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On Palestine: An Open Conversation with Noura Erakat
Céline Semaan In reading “Let them Drown” by Naomi Klein, she makes the connection between environmental struggles to the Palestinian cause. It is after all about land. She says, Edward Said was no tree-hugger. Descended from traders, artisans and professionals, he once described himself as ‘an extreme case of an urban Palestinian whose relationship to the land is basically metaphorical’.* In After the Last Sky, his meditation on the photographs of Jean Mohr, he explored the most intimate aspects of Palestinian lives, from hospitality to sports to home décor. The tiniest detail – the placing of a picture frame, the defiant posture of a child – provoked a torrent of insight from Said. Yet when confronted with images of Palestinian farmers – tending their flocks, working the fields – the specificity suddenly evaporated. Which crops were being cultivated? What was the state of the soil? The availability of water? Nothing was forthcoming. ‘I continue to perceive a population of poor, suffering, occasionally colorful peasants, unchanging and collective,’ Said confessed. This perception was ‘mythic’, he acknowledged – yet it remained.
When I read this, I was shocked, because a lot of us who grew up in the region, or were displaced, came back, grew up in diaspora, whatever… We come from this region where environmentalism is sort of a privilege. Like, we are not tree huggers in a way where we grow up thinking about the environment. Given Slow Factory’s and my work, we want to know from you and within your work, how land dispossession is, and has been, deeply connected with human rights and international law, but also climate?
Noura Erakat: I experienced my own change. I’m trained as an organizer and then trained as an attorney. In so many ways, as an attorney, you learn that you have a hammer, and you look for nails. It’s a very prescriptive kind of vocation, in the sense that you have a policy, there’s a problem, there’s a remedy, there’s a solution.
One of the things that I experienced in the writing of “Justice for Some,” is that when I got to the end of the book, I found myself in a similar place that I was before I started [writing]. It was a really difficult journey; the book was very hard to write. And yet I found myself thinking in the same way that I had before I started, which is about solutions. Solutions to Falasteen (Palestine) are articulated in this political equation: politics in the sense of a battle over scarce resources and how they ended up being divided.
Through that lens of politics defined in that way, as a competition over scarcity, or scarce resources and how a power determines their distribution, I found myself articulating only three ways forward, it’s either a binational state, it’s a Palestinian state with strong protections for the Jewish majority, or it’s two states, which are the same prescriptions that were presented to the United Nations Special Committee on Palestine in 1947. So what the hell had I done if I had been thinking through that same framework, but also hadn’t produced anything different than what folks had thought of 70 years earlier in 1947? Shu stafadna? (What did we gain?)
But this is why writing and this is why creativity is so necessary because you get to be stuck. If it was just a path forward, you’re maybe just putting things down or you’re transcribing, but to be stuck is to be faced with a challenge and having to overcome that challenge. A dear friend of mine who is also an attorney, a movement lawyer, but was a founder of Law for Black Lives, says to me, “Maybe you should take a break and read some Afro Futurism.” To which I thought, ‘It’s been fun hanging out with you today, but I have to finish this book, and I have a deadline.’ But funny enough, I had been reading Octavia Butler’s “Parable of the Sower”, which is so scary if you think about our particular moment, and I was also reading all these other texts on settler colonialism about how you distinguish the native settler relationship and so on and so forth.
I remember vividly sitting up in my bed and thinking ‘Oh my God, she’s right!’ Here I was trying to think of how to get through this problem by looking at the present, how to heal the present or address the present, when what we’ve been taught by Afrofuturists is that we have to see the future, imagine the future, and build with whatever ladders, ropes, or mechanisms that will catapult us to that future. That’s what frees us! If enslaved people had only thought of the present and had only thought, ‘How do we get away from a slave master?’ for example, they couldn’t have imagined a world where they were free, and had the wherewithal to fight at all costs for that.
So through that framework, I broke out of my own constrictive framework of ‘How do we deal with this?’ and very much engaged in what I call “Palestinian Futurism”, which expresses itself in many, many, many ways.
The way I concluded in the book is to imagine that the return of Palestinian refugees is not the resolution of our Palestinian struggle. That’s not the end, it’s the beginning. We have to imagine what happens the day after we all return. Now, what is the society that we create that is actually good for all of us? That is even a better future for Israelis than Israel has promised them also?
For them to belong in this land that we want, reimagines our relationship to land, because so much of the problem is that our struggle over land becomes a struggle over ownership or over title.
The Bedouins demonstrated that their customary forms of ownership were actually legitimate, but because their lands weren’t registered, it let them be confiscated by the state, which upholds these very restrictive forms of ownership. It’s a fight over sovereignty. Sovereignty, that can only be incommensurate. There can only be one sovereign over the land. It’s either the Zionist settler, or the Palestinian native. But what happens when we discard sovereignty and think about our relationship as a relationship of belonging, which is infinite? In that relationship of belonging, is a responsibility.
So it’s not that the land belongs to us, but that we belong to the land. And in that belonging, we have to demonstrate a care for it, that isn’t just ‘It’s mine, and I own it,’ which actually, internally, for Palestinians is not a way forward at all. We’re far greater in numbers now. A family of 30 that was removed from their home might be a family of 250 today; if even that one Palestinian family were to resolve ownership, there would be a tremendous amount of conflict, as opposed to thinking, ‘No, no, the land doesn’t belong to us, we belong to it.’ That is a responsibility that has led me to think about the land in many different ways.
I wanted to document my own journey to get to this place where I’m actually consciously thinking about the land, as what we have a responsibility towards, which is very much in line with other Indigenous scholars and Indigenous people. It’s brought me to Indigenous resurgence, brought me to think about capitalism, and it’s brought me to think about common land as opposed to land as private land.
Céline: I love your response about that, and the responsibility to the land. As you said, it’s very similar to Indigenous sovereignty and to the Indigenous struggle. I’m gonna come back to this idea of indigeneity and narrative, but first, as an attorney, what are some of the existing narratives in both media and popular culture that end up affecting international laws?
Noura: My own theory on law is that law is very dynamic. Law is indeterminate. Law has no core meaning, but it’s given meaning through struggle, in the way that advocates advocate for the law, and the way that judges interpret the law and resolve the tensions between two or more conflicting parties. How that outcome comes to be has very much to do with power.
Think of the law, like the sail of a boat; if you were in a boat in the middle of the water, without any oars and without a sail, you would go nowhere. But, if you have a sail, you still move, but you don’t know where you’re gonna go. You’re gonna move, but you don’t know where; your movement is the wind. The law is the sail, where you go is the wind, and that wind is politics and power. So I’ve advocated, draw the sail when politics are not in your favor, lift the sail when they are in your favor, and stitch a new sail when possible.
So insofar as media, media shapes power. Media and narrative actually shapes the way that we understand power because it takes up imaginative space. It’s not that we have a consensus in our public imagination that immediately changes the law. It’s not that simple. There has been immediate change, for example, in the United States that we saw during the Unity Uprising— unequivocal media change. And yet, we also saw on the ground in Palestine, the situation became far worse. There isn’t a correlation, but public imagination becomes a necessary but insufficient element upon which we can continue to struggle. Media has everything to do with it. Media has everything to do with who you believe is an aggressor, who you believe is a victim, and who you believe is responsible.
The United States is the single most significant donor to Israel; it protects it diplomatically, financially, militarily. Americans can change the course of history. Of course, Israel can pivot and move to other benefactors, as they already are, through building inroads in China, India, and elsewhere, but it is our responsibility as Americans, to at least not be the source of the problem. How we understand this, is what Edward Said tells us after the invasion of Lebanon in 1982, is that there was nowhere in the media narrative or in the public imagination at all, the capacity to understand Palestinians and Lebanese people as victims. Regardless of the atrocities committed by the Israelis, there was no capacity to understand Palestinians as victims, because there was no conception of something known as a Palestinian homeland, period. So how is it that there can be no conception of that? Obviously, knowledge production is a part of it in the academy, but it’s the media that changes it.
Céline: So going back to what Edward Said, about Israel invading Lebanon, did that change the narrative of looking at Palestinians?
Noura: Not in 1982. He published this also in the London Review of Books in his essay, “Permission to Narrate” where that infamous line comes from, but his analytical point is that the media has no capacity! Even as Israel is committing massacres, even as Israeli society at the time had a Kahan Commission for the Israeli role in the Sabra and Shatila massacres, which condemned and indicted Ariel Sharon, who was responsible for the operation at the time, even Israeli society had the capacity to do this while American US society did not because they did not have a conception of a Palestinian homeland that was taken away, to even understand why Palestinians would be defending themselves.
So nothing happened in 1982, obviously, but since then, it’s compounded by the fact that since 1948, Israeli military operations have actually targeted Palestinian archives. In Ben Gurion’s role as a defense minister, he ordered the confiscation of Palestinian photo albums, of diaries, of personal effects that then get placed in a military archive, that’s not only off limits, obviously to the Palestinians from whom they’ve been taken away from, but that become off limits because now it’s sensitive information that you need clearance to get it by the UN. This happens during every attack and in 1982 when Israel invaded Lebanon, one of the primary targets was the PLO Research Center, where the Israeli military ransacked the research center, chased down the Palestinian archivists, and then blew the building up. This is the work of Hana Sleiman, who tells us about that. She’s a Palestinian refugee in Lebanon from Ain al-Hilweh, and shows us this research. What is a people without an archive? We don’t have a history. This was very intentional.
The history that has been written has initially been written by Israelis, who did get access to these archives, that remain off limits to Palestinians. So now, we believe Israelis who talk about us, and tell us that there was a Nakba, that there was massacre, that there was sexual assault, and that there was toxic chemicals being used. This group, like Ilan Pappé, and Benny Morris and Avi Shlaim, that’s known as the new Israeli historians, frankly, further diminished Palestinians as trustworthy interlocutors.
We have not been able to share our own story without having some Israeli saying, ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ for anybody to believe us. That’s compounded by the media, by narrative, by these structural considerations where we don’t even have access, by racialization of not believing the natives—all these things that have diminished as these trustworthy spokespeople, storytellers, historians, advocates. My work for the past two plus decades, has been very committed to chipping away at that narrative and making space.
For example, I love the space Mohammed el-Kurd, who’s a dear friend of mine, has been able to take up and what he’s been able to do. Mohammed is able to do that precisely because of the work that those before him have been able to chip away at. We have been able to take up space precisely because of our elders who have been able to lay the groundwork. Mohammed is also now laying the groundwork, and is creating more space so that others are able to take up that space too.
For so long, our interlocutors basically spoke of homeland and our people and self determination, so by the time I come on and try to do the work, I have a very logical approach. I’m a teacher and I’m trained as an attorney, so I want to compel you with facts and I’m going to give you enough facts for you to make your own decision. When I leave you with that, and I empower you to make your own decision, you become part of this process. I’m not just telling you, but I’m involving you in that process. I stay very logical, very factored in, as opposed to, this beautiful turn that we’ve seen, where Mohammed and others, Mariam Barghouti, and Danya AlHawari… so many amazing spokespeople that do this amazing work and put themselves on the line, don’t restrict themselves to that. They’re being really blunt with audiences. I think of one time specifically, when Mariam was asked by one commentator, ‘do you think that you can sit down with the settler and break bread?’ and Mariam just looks at the screen and says, ‘You mean, the settler that’s shooting at me with the army right behind them?’
I think we see the steady progression in creating space and how that space is like an iterative process. As we took that space up, it definitely made a sea of change in 2021. That was the first time for example, where I wasn’t just invited to debate, or to be this biased spokesperson on behalf of Palestinians, I was asked to be an expert. I was treated like a scholar as I should be.
Tell us about the status of Palestinian citizens of Israel.
Tell us about al Nakba.
Tell us.
I have described that as breaking the dam, and I think that it was.
Céline: This is perfect since you’re already beginning to answer my next question about how the international narrative and perception around Palestine has changed in recent years. You started to say it by discussing the sea of change in 2021…
Noura: I think that when we broke the dam in 2021, there were a lot of things happening. It was an accumulation of things that were going on, including the fact that the Trump administration actually did a lot to consolidate the progressive movement, and to make it clear that Palestine was part of a progressive agenda. Black-Palestinian solidarity was remarkable in shepherding and illuminating what should have been obvious: the racial dimensions of Palestinian oppression, as well as the colonial dimensions of Black oppression.
These things were really helpful, and, of course, Black uprising in summer 2020, primed American audiences to understand something known as structural violence and structural racism. For so many Americans, who are crafted into hyper individualism, have this attitude like, “If I didn’t do it, if my parents didn’t do it, then I don’t owe anybody anything,” or “Why should I have to pay taxes for somebody else when they should get jobs?” It’s a hyper individualistic approach, which furthers capitalism more than anything. One of the things that Black uprisings did was shatter and challenge that. It could say, everybody could have a good heart, everybody could really be “colorblind”, but racism still exists and it’s cooked into our financial system and our housing system and our policing system and our health system. That primed American audiences by 2021, to understand Palestine as a freedom struggle, in a way I had never experienced before.
We experienced a moment where there’s not just one Palestinian who has to speak for everybody, but there’s a number of Palestinians. It’s Diana Buttu and Yousef Munayyer, and Yara and Mariam and Mohammed and Jalal. It’s Jihad Abu Salim, It’s like, ‘Wow, there’s more than one!’ And not only is there more than one but we’re all oddly saying very similar things, even though we’re not centrally organized which says something about our movement.
We also see a significant backlash which we’re still going through— the onset of which is specifically in response to the headway that we made. The encapsulation of it is the narrative that antisemitism is on the rise, and for example, if Zionist hecklers came to a Palestinian freedom rally and there was an altercation, it got described as a hate crime and an antisemitic attack, even though these were Zionists, that were coming to a Palestinian freedom rally to say that we deserve to be murdered, and pummeled and eliminated, gets removed. The way that the ADL and other organizations start to bean count antisemitism in a very apolitical, perverse way in order to create a moment of hysteria. And we’re still in it, including that whole movement to adopt the IRA definition or the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance definition of antisemitism, where six of the seven indicators of antisemitism have to do with a critique of Israel.
So now, my mere existence, to say I exist, and I believe in Palestinian freedom, makes me an antisemite, according to this definition. Yet, as ludicrous as that sounds, so much of our energy, since 2021, has been just to defend ourselves against this smear campaign in many different forms: at the state level, at the city level, at the university level, and the professional association level. I define it as a backlash and I see it as an indication of weakness of our adversary, because their hegemony has crumbled. Now they have resorted to these very didactic coercive forms of repression, where they can’t win in the ways that they used to in the past.
Céline: So, what can international allies do for Palestine today? That’s a question we get a lot on all the posts that we share regarding the Palestinian struggle. We draw a line between the water injustice in Palestine and the water injustice in Oahu, and a lot of times people say, “Well, what can I do?”
Noura: Here’s the thing—there is no single program into which international allies can throw themselves into. What I like to say is you have to decide what the greatest way to enact your agency is. If you’re a student, your greatest agency might be the impact that you have on your university administration, in which case a divestment campaign would be quite appropriate. If you’re a worshiper at a church or whatnot, again you want to think of what you can do within the institution that you exist in… also divestment there is really important. If you’re somebody in the community, it might not be anything in particular, so you might want to participate in a boycott campaign. So here, boycott, divestment, and sanctions, but crafted into wherever you are in your life.
As a faculty member, it’s an academic boycott. If you’re part of the municipal organizing, then the work might be to get the City Council to pass a resolution condemning Zionism or affirming Palestinian freedom, or establishing a sister city relationship between your city and a Palestinian city. If you’re an artist, how do you incorporate Palestine as part of your vision? Or perhaps you just don’t cross a picket line!
The politics of solidarity run quite deep, depending on your capacity, your agency and the level of commitment that you want to express. So it could be at the bare minimum, where you decide, ‘I will do no harm’, and you act principally. At the most, where you throw yourself actively into it, you’re joining an organization that exists that is trying to organize power. In New York, it’s “Within our Lifetime”, in San Francisco, it’s the Arab Resource Organizing Center, in Durham, it’s “Jewish Voice for Peace.”
So the idea of “What can we do?, well, it depends— where are you? Who are you? And what is your capacity? And then the sky’s the limit of how it is that you are going to manifest your agency and solidarity.
Originally released in Slow Factory’s Planet Justice textbook, this interview between Palestinian author and advocate Noura Erakat, and Slow Factory founder and Lebanese designer, Céline Semaan illuminates the ongoing fight for freedom and liberation of the Palestinian people as it relates to our collective liberation.
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{
"article":
{
"title" : "On Palestine: An Open Conversation with Noura Erakat",
"author" : "Noura Erakat, Céline Semaan",
"category" : "interviews",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/on-palestine-conversation-noura-erakat",
"date" : "2023-10-10 10:58:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Noura_Free_Palestine_Thumb.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Céline Semaan In reading “Let them Drown” by Naomi Klein, she makes the connection between environmental struggles to the Palestinian cause. It is after all about land. She says, Edward Said was no tree-hugger. Descended from traders, artisans and professionals, he once described himself as ‘an extreme case of an urban Palestinian whose relationship to the land is basically metaphorical’.* In After the Last Sky, his meditation on the photographs of Jean Mohr, he explored the most intimate aspects of Palestinian lives, from hospitality to sports to home décor. The tiniest detail – the placing of a picture frame, the defiant posture of a child – provoked a torrent of insight from Said. Yet when confronted with images of Palestinian farmers – tending their flocks, working the fields – the specificity suddenly evaporated. Which crops were being cultivated? What was the state of the soil? The availability of water? Nothing was forthcoming. ‘I continue to perceive a population of poor, suffering, occasionally colorful peasants, unchanging and collective,’ Said confessed. This perception was ‘mythic’, he acknowledged – yet it remained.",
"content" : "Céline Semaan In reading “Let them Drown” by Naomi Klein, she makes the connection between environmental struggles to the Palestinian cause. It is after all about land. She says, Edward Said was no tree-hugger. Descended from traders, artisans and professionals, he once described himself as ‘an extreme case of an urban Palestinian whose relationship to the land is basically metaphorical’.* In After the Last Sky, his meditation on the photographs of Jean Mohr, he explored the most intimate aspects of Palestinian lives, from hospitality to sports to home décor. The tiniest detail – the placing of a picture frame, the defiant posture of a child – provoked a torrent of insight from Said. Yet when confronted with images of Palestinian farmers – tending their flocks, working the fields – the specificity suddenly evaporated. Which crops were being cultivated? What was the state of the soil? The availability of water? Nothing was forthcoming. ‘I continue to perceive a population of poor, suffering, occasionally colorful peasants, unchanging and collective,’ Said confessed. This perception was ‘mythic’, he acknowledged – yet it remained.When I read this, I was shocked, because a lot of us who grew up in the region, or were displaced, came back, grew up in diaspora, whatever… We come from this region where environmentalism is sort of a privilege. Like, we are not tree huggers in a way where we grow up thinking about the environment. Given Slow Factory’s and my work, we want to know from you and within your work, how land dispossession is, and has been, deeply connected with human rights and international law, but also climate?Noura Erakat: I experienced my own change. I’m trained as an organizer and then trained as an attorney. In so many ways, as an attorney, you learn that you have a hammer, and you look for nails. It’s a very prescriptive kind of vocation, in the sense that you have a policy, there’s a problem, there’s a remedy, there’s a solution.One of the things that I experienced in the writing of “Justice for Some,” is that when I got to the end of the book, I found myself in a similar place that I was before I started [writing]. It was a really difficult journey; the book was very hard to write. And yet I found myself thinking in the same way that I had before I started, which is about solutions. Solutions to Falasteen (Palestine) are articulated in this political equation: politics in the sense of a battle over scarce resources and how they ended up being divided.Through that lens of politics defined in that way, as a competition over scarcity, or scarce resources and how a power determines their distribution, I found myself articulating only three ways forward, it’s either a binational state, it’s a Palestinian state with strong protections for the Jewish majority, or it’s two states, which are the same prescriptions that were presented to the United Nations Special Committee on Palestine in 1947. So what the hell had I done if I had been thinking through that same framework, but also hadn’t produced anything different than what folks had thought of 70 years earlier in 1947? Shu stafadna? (What did we gain?)But this is why writing and this is why creativity is so necessary because you get to be stuck. If it was just a path forward, you’re maybe just putting things down or you’re transcribing, but to be stuck is to be faced with a challenge and having to overcome that challenge. A dear friend of mine who is also an attorney, a movement lawyer, but was a founder of Law for Black Lives, says to me, “Maybe you should take a break and read some Afro Futurism.” To which I thought, ‘It’s been fun hanging out with you today, but I have to finish this book, and I have a deadline.’ But funny enough, I had been reading Octavia Butler’s “Parable of the Sower”, which is so scary if you think about our particular moment, and I was also reading all these other texts on settler colonialism about how you distinguish the native settler relationship and so on and so forth.I remember vividly sitting up in my bed and thinking ‘Oh my God, she’s right!’ Here I was trying to think of how to get through this problem by looking at the present, how to heal the present or address the present, when what we’ve been taught by Afrofuturists is that we have to see the future, imagine the future, and build with whatever ladders, ropes, or mechanisms that will catapult us to that future. That’s what frees us! If enslaved people had only thought of the present and had only thought, ‘How do we get away from a slave master?’ for example, they couldn’t have imagined a world where they were free, and had the wherewithal to fight at all costs for that.So through that framework, I broke out of my own constrictive framework of ‘How do we deal with this?’ and very much engaged in what I call “Palestinian Futurism”, which expresses itself in many, many, many ways.The way I concluded in the book is to imagine that the return of Palestinian refugees is not the resolution of our Palestinian struggle. That’s not the end, it’s the beginning. We have to imagine what happens the day after we all return. Now, what is the society that we create that is actually good for all of us? That is even a better future for Israelis than Israel has promised them also?For them to belong in this land that we want, reimagines our relationship to land, because so much of the problem is that our struggle over land becomes a struggle over ownership or over title.The Bedouins demonstrated that their customary forms of ownership were actually legitimate, but because their lands weren’t registered, it let them be confiscated by the state, which upholds these very restrictive forms of ownership. It’s a fight over sovereignty. Sovereignty, that can only be incommensurate. There can only be one sovereign over the land. It’s either the Zionist settler, or the Palestinian native. But what happens when we discard sovereignty and think about our relationship as a relationship of belonging, which is infinite? In that relationship of belonging, is a responsibility.So it’s not that the land belongs to us, but that we belong to the land. And in that belonging, we have to demonstrate a care for it, that isn’t just ‘It’s mine, and I own it,’ which actually, internally, for Palestinians is not a way forward at all. We’re far greater in numbers now. A family of 30 that was removed from their home might be a family of 250 today; if even that one Palestinian family were to resolve ownership, there would be a tremendous amount of conflict, as opposed to thinking, ‘No, no, the land doesn’t belong to us, we belong to it.’ That is a responsibility that has led me to think about the land in many different ways.I wanted to document my own journey to get to this place where I’m actually consciously thinking about the land, as what we have a responsibility towards, which is very much in line with other Indigenous scholars and Indigenous people. It’s brought me to Indigenous resurgence, brought me to think about capitalism, and it’s brought me to think about common land as opposed to land as private land.Céline: I love your response about that, and the responsibility to the land. As you said, it’s very similar to Indigenous sovereignty and to the Indigenous struggle. I’m gonna come back to this idea of indigeneity and narrative, but first, as an attorney, what are some of the existing narratives in both media and popular culture that end up affecting international laws?Noura: My own theory on law is that law is very dynamic. Law is indeterminate. Law has no core meaning, but it’s given meaning through struggle, in the way that advocates advocate for the law, and the way that judges interpret the law and resolve the tensions between two or more conflicting parties. How that outcome comes to be has very much to do with power.Think of the law, like the sail of a boat; if you were in a boat in the middle of the water, without any oars and without a sail, you would go nowhere. But, if you have a sail, you still move, but you don’t know where you’re gonna go. You’re gonna move, but you don’t know where; your movement is the wind. The law is the sail, where you go is the wind, and that wind is politics and power. So I’ve advocated, draw the sail when politics are not in your favor, lift the sail when they are in your favor, and stitch a new sail when possible.So insofar as media, media shapes power. Media and narrative actually shapes the way that we understand power because it takes up imaginative space. It’s not that we have a consensus in our public imagination that immediately changes the law. It’s not that simple. There has been immediate change, for example, in the United States that we saw during the Unity Uprising— unequivocal media change. And yet, we also saw on the ground in Palestine, the situation became far worse. There isn’t a correlation, but public imagination becomes a necessary but insufficient element upon which we can continue to struggle. Media has everything to do with it. Media has everything to do with who you believe is an aggressor, who you believe is a victim, and who you believe is responsible.The United States is the single most significant donor to Israel; it protects it diplomatically, financially, militarily. Americans can change the course of history. Of course, Israel can pivot and move to other benefactors, as they already are, through building inroads in China, India, and elsewhere, but it is our responsibility as Americans, to at least not be the source of the problem. How we understand this, is what Edward Said tells us after the invasion of Lebanon in 1982, is that there was nowhere in the media narrative or in the public imagination at all, the capacity to understand Palestinians and Lebanese people as victims. Regardless of the atrocities committed by the Israelis, there was no capacity to understand Palestinians as victims, because there was no conception of something known as a Palestinian homeland, period. So how is it that there can be no conception of that? Obviously, knowledge production is a part of it in the academy, but it’s the media that changes it.Céline: So going back to what Edward Said, about Israel invading Lebanon, did that change the narrative of looking at Palestinians?Noura: Not in 1982. He published this also in the London Review of Books in his essay, “Permission to Narrate” where that infamous line comes from, but his analytical point is that the media has no capacity! Even as Israel is committing massacres, even as Israeli society at the time had a Kahan Commission for the Israeli role in the Sabra and Shatila massacres, which condemned and indicted Ariel Sharon, who was responsible for the operation at the time, even Israeli society had the capacity to do this while American US society did not because they did not have a conception of a Palestinian homeland that was taken away, to even understand why Palestinians would be defending themselves.We’ve been taught to understand the Palestinian resort to use of force as hate, as antisemitic, as lustful, as Islamic barbarism and lack of civilization, precisely because we have failed to understand that Palestinians have suffered a wound. In their use of force, they’re actually defending themselves. This entire possibility of understanding Palestinian self defense has been taken away from us because of an inability to understand how we have been aggrieved. That is the role of the media and the way that they constructed Israel as an interminable victim.So nothing happened in 1982, obviously, but since then, it’s compounded by the fact that since 1948, Israeli military operations have actually targeted Palestinian archives. In Ben Gurion’s role as a defense minister, he ordered the confiscation of Palestinian photo albums, of diaries, of personal effects that then get placed in a military archive, that’s not only off limits, obviously to the Palestinians from whom they’ve been taken away from, but that become off limits because now it’s sensitive information that you need clearance to get it by the UN. This happens during every attack and in 1982 when Israel invaded Lebanon, one of the primary targets was the PLO Research Center, where the Israeli military ransacked the research center, chased down the Palestinian archivists, and then blew the building up. This is the work of Hana Sleiman, who tells us about that. She’s a Palestinian refugee in Lebanon from Ain al-Hilweh, and shows us this research. What is a people without an archive? We don’t have a history. This was very intentional.The history that has been written has initially been written by Israelis, who did get access to these archives, that remain off limits to Palestinians. So now, we believe Israelis who talk about us, and tell us that there was a Nakba, that there was massacre, that there was sexual assault, and that there was toxic chemicals being used. This group, like Ilan Pappé, and Benny Morris and Avi Shlaim, that’s known as the new Israeli historians, frankly, further diminished Palestinians as trustworthy interlocutors.We have not been able to share our own story without having some Israeli saying, ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ for anybody to believe us. That’s compounded by the media, by narrative, by these structural considerations where we don’t even have access, by racialization of not believing the natives—all these things that have diminished as these trustworthy spokespeople, storytellers, historians, advocates. My work for the past two plus decades, has been very committed to chipping away at that narrative and making space.For example, I love the space Mohammed el-Kurd, who’s a dear friend of mine, has been able to take up and what he’s been able to do. Mohammed is able to do that precisely because of the work that those before him have been able to chip away at. We have been able to take up space precisely because of our elders who have been able to lay the groundwork. Mohammed is also now laying the groundwork, and is creating more space so that others are able to take up that space too.For so long, our interlocutors basically spoke of homeland and our people and self determination, so by the time I come on and try to do the work, I have a very logical approach. I’m a teacher and I’m trained as an attorney, so I want to compel you with facts and I’m going to give you enough facts for you to make your own decision. When I leave you with that, and I empower you to make your own decision, you become part of this process. I’m not just telling you, but I’m involving you in that process. I stay very logical, very factored in, as opposed to, this beautiful turn that we’ve seen, where Mohammed and others, Mariam Barghouti, and Danya AlHawari… so many amazing spokespeople that do this amazing work and put themselves on the line, don’t restrict themselves to that. They’re being really blunt with audiences. I think of one time specifically, when Mariam was asked by one commentator, ‘do you think that you can sit down with the settler and break bread?’ and Mariam just looks at the screen and says, ‘You mean, the settler that’s shooting at me with the army right behind them?’I think we see the steady progression in creating space and how that space is like an iterative process. As we took that space up, it definitely made a sea of change in 2021. That was the first time for example, where I wasn’t just invited to debate, or to be this biased spokesperson on behalf of Palestinians, I was asked to be an expert. I was treated like a scholar as I should be.Tell us about the status of Palestinian citizens of Israel.Tell us about al Nakba.Tell us.I have described that as breaking the dam, and I think that it was.Céline: This is perfect since you’re already beginning to answer my next question about how the international narrative and perception around Palestine has changed in recent years. You started to say it by discussing the sea of change in 2021…Noura: I think that when we broke the dam in 2021, there were a lot of things happening. It was an accumulation of things that were going on, including the fact that the Trump administration actually did a lot to consolidate the progressive movement, and to make it clear that Palestine was part of a progressive agenda. Black-Palestinian solidarity was remarkable in shepherding and illuminating what should have been obvious: the racial dimensions of Palestinian oppression, as well as the colonial dimensions of Black oppression.These things were really helpful, and, of course, Black uprising in summer 2020, primed American audiences to understand something known as structural violence and structural racism. For so many Americans, who are crafted into hyper individualism, have this attitude like, “If I didn’t do it, if my parents didn’t do it, then I don’t owe anybody anything,” or “Why should I have to pay taxes for somebody else when they should get jobs?” It’s a hyper individualistic approach, which furthers capitalism more than anything. One of the things that Black uprisings did was shatter and challenge that. It could say, everybody could have a good heart, everybody could really be “colorblind”, but racism still exists and it’s cooked into our financial system and our housing system and our policing system and our health system. That primed American audiences by 2021, to understand Palestine as a freedom struggle, in a way I had never experienced before.We experienced a moment where there’s not just one Palestinian who has to speak for everybody, but there’s a number of Palestinians. It’s Diana Buttu and Yousef Munayyer, and Yara and Mariam and Mohammed and Jalal. It’s Jihad Abu Salim, It’s like, ‘Wow, there’s more than one!’ And not only is there more than one but we’re all oddly saying very similar things, even though we’re not centrally organized which says something about our movement.We also see a significant backlash which we’re still going through— the onset of which is specifically in response to the headway that we made. The encapsulation of it is the narrative that antisemitism is on the rise, and for example, if Zionist hecklers came to a Palestinian freedom rally and there was an altercation, it got described as a hate crime and an antisemitic attack, even though these were Zionists, that were coming to a Palestinian freedom rally to say that we deserve to be murdered, and pummeled and eliminated, gets removed. The way that the ADL and other organizations start to bean count antisemitism in a very apolitical, perverse way in order to create a moment of hysteria. And we’re still in it, including that whole movement to adopt the IRA definition or the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance definition of antisemitism, where six of the seven indicators of antisemitism have to do with a critique of Israel.So now, my mere existence, to say I exist, and I believe in Palestinian freedom, makes me an antisemite, according to this definition. Yet, as ludicrous as that sounds, so much of our energy, since 2021, has been just to defend ourselves against this smear campaign in many different forms: at the state level, at the city level, at the university level, and the professional association level. I define it as a backlash and I see it as an indication of weakness of our adversary, because their hegemony has crumbled. Now they have resorted to these very didactic coercive forms of repression, where they can’t win in the ways that they used to in the past.Céline: So, what can international allies do for Palestine today? That’s a question we get a lot on all the posts that we share regarding the Palestinian struggle. We draw a line between the water injustice in Palestine and the water injustice in Oahu, and a lot of times people say, “Well, what can I do?”Noura: Here’s the thing—there is no single program into which international allies can throw themselves into. What I like to say is you have to decide what the greatest way to enact your agency is. If you’re a student, your greatest agency might be the impact that you have on your university administration, in which case a divestment campaign would be quite appropriate. If you’re a worshiper at a church or whatnot, again you want to think of what you can do within the institution that you exist in… also divestment there is really important. If you’re somebody in the community, it might not be anything in particular, so you might want to participate in a boycott campaign. So here, boycott, divestment, and sanctions, but crafted into wherever you are in your life.As a faculty member, it’s an academic boycott. If you’re part of the municipal organizing, then the work might be to get the City Council to pass a resolution condemning Zionism or affirming Palestinian freedom, or establishing a sister city relationship between your city and a Palestinian city. If you’re an artist, how do you incorporate Palestine as part of your vision? Or perhaps you just don’t cross a picket line!The politics of solidarity run quite deep, depending on your capacity, your agency and the level of commitment that you want to express. So it could be at the bare minimum, where you decide, ‘I will do no harm’, and you act principally. At the most, where you throw yourself actively into it, you’re joining an organization that exists that is trying to organize power. In New York, it’s “Within our Lifetime”, in San Francisco, it’s the Arab Resource Organizing Center, in Durham, it’s “Jewish Voice for Peace.”So the idea of “What can we do?, well, it depends— where are you? Who are you? And what is your capacity? And then the sky’s the limit of how it is that you are going to manifest your agency and solidarity."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "From Sabra & Shatila to Gaza: The UN’s Century of Failure and the Rise of Alternatives",
"author" : "Collis Browne",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/from-sabra-and-shatila-to-gaza",
"date" : "2025-09-16 10:47:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/2025_9_16_UN_Genocide_1.jpg",
"excerpt" : "On the 43rd anniversary of the massacres committed under Israeli authority at Sabra and Shatila camps in Beirut in 1982, a United Nations Commission Of Inquiry has concluded, as would any rational observer, that Israel has been committing genocide in Gaza since October 2023.",
"content" : "On the 43rd anniversary of the massacres committed under Israeli authority at Sabra and Shatila camps in Beirut in 1982, a United Nations Commission Of Inquiry has concluded, as would any rational observer, that Israel has been committing genocide in Gaza since October 2023.This is not news. It could, however, be a turning point, . The UN’s declaration cracks open the conservative West’s long-standing wall of denial about the genocidal intentions and actions of the U.S.–Israel military machine. What happens next matters.A Century of Genocidal IntentFor those who have been watching Palestine with clarity long before 2023, this genocide is not an aberration — it is the project itself. From its inception, every major Zionist leader and Israeli politician has openly articulated the goal of erasing the Indigenous people of Palestine, whether through forced expulsion or mass murder.More than a hundred years of speeches, policies, and massacres testify to this intent. The so-called “War on Gaza” is simply the most visible and livestreamed stage of an ongoing colonial project.The UN’s Empty WordsIs this UN report different? The UN has made declarative statements for decades with no action or enforcement. In 1975, the UN declared Zionism is racism, citing the “unholy alliance” between apartheid South Africa and Israel. Yet Zionists continued to enjoy privileged status across Western institutions. Since 1967, the UN has passed resolution after resolution denouncing illegal Israeli settlements on stolen Palestinian land. Still, the theft continues unchecked. In December 2022, the UN General Assembly demanded Israel end its “unlawful presence” in the Occupied Territories within one year. That deadline expires this week, September 18, 2025. Israel has ignored it completely, as expected — with no consequences. Declarations without enforcement are not justice. They are fig leaves for impunity.What Good Is the UN?The Geneva Convention obliges all states to intervene to stop and punish genocide. Yet no country has deployed forces to resist Israel’s military slaughter in Gaza. No sanctions. No accountability.If the UN cannot stop one of its own member states from carrying out genocide in full public view — in “4K” as the world watches live — then what is the UN for?The Rise of AlternativesThe cracks are widening. The government of China has announced a new Global Governance initiative, already backed by dozens of countries. Without illusions about its motivations, the concept paper at least addresses three of the UN’s structural failures: Underrepresentation of the Global South — redressing centuries of colonial imbalance. Erosion of authoritativeness — restoring the credibility of international law. Urgent need for effectiveness — accelerating stalled progress on global commitments like the UN’s 2030 Agenda. The question is not whether the UN will reform. It is whether it can survive its own irrelevance.Toward a New Global OrderFrom Sabra and Shatila to Gaza, the UN has failed to prevent — or even meaningfully resist — genocide. Its reports and resolutions pile up, while the graves in Palestine multiply.If the international body tasked with “peace and security” cannot act against the most televised genocide in history, then the world has to ask: do we need a new United Nations? Or do we need to build something entirely different — a system of global governance that serves the people, not the powerful?"
}
,
{
"title" : "France in Revolt: Debt, Uranium, and the Costs of Macron-ism",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/france-in-revolt",
"date" : "2025-09-14 22:39:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Bloquons-Tout.jpg",
"excerpt" : "France is burning again—not only on the streets of Paris but in the brittle foundations of its political economy. What began as a mass revolt against austerity and public-service cuts has become a national convulsion: roads blocked, train stations occupied, workplaces shut down under the call to “Bloquons Tout” (Let’s Block Everything). The collapse of François Bayrou’s government is only the latest symptom. At the root of the crisis is a political project: Macronism—the steady, decade-long tilt toward pro-business reforms, tax cuts for the wealthy, and austerity by default—that has hollowed out public revenue and narrowed citizens’ options.",
"content" : "France is burning again—not only on the streets of Paris but in the brittle foundations of its political economy. What began as a mass revolt against austerity and public-service cuts has become a national convulsion: roads blocked, train stations occupied, workplaces shut down under the call to “Bloquons Tout” (Let’s Block Everything). The collapse of François Bayrou’s government is only the latest symptom. At the root of the crisis is a political project: Macronism—the steady, decade-long tilt toward pro-business reforms, tax cuts for the wealthy, and austerity by default—that has hollowed out public revenue and narrowed citizens’ options.Tax Cuts, Corporate Giveaways, and Rising DebtSince Emmanuel Macron took office in 2017, his administration rolled out a suite of pro-market reforms: the abolition of the broad wealth tax (ISF), replaced by a narrower property wealth tax (IFI); a sustained reduction of the corporate tax rate to about 25%; and a raft of tax measures framed as competitiveness fixes for companies and investors. Economists now estimate that Macron’s tax cuts account for a significant share of France’s rising public debt; his reforms helped widen deficits even before pandemic and energy-shock spending pushed them higher. Today France’s public debt sits near 113–114% of GDP, and ratings agencies and markets are watching closely. (Le Monde.fr)These policies did not produce the promised boom in broadly shared prosperity. Investment did not surge enough to offset lost revenue, and growth remained sluggish. The political consequence was predictable: when the state has less to spend, the burden of balancing budgets falls on cuts to pensions, healthcare, and social programs—measures that overwhelmingly hurt working-class and vulnerable communities. (Financial Times)Pension Reform, Social Fracture, and the Limits of ConsentMacron’s government pushed a controversial pension reform—raising the retirement age from 62 to 64—which sparked nationwide strikes and mass protests in 2023. The reform illustrated a defining feature of Macronism: when public consent falters, the state still presses forward with market-oriented restructuring, deepening social fracture and anger. The pension fight didn’t create the crisis so much as expose it. (Al Jazeera)Colonial Hangover: Uranium, Energy, and GeopoliticsFrance’s energy model has long rested on nuclear power—once a source of national pride for its emission-free nature, and geopolitical independence. Behind that story, however, is another: the colonial era’s extraction of uranium in places like Niger, where French companies (notably Orano/former Areva) secured resource access under unequal terms. As Niger reasserted sovereignty over its resources after the 2023 coup and pushed back on French access, the illusion of seamless “energy independence” began to crack. Losing preferential access to Nigerien uranium has widened France’s energy insecurity and amplified the fiscal squeeze: higher energy costs, the need to secure new supply chains, and political pressure to maintain subsidies for households. The politics of extraction are now returning home. (Le Monde.fr)Climate, Austerity, and the Moral EconomyAdd the climate emergency to the mix—record heatwaves, floods, and wildfires—and the picture becomes even more bleak. Infrastructure strain and rising costs of climate adaptation demand public investment, yet the government’s posture has been to trim and reprioritize spending to satisfy markets. In practice, that means the people least responsible for climate harm—low-income communities, migrants, and precarious workers—are asked to pay the price. The result is a moral and political rupture: climate vulnerability plus fiscal austerity equals radicalized grievance. (Financial Times)A Convergence of FailuresThis is why the current uprising cannot be reduced to a single grievance. It is the convergence of multiple failures: Economic: tax policy that favored the wealthy while starving the public purse; rising debt and cuts that fall on the poor. (Financial Times) Colonial: the unraveling of extractive arrangements that once propped up French energy and power. (Le Monde.fr) Ecological: climate shocks that amplify social need even as public services are stripped back. (Financial Times) The revolt has therefore drawn a broad constituency—students, unions, public-sector workers, and neighborhoods long marginalized by austerity. It is not merely a labor dispute; it is a crisis of legitimacy for a model of governance that privatized gains and socialized pain.What Macronism Tells Us About the Global MomentFrance is a cautionary tale for democracies worldwide. When political leaders prioritize tax breaks for capital and cut public goods to placate markets, they borrow political stability against the future. The bill eventually comes due—in rising debt, in weakened social cohesion, and in violent backlash. Where resource dependencies meet neoliberal retrenchment, the risk of social rupture grows.Three Questions for What Comes Next Will the French state return to a redistributive project—taxing wealth, reclaiming revenues, and investing in climate resilience—or double down on austerity? Can movements translate street power into institutional change that addresses colonial legacies (resource sovereignty) as well as domestic inequality? Will climate policy be woven into social policy—so that adaptation and justice go hand in hand—or will they remain separate priorities, deepening vulnerability? France stands at a crossroads: continue a model that funnels benefit to capital while exposing citizens to climate and economic shocks—or imagine a social contract rooted in redistribution, de-colonial resource politics, and ecological justice. The choice will not be made in the Élysée alone. It is being argued in the streets, in workplaces, and across borders where the costs of extraction were first paid.Everything is Political—and in France today, that truth has never been clearer."
}
,
{
"title" : "Nepal’s New Reckoning",
"author" : "Tulsi Rauniyar",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/nepal-reckoning",
"date" : "2025-09-11 18:11:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/nepal1-IMG_5694.jpg",
"excerpt" : "From September 8-11, 2025, a massive popular uprising has taken place in Nepal, forcing the resignation of the Prime Minister and much of the government. We present some description and first reflections on the protests and riots, which were sparked by a social media ban and anger over government corruption and nepotism.",
"content" : "From September 8-11, 2025, a massive popular uprising has taken place in Nepal, forcing the resignation of the Prime Minister and much of the government. We present some description and first reflections on the protests and riots, which were sparked by a social media ban and anger over government corruption and nepotism.September 8In the white glare of a late summer morning, the broad avenues of Kathmandu, Nepal’s modern capital, are usually thrumming with traffic and smog. But on this sweltering day, the streets were crowded with chanting protesters, all of them demonstrating against the government of KP Sharma Oli. The largest crowd by far was made up of Gen-Z youth, most in their twenties, many still in school and college uniforms.For Nepal, such eruptions aren’t new: generations have risen before—against Rana autocrats in the 1950s, against royal rule in 1990, against King Gyanendra’s coup in 2005—only to watch hard-won freedoms erode. But for many of the protestors I spoke to, this was likely their first gathering. Their mission, organised on Instagram, Facebook, and Discord, was grand. They had gathered to protest the dismal state of the country, where the powerful and their children lived in luxury while countless Nepalis laboured abroad in countries like Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and Malaysia, sending remittances home to sustain their families. They marched in loose coordination, some singing protest songs, others dancing to drumbeats, and many chanting slogans. Handmade signs bore slogans carefully daubed in black paint.The last straw had come days earlier when the government imposed a blanket ban on social media platforms, cutting off main channels through which young Nepalis expressed frustration and organised politically. Tensions were already high, fueled in part by viral chatter about “nepo-babies,” the young faces that have long been symbols of privilege fast-tracked into positions of power because of their family connections. For Nepal’s youth, social media became a stage to mock them, question their merit, and call out a system where politics often feels like a family business.As the protesters pushed past the barricades outside Parliament, the police unexpectedly fell back rather than delivering the usual baton charge. A few tear gas canisters hissed through the air, and a lone water cannon swept the crowd, but the confrontation seemed restrained. People snapped selfies amid the haze, their chants echoing off the old brick walls, and for a brief moment, it felt almost ordinary, as if the protest might remain just another turbulent day in Kathmandu.According to reports, a cluster of older men mumbled about storming Parliament, while a few young riders, adrenaline surging, tore recklessly through the crowd on motorbikes, shouting insults. Near the complex itself, the energy shifted, protesters began hammering at the outer walls, some scrambling up the gates as flames flickered near the main entrance. The Armed Police Force advanced, their body armour and riot shields glinting under the dimming light, first launching tear gas canisters, then rubber bullets. In moments, the demonstration’s creative, almost celebratory tone disintegrated. Rocks and debris flew back toward the police lines. Gunfire—allegedly live rounds—cracked above the din. Chaos engulfed Kathmandu’s political heart.Videos soon flooded social media of unarmed students in school uniforms bleeding from head wounds, men collapsing unconscious, and disturbing claims that security forces had even fired tear gas into hospital grounds and beat the injured. What began as students chanting against corruption was quickly slipping into something far more volatile.By nightfall, nineteen people were dead in Kathmandu—a toll that already exceeded the casualties from Nepal’s 2006 People’s Movement, which had taken nineteen days to claim thirteen lives. Hospitals across the capital struggled with hundreds of injured protesters, many still in school uniforms. Blood banks reported critical shortages as medical staff worked through the night, treating gunshot wounds and head injuries from what had begun, just hours earlier, as a peaceful demonstration. Across the rest of Nepal, deaths and injuries were also reported, though full numbers remain unrecorded as events continue to unfold.The scale of the violence was unprecedented in Nepal’s modern democratic history. Even during the monarchy’s final, desperate attempts to maintain power nearly two decades earlier, the state had not deployed lethal force with such devastating efficiency against its own citizens. For a generation that had known only the republic, however flawed, the sight of young people bleeding in the streets represented a profound rupture in their understanding of what their government was capable of.To understand why thousands of teenagers and twenty-somethings would brave tear gas and rubber bullets, one must consider a long history of frustrated hopes for reform. Nearly two decades after the civil war ended, Prachanda, the former Maoist insurgent, once seemed a beacon of change. Millions voted for him, hoping for a fairer voice for the marginalised, a more just Nepal. But hope gave way to compromise, personal gain, and the slow churn of the same familiar leaders. The constitution, progressive on paper, was watered down. A new constitution, progressive in Nepal’s historical context, was stalled and diluted, and subsequent elections delivered a familiar cycle. The same discredited leaders rotating through power, swapped like pieces on a chessboard, their promises of reform fading with each turn.Public services remain poor. Tax burdens are high. Corruption scandals implicating politicians, bureaucrats, and businessmen piled up like grim milestones in the failure of the state. For decades, Nepal’s elites had looted land, siphoned public funds, and promised reforms that never came, leaving ordinary citizens disillusioned.It is this long pattern of systemic rot that now fuels the anger spilling onto Kathmandu’s streets—the young protesters demanding, in word and in action, that Nepal finally deliver on the change that generations have been promised but never seen.September 9The smell hit you first—acrid smoke from burning tires laced with petrol, hanging in Kathmandu’s September air like a toxic fog. Dawn on September 9th brought no respite. If anything, the deaths of nineteen protesters had transformed grief into something more volatile. Thousands defied hastily imposed curfews, emerging into streets still lingering with smoke from the previous day’s violence. What had begun as a youth-led movement against corruption now metastasised into something broader and more destructive—an utter rejection of Nepal’s political establishment.The targets were systematic. Party offices, politicians’ residences, and government buildings all came under attack. By afternoon, thick columns of smoke rose across the Kathmandu Valley, and the tint in the sky shifted from clear blue to a smoky haze that hung over the entire capital. Tribhuvan International Airport suspended operations, diverting flights as the capital descended into chaos. In the newer ministerial quarters south of the city, helicopters shuttled back and forth, evacuating officials in what appeared to be a tacit admission that the government could no longer hold pressure.The political collapse was swift and total. Ministers resigned in cascading waves, following the home minister, who had tendered his resignation the previous evening. Opposition parliamentarians abandoned their posts en masse, demanding fresh elections. By three o’clock in the afternoon, even K.P. Sharma Oli, in his third stint as prime minister and renowned for his political durability, announced his resignation and fled to Dubai.But resignation could not restore order. As the day moved, things spiralled completely out of control.This was no longer the Gen Z protestors of the previous day. In their place, an unruly mob surged through the streets. Outside Singha Durbar, Kathmandu’s sprawling government hub, protesters smashed windows, looted buildings, and seized weapons from the police as they pushed deeper into the complex. In the chaos, prisoners were freed, fires consumed the President’s residence, the Supreme Court alongside Parliament, and police stations burned alongside shops. The line between symbol and target had vanished. In just forty-eight hours, Nepal had witnessed its bloodiest civil unrest in modern memory, and the civilian government had unravelled before the nation’s eyes.“This is not us,” the Gen-Z groups leading the movement, Hami Nepal, posted on their social media. “Our struggle is for justice, dignity, and a better Nepal, not for chaos and theft.”Only well into the night, the Army chief appeared, urging restraint and calm. The military would be deployed to restore order.September 10All this upheaval would have been unimaginable even a month ago.A heavy, almost unnatural silence hung over the city. Curfew had been imposed, the streets were empty, and the Army patrolled in rigid lines. The roar of burning tires, the chants that shook walls, and the smoke that had choked the air yesterday had faded, leaving only a lingering haze and the metallic tang of uncertainty. Sunlight struggled through the smog, casting the streets in a dim, uneasy glow. The city felt suspended, caught between yesterday’s chaos and whatever tomorrow might bring, and we awoke with nothing but questions and the weight of uncertainty pressing down on every corner.The Nepal Army still mans checkpoints across Kathmandu, its soldiers stationed at every major intersection. Any gathering of more than a handful of people is broken up, an officer steps forward, offers an unmistakable “move on,” and the cluster dissolves.Questions hung in the air with the smoke. Who would answer for the bloodshed? Who now held authority? And in the absence of clear leadership, how would life move forward? The deaths of more than thirty protesters could not go unanswered. Yet even among those who had demanded change, the scale of destruction stirred unease. Nobody could say who truly held power, or what would come next.The revolution’s fever has broken; now comes the harder, less visible work. The only institutions left standing, the Presidency and the Army, have invited Gen-Z representatives to the table to sketch a path forward. But even in these early overtures, the Army’s hand is visible, its preferences for who might lead flickering through measured, strategic negotiation.Gen-Z in Nepal remains unmoored, bound more by digital fluency than by shared leadership or vision. Amid the chaos of Discord debates and clashing ideas, the movement is experimenting with ways to assert influence in a leaderless uprising. On a bustling Discord server, young protesters held their own vote for an interim leader, selecting Sushila Karki, Nepal’s first female Chief Justice. The proposal followed an extensive discussion on the platform, lasting nearly five hours, where over 10,000 participants shared their opinions. The server buzzed with debate, dissent, and deliberation, a digital agora where ideas clashed and alliances formed, revealing both the potential and uncertainties of a leaderless uprising. Other names, such as Balen Shah, Kathmandu’s independent mayor who rose from rapper to reform-minded politician, and Harka Sampang, Dharan’s grassroots-focused mayor, also surfaced in discussions, signalling the generation’s appetite for leaders who break from the recycled elite and embody accountability, visibility, and boldness. Though no formal appointment has been made, these debates offer a glimpse of a generation seeking new pathways, negotiating authority and vision in real time.This is the third great convulsion to shake South Asia since 2022—after Sri Lanka and Bangladesh—prompting some observers to whisper of a ‘South-Asian Spring,’ a phrase that carries the echo of the Arab Spring’s long shadow. The Nepali youth-led uprising has even borrowed the aesthetics of dissent from Indonesia as protesters waved the Straw Hat Pirates flag from One Piece, an emblem that has become a shared shorthand for rebellion in both countries. In Bangladesh, Sheikh Hasina’s government fell to similar youth-led protests just months earlier; in Sri Lanka, the 2022 uprising forced out the Rajapaksa dynasty. The same fault line ran across the region, crooked governments, restless citizens, and revolt spread across borders.Yet across and within these territories, the road ahead remains murky, the outcomes anything but certain. Bangladesh’s interim government struggles to reform entrenched systems. Sri Lanka’s new leadership has already retreated from promises that once stirred hope. These movements have excelled at toppling regimes but have struggled to build lasting alternatives.Nepal now faces the same daunting test its neighbours have confronted, struggling to turn a swell of popular fury into durable political reform rather than merely swapping one weary cadre of power brokers for another. Whether this generational uprising can finally crack the cycle of disappointment that has long defined South Asian politics, or whether it will join the list of movements that changed everything and nothing at all.September 11By Thursday morning, steady rain slicked Kathmandu’s streets, but the scars of upheaval were impossible to miss. Charred cars leaned against curbs, and the husks of looted buildings smouldered faintly under the drizzle. The capital was calm, almost eerily so, yet the quiet felt provisional, like a held breath. With the prime minister and his cabinet gone, Parliament effectively leaderless, and ministries shuttered, Nepal now stands without a functioning civilian government. The President and the Army, the only intact institutions, continue to act as de facto authorities, signalling interest in forming an interim arrangement. The old guard has vanished, leaving a power vacuum that multiple actors with competing interests are eager to fill. Political parties that seemed fractured just days ago are quietly regrouping, issuing statements of solidarity with Gen Z to distance themselves from their past complicity. Opportunists linger in the shadows, hoping to redirect the uprising’s momentum for personal gain. At the same time, misinformation spreads online, clouding clarity and amplifying confusion. Former Chief Justice Sushila Karki is seen as a frontrunner. Still, no consensus has been reached among protest groups, leaving the country in a state of suspended expectation.The old guard has vanished, leaving a power vacuum that multiple actors with competing interests are eager to fill. Political parties that seemed fractured just days ago are quietly regrouping, issuing statements of solidarity with Gen Z to distance themselves from their past complicity. Opportunists linger in the shadows, hoping to redirect the uprising’s momentum for personal gain. At the same time, misinformation spreads online, clouding clarity and amplifying confusion. After days of silence, Nepal’s President Ram Chandra Paudel issued a statement on Thursday assuring citizens that every effort is being made to navigate the crisis and find a way forward within the constitutional framework. Former Chief Justice Sushila Karki is seen as a frontrunner, but no consensus has been reached among protest groups, leaving the country in a state of suspended expectation."
}
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}