Opinion Editorials, March 2014

This past week, Washington hosted two of my least favorite annual events.

It began with the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC) bringing their faithful to town to lobby for whatever the government of Israel might want at this particular moment. At week's end, the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC) was in Washington rallying their crowd to bash the President and defend their "true conservative" principles.

During the past year, several commentators have, on occasion, pronounced both groups weakened and wounded, possibly fatally so. Conservatives were seen to be cannibalizing themselves, while AIPAC was reeling from having picked and lost two separate fights with President Obama: Syria and Iran sanctions. Based on the size and enthusiasm of their respective crowds and from the "red meat" thrown out by major speakers, neither group appeared to be in their death throes, but looks can be deceiving. 

AIPAC is far from defeated. They still define the playing field and roles of engagement for most Middle East issues. Their operatives are well placed in Washington and their influence is real. Three years ago, they and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu took on the Administration over whether or not the 1967 borders should be the basis for a lasting peace between Israelis and Palestinians, and they won. AIPAC's allies in Congress turned out en masse to give the Israeli multiple standing ovations as he scolded the President and rejected his terms for peace.

This year was different. AIPAC hoped its lobbying might to work to push the White House to attack Syria. They lost. Then, after President Obama launched negotiations with Iran in an effort to limit their nuclear program, AIPAC again challenged the White House, calling for new sanctions against Iran. The President fought back indicating that because such new legislation would have the effect of sabotaging the negotiations, he would veto any such effort. Once again, AIPAC lost.

As a fallback, AIPAC put everything it could think of into what it called the US-Israel Strategic Partnership Act—a bill that would deepen the already too deep US ties with Israel in trade, technology, defense, and intelligence sharing. When they threw in adding Israel to the "visa waiver" program, it was a step too far. Arab Americans lobbied hard that it would be fundamentally wrong for the US to grant Israel this benefit when Israel regularly discriminates against Arab American who attempt to enter Israel or the Occupied Territories. In the end, AIPAC lost. The bill passed, but without the automatic "visa waiver" provision.

If all that weren't enough, the "coup de grace" came the day before Netanyahu was to arrive at the White House to meet with the President. The Atlantic Magazine published a long interview with President Obama in which he alternately challenges, cautions, scolds, and warns Netanyahu about the need for Israel to make the right decisions to advance peace.

There was no mention of all these setbacks at the AIPAC meeting. Administration officials came pledging their "unshakable" devotion to Israel. Senators, Democrats and Republicans alike, took aim at the Administration for not loving Israel enough. Netanyahu, as always, was passionately spinning his webs of deceit.

While listening to the speeches at the AIPAC meeting it might appear that nothing had changed, but it has. The group has suffered a few blows, and the most they have had to endure in a short period. They may not show it, but they feel it.

As the week closed out, CPAC gathered to lay out their agenda and hear from conservative leaders— and those Republicans who may have strayed from the "true faith" and now need to burnish their conservative credentials.

As in past years, the speeches at CPAC were focused on rage over all things Obama. There were funny lines, to be sure, but a lot of angry and mean-spirited attacks, as well. Freshmen Senators Rand Paul and Ted Cruz were the crowd-pleasing "flavors of the year". Others like New Jersey Governor Chris Christie and Senator Marco Rubio were there. They once held in high esteem but, after displaying some moderate tendencies, have fallen out of favor. Their appearances were designed to atone and receive the movement's blessing.

A highlight of the event is the CPAC's "straw poll", as delegates vote for the person they most want to be the party's standard bearer. It has become a major media event. This year, Rand Paul won the straw poll by a significant margin. In second place was Ted Cruz. Between them, Paul and Cruz garnered almost one-half the votes. Christie and Rubio finished way back in fourth and fifth place.

Aside from the energy and enthusiasm of the weekend, conservatives have a real problem. Here's what they agree on: they don't like Obama and they don't like government. They control Congress and can block most anything the President puts forward, but their movement is divided and their leaders don't much like each other. In primary after primary, ultra-conservatives are challenging more mainstream GOP'ers, sometimes defeating them, sometimes weakening them, and other times forcing them to adopt policies that make them less electable. 

Conservatives also have come to realize that they have a demographic problem. The US electorate is dramatically changing. Black, Latino, and Asian voters are increasing with each election cycle. These groups vote for Democrats, as do significant majorities of young voters and educated women.  Because conservative policies are so out of touch with the needs of these groups, the base of the conservative movement continues to shrink, further reducing the GOP's chances in national contests. Conservatives know they have these problems, but continue to blissfully ignore them.

When listening to the fiery rhetoric and watching the enthusiasm at both AIPAC and CPAC, it becomes apparent that both groups retain the capacity to create problems for opponents. They may be down, but they are not out.

Netanyahu’s Games

By James Zogby

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu never tires of inventing new hoops through which he insists Palestinians jump. As he acknowledged a few weeks back, it's all part of a cynical game that he plays in an effort to kill the chances for peace. First, he insisted on the need to maintain Israeli control over the Jordan Valley. Next came his pledge that he would not "uproot a single Israeli" from West Bank settlements, so that in addition to forcing Palestinians to accept Israel's annexation of whatever West Bank settlements are deemed "new realities," the Palestinians would also have to swallow the "right" of settlers to remain in their settlements after peace.

 Throw into this mix, Netanyahu's insistence that there be no Palestinian capitol in Jerusalem, and the object of his "game" becomes clear: set up demands and conditions so onerous and obnoxious that the Palestinians will have to say "no," thereby appearing to be the obstacle to peace. Maybe the most troubling of all the Netanyahu "hoops" is his persistent demand that Palestinians must accept Israel as a Jewish State, the homeland of the Jewish people. While some in the West can understand the Palestinian refusal to cede the Jordan Valley or Jerusalem, or to accept that oftentimes violent settlers should remain in their settlements, they have difficulty understanding why Palestinians won't simply agree to recognize Israel as the "state of the Jewish people."

The problem for Palestinians is not in the name "the Jewish State"-- it is what the name means. Palestinian spokespersons say that in forcing them to accept this designation, what Netanyahu wants is for Palestinians to accept the Israeli historical narrative and to deny their own. He wants, as we might say in American slang, the Palestinians to surrender and say "Uncle." This, they simply, cannot do.

Narratives are important for peoples and nations. They define reality and give meaning to history. I learned important lessons about the critical and definitional roles played by historical narratives in the Palestinian context through a series of personal encounters that occurred over 40 years ago. It was 1971 and I had traveled to Lebanon to conduct research for my doctoral dissertation on the emergence of the Palestinian national identity. As part of my work, I spent time in Ein al-Hilweh, a massive Palestinian refugee camp in southern Lebanon. While I was there,

I interviewed refugees from dozens of towns and villages who had all left Palestine in 1948. Many told stories of armed Jewish elements coming into their villages creating panic, forcing them to flee. I was struck by their resilience and their determination to keep their attachment to their land, their homes and their culture alive. They did this in so many interesting ways. In the camp, for example, Palestinians did their best to recreate their old life. Residents of villages clustered in neighborhoods that were named after the communities from which they had fled. In a simple walk down just one street you could pass through Haifa, Akka, Safad, Safsaf and Jerusalem.

The homes in the camps might have been poor, but once inside them you had the feeling of being back in the village. One of my most memorable encounters in that trip was my interview with Um Abed, the grandmother of the friend who had brought me to Ein al-Hilweh. As was common for her generation, she carried on a string around her neck the key to her home in Palestine, which had been appropriated by Israeli settlers in 1948. She told me her story -- a powerful tale of loss and pain. At one point she asked if I wanted to see her home. When I agreed, she took out an old photo album filled with pictures of her home, her family, and the life they had lived back in Palestine. She pointed with pride to the wall her father had built and the tree her grandfather had planted. But then, with a touch of anger, she noted that the tree had been cut down by the Israelis who had taken the house.

She learned of this from a photo a Swedish journalist had taken and shown her. As I was leaving, her brother told me of their longing to return. "It's our home. We go back four generations in that house. I was born there and lived my entire life there. The Israelis, who never lived here, say they didn't forget after 2,000 years. For us, it's only been 25 years. How can we forget?" Two weeks later, my work was done and I was on a flight back to the United States. I had flown from Jordan to London, where I caught a flight to New York. On that plane, I ran into a student, Sandra, I had taught the year before at Temple University.

She greeted me with exuberance, "Oh, Mr. Zogby, I just had the most amazing experience! I went home this summer." Since I knew she was from Northeast Philadelphia, I asked what she meant. She explained that she had been to a camp in Israel. It felt so much like home, she wanted to return because, she said, she "belonged there." The disconnect between the reality of Um Abed's loss and my former student's "discovery" defines the debate over "narratives." I will be honest and admit that I understand Um Abed's attachment to a home her ancestors built and the trees they planted. Her memories were too fresh and the key she wore a constant reminder of unbearable loss. To ask her to erase that memory, to reject her claim, and to deny her story is tantamount to asking her to cut off a limb. There are hundreds of thousands of Um Abed's who feel deeply about their history and their rights. They have lost so much over the last century. In many cases all they have left is their narrative of the past and their hopes for the future. In their name, the Palestinian President cannot say "Uncle." Jumping through this Israeli hoop would be too costly.

Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu never tires of inventing new hoops through which he insists Palestinians jump. As he acknowledged a few weeks back, it's all part of a cynical game that he plays in an effort to kill the chances for peace.

First, he insisted on the need to maintain Israeli control over the Jordan Valley. Next came his pledge that he would not "uproot a single Israeli" from West Bank settlements, so that in addition to forcing Palestinians to accept Israel's annexation of whatever West Bank settlements are deemed "new realities," the Palestinians would also have to swallow the "right" of settlers to remain in their settlements after peace. Throw into this mix, Netanyahu's insistence that there be no Palestinian capitol in Jerusalem, and the object of his "game" becomes clear: set up demands and conditions so onerous and obnoxious that the Palestinians will have to say "no," thereby appearing to be the obstacle to peace.

Maybe the most troubling of all the Netanyahu "hoops" is his persistent demand that Palestinians must accept Israel as a Jewish State, the homeland of the Jewish people. While some in the West can understand the Palestinian refusal to cede the Jordan Valley or Jerusalem, or to accept that oftentimes violent settlers should remain in their settlements, they have difficulty understanding why Palestinians won't simply agree to recognize Israel as the "state of the Jewish people."

The problem for Palestinians is not in the name "the Jewish State"-- it is what the name means. Palestinian spokespersons say that in forcing them to accept this designation, what Netanyahu wants is for Palestinians to accept the Israeli historical narrative and to deny their own. He wants, as we might say in American slang, the Palestinians to surrender and say "Uncle." This, they simply, cannot do.

Narratives are important for peoples and nations. They define reality and give meaning to history. I learned important lessons about the critical and definitional roles played by historical narratives in the Palestinian context through a series of personal encounters that occurred over 40 years ago.

It was 1971 and I had traveled to Lebanon to conduct research for my doctoral dissertation on the emergence of the Palestinian national identity. As part of my work, I spent time in Ein al-Hilweh, a massive Palestinian refugee camp in southern Lebanon.

While I was there, I interviewed refugees from dozens of towns and villages who had all left Palestine in 1948. Many told stories of armed Jewish elements coming into their villages creating panic, forcing them to flee.

I was struck by their resilience and their determination to keep their attachment to their land, their homes and their culture alive. They did this in so many interesting ways. In the camp, for example, Palestinians did their best to recreate their old life. Residents of villages clustered in neighborhoods that were named after the communities from which they had fled. In a simple walk down just one street you could pass through Haifa, Akka, Safad, Safsaf and Jerusalem. The homes in the camps might have been poor, but once inside them you had the feeling of being back in the village.

One of my most memorable encounters in that trip was my interview with Um Abed, the grandmother of the friend who had brought me to Ein al-Hilweh. As was common for her generation, she carried on a string around her neck the key to her home in Palestine, which had been appropriated by Israeli settlers in 1948. She told me her story -- a powerful tale of loss and pain.

At one point she asked if I wanted to see her home. When I agreed, she took out an old photo album filled with pictures of her home, her family, and the life they had lived back in Palestine. She pointed with pride to the wall her father had built and the tree her grandfather had planted. But then, with a touch of anger, she noted that the tree had been cut down by the Israelis who had taken the house. She learned of this from a photo a Swedish journalist had taken and shown her.

As I was leaving, her brother told me of their longing to return. "It's our home. We go back four generations in that house. I was born there and lived my entire life there. The Israelis, who never lived here, say they didn't forget after 2,000 years. For us, it's only been 25 years. How can we forget?"

Two weeks later, my work was done and I was on a flight back to the United States. I had flown from Jordan to London, where I caught a flight to New York. On that plane, I ran into a student, Sandra, I had taught the year before at Temple University. She greeted me with exuberance, "Oh, Mr. Zogby, I just had the most amazing experience! I went home this summer." Since I knew she was from Northeast Philadelphia, I asked what she meant. She explained that she had been to a camp in Israel. It felt so much like home, she wanted to return because, she said, she "belonged there."

The disconnect between the reality of Um Abed's loss and my former student's "discovery" defines the debate over "narratives." I will be honest and admit that I understand Um Abed's attachment to a home her ancestors built and the trees they planted. Her memories were too fresh and the key she wore a constant reminder of unbearable loss. To ask her to erase that memory, to reject her claim, and to deny her story is tantamount to asking her to cut off a limb.

There are hundreds of thousands of Um Abed's who feel deeply about their history and their rights. They have lost so much over the last century. In many cases all they have left is their narrative of the past and their hopes for the future. In their name, the Palestinian President cannot say "Uncle." Jumping through this Israeli hoop would be too costly.

Opinions expressed in various sections are the sole responsibility of their authors and they may not represent Al-Jazeerah & ccun.org.

editor@aljazeerah.info & editor@ccun.org