The 'man of courage and peace' story ignores his bloody and
ruthless past.
By Saree Makdisi SAREE
MAKDISI is a professor of English and comparative literature at UCLA.
January
7, 2006
AS
ARIEL SHARON'S career comes to an end, the whitewashing is already
underway. Literally overnight he was being hailed as "a man of courage
and peace" who had generated "hopes for a far-reaching accord" with an
electoral campaign promising "to end conflict with the Palestinians."
But
even if end-of-career assessments often stretch the truth, and even if
far too many people fall for the old saw about the gruff old warrior
miraculously turning into a man of peace, the reality is that miracles
don't happen, and only rarely have words and realities been separated
by such a yawning abyss.
From
the beginning to the end of his
career, Sharon was a man of ruthless and often gratuitous violence. The
waypoints of his career are all drenched in blood, from the massacre he
directed at the village of Qibya in 1953, in which his men destroyed
whole houses with their occupants — men, women and children — still
inside, to the ruinous invasion of Lebanon in 1982, in which his army
laid siege to Beirut, cut off water, electricity and food supplies and
subjected the city's hapless residents to weeks of indiscriminate
bombardment by land, sea and air.
As a
purely gratuitous
bonus, Sharon and his army later facilitated the massacre of hundreds
of Palestinians at the refugee camps of Sabra and Shatila, and in all
about 20,000 people — almost all innocent civilians — were killed
during his Lebanon adventure.
Sharon's
approach to peacemaking
in recent years wasn't very different from his approach to war.
Extrajudicial assassinations, mass home demolitions, the construction
of hideous barriers and walls, population transfers and illegal
annexations — these were his stock in trade as "a man of courage and
peace."
Some
may take comfort in the myth that Sharon was
transformed into a peacemaker, but in fact he never deviated from his
own 1998 call to "run and grab as many hilltops" in the occupied
territories as possible. His plan for peace with the Palestinians
involved grabbing large portions of the West Bank, ultimately annexing
them to Israel, and turning over the shattered, encircled, isolated,
disconnected and barren fragments of territory left behind to what only
a fool would call a Palestinian state.
SHARON'S
"painful
sacrifices" for peace may have involved Israel keeping less, rather
than more, of the territory that it captured violently and has clung to
illegally for four decades, but few seem to have noticed that it's not
really a sacrifice to return something that wasn't yours to begin with.
His
much-ballyhooed withdrawal from Gaza left 1.4 million
Palestinians in what is essentially the world's largest prison, cut off
from the rest of the world and as subject to Israeli power as before.
It also terminated the possibility of a two-state solution to the
conflict by condemning Palestinians to whiling away their lives in a
series of disconnected Bantustans, ghettos, reservations and strategic
hamlets, entirely at the mercy of Israel.
That's
not peace. As
Crazy Horse or Sitting Bull would have recognized at a glance, it's an
attempt to pacify an entire people by bludgeoning them into a subhuman
irrelevance. Nothing short of actual genocide — for which Sharon's
formula was merely a kind of substitute — would persuade the
Palestinian people to quietly accept such an arrangement, or negate
themselves in some other way. And no matter which Israeli politician
now assumes Sharon's bloody mantle, such an approach to peace will
always fail.