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Shortly after the middle of the 13th century catastrophes occurred in Mycenaean centres; but the palaces were repaired, the fortifications reinforced, underground fountains built to ensure water supply. Yet by the end of the century – the beginning of the 12th – the whole Mediterranean was engulfed in a turmoil of raids, like those of the Sea Peoples, natural disasters, population movements and social unrest. The rich Near-Eastern cities and their network collapsed, the Hittite state dissolved, Cyprus and Troy were destroyed and Egypt entered a period of decline. In Greece the palaces were destroyed, the Mycenaean organization disappeared along with the writing, people fled to secure places. Internal factors and the dysfunction of the palace system are mainly the causes of the disasters. A short renaissance followed with small flourishing communities but new destructions brought complete disruption and final decay. The 1st millennium BC would herald the Iron Age based on new political circumstances and the use of the metal-iron-that changed peoples’ life. In many ways though the Mycenaean legacy was preserved.
I open with Robert Sturmy’s disastrous 1458 voyage. I introduce Sturmy, and set the scene of the trials of the Genoese, before listing his cargo. I establish the terms of my study, introducing my key frameworks: the concept of ‘Syriana’, the phenomenon of ‘post-Acre melancholia’, and the category of ‘Arabo-English literature’. I introduce the medieval geographical imagination of ‘Syria’, showing how the label was used variously in reference to the former Roman province, the crusading settlements, the Mamlūk administrative district and the broader region of the Holy Land. These materials are framed through analysis of artist Michael Rakowitz’s Trafalgar Square Fourth Plinth commission, The Invisible Enemy Should Not Exist (2018), a lost Assyrian Lamassu recreated from tins of Iraqi date syrup. The structure and approach of the book draws this artwork, which articulates the entanglement of trade, conflict, consumption, dialogue, and human mobility.
This chapter examines Ruqaya Izzidien’s The Watermelon Boys (2018) and, more briefly, Isabella Hammad’s The Parisian (2019). It argues that each of these novels offers a reassessment of the First World War in Mesopotamia (contemporary Iraq) and Palestine, and its ongoing repercussions in the region. This chapter argues that these books should be read as resistant forms of cultural production, which assert the humanity of populations that were often reduced to racialized types or caricature in First World War representations of them. In contrast, these authors draw attention to the imperial roots of contemporary conflict in the Middle East; to the rich cultures, histories, and traditions of its people; and to the impact of violence on ordinary Arab lives, especially those of women and children. As such, they not only offer a new perspective on the First World War, but also challenge the perverse logic of twenty-first-century conflicts in which the deaths of Iraqi and Palestinian civilians continue to be seen as acceptable “collateral damage.”
In June 1458, two boats were cornered by pirates off the coast of Malta. Their captain – Robert Sturmy – proved no match for the notorious Genoese freebooter Giuliano Gattilusio and was summarily killed by him. The precious cargo for which Sturmy paid with his life contained stealable goods but also cultural significance. Sweet wines, spices, silks, jewels, and minerals – these alluring commodities gripped the medieval English imagination. E. K. Myerson utilises this dramatic incident of Mediterranean plunder to reveal the impact of Syrian imports on medieval art, language, and everyday life. They argue that the cultural category of 'Syriana' became a powerful tool, used to evoke both the sacred sites of the Holy Land and the global marketplaces of the Mamluk Empire. Myerson's innovative book draws on their research into medieval archives, conceptual art, and postcolonial and queer theory, showing how medieval 'Syriana' transformed English society in ways which continue to resonate today.
The word taʿawuniyya (“cooperative”) in Palestine today can mean multiple things. It can mean a registered cooperative, or can loosely refer to any initiative based on collective labor and possession, geared toward a collective societal benefit—a communal garden, for example. This vernacular usage of the term, close to the concept of the commons, is borne out of Palestinian history and is an invitation to go beyond the formal definition of a cooperative when searching for a Palestinian “cooperative movement.” Registered cooperatives in Palestine have historically played a role that ranged from subordination and placation by ruling authorities to reformist and survival mechanisms for a colonized population. Informal cooperatives, on the other hand, played roles that surpassed survival and attempted to upend the basis of colonial control. Apart from structure and labor relations, what unites both senses of the term “cooperative” is the political role they have played, as well as their tendency to focus on basic necessities such as food and housing. The history of the cooperative movement in Palestine tells a story of social production and reproduction as an arena of struggle, particularly against Zionist colonization. This essay will give an overview of this history, focusing mainly on the areas of Palestine occupied in 1967.
Chapter 6 closes with several forward-looking discussions about the impact of Trump’s overt challenges to the law of war. Section 6.1 highlights practical takeaways from the book for IHL policymakers and practitioners. Section 6.2 explores what, if anything, can be done to curb the impunity agenda at its source. Sections 6.3 and 6.4 examine the future of Trump’s impunity agenda, both in America and globally, including in major conflicts involving Russia and Israel. Section 6.4 poses questions for further research.
This essay examines the overlooked 1979 strike by Palestinian workers at the Jerusalem District Electricity Company (JEDC) as a pivotal moment of anti-colonial resistance. It argues that the strike, which fused demands for better wages with a political struggle against Israel’s erosion of the company’s concession and autonomy, demonstrates the inextricable link between class and national liberation. By mobilizing broad popular solidarity to defend a critical national infrastructure, the JEDC workers’ union articulated a mode of resistance in which labor solidarity became a primary vehicle for asserting sovereignty and contesting the political economy of settler colonial occupation. Their actions foreground the central role of an organized urban working class in the broader Palestinian struggle for development and liberation.
What is happening in Gaza now is a total displacement of any form of normality. This displacement of the normal has been effected by a population-wide project of social reproduction. Every Gazan, including children, is solicited to reproduce life, to survive. At the same time, social reproduction in Palestine has always also entailed insurgent possibilities, where this form of labour has indeed sustained and reproduced Palestinian revolutionary action. From collective kitchens to local initiatives of care for children, to using drones as musical instruments to distract children from the deafening violence of its soundscape, social reproduction is iterated as both survival and insurgency. This short intervention tries to think through the question of how to make sense of social reproduction as capitalist oppression through the unwaged housework, and as colonial violence through the mass extermination of a population, without leaving behind its potential for insurgency?
At the end of the eleventh century, European knowledge of a wider world was emerging from a period of relative ignorance. Patterns of long-distance trade across the Mediterranean, an increased impetus in pilgrimage, and the settlement of previously little-known regions had, by the 1090s, all contributed to a growing awareness of distant lands and peoples. Italians were regularly trading in north Africa and the Levant; Normans had established themselves in southern Italy; French-speaking knights participated in campaigns of Christian conquest in the Iberian peninsula; Scandinavians were a familiar sight in Constantinople, and western knights had even fought with the Seljuqs in Asia Minor. The response to the papal preaching of the First Crusade in 1095, however, stimulated travel to the eastern Mediterranean and Near East on a much larger scale than previously. Most crusaders were experiencing topographies and landscapes that were unfamiliar, and encountering peoples whose appearance, customs, and values challenged their preconceptions about the world.
This article examines the role solidarity magazines played for the first generation of global Palestine activists. Through an analysis of Scandinavian magazines of the late 1960s and early 1970s, and microhistories of the first generation of solidarity activists in Denmark, Norway, and Sweden based on interviews, memoirs, novels, and letters, this article examines how the first Palestine committees and the foundational notions of the Palestinian cause were formed. This article argues that the solidarity magazine became a central forum for the co-creation of Palestine solidarity between Palestinians and their sympathizers. Viewing solidarity as a result of joint political and intellectual labor gives agency to solidarity as a third space between national solidarity movements and Third World liberation movements. By taking this approach, this article reads magazines as an aperture into the first iteration of Palestine as a global cause.
This chapter examines a group of anticolonial and anti-imperialist intellectuals of different political persuasions thinking on Palestinian anticolonial national liberation at key moments in Palestinian history. It argues that central to these thinkers in their analysis of Palestine is a collapse in distinction between 1948- and 1967-occupied Palestine in Zionist settler-colonial ambitions in Palestine; the umbilical relationship between Zionism and US–Euro imperialism; as well as the centrality of Arab ruling classes to Zionist hegemony in Palestine.
Palestinian doctors became a dynamic, vocal, influential, and fascinating professional community over the first half of the twentieth century, growing from roughly a dozen on the eve of World War I to 300 in 1948. This study examines the social history of this group during the late Ottoman and British Mandate periods, examining their social and geographic origins, their professional academic training outside Palestine, and their role and agency in the country's medical market. Yoni Furas and Liat Kozma examine doctors' interactions with the rural and urban society and their entangled relationship with the British colonial administration and Jewish doctors. This book also provides an in-depth description of how Palestinian doctors thought and wrote about themselves and their personal, professional, and collective ambitions, underlining the challenges they faced while attempting to unionize. Furas and Kozma tell Palestine's story through the acts and challenges of these doctors, writing them back into the local and regional history.
International criminal law constitutes the culmination of the ‘anti-impunity agenda’ within international law, policy, and practice. This agenda, often advanced under the rallying cry of ‘never again’ – a pledge to never let atrocities like those of the Second World War happen again to anyone – is driven by the conviction that criminal sanctions are essential for fulfilling this promise and conveying collective condemnation of such horrors. This results in what we term the ‘penal accountability paradigm’ in relation to atrocities: positioning punishment at the forefront of the prevention of, and justice and accountability for, atrocities. This paper examines some of the damaging implications of this paradigm within and beyond international criminal law, particularly its distorting effects on responses to ongoing atrocities in Palestine. We suggest that, in the context of these ongoing atrocities, the framing of punishment as justice harms the ‘never again’ promise in several important ways: (i) it gives states the (undue) benefit of the doubt; (ii) it decontextualizes, individualizes, and exceptionalizes atrocities; (iii) it monopolizes discourses of accountability and condemnation, while sanitizing the suppression of dissenting voices; and (iv) it lends support to retaliatory impulses, distorting the discourse around the legitimate or lawful use of force in response to atrocities. We conclude by outlining the need to turn to more diverse and materially informed words, tools, and paradigms for naming, preventing, and standing in solidarity against abuses, in Palestine and elsewhere, that go beyond penal responses and directly engage with broader political and ethical conceptions of justice.
It has long been acknowledged that the past can be a weapon. In Palestine, reports of the targeting of archaeological sites, museums, archives, and other locations of cultural heritage by Tel Aviv have been increasing drastically since 7 October 2023 (although they took place before). This article seeks to contextualise these destructions of heritage within a larger project of controlling history and understands this project to be a cornerstone of European colonialism, comparing it with Britain’s colonial control over how ancient sites are interpreted in what is now Zimbabwe. It asks what the role of the historian is in a time of genocide and revisits what it means to do “decolonial” work while history is being weaponised for colonial occupation. And it requires those of us who are interested in the past (and especially the ancient past) to reckon with our position in the belly of the beast.
Despite ongoing attempts to fragment and eliminate the Palestinian people, Palestinians persist on their lands and continue to uphold their right to return home. In this article, I suggest that vital to this persistence are Palestinian feelings of belonging to and longing for Palestine. Together, these constellations of feeling form what I call affective sovereignty. Through this concept, I argue that such feelings constitute a sovereign Indigenous Palestinian claim to the land. That is, a Palestinian Indigenous sovereignty is sustained, affirmed, and reproduced in part through feeling. I track forms of affective sovereignty through the practices of Palestinian graffiti and hip-hop music. I find in these aesthetic practices four interrelated themes that together express an affective sovereignty. First, I analyse expressions of belonging to the land of Palestine. Next, I turn to expressions of belonging to the Palestinian people, particularly those that express unity across the geographic fragments of Palestine. Third, I analyse expressions of longing for Palestine from the condition of exile. Finally, I explore how these feelings are drawn into more directly resistant expressions of Palestinian sovereignty, suggesting that affective sovereignty forms the molten core of Palestinian resistance.
A central feature of the international legal system is that States are the predominant actors within the system and possess international legal personality. States are able to enter into legal relations with each other by way of treaties, possess certain international legal rights as bestowed under international law, and are capable of enforcing those legal rights in international litigation or of being the subject of a claim if they are derelict in meeting their international legal obligations. This raises two important issues. First, how are 'States' characterised and recognised under international law? Second, are States the only international actors that possess international legal personality? This chapter first consides the characteristics of statehood and the legal tests for recognition of a State. Next, the political and legal dimensions of recognition of a State are considered. This is followed by a focus on the international legal personality of non-State actors, including international organisations, individuals and transnational corporations. Finally, the related issues of peoples and their right to self-determination, and secession are considered.
This chapter discusses the development of Jewish synagogue architecture in Late Antiquity, tracing its evolution from the early centuries to the more monumental structures of the fourth to sixth centuries. Drawing on a range of sources, it explores how synagogue architecture varied across regions, reflecting local styles, communal preferences and interactions with surrounding Christian and pagan cultures. While early synagogues primarily functioned as spaces for Torah readings, later structures became more elaborate, incorporating decorative elements such as Jewish symbols (e.g. the menorah, Torah shrine and ritual objects) and even figural representations – challenging traditional assumptions about aniconism in Judaism. The chapter also addresses debates over synagogue chronology, arguing that established typologies, such as Galilean-type and Byzantine-type synagogues, require re-evaluation in the light of recent archaeological discoveries. It emphasises that synagogue architecture was shaped not only by religious traditions but also by broader social and political factors. The presence of monumental synagogues in Late Antiquity suggests that Jewish communities remained active and resilient even under Christian rule.
In its Advisory Opinion on the Legal Consequences arising from the Policies and Practices of Israel in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, including East Jerusalem, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) ruled not only that Israeli policies and practices in the occupied territory systematically violated international law, but also that Israel’s ‘continued presence’ (i.e. occupation) as such had become illegal, so that Israel was required to withdraw from the Occupied Palestinian Territories as rapidly as possible. The ICJ’s finding that Israel engaged in a sustained abuse of its position as an occupying power, through annexation of territory and frustration of Palestinian self-determination, was central to its reasoning, as was its holding that the legality of the occupation was to be judged against the jus ad bellum. This article unpacks the concept of an illegal occupation. It argues that, as matter of the jus ad bellum, it is only the right to self-defence that could, in theory, justify Israel’s continued occupation. Curiously, however, the Opinion does not mention self-defence, although it preoccupied many of the judges writing separately. The article argues that two approaches to the occupation’s ad bellum illegality are most persuasive: first, that the occupation could not meet the necessity and proportionality criteria of lawful self-defence; and, second, that even a valid self-defence claim can be vitiated by a predominant ulterior purpose.
This introductory chapter discusses the focus of this monograph, and places it in its theoretical, contextual and methodological context. Working from the premise that while gender shapes violence, violence also shapes gender, I introduce the central line of enquiry of this book: the gendered politics of settler colonialism, with a specific focus on masculinities across the sharply hierarchical divide of Israeli militarism and occupied Palestine.
The empirical research is placed within its historical context, serving to contextualise the settler colonial present – the application of which is explicated within this section. My own positionality, research methodology and the structure of the book is discussed after articulation of the conceptual framework of the book. The latter explores theory and literature surrounding gender, masculinities, violence, and their intersections – affirming Demetriou’s (2001, 342–48) argument that “when the conditions for the reproduction of patriarchy change”, “exemplary masculinities […] adapt accordingly.”
The concluding chapter highlights the fluidity and interconnected nature of masculinities within specific interactional settings across Israel and Palestine, indicating that what is hailed as ‘the ideal’ is ever subject to change amid complex webs of power, patriarchy, and militarised colonisation. Each telling components of much broader and complex stories, I summarise each chapter as indicative of the contingency and mutual adaptability of gendered dynamics across manufactured, militarised, and sharply hierarchical colonial divides. I argue that gendered identities in this context are connected by that which simultaneously separates them – the militarised violence of the colonial regime. In so doing, the intertwined nature of identities across and enmeshed within complex webs of power, violence and resistance are explored, revealing a plurality of scripts and codes that variously constitute the complex gendered politics of settler colonialism.