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Preface
This brief essay is set against the tragic backdrop of the war in Gaza and the heated controversy that ensued. The Hamas attack of October 7, 2023, was met almost everywhere with condemnation, as was necessary and understandable. On the other hand, the murderous, devastating fury that Israel unleashed in the succeeding months has elicited a much more temperate response. Some, embarrassed but indulgent, have taken issue, generally in benevolent tones. The rare critics who have spoken against Israel’s policy have been careful to confirm their underlying sympathy and solidarity. The subtext of these editorials has almost always been the same: “Frankly, you’ve gone overboard, and we can’t help criticizing your brutal methods, but we’re doing so because we’re on your side, as always, and want to help you fight the monsters on the other side.” The countries of what is now called the Global South have expressed their unanimous outrage at the destruction of Gaza, whereas the West—that is, the great majority of its governments and media—has approved or even facilitated it, widening the gap between Western elites and public opinion.
The following pages grew out of this observation. The text was not written, therefore, with serene detachment. Rather, it is an attempt to elaborate on a first line of thought, making no attempt to hide the feelings of astonishment, disbelief, discouragement, and anger that washed over me in recent months. I might say, paraphrasing Sartre, that this is a text written in situation. No one should be misled by the title, Gaza Faces History. I am not a specialist on the Middle East, nor on the Arab-Israeli conflict, nor on Palestine. I don’t pretend to analyze the war or describe its players, different perspectives, or geopolitical dimension. Others already do that much better than I, with tools and knowledge that I don’t possess. My objective in these pages is different. I have wanted to take a critical look at the political and intellectual debate that the Gaza crisis has stirred up, trying to untangle its knotted skeins of history and memory. In short, it is a critical meditation on the present and the ways that history has been summoned to interpret it. The topic is vast and deserves a more exhaustive study than these hastily written notes, but an emergency exists. A historian may at times deviate from his usual habits and take risks, particularly if he has no illusions about practicing a science free from value judgments—and I do not. It is clear to all that this war marks an inflection point, not only for its geopolitical consequences but also for how Palestinians and Israelis are seen by the rest of the world. Of course, the war is happening in the present, and we are not yet in a position to write its history. The historicization of great events takes time, as well as established and accessible sources, a long view, and, indispensably, critical distance. At some future point, the Gaza war will undoubtedly find its historians. For now, we can only take stock of the public use being made of the past, and reflect on what history gives us in the way of tools to examine the present, and the questionable, sometimes unworthy, ways history is used. That has been my main interest here. My point of view is dissonant, in the sense that it does not coincide with the axioms of that small portion of the world known as the West, which claims to have a monopoly on power as well as on morality. To this chorus of consensus, my text will act as a “counterpoint,” on the invitation that Edward Said made to intellectuals years ago, deploring that their voices were heard less and less, drowned out in the growing roar of the media. Yet when we change our point of observation and put ourselves in the position of those who are experiencing this war, the dissonant voices say quite obvious things.