Should a provocative advert comparing the actions of Hamas to a biblical cult of child killers have been censored? Dr David Tollerton, a Lecturer in Jewish Studies and Contemporary Biblical Cultures in the College of Humanities, discusses the positive and negative implications of the advert.

This blog first appeared in The Conversation. 

 

 

From debates concerning the Temple Mount in Jerusalem to the 1967 Six Day War’s titular reference to the days of creation, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has often been made to resonate with biblical images and language.

In an advert published last week by The Guardian the Nobel Prize-winning writer and Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel contributed to this tradition by provocatively comparing Hamas’ treatment of Palestinian children in Gaza with child sacrifice described in the Hebrew Bible.

The advert, organised by This World: The Values Network, has been reproduced in a variety of prominent US newspapers but was rejected for publication by The Times. In response The Guardian ran the advert on Monday August 11, provoking a range of critical responses. These included a group of Holocaust survivors and descendants of survivors and victims distancing themselves from Wiesel and the Stop the War Coalition asking for signatories to a letter condemning The Guardian for printing the advert.

Child sacrifice

The advert itself should not be dismissed out of hand even if it is problematic. In his attack on Hamas, Wiesel is careful not to come across as Islamophobic, praising the wisdom, learning and peaceful nature of “true Muslims”. And, in highlighting the danger Hamas is placing Palestinian children in, he cautions us to consider the profoundly difficult ethics of not only indiscriminately targeting Israeli citizens but also bringing the population of Gaza into the firing line of Israel’s counterattack.

But to frame the debate in terms of biblical descriptions of child sacrifice is unhelpful. In one passage, Wiesel creates a three-way comparison between Hamas, the child-sacrificing Moloch-worshippers of the Hebrew Bible, and the mass-murder of Jewish children during the Holocaust.

Hamas and the Nazis, he concludes, are “death cults indistinguishable from that of the Molochites”. The problem is that it is in fact really quite easy to distinguish between the actions of these three groups.

The worshippers of Moloch are presented in the Bible as sacrificing children as part of religious rituals designed to gain divine favour (the work of my colleague Professor Francesca Stavrakopoulou is helpful in highlighting the complexities of trying to uncover the historical backdrop behind this presentation). The Nazis murdered Jewish children as a result of their racist desire to produce a Europe wholly free of Jews. Hamas endangers Palestinian children because of a tactic centred on firing rockets at Israel from built-up civilian areas.

Each situation is quite distinct. Although drawing an analogy between the three is possible, you just end up with an analogy so loose that it initially seems virtually useless.

But encompassing ancient child-sacrifice, the Holocaust and Hamas in a single category does nonetheless have its use for Wiesel in creating the vision of a vast evil that transcends particular points in history. Such a vision has an evocative, quasi-mythic power, but unfortunately it does little to help us make sense of the specific motivations and strategies of Hamas.

Rather than seeing Hamas fighters as human beings driven by varying mixtures of rage, desperation and extremist ideology, they become players in an ongoing battle between good and evil that is epic in scope and primordial in origin. Israeli soldiers become agents of light, and Hamas becomes a force of unqualified darkness. Using the Bible to render the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in such terms offers a comfortingly simple narrative, but it provides little insight into messy realities.

Should Guardian have run the ad?

But was Stop the War right to argue that Wiesel’s advert should not have been published by The Guardian at all? The matter is not straightforward, but if we follow a principle that says the burden of proof always lies with the party aiming to curtail free expression, it is hard to make a compelling argument that Wiesel’s advert should have been suppressed.

We might cynically conclude that The Guardian’s reasons for including the advert amounted to little more than trying to flag up its own commitment to free speech in comparison to a rival newspaper, but that in itself is not a sound reason to censor the advert. A more substantial argument may be that it invokes indiscriminate hatred.

However, as I have already noted, Wiesel is at pains not to target all Palestinians with his criticisms. Furthermore, when included in the pages of The Guardian I am not convinced that many readers would actually be swayed to start seeing the current conflict as a war between the unequivocal evil of Hamas and the morally spotless actions of the Israeli Defense Forces. The paper has repeatedly presented stern criticism of Israel and it is unlikely that many regular readers will have been convinced to wholly abandon these condemnations as a result of Wiesel’s clumsy rhetoric.

And there are, I suggest, positive aspects to publishing the advert. Wiesel is an influential and often admired thinker, particularly in the US, and is described by This World: The Values Network as “one of the most respected human beings alive” and “the living face of the Holocaust”. While it may be questionable for one person to singularly encompass the meaning of the Holocaust for current affairs, the undoubted extent of his reach renders his a voice worth wrestling with.

Witnessing Wiesel’s stark vision of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict provides a window through which to view an influential, and in some quarters pervasive understanding of the situation. Beyond all of this, reading rather than suppressing his provocative advert helps to show up the toxic potentials of mixing contemporary warfare with the Bible.

This issue of censorship is difficult and certainly publishing Wiesel’s advert has the potential to throw up all manner of complainants asking: “but if this can be printed, what else is permissible?” But each case must be treated on its own terms and the bar for invoking censorship must be set higher than we are always comfortable with.

David Tollerton does not work for, consult to, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has no relevant affiliations.

This article was originally published on The Conversation.
Read the original article.

This blog is by Professor Christine Allison from the Institute of Arab and Islamic Studies; it first appeared in The Conversation.

 

 

In 1918, the Yazidis of Sinjar mountain received an ultimatum from Ottoman forces – to hand over their weaponry and the Christian refugees they were sheltering, or face the consequences. They tore it up and sent the messengers back naked.

The Sinjaris are the “Highlanders” of the Iraqi Yazidis – tough and proud. After suffering terrible casualties and appealing to the allied forces for help they were able to survive the subsequent attack and live out the war in their mountain homeland.

But 100 years on, even these proud warriors are not immune to modern weaponry and face yet another threat of genocide as the bloodthirsty militias of the Islamic State threaten to wipe them out.

Those stranded on the mountain would rather face death there than the forced conversion and massacre which the Islamic State routinely gives those Yazidis it captures.

Meanwhile, reports come in of Yazidi villages in Shikhan, on the fringes of the Kurdish region, being abandoned, of Kurdish cities crowded with refugees, of huge queues at the Turkish border. A shocked world is asking: who are these people and why are they so scared?

Seven angels

Like all religions, Yazidism can’t be explained in a sentence, but it has two key characteristics that can help us understand it. Firstly, there is a belief that divine beings (the “Seven Angels”) can reincarnate themselves in human form, most recently in the ancestors of their leading religious clans.

These people are called by the Arabic word “khas”. Saints and prophets from other religions – among them Jesus from the Christian faith and, Hasan al-Basri, the companion of Mohammed – have been claimed as “khas”. And since God is a remote figure, it is the chief of the Holy Beings, the Peacock Angel, who rules the world.

Yazidism also has a strong preoccupation with purity in all areas of life. Different categories should not be mixed; thus certain foods are forbidden and Yazidis are not allowed to marry outsiders.

Yazidi society is divided into castes: sheikhs, pirs and murids – who must marry among themselves. Modern Yazidis are no longer ostracised for living outside the community, but still like to live close to each other.

In Ottoman times they flatly refused to join the army and serve alongside Muslims (to the great chagrin of the government), though they have usually lived in harmony with Christians. Their taboo against reading and writing probably came about from a reluctance to attend school alongside others.

Exotic, bizarre and strange

Some have made much of the Yazidis’ “exotic” customs, “bizarre” myths and “strange” taboos. But these make perfect sense in a rural community using oral tradition.

Thus Yazidis would not tolerate the word “Satan” (which is often used by others to insult the Peacock Angel) or even any words that sounded like it. Their famous ban on eating lettuce can be explained by the fact that the Kurdish word for lettuce happens to be “khas”, which the Yazidis use to denote their saints. Over the years such customs have been ridiculed to belittle and promote hostility towards Yazidis.

Seventy-two persecutions

Yazidism, as we know it today, began in the 12th century, when the Muslim sheikh ‘Adi bin Musafir settled in the Kurdich hills north of Mosul, where he was acclaimed as a “khas” by locals who followed an older religion from Iran, the origins of which are still debated.

Yazidism at first expanded, stretching from Syria across northern Iraq and eastern Turkey, but by the 18th century a long decline had set in and what Yazidis call their “seventy-two persecutions” had begun. The Kurdish word they use is from the Ottoman word for “decree” which helps to explain the official nature of many of these persecutions.

Visitors to Kurdistan are often shown the spectacular gorge called Geli Ali Beg, but not all of them learn that it is named after a Yazidi leader killed in 1832 by the Kurdish “Blind Prince” of Rawanduz. Unlike Jews and Christians, Ottoman Yezidis were not protected as “People of the Book” and were the regular victims of pogrom.

Under British diplomatic pressure, they were given some legal status under Ottoman law in 1849, but that did not protect them from disaster in 1892, when Omar Vebi Pasha, an official sent by Istanbul, launched a “convert-or-die” campaign against them.

The Sinjaris repelled the army’s attacks, but in the agricultural villages of Sheikhan many women and children were massacred. The Yazidis’ holiest shrine of Lalesh was appropriated as an Islamic property and the unfortunate Yazidi prince converted to Islam under duress.

Such were the formative experiences of Iraq’s Yazidis as they entered World War I. During the 20th century, Yazidis have often been active in the Kurdish nationalist movement and were a particular target – along with the Kurds – of Saddam Hussein’s Arabisation policies. This is despite the fact that they were already officially classed as Arabs.

It is hardly surprising that so many now want to leave Iraq and there are Yazidi communities elsewhere, particularly in Europe, Russia, Syria and Turkey. But Yazidism is so closely linked to its land that any rupture of that link might well be catastrophic for its survival. Sinjar and Sheikhan, all that remain of the heartland of this ancient religion, must be kept safe for Yazidism to survive as it adapts to the challenges of the 21st century.

Christine Allison does not work for, consult to, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has no relevant affiliations.

This article was originally published on The Conversation.
Read the original article.