Khader Adnan's Lawful Nonviolence

There's a clear reason why Israel refuses to charge or release Khader Adnan. Of course there are a multitude of scenarios we could come up with, but the bottom line is (probably) he's won. He got Israel. Everyone on both the Palestinian and Israeli sides knows he's a mastermind in Islamic Jihad, but he and PIJ are smart and careful enough to have not left a trace. They've legally got nothing on him, even though they know he's dangerous. So, much like Adnan has manipulated the law to continue Islamic Jihad's activities, detaining Adnan without charging him with anything is Israel's way of saying we will not stand for you hiding behind technicalities, all the way planning attacks on civilian lives.

It reminds me a lot of the point Norman Finkelstein makes in a recent interview that made its way around the social networks. In short, he makes the point that the BDS (Boycott, Divest, and Sanction anything Israel) movement, and in general the Palestine solidarity movement, has made a mistake hiding behind the law. Officially, they've said and done nothing that the international community can call them out on. The bottom line, however, is they seek to turn Israel on its head, transforming the Jewish state into a Palestinian one. Khader Adnan and Islamic Jihad's approach is the same model: it's not that Adnan isn't technically correct, because the law is on his side. However, the intent behind his actions is, in fact, to circumvent the law. The easy way to know this is by Islamic Jihad's own admission: they have claimed responsibility for many attacks.

So the injustice here is double; not only is the law being dodged through loopholes, but the peaceful means of civil disobedience are being employed to reach the opposite goals for which they were intended. Adnan's hunger strike is a means towards future attacks. I mean, re-read that sentence. He is using nonviolent means to secure future violence. It is a corruption of nonviolent resistance, plain and simple.

The underlying defense here against Israel, though, is a valid one: Israel not only uses loopholes in international law to continue the occupation, but flat out flouts United Nations resolutions. I would say to both the Palestine solidarity movement (including Islamic Jihad) and to Israel to stop being childish and admit that you disagree with the law, and so you're protesting it through disobedience. That, actually, would be closer to the tradition of civil disobedience than any form of Palestinian resistance. Still, if Israel will hide behind technicalities, etc., I see why many of the Palestinians' supporters will, too.

What it comes down to, for me, is murder. You can call Israel any pejorative you'd like (and I'd agree with many of them), but not since before the State of Israel was declared has it committed outright murder of civilians. Before 1948 both Israelis and Arabs murdered each other outright. The stain on the Palestinian solidarity movement, and Islamic Jihad in particular, is the acceptance (sometimes tacit, sometimes overt) of premeditated murder. Even when Israel bombs the hell out of Gaza, they are not aiming to kill civilians. Civilians die because Gazan militants are smart to hide their operations in residential areas, and blame the civilian body count on the IDF. I even accept the argument that given that reality, Israel ought to not bomb Gaza; if they really want to stop militant operations in the Strip, then they should go in on land and weed them out. Yet, knowing civilians will die while attacking those who seek to attack you is a far cry from targeting civilians.

Khader Adnan uses Islamic Jihad to target civilians. And that makes all the difference.

Loss and the Self

It is easy to lose one’s self. Just like an object or a thought that is yours, and once it is rolled away with an unexpected gust of wind, a chance fall, or a bizarre distraction—once you no longer possess it, it’s no longer yours. Your self, too, is something, made of things and thoughts, and given a circumstance for which you have not prepared, it will separate from you. When you no longer possess it the effort to regain it may be insurmountable. The assumption—or what you tell yourself when identifying what that self of yours is—that it is integral to your being, is false. Its absence is noticeable because it is integral to stability, not to being. In short, everything that you have before you, and—among all that—whatever you regard as yours to keep (you hope forever), and feels so close to every thought or intention, are the aspects of one’s self.

Loss is how it happens. One doesn’t truly lose when losing rather a loss occurs. Perhaps your grip on it wasn’t tight enough, when you figured otherwise. Still, losing anything involves an other force or happenstance to precipitate the loss. That is, you can’t lose something on purpose, or willingly. Nothing or no one takes it from you either.

In truth, it was never yours to begin with. You claimed it as your own. You counted on it being there since you couldn’t see a way it wouldn’t remain. All that time you only possessed it. Even if you adapted to time and events, effectively using all your resources to keep what was yours, loss is an inevitable separation. Destiny, as it were, was not on your side.

Losing someone who’s become a part of yourself, then, is especially tricky to wrap your mind around. Unless they are a malicious parasite, they, too, are surprised at the loss. Both of your selves separate from each other and though wholly into themselves again, paradoxically, seem incomplete. It is the mind’s misperception of one’s self-permanence, especially in light of and in tandem with the other person’s surety and assurance, which doubly shocks these people’s loss.

This seems inextricably linked to one’s values. To value is to deem worthy of possession, be it property, person, ethic, moral, or ideal. More often it is what’s familiar, either from past possession before a loss, witnessing its value with others’, or as a potential substitution to fill a void of previous loss. Without familiarity with it wherein we value the thing, one will not have felt it a part of oneself and will not feel its loss. A wart excised, unless through a childhood or sentimentalized connection, will not be missed since it was never valued as part of one’s self.

Loss is proportionately more difficult to accept the greater one’s illusion of power or control over one’s possession. People—especially the value driven—mistake an inner unification with their desires as a strong possession of the thing. Yet happenstance and the unforeseeable horizon are indifferent to one’s harmony. The mightier one holds onto the thing of value, only the stickier will it be when loss occurs. Recognition that what we have only makes us for the moment until it is gone allows for a less strenuous time of gathering one’s self after a loss.

What then is the self? It is all that we are left with after loss. Life is not so cruel as to leave a person with nothing all at once, completely. At the least is memories of how one felt; the room to judge if one wants it again, and if not, possibilities to find its improvement in something new; and, at most, the values that remain, either in praise or criticism of what we once possessed and thought as ourselves. They were not of us, but we were once of them, and thanks to them we are forever ourselves.

Writer's Siege

It's been so difficult for me to write my novel lately. I'm 4/5 of the way through and, not surprisingly, the last part is the hardest.

To be fair to me, my personal life has been in tumult. Not like that hasn't happened before (even though this time it's probably the most tumultuous), but writing—the novel, in particular—has more often than not been what helps me get through the tough personal time, and understand myself better. In fact, my writing is so personal that it's inevitable that the life issue I'm dealing with is metaphorically linked to the part of the novel I'm writing. Through the story I gain clarity in real life, or vice versa, and usually it's a synergy of the two.

Now there's always a time at the start of the life challenge when I absolutely cannot write. It's not writer's block, and it's not a lack of interest; I am simply too involved in processing what the fuck is happening to me, and so occupied by it, that writing doesn't even come to mind. Usually when the cloud begins to lift, then the writing becomes my tool to integrate what I've processed into my greater life scheme.

There are then times when I'm not interested in writing. Usually that's when I need some escape—because my creative work is and always had been an endeavor to better understand myself, my human condition. But sometimes I'm sick of dealing with myself, and I want to hear and learn about someone else's. That's when I read voraciously. After a while I begin to get envious of the writers' mastery of their condition (or understanding of the general human condition), and that gets me thinking about myself again...and back to the writing.

But this time was different. I've experienced writer's block before, but like I said, it's usually when I'm at a loss for how to move forward in the story. Yet at this point, I know exactly how I want to move forward. I know exactly what I want to write. I have it all mapped out! I'm not blocked at all. It's not disinterest either, because I am constantly wanting to produce, and keep going back to the page. For the first time I'm looking at my writing and thinking, "This just isn't very good. I'm not proud of this."

So I began to blame it on twitter. Ever since the Arab Spring sprung I've been hooked on it. Being invested in the future of Israel all my life, and as a result having learned a lot about and followed the region's conflicts, I've been following the latest news stories, heavily interacting with people in the Middle East and around the world. A few weeks ago I considered that maybe I'd replaced my life with current events, so of course writing personal work, excavating my inner depths was going to take a hit. Besides that the news has gotten sort of boring recently, I realized it was time to wean myself off the tweets, and refocus.

I was right, and I was wrong. Certainly twitter took up mental space, and energy, but there've been plenty of times where I've been far busier (like when I was employed or in school) and I wrote like gangbusters. It wasn't a distraction, but a displacing. I had been telling myself, "Oh yeah, you should really get off twitter, because it's taking up too much time," but after I was off it (for the most part!) I still wasn't writing. I mean, I'd eke out a paragraph here, or flesh out a section of my outline there—but there was no love in it. Left with the novel that I had wanted to write, and knew what to write to get it finished, I still did not feel like doing it.

But I think I know what's going on. If my work isn't revealing some depth in me, or at least relating to an area in my life I enjoy thinking about, I'm not interested. When this dawned on me at first I was ashamed: I set out to write a novel of self-discovery, and when I confront the parts of myself that I don't like or enjoy, I chicken out?! But on second thought I remembered parts of the novel that reflect parts of me I don't like at all—things I am actively ashamed of. This new feeling was different. Right now in the novel I'm dealing with a part of myself that isn't well developed. It's not that I'm not aware of something I need to discover; there's no missing link. It's merely an accurate reflection of my underdeveloped self. While I like to think of myself as a master of my inner life, I can only master what's inside my head; it's not a good feeling to confront a part of myself I have knowingly left underdeveloped. I am a bit Ivan Illich at the moment; I don't like what's unpleasant.

Thankfully this realization has centered me (or begun to) and even clarified to me why this section is placed at this point in the novel—it actually makes perfect sense that it comes 80% of the way in. This sequence is the character's descent before his redemption, so of course it's going to reflect the least solid part of me. I was looking to understand myself, as if through understanding I could perfect myself! But I'm not pristine, which is good, actually, because then it'd be hard to write a version of myself that needs redemption. Aiming to become my ideal self, contrary to my previous belief, doesn't equal being a master of my inner life. Mastering my inner life will come only when I accept myself.

Valuing Responsibility

We've all got a responsibility problem—most people have the wrong idea as to what constitutes responsibility. It doesn't mean what you do for yourself (or your family, or your loved ones); that's self-reliance. Responsibility has nothing to do with what other more powerful people—be it the government or corporations—do for you; that's assistance. Responsibility defined is accountability for what is in one's own control.

We cannot expect others to be good to us, unless we first take care of our responsibilities. That's not a moral or ethical judgement, that's logical, common sense. The government and corporations have no control over what you do (barring the illegal, of course), so they cannot account for the consequences of your actions: they are not responsible for you—you are. We can only hold them responsible for non-reciprocal irresponsibility on their part. For an extreme example, if someone acts violently, we cannot expect the police to respond non-violently. The violence wasn't in their control to begin with, so it's impossible to hold them accountable.

Real examples: Troy Davis. There was an outcry against his execution because, after his trial, witnesses whose testimony had helped convict him, recanted their testimony. For all that his execution was unjust—and besides my being anti-death penalty as a means of punishment in general, surely this case was unjust—it never would have happened had Troy been acting responsibly. He certainly was linked to the murderer; it seems he thought he knew who the murderer was. Meaning, he wasn't just in the wrong place at the wrong time, rather, he long beforehand did not control his actions; to some extent was bound to be held accountable. We all know systems are imperfect; most of us know that racism and classism play a big part in the unfairness of the criminal justice system. But systems and societal maladies being what they are, if criminals took responsibility for themselves, they'd never have been caught up in the inevitably imperfect system. Yet, maybe Troy Davis wasn't responsible for himself: maybe he was not in control of his actions, and so should not have been held responsible.

Like Joshua Komisarjevsky. His trial hasn't made national headlines, but the crimes he's accused of committing sure did; anyone in Connecticut and many in the Northeastern US are following his trial. Komisarjevsky, along with convicted accomplice Steven Hayes (who's been sentenced to death), invaded the home of the locally renowned and respected Petit family, in affluent Cheshire, Connecticut. In the end, only the husband and father, Dr. Petit, survived: his wife was raped and strangled to death; his 11 year old daughter was sexually assaulted; both she and her older sister then died of smoke inhalation after the house was gassed up and set ablaze. Horrific, unthinkable, tragic.

But who was responsible? I understand the instinct to say Komisarjevsky and Hayes are, of course, because they committed the crimes. But I doubt they were able to control their actions, and therefore be held accountable. Komisarjevsky, a Cheshire native, grew up with irresponsible parents: he was raped repeatedly by his foster brother, and they never took action to help him. He suffered many concussions and was not treated for them. He was not only abused, but neglected. When he turned to a life of crime, his parents allowed the courts and the prison system to deal with him. A similar tale of woe was experienced by Hayes.

Whether you buy the argument that poverty, sexual & physical abuse, mental illness, and prison time contribute to a person's inability to be fully accountable for their actions (as the psychiatric community does), surely you acknowledge that some people are insane, or mentally disabled enough, such that society must help them—that they cannot be responsible for themselves. And who is society? It isn't just the government and corporations: it consists of every individual. Especially on the micro-level, in one's state, in one's own town, what is one's responsibility regarding the care of those who cannot control their actions? Certainly their neighbors cannot be held accountable for the person's crimes—but when that out of control person comes to your home to rob, rape, and kill you, have you not failed in your responsibility to protect yourself? For instance, if your house is next to a forest, and there's a forest fire, if you don't do something to stop it, then you did not do what was in your control to do to stop your house from burning down. The raging fires incarnate in Komisarjevsky and Hayes were ignored by the people of Cheshire, and that when they had the monetary means and political influence to treat the likes of Komisarjevsky and Hayes.

This sounds cold, maybe absurd. But I'm not saying Dr. Petit, the people of Cheshire, or of the State of Connecticut are responsible for the assaults and deaths of the Petit women. But if they did not do all that was in their control to account for the safety of their own—they let the fire rage outside their homes, and did nothing to stop it. They share some of the blame.

Most of the time responsibility isn't something you can even legislate, because it regards one's actions towards oneself (of course, unless those actions negatively affect others...narcotics is a controversial argument in that regard). Yet, if we all did take responsibility, we could greatly diminish so much of society's ills.

This is what's meant by anarchy: do not tell me what to do—I can take care of myself, thank you very much. If we lived in an anarchical society then no one could blame those with more power and influence, because society would have worked to whatever extent possible, to insure that each person had control over their own lives, and so would be held accountable for themselves: responsibility. But most people in society are quite content letting the government organize their lives, letting their employers tell them what to do, and consuming whatever corporations put in front of them.

Occupy Wall Street is the perfect example of the lack of responsibility in society. Ironically, by organizing and outing the injustices in corporate-favored society, the demonstrators have begun to show some responsibility. Yet the messages aren't directed to themselves or their peers, but outward, at the corporations, the affluent, and the government. Well who bought all those goods and services the corporations were selling? Who worked for the affluent people, and enabled them to gain disproportionate influence? Who voted in—or rather, stayed home and allowed others to vote in—the government who allowed for so much injustice? Everyone who hasn't spoken up until now, that's who. Blame serves a purpose, yes—and we should prosecute those who scammed society out of so many millions, etc. But how about reforming oneself? So much injustice would have never occurred if every individual had the guts, the constitution, or the backbone to say no when they were contributing to it. Or to vote for people who would speak up for the values Occupy Wall Street is now demanding government and corporations to adopt.

The same is true of the Jan25/Tahrir movement in Egypt. The revolutionaries are often some of the most hateful and divisive people in the country—when you show so much animosity to those you have conflict with, like the protests in front of the Israeli Embassy, don't be surprised when that same ethic of animosity penetrates Muslim-Coptic relations, and blows up into a Maspero Massacre. When you admire the likes of Nasser, and have great pride in your army, such that even during your peaceful revolution you proclaim "the people and the army are one-hand," when that same army was the mechanism your dictator used to oppress you—don't then be surprised when that same army treats your revolution with complete disregard. All this is not to say that the people of Egypt invited these injustices upon themselves, but certainly they allowed the fires to rage, when it was in their control to cool them down.

What this means, in short, is a change in our personal value system. It speaks to the greater amount of self-control we ought to expect from ourselves—especially if we expect such self-control from others. Western society has convinced itself and much of the world that the individual's rights are paramount. Well, not to say that the collective's rights are paramount, either—only that rights are far less important than responsibilities. We all have rights, but that's a selfish outlook. Too many of our personal rights are adding up to an encroachment on others' rights. It's like everyone in a meeting talking at the same time: nothing gets done, everyone gets aggravated, but—hey—at least everyone had the right to speak their mind. However, if everyone only curbed their own actions, it would add up to everyone's betterment. That's acting responsibly.

Until recognition that societal problems are the aggregate lack of personal self-control, no revolution—from Tahrir to Wall Street—will be successful; they will just replace one stumbling block for another. Tolstoy, when speaking of the anarchist movement, said it best, "There can be only one permanent revolution—a moral one: the regeneration of the inner person".

This Says It All

Thanks to Suzie Q for the pithy message

Something to Occupy

I've been going back and forth on whether to write something about Anonymous' Occupy Wall Street demonstration, and the many occupy's across the country (world). I didn't see a point in preaching to the irrational.

But yesterday I had a long twitter-debate with an irrate, but—what turned out to be a—smart tweep (that's twitter-user, for the uninitiated), which brought the problem into focus. I expected the conversation to not last long, either because I would shut him up quick, or he would start rambling non-sequiturs and I'd ignore him. But this guy'd thought his righteous indignation through...sort of.

My basic point was, and has been, that if occupying is the game, then at least do it right; the goal of an occupation is to control the area by just staying put, like a sit in. If it's meant to limit the coming and going of its inhabitants, then blockades should be the tactic. And the only ones who have any power to stop Wall Street (since no appeals to decency and/or the pain of the commoners will compel Wall Streeters themselves) are Congress and the Federal Reserve. So I'm all about occupying the steps of the Capitol building, or of the Fed building. They're the only logical places to occupy: keeping the people in those buildings from going to work will force the protestors demands to be addressed.

Thing I realized is, they don't have any clear demands. This tweep was all about filing a criminal lawsuit against the likes of Lehman Bros, for defrauding their investors. As to my plan to get the Fed or Congress' attention, he said they're in Wall Street's pockets, so there's no use. Why go after the puppet and not the puppetmaster? he said. Other than needing a government official (the DA) to agree to bring such a suit (and fat chance they'd take on the banks or public corporations—because Spitzer, the guy who may actually have done so, was apparently unqualified because he liked hookers, excuse me, 'sex workers')—if the government is bought off, then why use the just as easily bought off justice system to bring Wall Street to justice? Well, he said, that's the point of the demonstration, to get the public behind the lawsuit. In that case, I replied, shouldn't it be called 'Prosecute Wall Street'? And shouldn't the occupation be in front of the DA's office?

That's partly, also, why Anonymous are the wrong leaders for this; by the nature of their philosophy ("We are Legion...We do not forgive") they're unspecific, to be inclusive. But to get something done you gotta be for something in particular. You can't just gather a big crowd and yell and scream, "We want justice!" Their model, they say, is Tahrir—well look at Egypt now, man: they're lost. The only thing they could all agree on was getting Mubarak out, and that's all they've accomplished. Look to Tunisia if you want a model: Bouazizi's act of resistance came from a clear narrative of indefensible economic woe, in the face of a cruel police state. And now, in reply to his call for justice, Tunisia not only kicked out their dictator, but are actually rebuilding their government from scratch.

So pick something to occupy, or choose a goal to occupy the public. Everyone recognizes that injustice's been perpetrated, so make a plan. But don't just stand there.

On Loving The Holy Quran

The first time I started reading the Holy Quran (and only now do I get the importance in calling it Holy) it shocked me. Considering myself opened minded, and having heard the popular rhetoric about Islam being a religion of peace and spiritual submission, the continual warnings against unbelievers burning in hellfire and receiving great chastisement seemed to confirm all the negative assumptions of Islam's angry and violent nature. I couldn't get through the second surah, sure that Islam's defenders tried to pull the rug over my eyes.

Bewildered, I started asking people—not Muslims, as I didn't know any at the time!—if they'd read the Quran; people'd read parts for class, but no one I spoke with (except my single-minded pro-Israel girlfriend at the time, who grew up with an Islamophobic mother who openly hated Arabs) had strong feelings about it. I'd say, "It sounds really angry and violent!" and the political incorrectness of my remarks (this was in Cambridge, Massachusetts) silenced them. I was outraged that everyone just went along with the myth that Islam was a peaceful religion, etc, without having given a serious look at its holy book.

Then I read Reza Aslan's No God But God. His introduction into the life and times of the Prophet Mohammed (Peace Be Upon Him [and I'll explain why I find it important to note that]), showed me a lone man who transformed a corrupt and feuding society, with radical egalitarianism and love. If you haven't read it, and have even the slightest interest in Islam or the history of Arabia—unless you're an expert yourself—then I don't know what you're waiting for; it's awesome. Point is, it's too awesome, and too off the topic to get into now—but it gave me the impetus to not only give the Quran another go, but to approach it with confidence in its positive message.

I also found N.J. Dawood's translation, geared towards a Western audience, i.e. one familiar with the Judeo-Christian Bible, and with the approach of its moral worldview. Now that I've looked at other translations, the only differences I can make out are a reordering of the surahs—and in that way most overtly guiding the Judeo-Christian to the spirit of the Quran—and second, an excising of seemingly repetitious verses. I don't know whether there was a redactor (my assumption) or if the Prophet (PBUH) simply repeated certain points merely in relatively slightly different ways one after the other, but in such cases Dawood made an editorial decision, on behalf of his audience, to leave only one version.

First of all, it was like nothing I'd ever read before. I had gotten some introduction to its style from a former student I tutored, in that each line is not meant to stand on its own as in the Jewish and Christian bibles, but it is the accumulating aggregation as every surah progresses, which imparts the message. You cannot, I think, take a single line out of the entire Quran and understand how it contributed to the message in context. What's cool, too, is each line by itself still imparts its own message. This may frustrate new readers, because the Quran seemingly repeats itself, and without reading closely it could feel nonsensical. But every verse in every surah relies on the verses beforehand, building to a climax. The result is an abstract, almost inexplainable communication to the reader. It's like you get the message even though it hasn't been said outright. Often the Quran will say something like, "We have made the message clear," when on a superficial reading it is enigmatic. But when once I'd really get the message in a surah—wow!—its truth struck me so deeply, I understood what it meant by clear.

Second thing that really struck me: much of it is addressed to the Jews and Christians (People of the Book), but more often to the Jews. Most of the stories recounted are modified retellings of part of the Torah and the Gospels. The Quran isn't shy about this, it often states how its entire message has all already been revealed in what was given to Moses and Jesus. Its perspective is that the belief in Allah, the entire idea of being Muslim, is as old as Adam, and the Quran—like the Torah and Gospels—is merely a reformulation of the message, because it's been corrupted. That, I think, not incidentally, is where the importance to refer to the Quran as Holy and to say "peace be upon him" when mentioning the Prophet (PBUH [just to be safe!] originates: because the importance of the Holy Message, and the thanks owed to He who reformulated it, must never be forgotten—as the Jews and Christians (at the very least in the times the Quran was revealed) had done. I'll have more to say about this in a future post regarding Islam as a reaction to Judeo-Christianity.

Yet through synthesizing the message of Abrahamic religion before it, the Quran does add a key component, and its most salient: the importance of death. In my reading, other than when the Prophet (PBUH) refers to specific battles in His time, the punishments for nonbelievers are all on a spiritual plane; and just as often a great reward is promised to the believers, again, as spiritual reward. But all of this occurs around death which, as many psychoanalysts will tell you, is the motivator of all human action, whether we like to admit it or not. In fact, most people not familiar with the Quran are absolutely aghast at even thinking about death. Not about dying, but that last moment of life, which will feel like an eternity because nothing will come after it. Will you look upon life with joy at all the good you've done? Or will you shake with terror at how you've squandered it? That is the Quran's constant refrain, because of the recognition that all of life is a lead up to that last moment—"When you're on your deathbed". It will inevitably be a person's most horrifying or most glorious experience. Moreover, it's not just a reminder of death, but how each moment in our lives is as if it is recorded in our memories, all to be brought back to us in our final moments. All the distractions of living will fall aside and you will see your life for how you've truly lived it—the impact resonated so deep, I could not help but testify to its truth. In hitting me over the head with death, it gave new vigor to living morally. Memento mori, indeed.

So that's why I'm a Quranist. Why I have not converted to Islam will be for another (though I suspect many an other) post.

Abbas' Bid for Palestinian Statehood at the UN

I understand why Abbas is going to the UN. I think it's stupid, but I understand.

When the Arab Spring broke out, he was on his way out. Not only had he not resolved the rift with Hamas, and stayed in power despite no new elections, Fayyad was close to making him all but insignificant. In fact, the only way the UN even said a State of Palestine was viable in the West Bank was because of Fayyad's hard work building free market institutions, and both physical and government infrastructure. So just as his insignificance bubbled to the surface, the Arab Spring saved his ass, and he co-opted Fayyad's accomplishments to join the regional freedom train (how it differs from the actual regional revolutions is like night and day, but for another post).

Of course the Netanyahu right-wing Israeli government gave him little option. Mind you, the Palestinian people had other options, including backing Fayyadism and sitting down with Netanyahu, without preconditions, as he repeatedly offered. And surely it's dick of Bibi to keep building settlements while smiling and boasting he'll go to Ramallah to restart negotiations. But even if Netanyahu sincerely wants to make peace (suspect, no doubt), remember he barely formed a government in 2009 after losing the popular vote to Kadima; with Avigdor Lieberman forcing his extremism into the Foreign Ministry, no way Netanyahu was going to succumb to Abbas' (or Obama's) common sense demand to stop settlement construction before heading back to the negotiating table. So Abbas knew if he had any shot in hell at keeping the Palestinian people behind him, there was no way he could risk capitulating to Netanyahu. The stalemate was legit—though bullshit—on both sides of the equation.

But still, why go to the UN? From the start the US made it clear they'd veto. I do think somewhere in there Abbas thought, due to the enthusiasm around the Arab Spring, that a chance in hell existed for the US—hope & change Obama in particular—to reverse its stance. He's not alone in having that hail mary brash hope approach. It's so endemic to the PLO political descendents, it's pretty much an instinct for the Palestinians. It comes from many things: a complicated amalgamation of frustrated pride, existential fear, plenty of anger, and some magical thinking, i.e. that their desire for self-actualization is enough in itself to achieve it. Still, I think Abbas just knew it'd be a popular move and be in the spirit of regional enthusiasm. Did he plan an end game? Maybe.

It didn't matter though. What's most important to Palestinians is setting their own terms. It goes to the crux of their anger over the State of Israel: it was imposed upon them by the British. No one asked them. I bet if in 1948 the British said, "Hey guys, we want to give Israel a state; would you partner with us to figure out a solution which works well for both you and the Jews?" that they would've at least felt acknowledged, and perhaps have accepted living beside Israel. But fair deal or not, the Balfour Declaration and the 1948 UN resolution didn't give them a mutual say in their destiny. From that point on, little progress at great cost on their terms, meant infinitely more than great progress, with little cost, on Israel's or the United States' terms (see Arafat's otherwise inexplicable rejection of the 2000 Camp David Accord).

So the truth is, it doesn't really matter to them what the gains will be at the UN. Yeah, permanent observer status will get Palestine on committees they'd never've been on before; they'll be able to bring international lawsuits against Israel; and at the least it will make Palestinians feel like they have more of a state (even though nothing in Palestine will change—actually, losing US & Israel's monetary aid will make life closer to what it's like it is in Gaza), at least in the world's eyes. Surely it's felt good to see Israel scramble to avoid the 'diplomatic tsunami' (so bizarre how catch phrases catch on in the press), and watch as most of the world calls for a State of Palestine. It's affirming, it boosts confidence, especially with the Arab Spring bringing actual change for the better in other Arab countries. In the end, though, it's all about doing it their own way.