JANNIKE BERGH in conversation with HAIDAR EID

Introduction

Dear Professor Eid,
In January 2024, you published your book Decolonising the Palestinian mind (Inkani Books, South Africa), its prologue dated to 31 October 2023. It wouldn’t make sense to approach questions about your book without stating that since its publication in January, nearly 40 000 Gazans have now lost their lives, despite growing international outcry from actions such as the South African government’s genocide case against Israel at the International Court of Justice; Ireland, Norway and Spain moving to recognise the state of Palestine; and university encampments extending across the globe – all of which has left Israel undeterred. As I write this [May 2024], Israel has threatened and carried out their ground invasion of Rafah; the International Criminal Court has issued an arrest warrant for Israeli prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu and foreign minister Yoav Gallant; and, recently, South Africa has brought forward their ICJ case requesting “emergency provisional measures to immediately halt Israeli military operations under way in Rafah, in southern Gaza, where over one million Palestinians were sheltering after having been displaced from elsewhere in the enclave” (United Nations, May 2024).

Your book focuses on power mechanisms that have failed Palestinian agency, and while this is the main focus of this discussion, a disclaimer is necessary: the discussion on the book will also be posited on what has transpired since the preface of your book, dated to October 2023: that the Palestinian struggle for liberation has now entered the global psyche – on the one hand, more than it ever has, while on the other hand, international inaction – or Western complicity – has allowed this expedited project of ethnic cleansing and displacement of Palestinians to continue, in real time, in front of our eyes.

The premise of Decolonising the Palestinian mind: “De-Osloisation”

Decolonising the Palestinian mind builds on the work of [Palestinian author] Edward Said, inevitably inextricable from Frantz Fanon. (“The settler’s work is to make even dreams of liberty impossible for the native.”) Its premise echoes Achille Mbembe’s more contemporary Sortir de la grande nuit: Essai sur l’Afrique décolonisée (2010), in which he argues for an “Africa-for-Africa”.

In your book, a decolonised Palestine would look like a secular democracy, and not, as the current status quo argues, a two-state solution, ie, a separate Palestinian state and an ethno-nationalist Jewish state.

If I may skip to the premise of your book for herri’s readers, Decolonising the Palestinian mind looks specifically at how occupied Palestine was “sold out” by the Palestinian elite, on the misperceived premise that the Oslo Accords of 1993 had solved the Palestinian question. Working towards “decolonising the Palestinian mind” therefore depends on a process of “de-Osloising” Palestine.

When one reads your book, it becomes clear that, unlike in South Africa, which within its own patchwork is still a “process-of-becoming” (as per Achille Mbembe) – the upcoming 2024 elections being symbolic of this as the most important elections after becoming a democracy in 1994 – a two-state solution for Palestine-Israel constitutes an impractical, fragmented society mirroring South African apartheid-style Bantustans, and effectively proposes the opposite of “becoming” towards one nation.

Re-placing the Palestinian question within a narrative that is Palestinian – that is, outside of Western “either … or” scenarios – Decolonising the Palestinian mind acquaints the reader with perspectives that reflect the power dynamics within Gaza and the West Bank.

It is on the basis of the Palestine-Israel question being “too complex” that your book takes control of that narrative – as a Palestinian voice from within – through explanations of how Palestinian politics in itself has failed Palestine. In it, we learn about the elite (the Palestinian leadership) that sought to maintain the status quo of a two-state solution, that is, of a “Bantustanised” Palestine, as you put it.

Decolonising the Palestinian mind details how the Oslo Accords have kept Palestinian freedom in a gridlock, and, importantly, details how the “two-state solution”, in fact, perpetuates the “colonised” status of Palestine. You show how both the secular right (Palestinian Authority) and the religious right (Hamas) as well as the “NGO-ised” left (turned neoliberal) have failed Palestinians, in terms of reaching a pragmatic, progressive solution for one state.

Prologue from Rafah: 31 October 2023

In the opening passages (1-2), you write:

I am standing over the ruins of a house in Gaza City, peering at the horizon.

… In this house, a woman lived with her husband, three sons and three daughters. They had also provided refuge to relatives from northern Gaza who had been displaced.

Now, the house and the families who lived and took shelter in it are gone forever.

The adjacent house is “luckier”. Its owner inspects it with a sense of astonishment. His neighbour screams when she sees all that she once owned turned into rubble because the US president believes that Israel has “the right to defend itself”.

… If Israel keeps killing at the rate it has been, the official death toll will reach 0 000 very soon. About 40% of the dead are children.

All terrorists.
“Human animals.”

Haidar Eid: You need the context, of course, and I understand your point: that piece that you’ve just quoted, I wrote after I had been displaced three times, in fact. South Africa is my fourth displacement. In Rafah – that’s the southern part of the Gaza Strip – that was my third placement. I live in Gaza City itself – it is part of the northern part of the Gaza Strip. On the third or fourth day of the genocide, we were asked to leave my neighbourhood, al-Rimal. And I’m also an associate professor teaching at al-Aqsa University, which is not far from the flat where I live, and I live in a residential – used to live in what used to be a residential tower, and I used to work at what used to be al-Aqsa University – all are gone – and I used to live in what used to be al-Rimal neighbourhood. It’s a sort of middle-/upper middle-class neighbourhood in Gaza. So, we were asked to leave, and we worried they would attack, because they were in the habit of destroying residential towers. Because I have two little kids and my wife, we had to rush very quickly, and we stayed with our neighbours that night. And that was the worst night of our life, actually. That was the night I lost my hearing, because they started carpet-bombing the al-Rimal neighbourhood. And I needed to protect my kids and my wife, and that was the beginning, in fact. So, I had to [cover] the ears of my kids; we asked them, you know, to close their ears, but they started screaming. Of course I’m telling you this in a couple of minutes, but that took the whole night. And that’s why I lost my hearing here [left ear] and 50% hearing here [right ear].

But that’s nothing compared with the suffering of other people, and we’re talking about whole families being wiped out. In the morning, I found out that the whole neighbourhood was almost destroyed, and I moved and stayed with my brother in the northern part of Gaza City. Two days after that, the same scenario was repeated. Between 900 000 and one million people – the population of the northern part of the Gaza Strip – were asked to move to the south. And I moved to Rafah. On the first night, they attacked some houses in the neighbourhood where I was staying with my sister. This is what made me write that piece. When I visited the debris – the rubble of the house next to my sister’s house – there were about seven people still under the rubble. Something was written on one of the bricks: “Hissam under the rubble”. His name is Hissam.

Then I had that first “out-of-body experience”, if you wish. You know, I’m fond of magic realism. It’s part of our Palestinian literature, Latin-American literature and postcolonial literature. You know, it affected me, in a way, so I think I lived that moment – I can call it a surreal moment, where I imagined my [ghost]. I’m still living that moment; I must admit to you, it’s not a one-second thing, it’s an experience – in order to understand an unbelievable reality, something that you’re not familiar with. You need to create an alternative reality, in a way. And I think that was the moment where I imagined that kind of dialogue between myself and my ghost.

The book is definitely political; it’s a counter-political analysis. But I think that good politicians (I’m not a politician at all, by the way, I’m an activist) need that kind of political imagination; politicians need to read literature, I strongly believe. I have so many role models; one of them is Steve Biko, of course, from South Africa.

I’m affected by the Black Consciousness movement, because of the time I spent in South Africa.

And one of my role models is the Palestinian writer Ghassan Kanafani who was killed – assassinated, rather – for his writings. Another role model of mine is Edward Said, a Palestinian intellectual. And I think, as you notice, the book is affected. I make it absolutely clear at the beginning that this has been inspired by, of course, the blood of Palestinian martyrs, but intellectually speaking, by those intellectuals.

Jannike Bergh: That’s lovely context for the book, which soon gets into the premise of “decolonising the Palestinian mind”. And so, if we can, we will read your book (pre 7 October) alongside the events unfolding after 7 October, since the Palestinian struggle for liberation has now finally entered the global psyche. From my generation (millennial), so many people just did not know. So, on the one hand, we’ve reached this global awareness, but on the other hand, there is the ongoing international inaction and Western complicity which is basically expediting this project of ethnic cleansing, and it’s happening in front of our eyes. So, this will be at the heart of this book discussion.

The road to South Africa and postcolonial literature

Jannike Bergh: Before we get into that, could you tell us more about how your life and career interlink with South Africa, and how you came to be a professor in postcolonial and postmodern literature at al-Aqsa University in Gaza?

Haidar Eid: There are two parts – how I ended up in South Africa, and choosing postcolonial literature and theory. In fact, in South Africa I worked more on critical theory – neo-Marxist and postmodern theories. So, I’ll tell you a little bit about myself, since you are interested in finding out about this as a context for the book. And then I will talk about the book, and try to answer the second section of your question and discuss Palestine as a global issue.

Before I do that, I just need to make it absolutely clear that what is happening right now in Palestine in general, but in Gaza in particular, is a combination of what you said – the ethnic cleansing, which has been going on since 1948, since the establishment of the state of Israel. You know, Israel’s post-Zionists, or rather neo-historians – the likes of my friend Ilan Pappé wrote his most seminal work, The ethnic cleansing of Palestine. And just to let you know: Ilan and I are cofounders of the One State campaign; both of us believe the solution is a secular democratic state for all of its inhabitants regardless of religion and race, you know, modelled on the South African experience, and Northern Ireland.

So, I spent about six years in Northern Cyprus, where I got my BA and I became a teaching assistant and then a lecturer, and I got my master’s degree. I am telling you this because, while working on my master’s, I chose to work on resistance literature – postcolonial in general, and in particular resistance literature and neocolonial literature – where I took a comparative approach to studying the works of Ghassan Kanafani and the British-Trinidadian writer VS Naipaul. VS Naipaul’s literature represents neocolonial literature – literature written by, in postcolonial terms, who we call “native informants”, or “black skin, white masks” in Fanonian terms (Frantz Fanon) – and on the other hand, resistance literature that is looking not at the independence of the previously colonised countries, but the liberation of those countries, as per Frantz Fanon, Edward Said, Steve Biko, Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o – whose work, in fact, inspired the title of my book, because Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o wrote Decolonising the mind (in general) and I myself called my book Decolonising the Palestinian mind.

My work on postcolonial literature was my choice; in fact, it exposed me also to the writings of some South African writers and other African writers – Ousmane Sembène from Senegal, Nuruddin Farah from Somalia, Naguib Mahfouz from Egypt, Mohamed Choukri from Morocco and Njabulo Ndebele from South Africa, whose short stories I used to teach in Gaza to my Palestinian students. And of course, Nadine Gordimer, from a critical perspective; I am critical of the liberal approach to apartheid. I take a discursive, historicist, somehow Marxist approach to understanding the colonial condition and the postcolonial condition. Those were the findings, in a way, of my master’s research. The title was From Ghassani Kanifani to VS Naipaul: Resistance literature versus neocolonial literature, because I am one of the believers that we don’t have a “true” postcolonial moment; we have a neocolonial moment – I’m sure you understand the difference.

And I think South Africa does not live in a real post-apartheid moment, for example – it’s an extension of apartheid from a socioeconomic perspective.

Jannike Bergh: In South Africa, an optimistic view would be that South Africa is still in a “process-of-becoming towards one nation”, and this brings me back to your book and your argument for a one-state solution – as a parenthesis. Yes, in South Africa, we are not there yet.

Haidar Eid: Absolutely. I’m sure you are interested: I worked with a friend of mine, a researcher and professor, Andy Clarno, who spent some time working on his PhD in South Africa, and he came to Palestine. We co-authored a research paper on South Africa arguing that the solution that the ANC reached in 1994 takes race as a point of departure, whereas people like Neville Alexander, Steve Biko and the radical intellectuals of the Black Consciousness movement looked at apartheid not as a form of racism, but as a form of racial capitalism. This is where there are the mistakes, or I would say the pitfalls – let’s use Fanon’s words – of nationalist consciousness and I would say racial consciousness. And this is what I’m looking at when discussing the one-state solution. The one-state solution is a liberal solution, definitely; and look, the South African Constitution is, I would argue, one of the most liberal, most progressive constitutions in the world, but it doesn’t take into consideration the class gaps. South Africa is one of the most unequal societies on earth, with more than 30% of the population being jobless/unemployed.

Jannike Bergh: This reminds me of a question I ask myself often, in terms of Palestine – let’s say hypothetically that Palestine could have that “1994 moment”: if we look at South Africa today, 30 years after the first [democratic] elections, it’s frightening how little progress there has been. I think there has been [progress] in people’s hearts, but the inequality is disgusting. I hope a free Palestine will not mirror that (but I am naïve).

Haidar Eid: I completely agree. I think we need to learn from the left and Latin America; I think this is what South Africa has failed to do. And this is one of the reasons why people are disillusioned with the ANC and the SACP and the coalition government; and now the new coalition government is even worse – you know, it includes the DA, you know? But that’s something else. But what I want to say is that, no, we need to learn from South Africa in terms of the struggle against the apartheid system, in terms of the adoption of the tools of resistance, the four pillars of struggle – [that is] the armed resistance, the political underground, the mass mobilisation and BDS [Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions] and the solidarity movement. But if we have a 1994 moment, we will take into consideration that Israel is a capitalist project implanted in the heart of the Middle East in order to protect imperialist and colonial interest in the Middle East, and in order to protect Arab reactionary regimes that are the agents of American imperialism and Western colonialism in the Middle East.

Now, unfortunately, the Palestinian leadership, like the ANC before it, does not take that into consideration. In other words, we need to study again theories of racial capitalism, theorised by the likes of Neville Alexander, Steve Biko, etc – but also Frantz Fanon, Ousmane Sembène, Gamal Abdel Nasser in Egypt, radical Algerian revolutionaries, etc. And I think that is something that we are discussing as Palestinian activists right now, and this is one of the reasons why we started our BDS movement back in 2005. I am one of the cofounders of the Palestinian campaign of the academic and cultural boycott of Israel, which paved the way, in a way, for the BDS call that was made by the overwhelming civil society sectors in 2005. And I’m sure you are following where the BDS movement has reached right now. We are living our South African moment! We are successful – the movement is successful and has been successful in isolating genocidal, apartheid Israel.

But let’s go back to your first question – the second part of your question about the book – because you asked a very important question on why I decided to write this book. The book itself is a collection of essays, op-eds and political analysis that I have been writing since 2005-2006, to show what has been going on since 2005, and also analysing the Oslo Accords, the one-/two-state solution, etc.

The book is both personal and political. The beginning, as you noticed, is personal, and is my analysis and even testimony of being a Palestinian refugee residing in Gaza – what mainstream human rights organisations like Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch, and Israel’s mainstream human rights organisation, B’Tselem, call the “largest open-air prison”. This is an underestimation of what is happening; it is an extermination camp. But the book is also a voice from within, offering not only an analysis of this political moment, but also a way out of a human-made quagmire, created by genocidal Israel and enabled by the colonial West and American imperialism.

So, my decision was to put together in a single book the articles and op-eds that I wrote and published during the Israeli onslaughts (2008, 2012, 2014, 2021 and now) and the blockade of Gaza from 2007 onwards. I think this is important: people want to hear a voice from within. During the book launches I’ve been doing online and here in South Africa, I have felt that people want to hear that. It’s different from mainstream, I’d call it “ahistorical” coverage of the unfolding events in Gaza. The book, in a way, contextualises and historicises the unfolding genocide and the political solutions – the racist two-state solution that the international community is trying to impose on the Palestinians. This is why the articles are ordered chronologically, and they vary and differ in their takes on the events in Palestine (not only Gaza); and I try to relate this to myself and to my own experience. This is what I don’t like about politicians; I always try to relate the political conditions to my personal experience – not my ego – as a refugee, as an academic, as a colonised person, as a non-white person, teaching literature and cultural studies at a Gaza-based Palestinian university. So, it’s theory and praxis at the same time. I hope I have answered your question.

Jannike Bergh: Yes, and you touched on something that I’d like to get into as a question. We also spoke about the Oslo Accords (1993) and about 1994 in South Africa, and the way it also created an elite that benefited from the capitalist system. And what I found so fascinating in your book about the inner workings of Palestinian politics, is the way you unpacked the Palestinian elite’s role in maintaining the two-state idea (even if it is still an occupied territory); and I think it’s really valuable to know about that, because the mainstream or external narrative is so obsessed with the idea of a “radicalised people”. My question, therefore, is: how widespread has the decoloniality discourse been on the ground in Palestine?

Haidar Eid: Two points you raised about the Palestinian leadership. The book examines the issue of the Palestinian leadership since the signing of the Oslo Accords back in 1993 and the formation of the Palestinian Authority (PA), and there are two chapters on the way Edward Said deconstructs the so-called “peace process” and the alternative he offers. And one chapter in this book deals with the 2006 elections (legislative council elections), when people in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip went to the polling stations and voted for their representatives. Only one third of the Palestinian people were allowed to vote: Gaza and the West Bank. Refugees were not allowed; Palestinian citizens of the state of Israel were not allowed to join the elections either. But when Gazans and West Bankers voted against the will of the occupier, against the corruption of the Palestinian Authority, against the two-state solution, against the Oslo Accords, Israel, supported by the Americans, Israel in cahoots with Arab reactionary regimes, decided to punish the Palestinians of Gaza and the West Bank, and this is what’s been going on since then. So, the book deals with the issue of Palestinian leadership both pre and post the 2005 legislative council elections. The book also tries to address the transformation of Palestinian society after the formation of the Palestinian Authority in the mid-’90s of last century. It deals with the almost-absence of a human rights culture, the violation of individual and collective rights conducted by the Palestinian leadership (PA), supported by the Americans and the European Union. But the book also deals with war crimes and crimes against humanity committed by genocidal Israel. So, it’s, in a way, sharp and radical self-critique and a way of analysing the relationship between the coloniser and the colonised – inspired by the likes of Fanon, Said, etc.

Since you asked about decolonisation, it also includes ideas of strategies for resisting the occupation, colonialism and apartheid in Palestine, and at the same time sheds light on the large-scale non-violent movement, which has included hundreds of peaceful protests, including the Great March of Return, for example.

I took part in the Great March of Return; we lost more than 280 people and had thousands of bodies with amputated limbs as a result of that – protesting non-violently.

And all those non-violent protests are almost unheard of in Western mainstream media. But the book also discusses real possibilities of peace within the context of Israel’s continuing, ongoing onslaught of Gaza, even as we speak right now.

Since the beginning of this interview, Jannike, more than eight Palestinian children have been killed in Gaza. The average is 150 daily. How do you deal with something like this? So, in a way, the book tries to address a variety of strategies of resistance, because there is that stereotypical image of reducing Palestinian resistance to only armed resistance. No, armed resistance is only one form of resistance that we’ve adopted in Palestine.

The other thing is that within the context of decoloniality, the book raises a question: is a one-state solution à la South Africa becoming more likely now? Now that Israel has shot the two-state solution in the head and has killed every possibility of Palestinian independence? So, I think, while colonisation is a common thread in Palestinian discussions – whether in 1948 Palestine, or the West Bank, or the diaspora or even Gaza – there are different notions of how decolonisation should be understood and achieved. And this is my contribution, I hope, by raising the issue of the one-state solution as opposed to the two-state solution, which I have emphasised is a racist solution par excellence. You in South Africa never accepted the Bantustans. You even used to call them “independent homelands” – they were not independent, and they were not real homelands, independent states, etc. And that, I think, is my contribution here.

Jannike Bergh: Yes, it was fascinating to think about this, because we are “brainwashed” with the idea of a two-state solution as “the progressive solution”, compared with the Israeli state which, well, doesn’t want there to be a Palestine. South Africa’s Bantustans is a very important comparison, and in your book you write about the “Bantustanisation” of Palestine and how a two-state solution would just perpetuate that; and now, also, in the way that the West Bank is being fragmented, a [two-state solution] is impossible – purposefully.

Apartheid as a “taboo” topic: Its similarities and differences

Jannike Bergh: I wanted to ask you about the taboo of the comparison with apartheid. On page 50, you write:

[T]he ANC never accepted the idea of separation and Bantustans. [Edward] Said maintained that Palestinian leadership, on the other hand, at the end of the millennium, boasts of having laid the foundation for a Bantustan, claiming it to be an independent state. This is undoubtedly the ultimate thing Zionism can offer to its oriental “Other” after having denied their existence for a century, and after the same “Other” has proved that they are human. For Zionism’s continued presence in Palestine, the “Other” must, therefore, be assimilated and enslaved without them being conscious of their enslavement. Hence the granting of “semi-autonomous” rule of the most crowded Palestinian cities, and hence the logic behind Oslo.

On page 55, you refer to “a historical human vision of the Palestinian and Jewish questions, a vision that guarantees complete equality, and abolishes apartheid – instead of recognising a new Bantustan after the fall of apartheid in South Africa”.

On page 26, you refer to the comparison with apartheid as a “taboo”: “Just a few years ago, the comparison with the apartheid regime of South Africa was considered taboo, thanks to the guilt complex originated from one of the worst pogroms in the history of humanity, namely, the slaughter of millions of innocent Jews at the hands of white, European bigots.”

On page 57: “The International Community considered the establishment of Bantustans in South Africa to constitute a racist solution that could not and should not be entertained. In order to bring that inhumane solution to an end, the apartheid regime was boycotted academically, culturally, diplomatically and economically until it succumbed and crumbled into pieces.”

It seems futile to tire you with questions on how solidarity with Palestine has been equated to anti-Semitism – which is hardly applicable in South Africa, and therefore also differs from Western politics. My question here is: why is the West reluctant to acknowledge that the definition of apartheid applies to Palestine (and today, claims of genocide)? To what extent have the Palestinian authorities contributed to this reluctance? Is there something from inside Palestine that enables this?

Haidar Eid: Very good question. I think there has been a radical shift in Palestine in discourse and strategic thinking, when it comes to this question. The Palestinian Authority now is irrelevant, completely irrelevant. It has been irrelevant for a while, but especially after 7 October, so I think this radical shift now in Palestine aims at reframing Israeli-Palestinian relations in terms of – exactly like you in South Africa and the comparison you are making – in terms of settler colonialism and apartheid. What you’re having right now – if you remember, at the beginning of this interview we talked about ethnic cleansing, and we said Israel has gone even beyond that, and what’s happening in Gaza right now is genocide. And South Africa has taken on Israel, has decided to take Israel to the ICJ, accusing Israel of committing the gravest crime against humanity, worse than apartheid, worse than ethnic cleansing. And I think we Palestinians have been, in a way, preparing ourselves for this moment; this has helped us in forming this radical shift in discourse and strategic thinking. The Palestinian Authority, from the late Yasser Arafat until now, has been dealing with Israel as a colonial country, not a form of settler colonialism; an independent country, like France, like the UK, that has decided to occupy another country. Now, that’s not the case in Palestine! In fact, what is happening in Palestine – Desmond Tutu told us directly – is far, far worse than what you went through here in South Africa, even in the heyday of apartheid. What we are going through is a multi-tiered system of oppression, multiform oppression. One form is direct military occupation, one is ethnic cleansing, one is settler colonialism – apartheid is one form of oppression, which Israel used in 1948 against its own Palestinian citizens of the state of Israel.

So, I think what is needed right now is a renewal of formulations of Palestinian liberation that invoke the conceptual framework of decolonisation. I mean, I always use this sentence, and I think we are going through that moment. And therefore, the concept of liberation – I’m not talking about independence. First, you dismantle the Zionist enterprise in Palestine; you dismantle a system of apartheid and you dismantle settler colonialism. Liberation within this context means achieving true equality: true equality in historical Palestine between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean. The Oslo Accords and the Palestinian leadership have failed in seeing it in this way. There is only one regime in historical Palestine right now, and that is a regime of apartheid and settler colonialism – between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean. So, what we need to start with now is not talking about “independence” (the Bantustanisation of Palestine).

The most important basic right for me is the return of all Palestinian refugees to the towns and villages from which they have been ethnically cleansed from 1948.

Haidar Eid: A very important point that needs to be emphasised here is, why is Israel specially targeting the Gaza Strip? Because two thirds of Gazans are refugees – including me – entitled to their right of return, in accordance with United Nations Resolution 194. My own parents were refugees from the village of Zarnuqa. I was born in a refugee camp, Nuseirat, in which a horrific massacre took place [a week ago], when Israeli terrorists with some American terrorists killed 274 people, including some of my friends and relatives, in order to rescue four of their captives – but they also killed three of their Israeli captives.

By the way, since the beginning of this genocide, I’ve lost so many students; I’ve lost more than 40 of my relatives – cousins, their families, whole families were wiped out – ten of my colleagues, including Refaat Alareer, the poet who wrote “If I must die”. I think the least that we can give to these people who have died is to let them know that their death was not in vain – and that is the essence of my personal understanding of the concept of decolonisation.

Jannike Bergh: What a powerful way of viewing decolonisation. I’m sorry, this is not in the questions: you mentioned that the experience is like being in a strange dream, and I don’t know how you measure that extent of loss.

Haidar Eid: Look, despair for me is a luxury I cannot afford. Despair is a luxury that we cannot afford at all.

Palestinian steadfastness and citizen journalists

Jannike Bergh: This brings me to a question I wanted to touch on. You mention “Palestinian steadfastness” in your book.

Haidar Eid: Sumūd.

Jannike Bergh: This sumūd, or Palestinian steadfastness, links with what you said about there not being any time to despair, and there is some of that in South African resilience. This is something that is in the fabric of every family … since the Nakba 76 years ago, of which many have come to learn about only in the past seven months. And it has been observed to prove itself through young adults acting as citizen journalists or grassroots reporters: among them Motaz Aizaza (18 million followers on Instagram – more than Joe Biden), Hind Khoudary and Bisan Owda. Without their brave work, in a context where media workers are deliberately targeted, the global solidarity movement for Palestine may have carried less momentum. Could you speak about how these young voices connect to “decolonising the Palestinian mind”?

Haidar Eid: I think your point is about the question of representation and Palestinian voices. In the previous question, we addressed the issue of leadership and how the Palestinian leadership has failed the Palestinian people. And I think that we have what I call a “representation crisis” in Palestine. I mean, seriously, the question is: how many books have been written by Gazans about Gaza in English and other languages? And I think that these journalists, those young voices that you are referring to, are also part of what I call the “New Palestinian voice”. The first time the term “the new Palestinian” was used, it was used by a former Palestinian prime minister, Salim Fayyad, who was the prime minister of the Palestinian Authority; but at the time, he meant a “new Palestinian” who succumbs to the pressure of the IMF and the World Bank and the Americans, etc.

And then we tried to give a different definition of the new Palestinian: the new Palestinian is the one who resists occupation, who resists colonialism, who resists apartheid and who tries to give a different, independent voice to the suffering of the Palestinian people. And this is what you are talking about. This is the question: how many books have been written by Gazans? I’ve read some books by foreigners – very good people and supporters of Palestine, from Sara Roy to Norman Finkelstein, etc. But again, how many books have been written by Gazans? How many can you say? How many can I mention? Not even one or two. Where is the voice of Gazans? Where is the voice of the victims? In Edward Said’s book, The question of Palestine, written in the 1970s, he raises this question in one of the chapters, “Zionism from the standpoint of its victims” – because Zionism is a hegemonic ideology, both in Palestine and in the West. People get to hear what the Israelis have to say, but they don’t listen to what the Palestinians have to say – hence the importance of these voices.

Why does mainstream media – white, liberal and conservative (even in South Africa, by the way – it’s extremely irritating) – why does that media hide the fact, for example, that the overwhelming majority of Gazans are refugees, ethnically cleansed from their villages and towns in 1948 by Israel?

Some people tell me, “Oh, you have Christians in Gaza!” Three historic churches have been destroyed by Israel in Gaza. You see the importance of Palestinian voices. We are portrayed as only villains, terrorists or victims – only helpless victims who are not agents of change; we don’t have agency, in a way. We are never presented as “human beings” with full rights to freedom and equality. Yet, we Palestinians, we are aware of the fact that we are the centre of much attention.

You mark my words: Gaza has become the centre of the universe! But ironically, we are never heard from.

Look at international journalists, commentators and political pundits; they keep speculating on the future prospects of peace, “the day after”, what is next for Gaza, and they always interview foreigners, Israelis, Zionists. You can hardly hear a Palestinian voice, and this is why Palestinian voices are extremely important. I am conscious of that. This is why I’ve worked on this book and I’m working on a second book. You need to hear from me. You need to hear from people like us.

Jannike Bergh: I got goosebumps when you said that Gaza has become “the centre of the universe”, because it has. Irrevocably. I do get criticism from friends, and if I can say it in plain and simple terms, white people think that solidarity for Palestine ignores other conflicts. The question I get asked often is, why do you care so much about Gaza, and why are you not saying anything about Congo? There is a refusal to talk about Gaza; it’s become more acceptable to speak about and focus on Palestine, but it remains very niche – even though it’s going to change the course of the world, I think.

Haidar Eid: I definitely agree, and there are historical moments. At the beginning of the genocide, I wrote a piece titled Our Warsaw moment, in which I, of course, compared Gaza with Warsaw – the Warsaw intifada. In 2009, I called Gaza the “Sharpeville of the Middle East”. In other words, I’ve looked at massacres in the 20th century that have left a mark on human consciousness. In a third piece, I said that Gaza has become the Soweto of Palestine. In a way, I looked at massacres that have left, as I said, a mark, a signpost, on your long walk to freedom here in South Africa. Gaza is also a signpost for Palestinians in our long walk to freedom. That’s number one.

Number two, no, you are not singling out Israel. Israelis have asked the world to treat Israel differently from other countries of the world. The Congo is not the form of settler colonialism and apartheid, the multitudinous system of oppression, that you have in Palestine. I’ve said it. First, we need to analyse the kind of oppression that Israelis are imposing on all components of the Palestinian people – not only Gaza. In the West Bank, there is a process of ethnic cleansing and settler colonialism. In Palestine in 1948, there is apartheid. In Gaza, there is a genocide. And genocide is not a joke!

The other day, I was asked to join a debate here in South Africa about what’s happening. I said no. No debates about genocide. That kind of luxury, and to have that – sorry to use the word – “intellectual masturbation”, no, I don’t want to get involved in this. There are people being butchered in broad daylight. Sorry if I used that word, but I’m sure you understand my point. I mean, no, there is no debate about genocide. There was no debate about apartheid. And what is implicit in what people are saying, is that there are two “equal” sides! There are no two equal sides. There were no two equal sides in South Africa in the ’50s, ’60s, ’70s and ’80s. Nobody dared to say the two parties have to come together. No – end apartheid. And then we can negotiate about the future, what kind of regime we would like in future South Africa. And this is what’s happening right now.

A third point here: Israel has one of the strongest armies in the world. It is equipped with 95 nuclear heads, F-16s, F-15s, tanks and Apache helicopters. What do Palestinians have in this “two-sideism” story?

You do not have two sides. You have a coloniser and a colonised, an oppressor and an oppressed, a coloniser and a victim, a rapist and a raped person.

[Note: Read a report released by UNRWA on 16 April 2024: Detention and alleged ill-treatment of detainees from Gaza during Israel-Hamas War – JB]

They have been raping prisoners from Gaza lately – raping, literally! I received a report just before this interview: 38 Palestinian prisoners have been killed brutally. Brutally! The kind of torture that they have been using in Israeli prisons against Palestinians, especially from Gaza, is unheard of. Believe me. And, no, you are not talking about two equal parties.

Honestly, it is extremely insulting. I find it very insulting to the memory of those children. I told you, since the beginning of this interview, about 8 children [have been killed]. Do you know how many Palestinian children have been killed since October? In 8 months, 15 000! The worst crimes, according to the United Nations. Do you know how many women and mothers? Twelve thousand. Thirty-eight thousand civilians have been killed in Gaza.

No, no, no. I’m sorry. Gaza is the centre of the world. The same way Soweto was the centre of the world, the same way Sharpeville in 1960 was the centre of the world. Guernica in Spain also was the centre of the world. I’m not saying there is exceptionalism here. Victims are victims. Human rights are human rights – universal human rights.

Jannike Bergh: The global south is asserting itself loudly and clearly. This is a big moment, because, as you say, Gaza has become the centre of the universe, and is also taking the global south with it. I find it powerful.

Haidar Eid: Yes, people have asked me, why is the ICJ case important? It’s extremely important! Only South Africa could do something like this. And this is why I voted for the ANC for the first time in my life – because I wanted to vote for Palestine. Because it’s not about Gaza; it’s about global justice. The ICJ case is about global justice. If Gaza falls, the rest of us will fall. The rest of the global south will fall. This has been understood by Brazil, Chile, Cuba, Venezuela, by Colombia! Yes, I completely agree with you; it’s not only about Gaza, but also about the global south. And Gaza is leading the global resistance and struggle of the south against the colonial West. Notice, apartheid Israel has been supported only by the white world, by the north – by the United Kingdom, France. But there is also a crack in that support. Look at Spain, look at Norway, look at Denmark; look at the student encampments all over the world. Columbia University, which was the first university to impose academic boycotts against apartheid in South Africa, is now the first university whose students have decided to occupy its halls in support of the Palestinians of Gaza, in support of Palestine in general.

The future of Palestinian universities

Jannike Bergh: I want to ask you about your universities [in Gaza] that have now been decimated. Is there any way at all that study is continuing? Are you in touch with students?

Haidar Eid: Oh, no, I’m not in touch with my students – sometimes some of them, one or two, three. I’ve lost contact with most of them, because there’s hardly internet connection, but I’ve lost some of my students. I’m sure I’ve lost more than I know. As much as I don’t like to talk about figures, sometimes we need to do that – all nine universities in Gaza have been destroyed. We have three systems there: governmental, public and private universities. Mine [Al-Aqsa] is the only governmental university, which means it belongs to the government, the Palestinian Authority. And we have two beautiful campuses, wonderful campuses, and we have more than 30 000 students. These two campuses have been destroyed. The other eight universities have also been destroyed: the Islamic University, al-Azhar, al-Quds University, Gaza University, etc.

More than 500 schools have also been destroyed. In addition to the nine universities, there are ten colleges that have been partially or completely destroyed.

More than 100 professors and lecturers have been killed – 87 full professors, many of whom I know, including three university presidents. From my own university, I have lost more than ten colleagues. From my own department, I have lost two colleagues.

From figures I have dating two months ago, 90 university students have been killed. And the number of school students is 625; that was until last month (the beginning of May). This is the situation that we are dealing with. You have no infrastructure. What you are talking about is not only universities being destroyed; we are talking about the infrastructure of the Gaza Strip, with all its cities. The Gaza Strip has eight refugee camps, almost all destroyed, from Rafah in the south to Beit Hanoun in the north.

The universities in the West Bank have come up with an initiative, asking university students in Gaza to join the courses offered by West Bank universities online – but then you don’t have internet connection. So, what can you do? Yes, so this is the answer.

Jannike Bergh: I felt ridiculous asking that question, because it’s unthinkable – how do you focus on schooling when you’re facing starvation? It’s good news, though, to hear about the West Bank universities’ initiative. I have an abstract question, and that is, how do you imagine the future of universities to look in the event of a ceasefire? Are there any discussions?

Haidar Eid: There are discussions looking at things in the short term and long term, because this cannot go on like this, honestly; life in Gaza did not start on 7 October. We need to take into consideration that Gaza has been under a “hermetic”, tight, unprecedented medieval siege since 2006. And, talking about ceasefire: yes, this is the demand of Palestinian civil society, the global solidarity movement and the BDS movement. There has been an overwhelming consensus calling for an immediate ceasefire. We want the free flow of humanitarian aid into Gaza; before 7 October, we used to have about 500 to 600 trucks loaded with humanitarian aid coming into Gaza – that was still under the medieval siege. For the time being, to restart life in Gaza, you need at least 2 000 trucks per day. There is literal starvation in northern Gaza. I get messages from my friends in Beit Hanoun and Jabalia telling me to do something – I really don’t know what to do – saying to me that they are losing their kids. One of my closest friends has four kids; he says they have lost 10 kg of their weight. They are dying; he says, “I can see them dying in front of my eyes, and I can do nothing.” More than 30 people, the majority of whom are children, have died – they have been deliberately starved to death.

OK, I definitely want to teach online. I need my students to read novels and short stories; how can I give them reading work when they don’t have access to the internet? It’s not impossible, but extremely difficult.

Going on to your second question, regarding student encampments all over the world. This has come in response to the call we made back in 2004 as Palestinian academics. All Palestinian universities and the Council of Higher Education in Palestine came up with a call in 2004, calling on international academic and cultural institutions to boycott Israeli academic and cultural students – not only because of their complicity in Israel’s violation of human rights, etc, but because of their involvement in war crimes and crimes against humanity committed by the state of Israel. We are talking about institutional boycotts. South Africa did not call for institutional boycotts, but blanket boycotts – anything that was benefiting from the oppression of blacks in South Africa. This is what we did in 2004, so what the students are doing internationally right now, is heeding our call, and going beyond that: they are not only calling for a ceasefire – notice, one of the main slogans is, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” They have gone beyond our call as a BDS movement, a rights-based movement, calling for the implementation of international law, of United Nations and Security Council resolutions pertaining to our fundamental rights – basic rights: the right of freedom in Gaza and the West Bank, meaning (1) the withdrawal of Israeli occupation, (2) the right of return of Palestinian refugees in accordance with UN Resolution 194, and (3) the dismantling of Israel’s apartheid laws (dating back to 1948).

By the way, I addressed the student encampments at Wits University: very conscious, impressive students. Some of the universities of South Africa have decided to heed our call – Nelson Mandela University, for example.

Stellenbosch University is acting like some Western universities when South Africans called on them to boycott apartheid universities, unfortunately.

But, all in all, I can tell you – with these courageous, conscientious students in the US, South Africa, France, Denmark, Norway, Italy, and with Spain leading the academic boycott now – I can tell you with a clear heart that we are going through our South African moment. You might ask, what do I mean by our “South African moment”? The moment when the international community decided to heed your call towards the end of the 1980s, until Nelson Mandela was released in 1990, until he became the first black president of multiracial, multicultural South Africa in 1994.

Jannike Bergh: That reminds me of an interview I did with Matthieu Rey, a French scholar on Middle Eastern power politics, who said that, for him, the kind of cosmopolitanism you find in South Africa is the only answer to racism.

Haidar Eid: I agree, absolutely. I might add that it all comes within our understanding of the concept of decolonisation. When I say “decolonising the Palestinian mind”, it is only one part of the process of decolonisation as a radical process that addresses the main structures of oppression: Zionist settler colonialism, American imperialism, apartheid. In other words, inequalities and injustices – that is what we mean by decolonisation, and I agree with what you have just told me.

Jannike Bergh: This is a great conclusion to our conversation. To go back to the very beginning of your book, which you wrote while you were in Rafah: you wrote about waking up to all the houses around you in rubble, and that the “adjacent neighbour is luckier”. How does one cope with this notion of being luckier or unluckier than your neighbour, in terms of surviving day after day, and not knowing whether it’s your or your family’s turn next?

Haidar Eid: I get your point, but I need to clarify why the neighbours. We lived in the last street of southern Rimal, that is, our neighbourhood. That street separating us from the other side of a new neighbourhood – they wanted to destroy Rimal, so we crossed the street. My family and I were sitting on the stairs of the neighbour’s house, and they came out and asked, why don’t you come in – I just needed to clarify that. I am conscious of the fact that I’m living with survivor’s complex. Look, my direct family – my brother, sister and their families – are staying in tents in Gaza right now. Tents! And almost every day, whenever internet connection allows there, when I do not hear from them I cannot fall sleep. My partner’s family, from Nuseirat – her parents, her brothers – are still there, so every minute she wants to know what is happening. They are staying in somebody else’s house. How do you survive? I really don’t know how to answer that. Like you said, how do you cope? You don’t have another alternative. It’s a dichotomy: you either cope or you die. If you don’t cope, what do you do? It’s a difficult question, and, as you said, abstract.

I am lucky and privileged, because I have South African citizenship. By the way, I never wanted to leave – during all the previous massacres, the South African embassy would contact me and ask if I wanted to be evacuated, and I said no, but I didn’t have children at the time. I have a seven-year-old and a six-year-old child. I’ve lost my house now, my car, my neighbourhood. In December, I was displaced three times, and there was no home to go back to. I was left with no choice, and I was evacuated with other South Africans; we were 19 at the time. I’m still living with survivor’s complex and with the trauma.

And my kids: the little one has become an insomniac; she’s six years old, and she cannot sleep. Now they go back and remember what happened; they’re using words that no child should be using: qasf, which means “shelling”; anqad, which means “rubble”. They know these words in Arabic: ashla’a, which means “shredded bodies”.

Yes, it’s terrible.

A free Palestine

Haidar Eid: Since we are concluding, let me finish with this, rather: people always ask what will happen, as if Gaza is the problem. We need to be clear: we need to solve the Palestinian question created by Israeli settler colonialism and American imperialism. What do we expect? I’m talking about the minimum: exactly like what you had in South Africa. The settler society is expected to abandon all colonial privileges and show real willingness to accept its responsibility for past and present crimes and injustices. The compromise we indigenous Palestinians are expected to offer is to accept the settlers as equal citizens in the new state between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean; this is what you did in South Africa – despite all the criticisms I gave you about South Africa. But this is the minimum that we can start with, and then talk about the future of our children.

Let us finish here – I don’t want to spoil the last thing that I’ve said.

Make me Superman
       
        “I imagine that my ghost is standing by the ruins of another house in al-Rimal. Al-Rimal used to be a docile and peaceful neighbourhood in Gaza City.
        My ghost pats one of my university students – a brilliant student – on the shoulder, offering her a tissue to wipe her tears. She embraces her father and carries her little sister, who weeps as she searches for their mother under the rubble. …

        My ghost goes to the Nuseirat refugee camp.
        In Nuseirat, my ghost hears the cooing of a dove coming from the south, from Khan Younis. The dove bears the story of another home.

        The home is a lover. A woman who has feelings for you and for whom you have feelings.
        She is you, and you are her. There are no boundaries. No separation.

        When the home is demolished, something within you dies.

        “Where is my mom?” a little girl screams.
        “Where is my dad?”

         The girl is beside the rubble of yet another house – the rubble where the cooing dove had landed. I try to pull myself together and fail.
        My shadow refuses to return to my body. My ghost rebels against its master.
       
        On Lalylat-al-Qadr – the Night of Destiny – my prayer was:
       
        “O God, make me be Superman during these massacres. I ask for nothing else, O merciful God.”

        Make me Superman, and I will not attack any Israeli, either soldier or civilian. I will not be aggressive towards either Benjamin Netanyahu or Itamar Ben-Gvir.

I will not even be aggressive towards Benny Gantz, who has boasted of sending Gaza back to the “Stone Age” with all the slaughter he ordered in 2014.

And I will not be any threat to Joe Biden or Rishi Sunak.

The only thing I will do will be to intercept the shells before they kill the children of Gaza.

My ghost decides to take leave. It is gone forever.”

– “Prologue one: Even ghosts weep in Gaza”, Decolonising the Palestinian mind by Haidar Eid. Published by Inkani Books in January 2024.

This conversation with professor Haidar Eid, associate professor in postcolonial studies and postmodern literature at al-Aqsa University, Gaza City was first published on litnet. Re-published in herri with kind permission of the author and the editors of litnet.