who had tried to evade service, not facing the scarier prospect of jail for regular recruits. It was, nonetheless, a worrying scenario, so I did not know how I would cope. Even up until the day I reported for duty at the local recruitment office in Jerusalem, I was trying to get through to an intelligence officer whose number I had been given by a university colleague who thought I might find an option there.

The evening before I had to report for duty I took quiet time to reflect on what I was about to do, turning to the pages of my book about Foucault for passages to strengthen my resolve:

Foreswear the dream of a perfect world in which all has been done and all is safe, but cherish the agonism of open strategic games in which everything remains to be done. Love your liberty, which you have when you can act and do so. Take care of yourself; know ‘yourself’ by transgressing your limits; practise liberty.[1]

It made sense to me at the time, realising I was the intended audience for my own book. Refusal would be the practice of my liberty, an option for action available to me. By refusing, I was transgressing the limits of the Zionist subject as which I had been constituted by my background and participation in Habonim-Dror, a Zionist youth movement. I would become a different self.

My brother came to the recruitment centre to see me off as I got onto a bus to the main recruitment camp, Bakum, the reception and sorting base in the centre of the country. The first stage was some form-filling, where I hesitated about refusing to sign some sort of declaration about agreeing to follow orders. I spent the rest of the day avoiding being recruited by any of the units looking for reliable new members – medics, military engineers, home front – by telling them I intended to find work abroad. At the end of the day I found myself with a large crowd of Russian-speakers, fed, given blankets and sent to sleep in tents. I did not sleep well, both because I had underestimated how cold it would be and because I was anxious about what faced me the next day. I was awake very early, found some hot water and took a shower before anyone else was awake.

We were organised into groups to walk down to the car park where buses were waiting, though we did not know where they were headed. I told the corporal in charge of my group that I would not get onto a bus going to the Occupied Territories. He told me not to worry, just to walk down with everyone else. When we got there, I saw a sign on the bus reading Bahad 4, a base which I knew was close to Ramallah and the settlement of Beit El. So, I refused to get on the bus. Over the next hour, I was variously cajoled and yelled at in an effort to get me on the bus. Someone told me that he worked on the base and also hated the settlers, but I did not need to have anything to do with them. Another person tried to make me afraid of what would happen to me in jail, telling me I would be made another prisoner’s bitch. An officer from the base grabbed my backpack and went to put it on the bus, which was distressing as I had borrowed it from my roommate. We tussled over the backpack and at one point I realised that if I let go, the officer would fall backwards, so I held on as I did not want to annoy him any further.

Eventually, another officer approached me, spoke to me gently, explained that he was in charge of the whole recruitment process that day, that if I refused to get on the bus I would be sent to jail, but then added that if I had any problems I wanted to discuss with him, he would be available in the next ten minutes. After a poor night’s sleep the penny was slow to drop, but I realised I was being offered a way out, so I repeated the story about looking for work abroad. I barely finished the sentence when he told me to join a small group of other new recruits waiting at the side. It turned out that there were about dozen more of us than places on the training programmes, so we were to serve on the sorting base for the week, which meant that those of us who could get home and back for an early morning start were free to go. I had woken up in the morning expecting to be in jail that evening and instead was back home in Jerusalem.

At the end of the week I spent on the base I met the officer from the parking lot again. He was intelligent and calm, interested in studying Political Science at university and curious about that. We chatted about the prospects for peace and the likelihood that Bahad 4 and other training bases would be withdrawn from the West Bank. Bahad 4 was indeed later moved from near Ramallah to Zikim, near Ashkelon, under the terms of Oslo II, the Interim Agreement on the West Bank and Gaza, signed in September 1995. I fed him my narrative about needing time to look for work overseas at that time of the year, which he accepted as grounds not to serve my three months then. He asked me to agree that if he gave me a deferment until a date in July, I would agree to go wherever I was sent, but did not ask me to sign anything. I did have the opportunity both in the parking lot and in his office to be adamant about my refusal to serve in the Occupied Territories and be sent to jail. Yet, it was also true that I was looking for a job overseas and that I was not being ordered to serve in the Territories at that point. I had no desire to be a hero, to go to jail when I did not need to in order to avoid becoming a military occupier. So, I was part of the ‘grey refusal,’ the undocumented cases of recruits and reservists who found a way to be selective conscientious objectors, unwilling to serve in the army of occupation in the Territories.


[1] Jon Simons, Foucault and the Political (London: Routledge, 1995), pp. 124-25.