Who made the Gaza peace plan possible?

Before the recent announcement of the “Gaza peace plan,” I wrote a few pieces about the flotilla missions aiming to deliver desperately needed humanitarian aid to Gaza despite the criminal Israeli genocide. Among other things, those pieces explored the possibility of international solidarity with Gaza expanding in the wake of a U.S. labor leader enduring discriminatory state violence.

The latest unarmed flotilla mission intercepted by the Israeli Navy may have played a bigger role in compelling the peace plan than most observers realize. Coming on the heels of previous efforts, it confronted Israeli belligerence, which prompted a crucial international reaction whose impacts remain largely unobserved.

While many debated whether or not another U.S. president deserved to win the Nobel Peace Prize, few recognized the events that likely played a bigger role in forcing Israel to accept the ceasefire long (ineffectually) demanded by the international community.

What solidarity looks like

Solidarity references action rooted in the recognition of shared interests. It evokes the power of collective action, as well as the profound service implicit in standing alongside others to challenge abuses to which we ourselves have not (yet) been subjected.

It might come as no surprise, then, to see a visionary Black U.S. labor leader joining the Sumud flotilla (named after an Arabic word connoting steadfast perseverance) and serving as one of the flotilla’s spokespeople. The detention of Chris Smalls by Israeli authorities, who then subjected him to state violence in custody, is not far removed from the vicious attacks on civil rights organizers by authorities across the South—and in Washington, DC—during the Jim Crow era.

It has more relevance to today’s context than most observers realized before Trump’s return to Washington earlier this year.

The flotilla intercepted last week mobilized a massive—and widely representative—global base of support. It consisted of over 40 ships, and 500 participants coming from over 44 different countries. Noteworthy participants included an elected policymaker from Portugal, the grandson of Nelson Mandela, the former Mayor of Barcelona, and climate justice spokesperson and international (and intergenerational) hero Greta Thunberg.

What heroism looks like

Thunberg’s participation in the flotilla is noteworthy for several reasons.

First, Israel would likely have embraced even more severe violence in its response to the flotilla had white Europeans not been on board. According to the head of Amnesty International, the interception was a “calculated act of intimidation . . . intended to punish and silence critics of Israel’s genocide and its unlawful blockade on Gaza.” Without the presence of White Europeans, that intimidation would likely have been as lethal as other Israeli operations falsely described as defensive.

To be fair, even white Americans have been killed by Israeli soldiers with impunity. On the one hand, that might suggest limits to the value of international solidarity. That view, however, mistakes the ways in which movements build over time, and how voices speaking in one era can inspire those who come after.

In retrospect, the prescience and courage of Rachel Corrie may have inspired the more recent self-immolation of U.S. servicemember Aaron Bushnell. Few have appreciated the unique challenges confronting military servicemembers, whose choices illustrate the moral conundrum that so many of us confront in different ways.

Servicemembers, in particular, are trapped between a proverbial rock and a hard place. By enlisting, they sacrifice their First Amendment rights, which effectively blocks them from publicly speaking out to challenge the crimes of their leaders. Meanwhile, following orders supporting an ongoing genocide risks the specter of becoming complicit in international crimes.

If servicemembers disobey orders in order to comply with international legal principles settled at Nuremberg, they risk a court-martial (soon). On the other hand, if they follow those illegal orders, they risk international liability for human rights violations (later).

That is a faustian choice, which makes the acts of solidarity by civilians so crucial. Few demonstrate that example better than Chris Smalls and Greta Thunberg.

Intersectionality

Second, Thunberg, in particular, demonstrates the intersectionality of the various issues visible in today’s accelerating crises.

Some might imagine climate justice to be separable from human rights struggles. They overlook the extent to which climate chaos has been largely enabled by strategic denials of human rights. The recurring tragic experiences of populations living in regions rich in fossil fuel resources offer compelling case studies.

The West was warned of this dynamic decades ago. The late Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. explained that capitalism (i.e., industrial resource extraction) inevitably intersects (i.e., relies upon and also reinforces) militarism and racism. His recognition of intersectionality is among the most profound gifts that he left us.

Few stand in the footsteps of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. with as much consistency as Thunberg. In that respect, her example might be poised to help others finally recognize his radical legacy—and ideally, take action to support its realization in practice.

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If nothing else, Greta has also experienced a pattern similar to what MLK encountered during his era. She was widely welcomed when she challenged climate nihilism—but equally widely condemned when she stepped forward to challenge the Israeli genocide. Similarly, MLK was lauded as a civil rights hero by many voices that turned their backs on him once he began to assertively challenge Washington’s war on Vietnam and the militarism that enabled it.

Intergenerational leadership

Third, Thunberg embodies the generational change impeded in the U.S. by decades of continuing bipartisan corruption in Washington. She emerged as a global grassroots leader as a teenager, and remains in her early 20s. Her voice resonates with young people in a way that the geriatric organizers of climate chaos cannot.

Before she was detained, she recorded a short video that I encourage every reader to watch.

The aid that the flotilla aimed to deliver was crucially important because Israel had imposed a deliberate starvation campaign as part of its genocide. While many concerns have emerged about the legitimacy and durability of the nascent peace plan, the most immediate way in which it has changed life on the ground for Gazans is by re-opening the delivery of humanitarian aid.

Amnesty International’s Secretary General Agnès Callamard explained that Israel’s interception of the Sumud flotilla:

comes after weeks of threats and incitement by Israeli officials against the flotilla and its participants and after several attempts to sabotage some of its ships….The very fact that they had to set sail in the first place is a clear indictment of the international community’s persistent failure to end Israel’s ongoing genocide and to ensure the unhindered flow of aid to Palestinians in the Gaza Strip.

In this context, the flotilla may have focused international attention on an unfolding genocide, in a way that years of Israeli bombing campaigns—and sniper attacks on unarmed children—somehow did not.

Many voices have debated in the past few days whether President Trump deserved the Nobel Peace Prize based on his diplomacy between Israel and Gaza. They all overlooked the far more influential impact of international solidarity—and the millions of people of conscience from around the world who have taken action to challenge the Israeli genocide and defend human rights in exile.

Swift global reaction inspired a growing wave

Around the world, reaction to Israel’s assault on the flotilla was both swift and dramatic.

In both Italy and Germany, activists shut down mass transit networks, while calls mounted across Europe for an ensuing general strike. The government of Colombia expelled Israeli diplomats and cancelled its free trade agreement with Israel, while Turkish officials described the Israeli assault on the flotilla as “an act of terrorism.” A litany of other countries witnessed either grassroots action, condemnation by officials of Israeli actions, or both.

Trump’s assaults on the rights of Americans—particularly visible at the moment in Chicago, where I lived throughout the 1990s—is largely intended to diminish our collective capacity to model these examples from Europe and elsewhere. Whether it proved successful would have been as much up to us as it would have been to the authorities who aim to compel our complacence.

In that context, I see the announcement of a “Gaza peace plan” as akin to George W. Bush’s speech on May 1, 2003 before a “mission accomplished” banner hung from the U.S.S. Abraham Lincoln. Both were measures taken theoretically to advance human rights, but particularly, to hamstring domestic dissent and derail mounting international condemnation.

A preview of some upcoming posts

I started a series earlier this year examining the impact of Trump’s policies on the U.S. economy. Finishing it has stymied me, but I’ve got a draft in motion of the next installment that I hope to finish developing soon.

I’ve also been working on pieces exploring the effective imposition of martial law in Chicago, and a further analysis of this week’s international discussion surrounding the Nobel Peace Prize. While I’m the first to argue that Trump’s domestic violations of civil rights and civil liberties should disqualify him for any discussion of the award, I’ll make a case that he might have ironically deserved it—for reasons very different than he and his confused supporters seem to think.

Finally, I’ve got a piece about a bizarre alignment that emerged between the far left and far right unnoticed by the centrist voices whose gaslighting brought them together. I might ultimately make it a bonus section for paid subscribers rather than a standalone article, but we’ll see how many topics emerge to further distract me between now and whenever it comes to rest.