the English language

Uploaded on Nov 26, 2011 A compilation of ten videos on the history of the English language. They originals are made available under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-Share Alike 2.0 Licence agreement. The origin webpage can be found here…

Uploaded on Nov 26, 2011

A compilation of ten videos on the history of the English language. They originals are made available under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-Share Alike 2.0 Licence agreement. The origin webpage can be found here…

Finkelstein on a Gandhian strategy for Gaza

[Finkelstein comments: I originally wrote this article having in mind a Gandhian strategy for dismantling the illegal wall Israel has been constructing in the West Bank. The same Gandhian principles however apply to breaking the illegal Gaza blockade.] Gandhil lecture … Continue reading

[Finkelstein comments: I originally wrote this article having in mind a Gandhian strategy for dismantling the illegal wall Israel has been constructing in the West Bank. The same Gandhian principles however apply to breaking the illegal Gaza blockade.]

Gandhil lecture

Resolving the Israel-Palestine Conflict: What we can learn from Gandhi

Tans Lecture, Maastricht University (13 November 2008)

This lecture will divide into three parts. First, I will lay out the terms of the international consensus for resolving the Israel-Palestine conflict. Second, I will sketch Gandhi’s doctrine of nonviolent civil resistance. Third, I will assess the relevance of Gandhi’s doctrine for the Israel-Palestine conflict. I will argue that a moral legal consensus is a prerequisite for Gandhi’s doctrine to succeed. In the case of the Israel-Palestine conflict such a consensus does exist, and consequently those seeking a just and lasting peace might benefit from giving Gandhi’s doctrine a serious hearing.

I. What is the international consensus for resolving the Israel-Palestine conflict?

II. What is Gandhi’s doctrine of nonviolence?

III. What can supporters of a just peace in the Israel-Palestine conflict learn from Gandhi?

I. What is the international consensus for resolving the Israel-Palestine conflict?

One of the best kept diplomatic secrets is that a broad international consensus has long existed on how to settle the Israel-Palestine conflict. Although this conflict has been depicted as among the most intricate, the authoritative political, legal and human rights bodies in the world in fact concur on the basis of its resolution. In the jargon of the so-called peace process, the “final status” issues are supposed to be so intractable that they need be deferred until the last stage of negotiations. These final status issues include borders, East Jerusalem, settlements, and refugees. The documentary record shows, however, that, on the terms for resolving these allegedly “controversial” issues, Israel and the United States stand virtually alone.

The United Nations General Assembly annually votes on a resolution titled, “Peaceful Settlement of the Question of Palestine.” This resolution uniformly includes these tenets for “achieving a peaceful settlement of the question of Palestine”: (1) “Affirming the principle of the inadmissibility of the acquisition of territory by war”; (2) “Affirming also the illegality of the Israeli settlements in the territory occupied since 1967 and of Israeli actions aimed at changing the status of Jerusalem”; (3) “Stresses the need for: (a) The realization of the inalienable rights of the Palestinian people, primarily the right to self-determination; (b) The withdrawal of Israel from the Palestinian territory occupied since 1967”; (4) “Also stresses the need for resolving the problem of the Palestine refugees in
conformity with its resolution 194 (III) of 11 December 1948.” Here is the recorded vote on this resolution the past decade:

Recorded vote
Year Yes-No-Abstained Negative votes cast by…
1997 155-2-3 Israel, United States
1998 154-2-3 Israel, United States
1999 149-3-2 Israel, United States, Marshall Islands
2000 149-2-3 Israel, United States
2001 131-6-20 Israel, United States, Marshall Islands, Micronesia, Nauru,Tuvalu
2002 160-4-3 Israel, United States, Marshall Islands, Micronesia
2003 160-6-5 Israel, United States, Marshall Islands, Micronesia, Palau, Uganda
2004 161-7-10 Israel, United States, Australia, Grenada, Marshall Islands, Micronesia, Palau
2005 156-6-9 Israel, United States, Australia, Marshall Islands, Micronesia, Palau
2006 157-7-10 Israel, United States, Australia, Marshall Islands, Micronesia,
Nauru, Palau
2007 161-7-5 Israel, United States, Australia, Marshall Islands, Micronesia,
Nauru, Palau

In 2004 the International Court of Justice rendered a landmark advisory opinion on the legality of the wall Israel has been constructing in the West Bank.2 The Court inventoried these “rules and principles of international law which are relevant in assessing the legality of the measures taken by Israel”: (1) “No territorial acquisition resulting from the threat or use of force shall be recognized as legal”; (2) “the policy and practices of Israel in establishing settlements in the Palestinian and other Arab territories occupied since 1967” have “no legal validity.” In its subsequent deliberations on “whether the construction of the wall has violated those rules and principles,” the
Court found

[B]oth the General Assembly and the Security Council have referred, with regard to Palestine, to the customary rule of “the inadmissibility of the acquisition of territory by war”….It is on this same basis that the [Security] Council has several times condemned the measures taken by Israel to change the status of Jerusalem.

As regards the principle of the right of peoples to self-determination,…the existence of a “Palestinian people” is no longer in issue….[Its] rights include the right to self-determination.

Israel has conducted a policy and developed practices involving the establishment of settlements in the Occupied Palestinian Territory. …
The Court concludes that the Israeli settlements in the Occupied Palestinian Territory (including East Jerusalem) have been established in breach of international law.

Not one of the 15 judges sitting on the ICJ registered dissent from these basic principles and findings. It can scarcely be said however that they evinced prejudice against Israel, or that it was a “kangaroo court” (Harvard Law Professor Alan Dershowitz).3 Several of the judges, although voting with the majority, expressed profound, perhaps undue, sympathy for Israel in their respective separate opinions. If the judges were nearly of one mind in their final determination, this consensus sprang not from collective prejudice but the factual situation: the uncontroversial nature of the legal principles at stake and Israel’s uncontroversial breach of them. Even the one judge voting against the 14-person majority condemning Israel’s construction of the wall, Thomas Buergenthal from the U.S., was at pains to stress that there was “much” in the advisory opinion “with which I agree.” On the crucial question of Israeli settlements he stated: “Paragraph 6 of Article 49 of the Fourth Geneva Convention…does not admit for exception on grounds of military or security exigencies. It provides that ‘the Occupying Power shall not deport or transfer parts of its own civilian population in the territory it occupies.’ I agree that this provision applies to the Israeli settlements in the West Bank and that their existence violates Article 49, paragraph 6.”

A broad international consensus has also crystallized upholding the Palestinian “right of return.” We have already seen that the annual United Nations resolution, supported overwhelmingly by member States, calls for a settlement of the refugee question on the basis of resolution 194, which “resolves that the refugees wishing to return to their
homes and live at peace with their neighbors should be permitted to do so at the earliest practicable date, and that compensation should be paid for property of those choosing not to return.”4 In addition, respected human rights organizations “urge Israel to recognize the right to return for those Palestinians, and their descendants, who fled from territory that is now within the State of Israel, and who have maintained appropriate links with that territory” (Human Rights Watch), and “call for Palestinians who fled or were expelled from Israel, the West Bank or Gaza Strip, along with those of their descendants who have maintained genuine links with the area, to be able to exercise their right to return” (Amnesty International).

The documentary record clearly demonstrates that whereas the global community has consistently registered its support in numerous forums for a two-state settlement based on a full Israeli withdrawal to the June 1967 border, and a resolution of the refugee question based on the right of return and compensation, Israel and the United States have consistently rejected such a settlement. The Arab League has unanimously supported a two-state settlement on the June 1967 border and a “just” resolution of the refugee question based on 194, and Hamas has endorsed a settlement on these terms,5 while the Palestinian Authority has not only accepted the terms of the global consensus but expressed willingness to make major concessions.6 The challenge for those seeking a just and lasting peace is to get Israel and the United States to respect international law and public opinion. A possible strategy is the one pioneered by Gandhi, to which I now turn.

II. What is Gandhi’s doctrine of nonviolence?

Before sketching Gandhi’s doctrine of nonviolent civil resistance or satyagraha7 I must enter several caveats. Gandhi’s collected works come to some 90 volumes, each of which runs to 500 pages. Due to time constraints I was able to peruse only 23 of these volumes,8 as well as a raft of anthologies,9 biographies and scholarly studies. Accordingly my remarks will be partial in a single and perhaps double sense. They won’t encompass the full scope of his reflections. My reading intentionally focused on the period 1933-1942 when Gandhi’s doctrine was put to the severest tests. It is
also arguable that because of this circumscribed reading I will have missed crucial transitions and ruptures in his thought, presenting a snapshot of a mind at work rather than the moving picture. Here, it seems I am on firmer ground, however. Gandhi lived a long, rich life, and one relentlessly subjected to self-scrutiny. Nonetheless he remained
remarkably consistent in his bedrock beliefs.10 He acknowledges local errors11 and reversals of judgment12 but there are no “Gods that Failed” recantations or “Second Thoughts” revelations. His one systematic philosophical exposition is a modest, seemingly eccentric volume titled Hind Swaraj (Indian Home Rule) which he quickly penned in 1909.13 Rereading this book 30 years later, Gandhi expressed full satisfaction with it.14

To be sure, Gandhi’s concrete application of his doctrine appears replete with contradictions. Asserting that “my nonviolence cannot deviate from what is practical, ”Gandhi could sanction “calling in the army and having a handful of men shot” to stop inter-communal rioting.15 The world’s most famous exponent of nonviolence recruited an ambulance corps for the British side in the Boer War and Zulu War,16 again offered to raise an ambulance corps to serve the British army during World War I, and then recruited Indians to take up arms and fight in the war.17 Throughout his life he averred that such active wartime partisanship did not contradict his commitment to nonviolence.18 It must be said that on this point (and many others), the defenses he adduced for his practical activity did not carry conviction.19 Although trained as a barrister, Gandhi was not a persuasive arguer. Interrogated by a shrewd critic, he seldom had a compelling repartee and more often than not lapsed into mumbo-jumbo,20 although, humble as he indubitably was, Gandhi seemed always to believe that he had bested his interlocutors.21 He was also given to render sweeping verdicts on competing philosophies such as socialism although conceding that “I have read no books on the subject.”22

Gandhi liked to quote Emerson, “Foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.”23 Regrettably for the little minds endeavoring to interpret his work, Gandhi was a consistent exponent of this quip. He can maintain that “in any examination of moral conduct, the intention is the chief ingredient,”24 and simultaneously maintain it is right
that “we normally look at the action and not at the intention.”25 He can deplore as a species of violence “a living wall of pickets in order to prevent the entry of persons into picketed places,”26 yet at the same time suggest to an Indian correspondent whose seat at the cinema was grabbed by a British soldier to “deliberately so to stand as to obstruct the view of the usurper.”27 He can state in one breath that even in “the classical instance of the defenseless sister or mother who is threatened with molestation by an evil-minded ruffian,” use of violence would not be permissible,28 yet in the next breath state that he would “defend” use of violence “against the whole world if I found myself in a corner when I could not save a helpless girl from violation.”29 He can avow that his “sympathies are wholly with the Allies” during World War II because “this war is resolving itself into one between such democracy as the West has evolved and totalitarianism as it is typified in Hitler,”30 and that “There is a fundamental difference between Fascism and even this imperialism which I am fighting,”31 yet simultaneously avow that “Hitlerism and Churchillism are in fact the same thing,” and that “I must fight Nazism and Fascism equally with the enslaving British imperialism.”32 He can praise the decision of French statesmen not to resist Nazi aggression because “the cause of liberty becomes a mockery if the price to be paid is wholesale destruction of those who are to enjoy liberty,”33 yet also assert that “no greater evil can befall a country than that it should lose its independence,”34 and that nations occupied by the Nazis, as well as German Jews, should elect annihilation rather than cooperate with the occupiers.35

To his credit it must nonetheless be said that Gandhi never shied away from giving critics of his pronouncements and policy a fair hearing. In conveying an intellectual or political dispute, he did not rig its terms to favor him or create straw men. It should perhaps also be noted in his defense that Gandhi conceived himself “essentially a man of action and a reformer,” a “practical reformer,”36 and that “no one is able to act upon a great principle, like that of nonviolence, in its entirety.”37 Logical consistency no doubt figured as a low priority compared to getting things done.

Gandhi’s nonviolent doctrine is not altogether amenable to rational analysis for other reasons as well. He never produced a programmatic or systematic guide on satyagraha. One has to piece together its theory and practice from scattered, often contradictory, confusing and obscure fragments. He indifferently conflated categories and collapsed
distinctions. Moreover, Gandhi’s doctrine was steeped in religious faith. “It is faith that sustains me, and it is faith that must sustain the other satyagrahis.”38 Although eager to recruit satyagrahis for the struggle, Gandhi was emphatic that communists and other nonbelievers need not apply.39 When he decided to embark on civil disobedience or a
fast, it was not after a secular reckoning of the “balance of forces,” but after an “inner urge,” “inner voice,” or “gift from God” prompted him.40 Gandhi denoted nonviolence a “science,”41 and conceived satyagraha not as a closed system but ceaseless experimentation in a perpetual and always incomplete search for truth. But his was a science not susceptible to external proof or refutation; its power drew from the “efficacy of the incalculable force of inscrutable divinity.”42 If it failed to produce the desired outcome, this demonstrated not an inadequacy of the theory but an impurity lurking in the soul of its human agents.43 He might be right, but it is hard to figure how one could
prove him wrong, just as one is rendered impotent before his ex cathedra pronouncements and saccharine homilies such as nonviolence, buoyed by the assistance of God, being the most potent of forces in the world.44 Gandhi asserted proprietary right over this science as “the author of satyagraha and general in satyagraha action,”45 the “sole authority on satyagraha” and the “most experienced satyagrahi.”46 He was uniquely privy to the mysteries of satyagraha;47 one could not argue with him about it—“I am confident that God has made me the instrument of showing the better way”;48 one could only march lock step—or elect not to—behind him.49 Gandhi eschewed all sectarian “isms,” including “Gandhism”—“I love to hear the words: ‘Down with Gandhism.’ An ‘ism’ deserves to be destroyed.”50 But the not altogether satisfying substitute he offered was a doctrine that often had the feel of autocratic whimsy. He had
an (as it were) party line not just on sexual abstinence but on “idle jokes” (opposed), “innocent pleasantries” (perhaps),51 and reading in the toilet (opposed). He sometimes sounds like Stalin pronouncing on linguistics, although deviationists might be banished from his Ashram but not deported to the Gulag.52

It further warrants notice that the better known aspects of Gandhi’s nonviolent doctrine such as civil disobedience and non-cooperation, which I will focus on in this lecture, were for him the least significant.53 He situated satyagraha in a matrix of practical, diurnal activities, what he called the “constructive program,”54 that formed the “foundation for civil disobedience.”55 Its constituents embraced ridding Hinduism of the “blot” of untouchability, fostering Hindu-Muslim unity, and promoting use on a mass scale of the spinning wheel (tcharka) and handspun cloth (khadi). On this (as it were) material basis, he believed, Indians could forge unbreakable bonds of unbounded love that transcended religious sect and class, thereby rendering political confrontation with Great Britain superfluous; complete independence (purna swaraj) would thence like a ripe fruit drop into India’s lap, and the nonviolent future of India would be safeguarded. “If we learn to love one another, if the gulf between Hindu and Muslim, caste and outcaste, and rich and poor is obliterated,” Gandhi predicted, “a handful of English would not dare to continue their rule over us.”56

All of which is to say, Gandhi would almost certainly fault my exercise in today’s lecture for denaturing his doctrine: a rational core of satyagraha cannot be extracted from the religious content coursing through it and the religious renaissance presupposing and ensuing from it. “It is impossible that a thing essentially of the soul,” he intoned, “can
be imparted through the intellect.”57 Nonetheless, speaking as a resolute nonbeliever and rationalist, I am convinced that he has something useful to say on the subject of nonviolent resistance. It will be for you to decide whether I am right.

What is satyagraha?

The “votary” of nonviolent civil resistance, according to Gandhi, “must not be violent in thought, word or deed,”58 in fact, must be “incapable of feeling or harboring anger.”59 The animating impulse of Gandhi’s doctrine is not however a negative “non”-principle but the affirmative or “active” principle of “unadulterated love—fellow-feeling,”60 which
in turn springs from “faith in the inherent goodness of human nature,”61 and the belief that “what holds good in respect of yourself holds good equally in respect of the whole universe. All mankind are alike.”62 Love, he professed, was the dominant factor in human existence—“Had violence, i.e., hate, ruled us, we should have become extinct
long ago”63—whereas the apparent omnipresence of violence is an optical illusion— “History is really a record of every interruption of the even working of the force of love or of the soul.”64 Just as “families and even clans” manage to resolve conflicts nonviolently due to the binding powers of love, so can “humankind” which is “one big family.”65 Gandhi’s faith in the essential goodness of humankind stretched credulity to its limits. During World War II he wrote a “Dear Friend” letter to Hitler in which he averred not “to believe that you are the monster described by your opponents,” albeit acknowledging that “many of your acts are monstrous and unbecoming of human dignity.”66

Because love informs it, satyagraha excludes violence. It also eschews inflicting indirect, non-physical forms of coercion such as fear and “embarrassment.”67 Rather it should rely exclusively on the “self-purification” that comes of self-suffering—“the more innocent and pure the suffering the more potent it will be in its effect”68—to arouse from
its slumber the conscience of wrongdoers in order “to convert, not to coerce”69 them. In another iteration, he invests in the transforming powers not of self-suffering per se but the “upwelling of love and pity towards the wrongdoer.”70

Gandhi deplored resort to violence on both personal/moral and political/pragmatic grounds. It corrupts the individual who is degraded to the level of a beast—“That which distinguishes man from all other animals is his capacity to be nonviolent”71—but it also corrupts the goal of enlightened political action. However just the cause, because means
and ends are ineluctably intertwined—“The means may be likened to a seed, the end to a tree”72—the use of violence as a political weapon cannot but bring forth a power configuration in which the “strong and mighty” dominate and the “blind, the halt and the maimed” remain disenfranchised:73 “violence may destroy one or more bad rulers, but…others will pop up in their places.”74 Even—or especially—in the face of Axis aggression, the use of armed force was to be opposed because the Allies could inflict a defeat on the Axis only by becoming “stronger than they are, and therefore worse and
more ruthless”;75 “that would mean no deliverance from Nazism,”76 but “superior Nazism.”77 Victor will have become vanquished, while “such a victory must mean another preparation for a war more inhuman than the present, as this one had proved more inhuman than the last.”78 On both practical and theoretical levels, Gandhi’s argument is wanting. While hardly ideal, the Allied states emerging from World War II did not exactly mirror let alone surpass in brutality Nazi Germany. In addition, Gandhi postulates that nonviolent resistance could not produce inferior results to violent
resistance: “either the enemy comes to terms with you, then you win without blood; or the enemy annihilates you. This last solution is not worse than what a violent war in any case brings about.”79 He willfully ignores the real possibility that nonviolence will have failed to stop the Nazis, whereas violence, however costly, will have succeeded short of the Allies’ total annihilation. It is more difficult to counter Gandhi’s assertion that, once having imitated Nazi methods, a cause “cannot be called just”80—except to eke out exiguous distinctions between Auschwitz and Hiroshima.

Gandhi did not, however, unqualifiedly repudiate violence. Until and unless he converted others to his beliefs, Gandhi accepted the validity of current norms. Thus, while personally unable to condone it, he did acknowledge the legitimacy of resorting to violence in a righteous cause; “self-defense is everybody’s birthright.”81 In the face of personal insult, and “if you feel humiliated, you will be justified in slapping the bully in the face or taking whatever action you might deem necessary to vindicate your self-respect.”82 And although “not defending the Arab excesses” during the 1936-39 Arab Revolt in Palestine, and although “wishing they had chosen the way of nonviolence in resisting what they rightly regarded as an unwarrantable encroachment upon their country,” Gandhi nonetheless maintained that “according to the accepted canons of right and wrong, nothing can be said against the Arab resistance in the face of overwhelming

However much he deplored violence, Gandhi did deem it much preferable to inaction in the face of injustice. Should one be incapable of nonviolently resisting an outrage, the only honorable option would be to resist violently, whereas flight would be wholly shameful. For, if there was one thing Gandhi detested more than violence, it was “mute
submissiveness”84—and what was yet worse, such submissiveness masquerading as nonviolent resistance. He regarded not violence but pusillanimity and effeminateness as the most contemptible of personal failings while he prized the virtues—which a true satyagrahi perforce nurtured—of courage and manliness: “The fundamental thing to be borne in mind is that people should, under no circumstances, be cowardly or impotent”; “it is unmanly to run away from danger.”85 Gandhi tersely defined the “aim of the satyagraha struggle” he led in South Africa as being “to infuse manliness in cowards.”86 In a scalding denunciation of ersatz nonviolence, and in a passage that might easily have been cribbed from Nietzsche, Gandhi lectured:

Nonviolence cannot be taught to a person who fears to die and has no power of
resistance. A helpless mouse is not nonviolent because he is always eaten by
pussy. He would gladly eat the murderess if he could, but he ever tries to flee
from her. We do not call him a coward, because he is made by nature to behave
no better than he does. But a man who, when faced by danger, behaves like a
mouse, is rightly called a coward. He harbors violence and hatred in his heart
and would kill his enemy if he could without being hurt himself. He is a stranger
to nonviolence. All sermonizing on it will be lost on him. Bravery is foreign to
his nature. Before he can understand nonviolence he has to be taught to stand
his ground and even suffer death in the attempt to defend himself against the
aggressor who bids fair to overwhelm him. To do otherwise would be to confirm
his cowardice and take him further away from nonviolence. Whilst I may not
actually help anyone to retaliate, I must not let a coward seek shelter behind
nonviolence so called. Not knowing the stuff of which nonviolence is made many
have honestly believed that running away from danger every time was a virtue
compared to offering resistance, especially when it is fraught with danger to one’s
life. As a teacher of nonviolence I must, so far as it is possible for me, guard
against such an unmanly belief….Self-defense…is the only honorable course
where there is unreadiness for self-immolation.87

And again, in another Nietzschean flourish:

Hence I ask you, is our nonviolence the nonviolence of the coward, the weak, the helpless, the timid? In that case, it is of no value. A weakling is a born saint. A weak person is obliged to become a saint. But we are soldiers of
nonviolence, who, if the occasion demands, will lay down their lives for it. Our nonviolence is not a mere policy of the coward. But I doubt this. I am afraid that the nonviolence we boast of might really be only a policy. It is true that, to some extent, nonviolence works even in the hands of the weak. And, in this manner, this weapon has been useful to us. But, if one makes use of nonviolence in order to disguise one’s weakness…, it makes a coward of one. Such a person is defeated on both fronts. Such a one cannot live like a man and the Devil he surely cannot become. It is a thousand times better that we die trying to acquire the strength of arm[s]. Using physical force with courage is far superior to cowardice. At least we would have attempted to act like men.88

For I cannot in any case stand cowardice. Let no one say when I am gone that I taught the people to be cowards. If you think my ahimsa [nonviolence] amounts to that, or leads you to that, you should reject it without hesitation. I would far rather that you died bravely dealing a blow and receiving a blow than died in abject terror.…Fleeing from battle…is cowardice, and unworthy of a warrior. An armed fighter is known to have sought fresh arms as soon as he loses those in
his possession or they lose their efficacy. He leaves the battle to get them. A nonviolent warrior knows no leaving the battle. He rushes into the mouth of himsa [violence], never even once harboring an evil thought. If this ahimsa seems to you to be impossible, let us be honest with ourselves and say so, and give it up….Cowardice is worse than violence because cowards can never be nonviolent. So such people should learn to defend themselves….A person who has full faith in nonviolence should be a thousand times more fearless than an armed man….It is the duty of every believer in ahimsa to see that cowardice is not propagated in the name of nonviolence.

My nonviolence does not admit of running away from danger and leaving dear ones unprotected. Between violence and cowardly flight, I can only prefer violence to cowardice. I can no more preach nonviolence to a coward than I can tempt a blind man to enjoy healthy scenes. Nonviolence is the summit of bravery. And in my own experience, I have had no difficulty in demonstrating to men trained in the school of violence the superiority of nonviolence. As a coward, which I was for years, I harbored violence. I began to prize nonviolence only when I began to shed cowardice. Those Hindus who ran away from the post of duty when it was attended with danger did so not because they were nonviolent, or because they were afraid to strike, but because they were unwilling to die or even suffer any injury. A rabbit that runs away
from the bull terrier is not particularly nonviolent. The poor thing trembles at the sight of the terrier and runs for very life. Those Hindus who ran away to save their lives would have been truly nonviolent and would have covered themselves with glory and added luster to their faith and won the friendship of their Mussalman assailants, if they had stood bare breast with smiles on their lips, and died at their post. They would have done less well, though still well, if they had stood at these posts and returned blow for blow. If the Hindus wish to convert the Mussalman bully into a respecting friend, they have to learn to die in the face of the heaviest odds.

I do believe that where there is only a choice between cowardice and violence I would advise
violence. Thus when my eldest son asked me what he should have done, had he been present
when I was almost fatally assaulted in 1908, whether he should have run away and seen me
killed or whether he should have used his physical force, which he could and wanted to use, and
defended me, I told him that it was his duty to defend me even by using violence….Hence…do
I advocate training in arms for those who believe in the method of violence. I would rather
have India resort to arms in order to defend her honor than that she should in a cowardly manner
become or remain a helpless witness to her own dishonor. But I believe that nonviolence is
infinitely superior to violence, forgiveness is more manly than punishment….But abstinence is
forgiveness only when there is the power to punish; it is meaningless where it pretends to proceed
from a helpless creature. A mouse hardly forgives a cat when it allows itself to be torn to pieces
by her.

Gandhi heaped praise on the “reckless courage” that soldiers displayed in battle and wanted “to learn…the art of throwing away my life for a noble cause”89; on the “example of Sparta,” because “though they were an armed people and also few, they laid down their lives but would not leave their places”;90 and on the typical “Pathan [Pashtun] boy”
because he is “fearless. If there is bloodshed he does not hide himself in his house. He finds pleasure in fighting. He does not stop to think that he might be injured or even killed. He is never afraid of being hurt. I have seen one standing unmoved in the midst of blood gushing from his many wounds.”91 On the other hand, Gandhi (mistakenly)
criticized the German Jews for pretending to nonviolence yet nourishing violent revenge on the Nazis (“There is no nonviolence in their hearts. Their nonviolence, if it may be so called, is of the helpless and the weak”),92 and the cowardice of his disciples who elected milder to evade severer sanctions (“The nonviolence of the person who went to jail to avoid a worse fate harmed him and disgraced the cause which he used as a shelter to escape death”).93 But he also freely conceded in poignant detail his own failure to rise to the heroic standard he set.94

In addition, Gandhi rejected nonviolence borne of weakness as being politically ineffectual. If the votaries of nonviolence abjure force only from dread of violent retaliation, then the wrongdoer has every right to dread what might ensue should they attain power and acquire its instruments. In order to convince the wrongdoer that one’s nonviolence was not born of weakness, one needed manifest a willingness to forego violence even when no prospect of violent retaliation impended, say, where the votaries of nonviolence outnumbered and outgunned the wrongdoer. The nonviolence
of “India as a nation…is that of the weak,” Gandhi lamented. “If she were nonviolent in the consciousness of her strength, Englishmen would lose their role of distrustful conquerors….If we, as Indians, could but for a moment visualize ourselves as a strong people disdaining to strike, we should cease to fear Englishmen whether as
soldiers, traders or administrators, and they to distrust us.”95 And again: “The moment Englishmen feel that although they are in India in a hopeless minority, their lives are protected against harm not because of the matchless weapons of destruction which are at their disposal, but because Indians refuse to take the lives even of those whom they may
consider to be utterly in the wrong, that moment will see a transformation in the English nation in its relation to India.”96 Yet, it would appear that practical realities—think of inmates in a concentration camp—would often preclude such a demonstration of strength. It will also be noticed Gandhi’s naïve premise that the fundamental barrier dividing
British and Indians was psychological (“fear”) and not a material clash of interests.

In any event, on both personal/moral and political/pragmatic grounds, Gandhi insisted that true nonviolent resistance had to be yet more brave and strong than violent resistance: only such nonviolence could redeem its votary and convert the wrongdoer. “An army of nonviolence exposes itself to all the risks that an army of violence does,” he declared. “Only the latter expects to retaliate even when it is not the aggressor. An army of nonviolence runs risks without the wish to retaliate”;97 “I believe that a man is the strongest soldier for daring to die unarmed with his breast bare before the enemy.”98 Such an “army” had to accept—indeed embrace—the prospect of mutely subjecting itself to mass slaughter.99 Into the valley of death it must headlong march, unarmed yet “smilingly”100 and “cheerfully”;101 “if we are to train ourselves to receive the bullet wounds or bayonet charges in our bare chests, we must accustom ourselves to standing unmoved in the face of cavalry or baton charges.”102 “Wherein is courage required,” he rhetorically asked, “in blowing others to pieces from behind a cannon or with a smiling face to approach a cannon and to be blown to pieces? Who is the true warrior—he who keeps death always as a bosom-friend or he who controls the death of others?”103 “What I shall expect of you,” he lectured the “officers” of his army, “is that even if someone subjects you to the most inhuman tortures, you will joyfully face the ordeal and make the supreme sacrifice with God’s name on your lips and without a trace of fear or anger or thoughts of revenge in your hearts.”104 And in a macabre peroration, he avowed, “That nation is great which rests its head upon death as its pillow.”105 It might be said of Gandhi that he created a cult of the dead. “Whilst therefore I tender my sympathy to the parents of the two brave lads who lost their lives,” he said following the murder of these disciples,

my inmost desire is to congratulate them for the finished sacrifices of their sons, if they would accept my congratulations. A warrior’s death is never a matter of sorrow, still less that of a satyagrahi warrior. One of the lessons that a nation yearning for freedom needs to learn is to shed several fears of losing title, wealth, position, fear of imprisonment, of bodily injury and lastly of death.106

How satyagraha works

Although he asserted that satyagraha was not just nonviolent but also non-coercive, the means Gandhi deployed in his civil resistance campaigns actually ranged on a continuum alloying coercion and abnegation.107 At one pole was what he called “non-cooperation” that rendered society ungovernable for political elites108 and enterprises insolvent for economic elites. Insofar as the satyagrahi faced the loss of a paycheck, punitive sanctions, even internment and death, non-cooperation also entailed varying degrees of self-suffering.109 At the opposite extreme was a tactic such as fasting which plainly contained a large component of self-suffering but which was also coercive, however vehemently Gandhi might deny this.110 Occupying the middle ground between these poles were various forms of civil disobedience, which contained equal parts coerciveness (breaking the law) and self-suffering (going to jail, paying fines). In the
ensuing remarks I put to one side a very powerful if latent form of violence lurking in all of Gandhi’s activities, which he was fully aware of and which he fully exploited: if the British didn’t acquiesce in his nonviolence, they would have to cope with wholesale violent resistance: “I have claimed in private correspondence with English friends that it is because of my incessant preaching of the gospel of nonviolence and my having successfully demonstrated its practical utility that so far the forces of violence, which are undoubtedly in existence…, have remained under complete control.”111

The coercive potency of non-cooperation such as a general strike for getting the lords of the land to see the light requires little elucidation.112 Gandhi stressed that even non-cooperation “must have its roots in love. Its object should not be to punish the opponent or to inflict injury upon him….we must make him feel that in us he has a friend and we should try to reach his heart.”113 And again: “We do want to paralyze the Government considered as a system—not, however, by intimidation, but by the irresistible pressure of our innocence.”114 He did allow that as a “practical” matter even if non-cooperation sprang from the “nonviolence of the weak”—i.e., not from love but from fear of violent retribution—it could still be efficacious “if a sufficient number of people practice it.”115 But Gandhi adamantly refused to concede that, however much “love” and “innocence” might assuage the abrasiveness of a conflict,116 it remains that the operative factor at play in non-cooperation is coercive.117

The focus of Gandhi’s creed, however, was the transformative power of pristine self-suffering, and here yet more problems arise. He believed that such suffering would put on public display the “human dignity”118 of the victim and thereby “quicken the conscience,” 119 strike a “sympathetic chord,”120 and “evoke by his truth and love expressed through his suffering” the “inherent goodness of human nature”;121 “the world is touched by sacrifice,”122 “it can tame the wildest beast, certainly the wildest man.”123 The satyagrahi will then be well-placed to “mobilize public opinion against the evil which he is out to eradicate, by means of a wide and intensive agitation”;124 “success is the certain result of suffering of the extremist character, voluntarily undergone.”125

It is not clear however why suffering in and of itself—or, for that matter, allied with “love”—would convert the alleged wrongdoer. Were the “pro-life” half of the American population to engage in civil disobedience or even a fast unto the death, the “pro-choice” half would hardly be converted by such a spectacle. For, it is not suffering alone that touches but suffering in the pursuit of a legitimate goal. The recognition of the legitimacy of such a goal presumes however a preexisting consensus according to which what the victim seeks he justly deserves. Gandhi accordingly referred to the victim’s “innocence.”126 It is innocence in a double sense: of means—the victim’s suffering results from unilateral violence inflicted by others—and of ends—the victim seeks a right that cannot in good conscience be denied because it jibes with the “normal moral sense of the world”;127 the more incontrovertible the ends, the more self-suffering as a means will resonate with “enlightened public opinion.”128 In this light it is to be doubted the efficacy of self-suffering before wrongdoers who are convinced, either due to an inimical interest or inimical ideology or—what’s often the case—both, that the demands of the victim lack justice. Gandhi himself acknowledges that his adversary might be as convinced in the rightness of his opinions as Gandhi is of his own (“I realize what may appear to me prejudice may be enlightenment to others”);129 that he must be open to the possibility that his interlocutor might be right and he wrong (“The royal road of nonviolence consists of…willingness to understand another’s point of view with an unprejudiced mind”);130 and that in any event a sincerely-held opinion cannot easily be dislodged (“It is difficult to combat an honest belief, however erroneous it may be”).131 But then why should one suppose that the alleged wrongdoer will be converted by the suffering of those in pursuit of an admittedly doubtful goal? On its own, self-suffering might induce some degree of pity but it surely won’t induce fundamental concessions. Gandhi makes the commendable point that if the goal turns out to be mistaken, one’s suffering will have done no harm to the alleged wrongdoer: “He does not make others suffer for his mistakes.”132 But it does not alter the fact that hardened self-interest or ideology will almost certainly stifle the voice, inner or outer, of justice. The point I want to make here finds vivid illustration in this passage from Gandhi: “Our triumph consists in thousands being led to the prisons like lambs to the slaughter-house. If the lambs of the world had been willingly led, they would have long ago saved themselves from the butcher’s knife. Our triumph consists again in being imprisoned for no wrong whatsoever. The greater our innocence, the greater our strength and the swifter our victory.”133 If the injustice is morally assimilable, then innocence can, and likely will, prick the conscience. But did millions of innocent Jews being led to the crematoria “like lambs to the slaughter-house” prick the Nazi conscience? It might be said that they did not go voluntarily—theirs was “nonviolence of the weak” (under the circumstances how could it be otherwise?)—but if the Nazis could morally rationalize the extermination of one million Jewish children—whose innocence of means and ends could be purer?—it is probable that they would also have rationalized self-immolation.

I will now illustrate these propositions on consensus, interest and ideology with Gandhi’s key political interventions during the period I have concentrated on for this lecture:

Discrimination and immorality. Gandhi expressly launched his satyagraha campaigns for social reform in the knowledge that a majority—however latent—supported his agenda. The point of the campaign was not to create ex nihilo a constituency, but through self-suffering to “quicken the conscience” of an already existent broad consensus, “cultivating and ascertaining the opinion” of this natural constituency, and thereby bringing to bear the “force of public opinion.”134 Thus, in undertaking to remove the “blot” of untouchability by opening the doors of Hindu temples to the Harijans (“children of God”),135 Gandhi presumed that a majority of Hindus supported such a reform but needed the stimulus of satyagraha—fasting, picketing, prayers—to act finally on their consciences: “The whole idea of my fast is based on the belief that a large section of the people favor temple-entry, but they do not voice it.”136 (To be sure, the campaign against untouchability turned brutal and bloody, Gandhi meanwhile declaring, “Loss even of a few hundred lives will not be too great a price to pay for the freedom of the ‘untouchables.’ Only the martyrs must die clean.”)137 Likewise, in his campaign to rid India of the scourge of alcoholic consumption, Gandhi banked on the
belief that “public opinion” could be consolidated around such a reform.138 When challenged why he did not also wage campaigns to rid India of other morally debasing indulgences such as gambling and the cinema, Gandhi candidly responded, “The drink evil has been recognized as such by the people of this land. But the other evils are more or less fashionable.”139 And again: “These vices were fashionable and therefore were not capable of being dealt with like prohibition. I claim to be a practical reformer. I know almost instinctively what vices are ripe for being publicly dealt with.”140 Put otherwise, absent a prior consensus no amount of self-suffering would move public opinion to do the right thing. Gandhi did also profess that self-suffering would “finally break the wall of prejudice”141 of those violently opposed to his social reforms—“the hardest heart and the grossest ignorance,” “the stoniest heart of the stoniest fanatic”142—and “melt the hearts” of those profiting from vice.143 Yet, the thrust of his campaigns was clearly to energize a latently sympathetic public via self-suffering, and utilize this “force of public opprobrium”144 in order to democratically overrule or socially isolate or force the capitulation of or reach a principled compromise with145 the diehards.

Economic inequality. Gandhi cast himself as the voice of India’s impoverished “dumb millions”:146 “I unhesitatingly say that I am a people’s man. Every moment of my life I feel for the starving millions. I live and am prepared to lay down my life to relieve their sufferings and mitigate their miseries.”147 He conceived swaraj as not just political independence (“mere transfer of power”), but “complete deliverance of the toiling yet starving millions from the dreadful evil of economic serfdom” and “independence of the poorest and the lowliest in the land”; “unless poverty and unemployment are wiped out from India, I would not agree that we have attained freedom.”148 He also adopted a stringent, austere code of what constituted just deserts in a well-ordered society: “A thing not originally stolen must nevertheless be classified as stolen property if we possess it without needing it”; “each man shall have the wherewithal to supply all his natural needs and no more”; “all amassing or hoarding of wealth, above and beyond one’s legitimate requirements, was theft.”149 Eliminating “the cruel inequality that obtains today” 150 constituted a prerequisite for eliminating societal violence: “A nonviolent system of government is clearly an impossibility so long as the wide gulf between the rich and the hungry millions persists.”151

However, as against the demand of Indian socialists and communists to expropriate large property-holders and nationalize the means of production, Gandhi championed the “theory of trusteeship,” according to which large property holders would be persuaded through nonviolent civil resistance to use their “excess”152 wealth for the betterment of society; “I do not believe that the capitalists and landlords are all exploiters by an inherent necessity or that there is a basic or irreconcilable antagonism between their interests and those of the masses.”153 I will not here argue the merits of Gandhi’s alternative,154 but rather the practicability of the means he proposes for realizing it. Occasionally Gandhi invests in the power of the laborers’ self-abnegation to convert property-owners from ruthless exploiters to enlightened guardians. The property-owners will come to realize after “kind”155 gestures that they should not “squander [their] gains in luxurious or extravagant living, but must use them” for the poor:156 “If we treat these rich people with decency, they would fulfill the expectations we have of them”; “If we win their confidence and put them at their ease we will find that they are not averse to progressively sharing their riches with the masses”; “We should struggle against them in the same way and for the same reason, as lovingly and reluctantly and with as much
respect and politeness as we do against our blood-relations.”157 Moreover, he makes out that the irrational “fear and distrust” of the rich are the sole barriers to reconciliation with the poor.158 But when pressed hard Gandhi conceded that no precedent exists for his trusteeship proposal and that it was based on a giant leap of faith.159 Indeed, aren’t
capitalists convinced—and, for all anyone knows, rightly—that the system is fair, rewarding the enterprising few and penalizing the slothful many? However, Gandhi also instructs workers to organize and mobilize—that is, to realize their latent power—in order to get property-owners to equitably distribute their ill-gotten gains: “What is necessary is that laborers or workers should know their rights and should also know how to assert them”; “When the workers are better organized and more self-sacrificing, their power would grow. You are not conscious of your strength and therefore you are oppressed”; “As soon as laborers are properly educated and organized and they realize their strength, no amount of capital can subdue them. Organized and enlightened labor can dictate its own terms.”160 If the “rich” cannot be persuaded “to become guardians of the poor in the true sense of the term and the latter are more and more crushed and die of hunger,” then Gandhi advocated “nonviolent non-cooperation and civil disobedience as the right and infallible means”: “The rich cannot accumulate wealth without the cooperation of the poor in society.”161 What Gandhi refused to acknowledge, however, is that although he abjured “so-called class-conflict,” counseling instead that “landlords and
capitalists” be “persuaded and converted,”162 his practical prescription ultimately relied not on the beneficence of self-suffering but on the coercion of raw (if nonviolent) power.

Aggression and occupation. In order to combat Axis aggression during World War II Gandhi advised conquered nations to lay down their arms and simply refuse to cooperate with the occupiers. Once the Axis powers realized that they could not make profitable use of the annexed territories without the enslaved population’s acquiescence they would withdraw: in the face of “quiet, dignified and nonviolent defiance,” the “tyrant will not find it worth his while to go on with his terrorism,” and “he would certainly have been obliged to retire.” Here was a tactic that made ultimate appeal not to the consciences or hearts of the occupiers163 but their balance-sheets, i.e., rational self-interest.164 Where achievement of Axis goals required not the cooperation but removal of the occupied
populations, or their outright extermination,165 Gandhi alternatively professed that self-suffering could “melt”166 even Hitler’s heart, because “human nature in its essence is one and therefore unfailingly responds to the advances of love.”167 Yet, if Hitler was genuinely persuaded of the necessity of lebensraum and the lethal iniquity of the Jews,
why should suffering allied to love convert him? Gandhi himself was apparently less than fully convinced of the efficacy of his tactic—at any rate in the here and now— for he also counseled Jews to go if need be mutely to their deaths, and believed that such a dignified demise would be their ultimate salvation: “If the Jewish mind could
be prepared for voluntary suffering, even the massacre [of Jews by Hitler]…could be turned into a day of thanksgiving and joy that Jehovah had wrought deliverance of the race even at the hands of the tyrant. For the God-fearing, death has no terror. It is a joyful sleep to be followed by a waking that would be all the more refreshing for the long
sleep.”168 Perhaps so, but if the goal was to melt Hitler’s heart in the promise of earthly deliverance, then self-suffering must be reckoned a colossal failure.169 Of course, it might be argued that whatever recourse European Jewry made its fate was sealed while nonviolent resistance would have been most redemptive.170 But that is a matter apart
from whether self-suffering is a viable tactic against ideological fanatics.

In this context it merits recalling that Gandhi’s nemesis in the epic struggle for Indian independence, Winston Churchill, was hardly persuaded by Indian suffering to dismantle the British Empire. Between interest-cum-ideology on the one side, and the suffering of the Indian masses on the other, the former proved decisive.171 “The English Ministers are pursuing what they believe to be an honest policy,” Gandhi acknowledged. “It is their honest belief that British rule in India has been, on the whole, for her good. They honestly believe that under it India has advanced.”172 Should it then surprise that— contrary to Gandhi’s expectations—the self-suffering of Indians manifestly failed to
touch British imperialists or that it failed to get “British commerce with India…purified of greed” and put on “terms of mutual help and…equally suited to both”?173 To be sure, although Gandhi spoke of wanting to “convert the administrators of the system,” he nonetheless qualified, “the conversion may or may not be willing.”174 And again: “to
convert them or, if you will, even to drive them out of the country.”175 In fact, he conceived the struggle against British imperialism in terms of making India ungovernable through a combination of nonviolence, which neutralized British bayonets by rendering use of them an embarrassment, and non-cooperation, which nullified British authority by
flouting it: “Whether we convert them or not, we are determined to make their rule impossible by nonviolent non-cooperation”;176 “If, notwithstanding their desire to the contrary, they saw that their guns and everything they had created for the consolidation of their authority were useless because of our non-use of them, they could not do
otherwise than bow to the inevitable and either retire from the scene, or remain on our terms, i.e., as friends to co-operate with us, not as rulers to impose their will upon us.”177 However much he professed otherwise,178 Gandhi did not endeavor to “quicken the conscience” of British imperialists but rather to coerce them, albeit nonviolently, into submission through “force of will.”179 But it is also true that he held out the hope of the “conversion” of the British “nation”—i.e., “public opinion”—through self-suffering: “I have deliberately used the word conversion. For my ambition is no less than to convert the British people through nonviolence, and thus make them see the wrong they have done to India” (emphasis in original).180 The imperialists might have to be driven out, but the conscience of the people might yet be pricked. Indeed, British public opinion could serve as a critical weapon for coercing dyed-in-the-wool British
imperialists to leave India.

III. What can supporters of a just peace in the Israel-Palestine conflict learn from Gandhi?

Before answering this question, a few preliminary remarks are in order. Neither I nor anyone else has the right to tell Palestinians that they must renounce violent means to end the occupation. As already noted, during the Arab Revolt in the 1930s Gandhi asserted that “according to the accepted canons of right and wrong, nothing can be said against
the Arab resistance in the face of overwhelming odds.” I cannot see grounds for revising this judgment, except to note that the “accepted canons” today would mean the current laws of war (e.g., the inadmissibility of targeting civilians). In fact, if they cannot find the moral reserves to practice nonviolence, according to Gandhi, then it is not only the
right but the duty of Palestinians to hit back, and hit back hard, those who have wrecked their lives and violated their persons. Palestinians are not obliged to acquiesce in assaults on their human dignity; quite the contrary, they have a responsibility to defend their dignity against such assaults, nonviolently if they can, violently if they must. It might also be recalled that for Gandhi “no greater evil can befall a country than that it should lose its independence.”181 If I propose that Palestinians adopt Gandhi’s doctrine of nonviolent civil resistance, it is not because they should be held—or hold themselves— accountable to a higher ethical standard, but rather because of a compelling pragmatic insight of his. There is nothing violence can accomplish, Gandhi maintained, that nonviolence cannot accomplish—and with lesser loss of life. As a general proposition, it is obviously impossible to prove. Could the Allies have defeated Hitler had they resorted to nonviolent civil resistance, and with fewer than 60 million dead? We will never know. On the other hand, Palestinians suffered some 5,000 dead (1,000 minors) during the second intifada, and the Israelis 1,000 dead (160 minors). Apart from the dubious blessing of Israel’s redeployment in Gaza, Palestinians have little to show for the violent resistance; indeed, nearly all the reckonings after eight years of bloodletting fall squarely in the debit column. It is at least arguable that the balance-sheet would have been better
had Palestinians en masse adopted nonviolent civil resistance.

But didn’t Palestinians embrace this strategy during the first intifada, and didn’t it fail? True, the first intifada was overwhelmingly nonviolent,182 although Israel hardly responded in kind.183 However, it is fundamentally mistaken to reckon the uprising a failure. The surpassing courage, integrity, humanity, solidarity and sheer cleverness of the Palestinian people during those years—which I had the unforgettable honor of personally witnessing—threw the Israeli occupation army into professional, morale and moral disarray from which it has never fully recovered,184 while Israel’s brutal methods of repression caused it to suffer a public relations disaster of the first magnitude.185 If the Palestinian leadership under Yasir Arafat had not subverted the first intifada, stifling its élan and subordinating it to a dead-end diplomatic game, the outcome might have been different. As it was, Israel entered into negotiations with the PLO and subsequently signed the Oslo Accord because the intifada had rendered the occupation untenable except through the conscription of Palestinian collaborators.186

We have already seen that a crucial prerequisite for the successful prosecution of nonviolent resistance is a preexisting public consensus on the legitimacy of its goals. We have also seen that such a consensus has crystallized in the case of the Israel-Palestine conflict. The international community has enjoined Israel’s full withdrawal from the territories it occupied in June 1967 and a resolution of the refugee question based on the right of return and compensation. The challenge now—in Gandhi’s words—is to “cultivate” and “quicken” the conscience of this public. In practical terms, Palestinians in the Occupied Territories would have to rivet international public opinion on the brutality of the occupation by resorting to nonviolent civil resistance; in the meantime their supporters abroad must publicize the factual record showing that international opinion—whether registered in its most representative bodies such as the United Nations General Assembly, or its most enlightened bodies such as the International Court of Justice and respected human rights organizations—agrees on how to resolve the conflict, and that the only obstacles to its settlement are Israel and the United States.

It must be said here that significant lessons can be learned from the history of Zionism. The Zionist movement made sure that each of the documents that conferred—or appeared to confer—international legitimacy became a veritable household reference. Its leaders grasped how critical such legitimacy was in winning over public opinion and thereby achieving their goal. Were it not for the concerted and sustained campaign of Zionist publicists, it is inconceivable that a one-sentence declaration uttered 90 years ago by a nondescript British foreign minister named Arthur Balfour, or a United Nations General Assembly resolution passed 60 years ago recommending the partition of Palestine, would still command near-universal recognition. Israeli foreign minister Abba Eban famously said of the Partition Resolution that it was Israel’s “birth certificate.” He did not exaggerate. It ascertained that the State of Israel was not a bastard child of the international system but rather its legitimate and—at any rate, morally—irrevocable offspring. It might also be noticed that the Zionist movement never rested on its laurels. Just as it required discipline and organization to extract each of its certificates of legitimacy, so it also required tenacity to preserve these gains. Neither the Balfour Declaration nor the Partition Resolution came easy, and renewed battles ensued after both victories against powerful forces that wanted to rescind them.187 The contrast with the Palestinian independence struggle could not be starker. Each year the United Nations General Assembly issues the Palestinian people yet another birth certificate. The General Assembly is far more representative of humankind today than it was in 1947, and the vote favoring a Palestinian state is consistently lopsided whereas the Partition Resolution just barely passed. In addition, on nearly all the critical issues—borders, East Jerusalem, settlements—the Palestinians won a resounding victory and Israel suffered a resounding defeat in the 2004 Advisory Opinion of the International Court of Justice. Considered as a certificate of legitimacy the near-unanimous ICJ opinion manifestly carried far greater weight than the unilateral declaration of a British government. Yet—and herein lies the great tragedy—how many people even know of the annual General Assembly votes and the ICJ opinion? These landmark victories, achieved largely due to the inhuman suffering and superhuman steadfastness of the Palestinian people, have been criminally squandered one after another.

A massive mobilization of Palestinians building on the non-cooperation tactics of the first intifada (commercial and tax strikes, popular committees) could again make the Israeli occupation ungovernable. Is it so far-fetched to imagine an “army” of Palestinian satyagrahis converging on the Wall, their sole “weapons” a pick in one hand and a copy of the ICJ opinion in the other? The ICJ stated that the Wall was illegal and must be dismantled. The Palestinians would only be doing what the world should already have done a long time ago. Who could fault them for enforcing the law? No doubt Israel would fire on Palestinians and many would be killed. But if their supporters in North America and Europe publicized the ICJ opinion, and if Palestinians found the inner wherewithal to persevere nonviolently, it seems probable that far, far fewer than 5,000 Palestinians would be killed before Israel were forced to desist. No one writing abroad from the comfort and safety of his study can in good conscience urge such a strategy that entails so much death. But Gandhi’s point nonetheless stands: if Palestinians have repeatedly shown a willingness to pay the ultimate price, doesn’t it make sense for them to pursue a strategy that has a better likelihood of success at a smaller human price?

A high profile publicity campaign in the West complementing nonviolent Palestinian civil resistance in the Occupied Territories would enhance the prospects of its success. If the campaign targeted Israeli intransigence as the sole obstacle to a settlement, it would pave the way for making of Israel a pariah state, and then the implementation
of sanctions against it. The tenability of such a sanctions campaign depends, however, on international public opinion being first (or simultaneously) primed with knowledge of both the consensus for resolving the conflict and Israel’s refusal to abide it. Such a campaign also cannot possibly succeed if Palestinian goals do not command international
legitimacy, such as the occasional calls for eliminating the “Zionist entity” and embracing a “one-state” solution, which enjoy exactly zero international support. Again, innocence of means does not suffice; innocence of ends is also requisite. One might want to counter that the consensus is not the solution but part of the problem, and must
be changed. Perhaps so, but then Palestinians suffering under occupation should be informed that they will have to endure it for many more generations to come. For, it is no small task to reconfigure enlightened public opinion where legitimacy is largely built on precedent. Every call for a Palestinian state (including the 1988 Palestinian declaration of independence) has referred back to the unfinished business of the Partition Resolution. Where is the legal or moral precedent for dismantling the “Zionist entity”—the birth certificate of which was signed by the United Nations—or a “one-state” solution— which the Partition Resolution superseded? It required 70 years of Zionist colonization and organizational will, the Balfour Declaration, the League of Nations mandate, the Nazi holocaust, and the decline of the British Empire to create a global mandate for the Partition Resolution. It would take a comparable summoning of human and material resources, and fortuitous constellation and alignment of historical circumstances, to undo it.

A nonviolent civil disobedience campaign in the Occupied Territories garnering visible international support will almost certainly open up fissures in Israeli society. To be sure, the Palestinians will perforce be practicing a “nonviolence of the weak.” If they (again) resort to nonviolence, it will not be because they “love” their Israeli oppressors, but because violent resistance failed. It must be conceded that herein lies a drawback of Palestinian nonviolence. For, Israelis will not be convinced that Palestinians, once acquiring the machinery of a state and the accouterments of power, won’t use them against Israel. From the outset they will know that Palestinian nonviolence is not an axiom but—to quote Gandhi—“mere policy.” Nonetheless, Gandhi acknowledged that, although Indians themselves had practiced a “nonviolence of the weak,” the tactic was still able to produce positive (if somewhat limited) results. Those sectors of Israeli society cultivating a liberal self-image will perforce be shamed by the “force of public opprobrium” in the West. Many other Israelis will simply calculate on grounds of self-interest: if anarchy reigns in the Occupied Territories, if the occupation army gets bogged down in an intractable war of nerves with peaceful demonstrators, if, like South Africa and South Africans during the Apartheid era, Israel and Israelis are reviled
abroad, then the occupation is no longer worth the price. No doubt the diehards in Israeli society won’t budge. The self-suffering of Palestinians will no more “melt” the hearts of the ideological settlers and the generals than the self-suffering of Indians melted Churchill’s heart or the self-suffering of Jews would have melted Hitler’s heart.
But a critical mass favoring a full Israeli withdrawal presumably would bring forth an Israeli leader ready and able to pull out, just as in France during the Algerian war.

Gandhi translated satyagraha as “hold on to the truth.” Herewith is our challenge: to hold on to the truth that what Israel has done to the Palestinians is wrong; to hold on to the truth that Israel’s refusal, backed by the U.S., to respect international law and the considered opinion of humankind is the sole obstacle to putting an end, finally, to their suffering. We can win if we hold on to the truth, and if, as the Negro spiritual put it with cognate wisdom, we “keep our eyes on the prize, and hold on.” That is, if we keep remembering what the struggle—the prize—is all about: not theoretical fad or intellectual provocation, not holier-than-thou radical posturing, but—however humdrum, however
prosaic, by comparison—freeing the Palestinian people from their bondage. And then to hold on, to be ready for sacrifice and for the long haul—do I dare mention the example of Hezbollah’s heroic resistance?—but also, and especially, to be humble in the knowledge that for those of us living in North America and Europe, the burdens pale next to those borne daily by the people of Palestine. Whenever I harbor doubts about holding on, whenever I contemplate moving on in life, I see in my mind’s eye a dear friend and comrade who lives in Hebron where he is the field representative for an Israeli-based human rights organization, and hear his words in my head. My friend Musa, who grew
up in a refugee camp, told me once, “The past 38 years should have been the best in my life. But I honestly cannot remember a single happy day.” To forsake those trapped in abject distress would be yet more wrong. Where was the world during the Nazi holocaust?, we still ask. Where is the world now? Has the Palestinian struggle gone on too long? Has it become boring and passé? Has the time come to move on? But the Palestinian people continue to be ground under, the merciless Israeli juggernaut keeps pressing on, confiscating yet more land, demolishing yet more homes, destroying yet
more lives. The time now is not to move on—but to hold on!

The Caribbean poet Aimé Césaire once wrote, “There’s room for everyone at the rendezvous of victory.” Late in life, when his political horizons broadened out, Edward Said would often quote this line. We should make it our credo as well. We want to nurture a movement, not hatch a cult. The victory to which we aspire is inclusive, not exclusive; it is not at anyone’s expense. It is to be victorious without vanquishing. No one is a loser, and we all are gainers if together we stand by truth and justice. “I am not anti-English; I am not anti-British; I am not anti-any government,” Gandhi insisted, “but I am anti-untruth—anti-humbug, and anti-injustice.”188 Shouldn’t we also say that we are not anti-Jewish, anti-Israel or, for that matter, anti-Zionist? The prize on which our eyes should be riveted is human rights, human dignity, human equality. What, really, is the point of ideological litmus tests such as, Are you now or have you ever been a Zionist? Indeed, it is Israel’s apologists who thrive on and cling to them, bogging down interlocutors in distracting and endless intellectual sideshows—What is a Jew? Are the Jews a nation? Don’t Jews have a right to national liberation? Shouldn’t we use a vocabulary that registers and resonates with the public conscience and the Jewish conscience, winning over the decent many while isolating the diehard few? Shouldn’t we instead be asking, Are you for or against ethnic cleansing, for or against torture, for or against house demolitions, for or against Jews-only roads and Jews-only settlements, for or against discriminatory laws? And if the answer comes, against, against and against, shouldn’t we then say, Keep your ideology, whatever it might be—there’s room for everyone at the rendezvous of victory?

May we all, seekers of truth, fighters for justice, yet live to join the people of Palestine at the rendezvous of victory.

Thank you.

Norman G. Finkelstein
New York City
November 2008

For extensive documentation, see Norman G. Finkelstein, Beyond Chutzpah: On the misuse of anti-Semitism and the abuse of history, updated edition with a new preface (Berkeley: 2008), pp. 323-55, and Norman G. Finkelstein: A Farewell to Israel: The coming break-up of American Zionism (forthcoming). For the critical background, see esp. Noam Chomsky, The Fateful Triangle: The United States, Israel and the Palestinians (Boston: 1983), chap. 3.

For extensive analysis of the ICJ opinion and full references, see Finkelstein, Beyond Chutzpah, pp. 227-270.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,…

Whose woods these are I think I know, His house is in the village though. He will not see me stopping here, To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer, To stop without a farmhouse near, Between the woods and frozen lake, The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake, To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep, Of easy

WE and YOU By Kahlil Gibran

We are the sons of Sorrow, and you are the Sons of Joy. We are the sons of Sorrow, And Sorrow is the shadow of a God who Lives not in the domain of evil hearts. We are sorrowful spirits, … Continue reading

We are the sons of Sorrow, and you are the
Sons of Joy. We are the sons of Sorrow,
And Sorrow is the shadow of a God who
Lives not in the domain of evil hearts.

We are sorrowful spirits, and Sorrow is
Too great to exist in small hearts.

When you laugh, we cry and lament; and he
Who is seared and cleansed once with his
Own tears will remain pure forevermore.

You understand us not, but we offer our
Sympathy to you. You are racing with the
Current of the River of Life, and you
Do not look upon us; but we are sitting by
The coast, watching you and hearing your
Strange voices.

You do not comprehend our cry, for the
Clamour of the days is crowding your ears,
Blocked with the hard substance of your
Years of indifference to truth; but we hear
Your songs, for the whispering of the night
Has opened our inner hearts. We see you
Standing under the pointing finger of light,
But you cannot see us, for we are tarrying
In the enlightening darkness.

We are the sons of Sorrow; we are the poets
And the prophets and the musicians. We weave
Raiment for the goddess from the threads of
Our hearts, and we fill the hands, of the
Angels with the seeds of our inner selves.

You are the sons of the pursuit of earthly
Gaiety. You place your hearts in the hands
Of Emptiness, for the hand’s touch to
Emptiness is smooth and inviting.

You reside in the house of Ignorance, for
In his house there is no mirror in which to
View your souls.

We sigh, and from our sighs arise the
Whispering of flowers and the rustling of
Leaves and the murmur of rivulets.

When you ridicule us your taunts mingle
With the crushing of the skulls and the
Rattling of shackles and the wailing of the
Abyss. When we cry, our tears fall into the
Heart of Life, as dew drops fall from the
Eyes of Night into the heart of Dawn; and
When you laugh, your mocking laughter pours
Down like the viper’s venom into a wound.

We cry, and sympathize with the miserable
Wanderer and distressed widow; but you rejoice
And smile at the sight of resplendent gold.

We cry, for we listen to the moaning of the
Poor and the grieving of the oppressed weak;
But you laugh, for you hear naught but the
Happy sound of the wine goblets.

We cry, for our spirits are at the moment
Separated from God; but you laugh, for your
Bodies cling with unconcern to the earth.

We are the sons of Sorrow, and you are the
Sons of Joy . . . Let us measure the outcome of
Our sorrow against the deeds of your joy
Before the face of the Sun . . .

You have built the Pyramids upon the hearts
Of slaves, but the Pyramids stand now upon
The sand, commemorating to the Ages our
Immortality and your evanescence.

You have built Babylon upon the bones of the
Weak, and erected the palaces of Nineveh upon
The graves of the miserable. Babylon is now but
The footprint of the camel upon the moving sand
Of the desert, and its history is repeated
To the nations who bless us and curse you.

We have carved Ishtar from solid marble,
And made it to quiver in its solidity and
Speak through its muteness.

We have composed and played the soothing
Song of Nahawand upon the strings, and caused
The Beloved’s spirit to come hovering in the
Firmament near to us; we have praised the
Supreme Being with words and deeds; the words
Became as the words of God, and the deeds
Became overwhelming love of the angels.

You are following Amusement, whose sharp claws
Have torn thousands of martyrs in the arenas
Of Rome and Antioch . . . But we are following
Silence, whose careful fingers have woven the
Iliad and the Book of Job and the Lamentations
Of Jeremiah.

You lie down with Lust, whose tempest has
Swept one thousand processions of the soul of
Woman away and into the pit of shame and
Horror . . . But we embrace Solitude, in whose
Shadow the beauties of Hamlet and Dante arose.

You curry for the favor of Greed, and the sharp
Swords of Greed have shed one thousand rivers
Of blood . . . But we seek company with Truth,
And the hands of Truth have brought down
Knowledge from the Great Heart of the Circle
Of Light.

We are the sons of Sorrow, and you are the
Sons of Joy; and between our sorrow and your
Joy there is a rough and narrow path which
Your spirited horses cannot travel, and upon
Which your magnificent carriages cannot pass.

We pity your smallness as you hate our
Greatness; and between our pity and your
Hatred, Time halts bewildered. We come to
You as friends, but you attack us as enemies;
And between our friendship and your enmity,
There is a deep ravine flowing with tears
And blood.

We build palaces for you, and you dig graves
For us; and between the beauty of the palace
And the obscurity of the grave, Humanity
Walks as a sentry with iron weapons.

We spread your path with roses, and you cover
Our beds with thorns; and between the roses
And the thorns, Truth slumbers fitfully.

Since the beginning of the world you have
fought against our gentle power with your
Coarse weakness; and when you triumph over
Us for an hour, you croak and clamour merrily
Like the frogs of the water. And when we
Conquer you and subdue you for an Age, we
Remain as silent giants.

You crucified Jesus and stood below Him,
Blaspheming and mocking at Him; but at last
He came down and overcame the generations,
And walked among you as a hero, filling the
Universe with His glory and His beauty.

You poisoned Socrates and stoned Paul and
Destroyed Ali Talib and assassinated
Madhat Pasha, and yet those immortals are
With us forever before the face of Eternity.

But you live in the memory of man like
Corpses upon the face of the earth; and you
Cannot fine a friend who will bury you in
The obscurity of non-existence and oblivion,
Which you sought on earth.

We are the sons of Sorrow, and sorrow is a
Rich cloud, showering the multitudes with
Knowledge and Truth. You are the sons of
Joy, and as high as your joy may reach,
By the Law of God it must be destroyed
Before the winds of heaven and dispersed
Into nothingness, for it is naught but a
Thin and wavering pillar of smoke.

The cradle rocks above an abyss

The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. Although the two are identical twins, man, as a rule, views the prenatal abyss … Continue reading

The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. Although the two are identical twins, man, as a rule, views the prenatal abyss with more calm than the one he is headed for (at some forty-five hundred heartbeats an hour). I know, however, of a young chronophobiac who experienced something like panic when looking for the first time at homemade movies that had been taken a few weeks before his birth. He saw a world that was practically unchanged — the same house, the same people — and then realized that he did not exist there at all and that nobody mourned his absence. He caught a glimpse of his mother waving from an upstairs window, and that unfamiliar gesture disturbed him, as if it were some mysterious farewell. But what particularly frightened him was the sight of a brand-new baby carriage standing there on the porch; even that was empty, as if, in the reverse order of events, his very bones had disintegrated. Such fancies are not foreign to young lives. Or, to put it otherwise, first and last things often tend to have an adolescent note — unless, possibly, they are directed by some venerable and rigid religion. Nature expects a full-grown man to accept the two black voids, fore and aft, as stolidly as he accepts the extraordinary visions in between. Imagination, the supreme delight of the immortal and immature, should be limited. In order to enjoy life, we should not enjoy it too much. I rebel against this state of affairs. I feel the urge to take my rebellion outside and picket nature. Over and over again, my mind has made colossal efforts to distinguish the faintest of personal glimmers in the impersonal darkness on both sides of my life. That this darkness is caused merely by the walls of time separating me and my bruised fists from the free world of timelessness is a belief I gladly share with the most gaudily painted savage. I have journeyed back in thought — with thought hopelessly tapering off as I went — to remote regions where I groped for some secret outlet only to discover that the prison of time is spherical and without exits. Short of suicide, I have tried everything. I have doffed my identity in order to pass for a conventional spook and steal into realms that existed before I was conceived. I have mentally endured the degrading company of Victorian lady novelists and retired colonels who remembered having, in former lives, been slave messengers on a Roman road or sages under the willows of Lhasa. I have ransacked my oldest dreams for keys and clues — and let me say at once that I reject completely the vulgar, shabby, fundamentally medieval world of Freud, with its crankish quest for sexual symbols (something like searching for Baconian acrostics in Shakespeare’s works) and its bitter little embryos spying, from their natural nooks, upon the love life of their parents. Initially, I was unaware that time, so boundless at first blush, was a prison. In probing my childhood (which is the next best to probing one’s eternity) I see the awakening of consciousness as a series of spaced flashes, with the intervals between them gradually diminishing until bright blocks of perception are formed, affording memory a slippery hold. I had learned numbers and speech more or less simultaneously at a very early date, but the inner knowledge that I was I and that my parents were my parents seems to have been established only later, when it was directly associated with my discovering their age in relation to mine. Judging by the strong sunlight that, when I think of that revelation, immediately invades my memory with lobed sun flecks through overlapping patterns of greenery, the occasion may have been my mother’s birthday, in late summer, in the country, and I had asked questions and had assessed the answers I received. All this is as it should be according to the theory of recapitulation; the beginning of reflexive consciousness in the brain of our remotest ancestor must surely have coincided with the dawning of the sense of time. Thus, when the newly disclosed, fresh and trim formula of my own age, four, was confronted with the parental formulas, thirty-three and twenty-seven, something happened to me. I was given a tremendously invigorating shock. As if subjected to a second baptism, on more divine lines than the Greek Catholic ducking undergone fifty months earlier by a howling, half-drowned half-Victor (my mother, through the half-closed door, behind which an old custom bade parents retreat, managed to correct the bungling archpresbyter, Father Konstantin Vetvenitski), I felt myself plunged abruptly into a radiant and mobile medium that was none other than the pure element of time. One shared it — just as excited bathers share shining seawater — with creatures that were not oneself but that were joined to one by time’s common flow, an environment quite different from the spacial world, which not only man but apes and butterflies can perceive. At that instant, I became acutely aware that the twenty-seven-year-old being, in soft white and pink, holding my left hand, was my mother, and that the thirty-three-year-old being, in hard white and gold, holding my right hand, was my father. Between them, as they evenly progressed, I strutted, and trotted, and strutted again, from sun fleck to sun fleck, along the middle of the path, which I easily identify today with an alley of ornamental oaklings in the park of our country estate, Vyra, in the former Province of St. Petersburg, Russia. Indeed, from my present ridge of remote, isolated, almost uninhabited time, I see my diminutive self as celebrating, on that August day 1903, the birth of sentient life. If my left-hand-holder and my right-hand-holder had both been present before in my vague infant world, they had been so under the mask of a tender incognito; but now my father’s attire, the resplendent uniform of the House Guards, with that smooth golden swell of cuirass burning upon his chest and back, came out like the sun, and for several years afterward I remained keenly interested in the age of my parents and kept myself informed about it, like a nervous passenger asking the time in order to check a new watch. My father, let it be noted, had served his term of military training long before I was born, so I suppose he had that day put on the trappings of his old regiment as a festive joke. To a joke, then, I owe my first gleam of complete consciousness — which again has recapitulatory implications, since the first creatures on earth to become aware of time were also the first creatures to smile. . [Part 1 of chapter 1 of Vladimir Nabokov's Speak, Memory: An Autobiography Revisited]

the Independence of the Imagination

Declaration of the Independence of the Imagination and of the Rights of Man to His Own Madness by Salvador Dali WHEN, IN THE COURSE OF HUMAN CULTURE IT BECOMES NECESSARY FOR A PEOPLE TO DESTROY THE INTELLECTUAL BONDS THAT UNITE … Continue reading

Declaration of the Independence of the Imagination and of the Rights of Man to His Own Madness

by Salvador Dali


“The committee responsible for the Amusement Area of the World’s Fair has forbidden me to erect on the exterior of ‘The Dream of Venus’ the image of a woman “with the head of a fish. These are their exact words: ‘A woman with the head of a fish is impossible.’ This decision on the part of the committee seems to me an extremely grave one [...] because we are concerned here “with the negation of a right that is of an order purely poetic, and imaginative, attacking no moral or political consideration. I have always believed that the first man who had the idea of terminating a woman’s body with the tail of a fish must have been a pretty fair poet, but I am equally certain that the second man who repeated the idea was nothing but a bureaucrat. In any case the inventor of the first siren’s tail would have had my difficulties with the committee of the Amusement Area. Had there been similar committees in Immortal Greece, fantasy would have been banned and, what is worse, the Greeks would never have created their sensational and truculently Surrealist mythology, in which, if it is true that there exists no woman with the head of a fish (as far as I know) there figures indisputably a Minotaur bearing the terribly realistic head of a bull.”

“Any authentically original idea, presenting itself without ‘known antecedents’, is systematically rejected, toned down, mauled, chewed, rechewed, spewed forth, destroyed, yes, and even “worse — reduced to the most monstrous of mediocrities. The excuse offered is always the vulgarity of the vast majority of the public. I insist that this is absolutely false. The public is infinitely superior to the rubbish that is fed to it daily. The masses have always known where to find true poetry. The misunderstandin..g has come about entirely through those ‘middlemen of culture’ who, with their lofty airs and superior quackings, come between the creator and the public.”


Dali went on: “Only the violence and duration of your hardened dream can resist the hideous mechanical civilization that is your enemy, that is also the enemy of the ‘..pleasure-..principle’ of all men. It is man’s right to love women with the ecstatic heads of fish. It is man’s right to decide that lukewarm telephones are disgusting, and to demand telephones that are as cold, green and aphrodisiac as the augur-troubled sleep of the canhandes. Telephones as barbarous as bottles will free themselves of the lukewarm ornamentation of Louis XV spoons and will slowly cover with glacial shame the hybrid decors of our suavely degraded decadence [...]“

And, finally reverting one more time to capitals: “ONE THING IS CERTAIN[...] YOU


by Tolstoy, Leo Nikolayevich (Written in 1872.)   IN the town of Vladímir lived a young merchant named Iván Dmítritch Aksyónof. He had two shops and a house of his own. Aksyónof was a handsome, fair-haired, curly-headed fellow, full of … Continue reading

by Tolstoy, Leo Nikolayevich

(Written in 1872.)


IN the town of Vladímir lived a young merchant named Iván Dmítritch
Aksyónof. He had two shops and a house of his own.

Aksyónof was a handsome, fair-haired, curly-headed fellow, full of fun,
and very fond of singing. When quite a young man he had been given to
drink, and was riotous when he had had too much, but after he married
he gave up drinking, except now and then.

One summer Aksyónof was going to the Nízhny Fair, and as he bade
good-bye to his family his wife said to him, ‘Iván Dmítritch, do not
start to-day; I have had a bad dream about you.’

Aksyónof laughed, and said, ‘You are afraid that when I get to the fair
I shall go on the spree.’

His wife replied: ‘I do not know what I am afraid of; all I know is
that I had a bad dream. I dreamt you returned from the town, and when
you took off your cap I saw that your hair was quite grey.’

Aksyónof laughed. ‘That’s a lucky sign,’ said he. ‘See if I don’t sell
out all my goods, and bring you some presents from the fair.’

So he said good-bye to his family, and drove away.

When he had travelled half-way, he met a merchant whom he knew, and
they put up at the same inn for the night. They had some tea together,
and then went to bed in adjoining rooms.

It was not Aksyónof’s habit to sleep late, and, wishing to travel while
it was still cool, he aroused his driver before dawn, and told him to
put in the horses.

Then he made his way across to the landlord of the inn (who lived in a
cottage at the back), paid his bill, and continued his journey.

When he had gone about twenty-five miles, he stopped for the horses to
be fed. Aksyónof rested awhile in the passage of the inn, then he
stepped out into the porch and, ordering a samovár [1] to be heated got
out his guitar and began to play.

Suddenly a tróyka [2] drove up with tinkling bells, and an official
alighted, followed by two soldiers. He came to Aksyónof and began to
question him, asking him who he was and whence he came. Aksyónof
answered him fully, and said, ‘Won’t you have some tea with me?’ But
the official went on cross-questioning him and asking him, ‘Where did
you spend last night? Were you alone, or with a fellow-merchant? Did
you see the other merchant this morning? Why did you leave the inn
before dawn?’

Aksyónof wondered why he was asked all these questions, but he
described all that had happened, and then added, ‘Why do you
cross-question me as if I were a thief or a robber? I am travelling on
business of my own, and there is no need to question me.’

Then the official, calling the soldiers, said, ‘I am the police-officer
of this district, and I question you because the merchant with whom you
spent last night has been found with his throat cut. We must search
your things.’

They entered the house. The soldiers and the police-officer unstrapped
Aksyónof’s luggage and searched it. Suddenly the officer drew a knife
out of a bag, crying, ‘Whose knife is this?’

Aksyónof looked, and seeing a blood-stained knife taken from his bag,
he was frightened.

‘How is it there is blood on this knife?’

Aksyónof tried to answer, but could hardly utter a word, and only
stammered: ‘I — I don’t know — not mine.’

Then the police-officer said, ‘This morning the merchant was found in
bed with his throat cut. You are the only person who could have done
it. The house was locked from inside, and no one else was there. Here
is this bloodstained knife in your bag, and your face and manner betray
you! Tell me how you killed him, and how much money you stole?’

Aksyónof swore he had not done it; that he had not seen the merchant
after they had had tea together; that he had no money except eight
thousand roubles [3] of his own, and that the knife was not his. But
his voice was broken, his face pale, and he trembled with fear as
though he were guilty.

The police-officer ordered the soldiers to bind Aksyónof and to put him
in the cart. As they tied his feet together and flung him into the
cart, Aksyónof crossed himself and wept. His money and goods were taken
from him, and he was sent to the nearest town and imprisoned there.
Enquiries as to his character were made in Vladímir. The merchants and
other inhabitants of that town said that in former days he used to
drink and waste his time, but that he was a good man. Then the trial
came on: he was charged with murdering a merchant from Ryazán, and
robbing him of twenty thousand roubles.

His wife was in despair, and did not know what to believe. Her children
were all quite small; one was a baby at her breast. Taking them all
with her, she went to the town where her husband was in gaol. At first
she was not allowed to see him; but, after much begging, she obtained
permission from the officials, and was taken to him. When she saw her
husband in prison-dress and in chains, shut up with thieves and
criminals, she fell down, and did not come to her senses for a long
time. Then she drew her children to her, and sat down near him. She
told him of things at home, and asked about what had happened to him.
He told her all, and she asked, ‘What can we do now?’

‘We must petition the Tsar not to let an innocent man perish.’

His wife told him that she had sent a petition to the Tsar, but that it
had not been accepted.

Aksyónof did not reply, but only looked downcast.

Then his wife said, ‘It was not for nothing I dreamt your hair had
turned grey. You remember? You should not have started that day.’ And
passing her fingers through his hair, she said: ‘Ványa dearest, tell
your wife the truth; was it not you who did it?’

‘So you, too, suspect me!’ said Aksyónof, and hiding his face in his
hands, he began to weep. Then a soldier came to say that the wife and
children must go away; and Aksyónof said good-bye to his family for the
last time.

When they were gone, Aksyónof recalled what had been said, and when he
remembered that his wife also had suspected him, he said to himself,
‘It seems that only God can know the truth, it is to Him alone we must
appeal, and from Him alone expect mercy.’

And Aksyónof wrote no more petitions; gave up all hope, and only prayed
to God.

Aksyónof was condemned to be flogged and sent to the mines. So he was
flogged with a knout, and when the wounds made by the knout were
healed, he was driven to Siberia with other convicts.

For twenty-six years Aksyónof lived as a convict in Siberia. His hair
turned white as snow and his beard grew long, thin, and grey. All his
mirth went; he stooped; he walked slowly, spoke little, and never
laughed, but he often prayed.

In prison Aksyónof learnt to make boots, and earned a little money,
with which he bought The Lives of the Saints. He read this book when
there was light enough in the prison; and on Sundays in the
prison-church he read the lessons and sang in the choir; for his voice
was still good.

The prison authorities liked Aksyónof for his meekness, and his
fellow-prisoners respected him: they called him ‘Grandfather,’ and ‘The
Saint.’ When they wanted to petition the prison authorities about
anything, they always made Aksyónof their spokesman, and when there
were quarrels among the prisoners they came to him to put things right,
and to judge the matter.

No news reached Aksyónof from his home, and he did not even know if his
wife and children were still alive.

One day a fresh gang of convicts came to the prison. In the evening the
old prisoners collected round the new ones and asked them what towns or
villages they came from, and what they were sentenced for. Among the
rest Aksyónof sat down near the new-comers, and listened with downcast
air to what was said.

One of the new convicts, a tall, strong man of sixty, with a
closely-cropped grey beard, was telling the others what he had been
arrested for.

‘Well, friends,’ he said, ‘I only took a horse that was tied to a
sledge, and I was arrested and accused of stealing. I said I had only
taken it to get home quicker, and had then let it go; besides, the
driver was a personal friend of mine. So I said, “It’s all right.”
“No,” said they, “you stole it.” But how or where I stole it they could
not say. I once really did something wrong, and ought by rights to have
come here long ago, but that time I was not found out. Now I have been
sent here for nothing at all. . . . Eh, but it’s lies I’m telling you;
I’ve been to Siberia before, but I did not stay long.’

‘Where are you from?’ asked some one.

‘From Vladímir. My family are of that town. My name is Makár, and they
also call me Semyónitch.’

Aksyónof raised his head and said: ‘Tell me, Semyónitch, do you know
anything of the merchants Aksyónof, of Vladímir? Are they still alive?’

‘Know them? Of course I do. The Aksyónofs are rich, though their father
is in Siberia: a sinner like ourselves, it seems! As for you, Gran’dad,
how did you come here?’

Aksyónof did not like to speak of his misfortune. He only sighed, and
said, ‘For my sins I have been in prison these twenty-six years.’

‘What sins?’ asked Makár Semyónitch.

But Aksyónof only said, ‘Well, well — I must have deserved it!’ He
would have said no more, but his companions told the new-comer how
Aksyónof came to be in Siberia: how some one had killed a merchant and
had put a knife among Aksyónof’s things, and Aksyónof had been unjustly

When Makár Semyónitch heard this, he looked at Aksyónof, slapped his
own knee, and exclaimed, ‘Well this is wonderful! Really wonderful! But
how old you’ve grown, Gran’dad!’

The others asked him why he was so surprised, and where he had seen
Aksyónof before; but Makár Semyónitch did not reply. He only said:
‘It’s wonderful that we should meet here, lads!’

These words made Aksyónof wonder whether this man knew who had killed
the merchant; so he said ‘Perhaps, Semyónitch, you have heard of that
affair or maybe you’ve seen me before?’

‘How could I help hearing? The world’s full of rumours. But it’s long
ago, and I’ve forgotten what I heard.’

‘Perhaps you heard who killed the merchant?’ asked Aksyónof.

Makár Semyónitch laughed, and replied, ‘It must have been him in whose
bag the knife was found! If some one else hid the knife there, “He’s
not a thief till he’s caught,” as the saying is. How could any one put
a knife into your bag while it was under your head? It would surely
have woke you up?’

When Aksyónof heard these words, he felt sure this was the man who had
killed the merchant. He rose and went away. All that night Aksyónof lay

He felt terribly unhappy, and all sorts of images rose in his mind.
There was the image of his wife as she was when he parted from her to
go to the fair. He saw her as if she were present; her face and her
eyes rose before him; he heard her speak and laugh. Then he saw his
children, quite little, as they were at that time: one with a little
cloak on, another at his mother’s breast. And then he remembered
himself as he used to be — young and merry. He remembered how he sat
playing the guitar in the porch of the inn where he was arrested, and
how free from care he had been. He saw, in his mind, the place where he
was flogged, the executioner, and the people standing around; the
chains, the convicts, all the twenty-six years of his prison life, and
his premature old age. The thought of it all made him so wretched that
he was ready to kill himself.

‘And it’s all that villain’s doing!’ thought Aksyónof. And his anger
was so great against Makár Semyónitch that he longed for vengeance,
even if he himself should perish for it. He kept repeating prayers all
night, but could get no peace. During the day he did not go near Makár
Semyónitch, nor even look at him.

A fortnight passed in this way. Aksyónof could not sleep at nights, and
was so miserable that he did not know what to do.

One night as he was walking about the prison he noticed some earth that
came rolling out from under one of the shelves on which the prisoners
slept. He stopped to see what it was. Suddenly Makár Semyónitch crept
out from under the shelf, and looked up at Aksyónof with frightened
face. Aksyónof tried to pass without looking at him, but Makár seized
his hand and told him that he had dug a hole under the wall, getting
rid of the earth by putting it into his high-boots, and emptying it out
every day on the road when the prisoners were driven to their work.

‘Just you keep quiet, old man, and you shall get out too. If you blab
they’ll flog the life out of me, but I will kill you first.’

Aksyónof trembled with anger as he looked at his enemy. He drew his
hand away, saying, ‘I have no wish to escape, and you have no need to
kill me; you killed me long ago! As to telling of you — I may do so or
not, as God shall direct.’

Next day, when the convicts were led out to work, the convoy soldiers
noticed that one or other of the prisoners emptied some earth out of
his boots. The prison was searched, and the tunnel found. The Governor
came and questioned all the prisoners to find out who had dug the hole.
They all denied any knowledge of it. Those who knew, would not betray
Makár Semyónitch, knowing he would be flogged almost to death. At last
the Governor turned to Aksyónof, whom he knew to be a just man, and

‘You are a truthful old man; tell me, before God, who dug the hole?’

Makár Semyónitch stood as if he were quite unconcerned, looking at the
Governor and not so much as glancing at Aksyónof. Aksyónof’s lips and
hands trembled, and for a long time he could not utter a word. He
thought, ‘Why should I screen him who ruined my life? Let him pay for
what I have suffered. But if I tell, they will probably flog the life
out of him and maybe I suspect him wrongly. And, after all, what good
would it be to me?’

‘Well, old man,’ repeated the Governor, ‘tell us the truth: who has
been digging under the wall?’

Aksyónof glanced at Makár Semyónitch, and said ‘I cannot say, your
honour. It is not God’s will that I should tell! Do what you like with
me; I am in your hands.’

However much the Governor tried, Aksyónof would say no more, and so the
matter had to be left.

That night, when Aksyónof was lying on his bed and just beginning to
doze, some one came quietly and sat down on his bed. He peered through
the darkness and recognized Makár.

‘What more do you want of me?’ asked Aksyónof. ‘Why have you come

Makár Semyónitch was silent. So Aksyónof sat up and said, ‘What do you
want? Go away, or I will call the guard!’

Makár Semyónitch bent close over Aksyónof, and whispered, ‘Iván
Dmítritch, forgive me!’

‘What for?’ asked Aksyónof.

‘It was I who killed the merchant and hid the knife among your things.
I meant to kill you too, but I heard a noise outside; so I hid the
knife in your bag and escaped out of the window.’

Aksyónof was silent, and did not know what to say. Makár Semyónitch
slid off the bed-shelf and knelt upon the ground. ‘Iván Dmítritch,’
said he, ‘forgive me! For the love of God, forgive me! I will confess
that it was I who killed the merchant, and you will be released and can
go to your home.’

‘It is easy for you to talk,’ said Aksyónof, ‘but I have suffered for
you these twenty-six years. Where could I go to now? . . . My wife is
dead, and my children have forgotten me. I have nowhere to go. . . .’

Makár Semyónitch did not rise, but beat his head on the floor. ‘Iván
Dmítritch, forgive me!’ he cried. ‘When they flogged me with the knout
it was not so hard to bear as it is to see you now . . . yet you had
pity on me, and did not tell. For Christ’s sake forgive me, wretch that
I am!’ And he began to sob.

When Aksyónof heard him sobbing he, too, began to weep.

‘God will forgive you!’ said he. ‘Maybe I am a hundred times worse than
you.’ And at these words his heart grew light, and the longing for home
left him. He no longer had any desire to leave the prison, but only
hoped for his last hour to come.

In spite of what Aksyónof had said, Maker Semyónitch confessed his
guilt. But when the order for his release came, Aksyónof was already


[1] The samovár (‘self-boiler’) is an urn in which water can be heated
and kept on the boil.

[2] A three-horse conveyance.

[3] The value of the rouble has varied at different times from more
than three shillings to less than two shillings. For the purposes of
ready calculation it may be taken as two shillings. In reading these
stories to children, the word ‘florin’ can be substituted for ‘rouble’
if prefered.