Edward Said

From

Al-Ahram

Weekly

/

Issue No. 491 

The

media has been bursting with all sorts of rumours, speculation, and some news

about the Camp David summit, its progress, outcome, and meaning. Whatever

happens as an immediate result of the negotiations, one thing seems quite clear:

that despite any arrangements that will be made with regard to territory,

borders, the status of Jerusalem, refugees, water and sovereignty, the

underlying issue is whether or not the Palestinians will agree to terminate the

conflict with Israel, and to declare the past to be null and void so far as the

present and future are concerned. This declaration is, I think, the big prize

that Yasser Arafat — remember that even with his army of assistants in Camp

David, only he has final authority — has it in his power to bestow on Israel,

and it is precisely this that Israel wants more than anything else.

Therefore,

even Jerusalem and the refugees’ right of return are less significant by

comparison with some kind of declaration, voluntarily given by the Palestinians,

that they foresee an end to all their claims against Israel, plus an end to any

further struggle against the state that effectively stripped them collectively

and individually of their historical patrimony, land, houses, property,

well-being, and all. What has concerned me all along with Arafat’s tactic (or is

it a strategy?) of threatening to declare a state is the danger that his state

might quickly be recognized as in effect the equivalent of granting the

Palestinians the fulfillment of their self-determination, perhaps only on paper,

but granting it nevertheless. No country like Israel is likely to tolerate the

existence, much less assisting at the birth, of another country in whose

structure might lie an unfulfilled or incomplete past. In return for accepting a

state of Palestine then, Israel is quite within reason to demand also that the

new state must forego any claims about the past, which this new state by

definition is, I believe, going to be seen as having fulfilled.

In

other words, the existence of a demilitarised and necessarily truncated

Palestinian state, no matter how disadvantaged territorially, economically, or

politically, is going to be designed, constituted, founded, and built out of a

negation of the past. In Israel’s view the past in question is entirely and

exclusively a Palestinian past (and not a Palestinian-Israeli one), since in

Israel’s case no one forecasts the end or termination of Jewish claims against

persecutors of Jews in the past. Torn from its context of struggle and

dispossession, its long trail of suffering, exile, displacement and massive

loss, this real Palestinian past will be declared null and void in return for

which the Palestinian people will be said to have achieved statehood.

This

will not be a merely formal matter but something that is designed to get at the

very roots of Palestinian identity. Already Oslo has taken a toll out of

Palestinian history as taught to young children through Palestinian Authority

textbooks. In the new order of things Palestinians are represented as people who

happen now to be in Nablus, Ramallah and Jericho; how they got there, how some

of them came to these places as a result of 1948 and 1967, and how Tiberias and

Safad were once preponderantly Arab, all these inconvenient bits of information

have simply dropped out of the textbooks. In a grade six history book Arafat is

referred to only as President of the Palestine Authority; his history as PLO

Chairman, to say nothing of the Amman, Beirut and Tunis days has just been

effaced. In another book, Palestine is presented to Palestinian children as a

blank rectangle: they are asked to fill in the spaces which, once the peace deal

is concluded, will be studded only with the names of places that are considered

Palestinian according to Camp David.

Now

there is a great difference between disliking or being annoyed by the past on

the one hand, and, on the other, refusing to recognise it as the past, even the

past that some people believe in. The reason so many official Palestinian

representatives have been so anxious to refer to UN Resolution 194 (Right of

Return) or even 242 (territory returned) is that scant and telegraphic though

they may be, these resolutions represent distillations of Palestinian history

that seem to be acknowledged by the world community. As such then, they have a

validity independent of any one party’s whim. The danger of Camp David is that

it will nullify, explicitly or implicitly, this very quality. History is to be

rewritten not according to the best efforts historians have made to try to

determine what occurred, but according to what the greatest powers (the US and

Israel) say is allowable as history.

The

same brushing away of the past, and its claims on the future, will surely apply

to the Israeli occupation which began in 1967. We now have a full record of what

damages to the economy occurred and, I am sure, a full record of what deliberate

destruction occurred in agriculture, municipal affairs, and private property.

Deaths, woundings, and the like are also recorded. I am certainly not arguing

for holding a permanent grudge against the perpetrators, but I am for

remembering that three decades of occupation should not simply be blown away

like so many specks of dust on a gleaming surface. Iraq is still paying Kuwait

for the few months of its occupation in 1990 and 1991, and that restitution is

as it should be. Why then is Israel miraculously exempt of restitution for all

its past malfeasance? How can southern Lebanese citizens be expected to forgive

and forget the 22-year-old occupation of their territory, and not least the

horrors of Khiam prison, with its torture, dreadful solitary confinements, and

inhuman conditions, all of it supervised and maintained by Israeli experts and

their Lebanese mercenaries?

These

matters, I believe, require much deliberation, reflection and considered

evaluation. In due course perhaps even a South African-style Truth and

Reconciliation Commission might be convened. But I do not believe so awesomely

weighty and dense a matter as the Palestinian history of injustice at Israeli

hands, and even the whole question of Israeli responsibility itself, can be

settled in the form of a backroom deal done relatively quickly, bazaar-style.

There are truth, and dignity, and justice to be fairly considered, without which

no arrangement can be fully concluded, no matter how politically expedient or

clever.

As

a minimum guarantee that some such consideration be given peace of the kind

aimed for at Camp David, a Palestinian plebiscite or referendum is therefore

essential, if it is democratically fair. For once, in this whole shabbily

unsatisfactory Oslo process, Mr Arafat and his supporters have a chance to save

a small part of what has been left us as a people — in no small part because of

years of misrule, dishonesty, and indignity. Can they go at least some of the

way toward partially redeeming themselves?

 

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Edward Said, who died September 25, 2003, was born in Jerusalem (then in the British Mandate of Palestine) on November 1, 1935. His father was a wealthy Protestant Palestinian businessman and an American citizen who had served under General Pershing in World War I, while his mother was born in Nazareth of Christian Lebanese and Palestinian descent. [2] He referred to himself as a "Christian wrapped in a Muslim culture" His sister was the historian and writer Rosemarie Said Zahlan. According to Saïd's autobiographical memoir, Out of Place[3], Saïd lived "between worlds" in both Cairo and Jerusalem until the age of 12. In 1947, he attended the Anglican St. George's Academy when he was in Jerusalem, but his extended family became "refugees" in 1948 during the 1948 Arab-Israeli War when his family home in Talbiya was annexed, along with the western part of Jerusalem, by Israel:

" I was born in Jerusalem and had spent most of my formative years there and, after 1948, when my entire family became refugees, in Egypt. All my early education had, however, been in élite colonial schools, English public schools designed by the British to bring up a generation of Arabs with natural ties to Britain. The last one I went to before I left the Middle East to go to the United States was Victoria College in Alexandria, a school in effect created to educate those ruling-class Arabs and Levantines who were going to take over after the British left. My contemporaries and classmates included King Hussein of Jordan, several Jordanian, Egyptian, Syrian and Saudi boys who were to become ministers, prime ministers and leading businessmen, as well as such glamorous figures as Michel Shalhoub, head prefect of the school and chief tormentor when I was a relatively junior boy, whom everyone has seen on screen as Omar Sharif.[3] "

At the age of 15, Saïd's parents sent him to Mount Hermon School, a private college preparatory school in Massachusetts, where he recalls a "miserable" year feeling "out of place" .[3]

Said earned an A.B. from Princeton University and an M.A. and a Ph.D. from Harvard University, where he won the Bowdoin Prize. He joined the faculty of Columbia University in 1963 and served as Professor of English and Comparative Literature for several decades. In 1977 Said became the Parr Professor of English and Comparative Literature at Columbia and subsequently became the Old Dominion Foundation Professor in the Humanities. In 1992 he attained the rank of University Professor, Columbia's most prestigious academic position. Professor Said also taught at Harvard, Johns Hopkins, and Yale universities. He was fluent in English and French. In 1999, after his earlier election to second vice president and following its succession policy, Said served as president of the Modern Language Association.

Said was bestowed with numerous honorary doctorates from universities around the world and twice received Columbia's Trilling Award and the Wellek Prize of the American Comparative Literature Association. His autobiographical memoir Out of Place won the 1999 New Yorker Prize for non-fiction. He was also a member of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, the American Academy of Arts and Letters, the Royal Society of Literature, and the American Philosophical Society.[4]

Said's writing regularly appeared in The Nation, The Guardian, the London Review of Books, Le Monde Diplomatique, Counterpunch, Al Ahram, and the pan-Arab daily al-Hayat. He gave interviews alongside his good friend, fellow political activist, and colleague Noam Chomsky regarding U.S. foreign policy for various independent radio programs.

Said also contributed music criticism to The Nation for many years. In 1999, he jointly founded the West-East Divan Orchestra with the Argentine-Israeli conductor and close friend Daniel Barenboim.

In January 2006, anthropologist David Price obtained 147 pages of Said's 238-page FBI file through a Freedom of Information Act request. The records reveal that Said was under surveillance starting in 1971. Most of his records are marked as related to "IS Middle East" ("IS" = Israel) and significant portions remain "Classified Secrets."[5]

Edward Said died at the age of 67 in the early morning of September 25, 2003, in New York City, after a decade-long battle with chronic myelogenous leukemia.[6]

In November 2004, Birzeit University renamed its music school as the Edward Said National Conservatory of Music in his honor.[7]

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