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The other Israel

Toby Greene, Alan Johnson, Noam Leshem

The social protests that swept Israel’s boulevards and city squares in 2011 caught many observers by surprise. What produced this remarkable and unexpected political event?

On 3 September 2011, 430,000 took to the streets of Israel to demand social justice. It was the biggest protest in the country’s history and, per capita, the biggest protest in the world last year. Over five per cent of the Israeli population marched; the UK equivalent would be close to three million people. Here was the best response imaginable to the fear that Israel’s democracy is in crisis.

The story begins in the middle of July 2011, when Dafna Leef, a twenty-five-year-old film student and freelance video editor living in Tel Aviv, was evicted from her apartment. Unable to find another she could afford, she pitched a tent on Rothschild Boulevard, a chic and fashionable avenue flanked by art galleries and cafes running through central Tel Aviv, and set up a Facebook campaign for others to join her.

On 3 September, six months later, she addressed a crowd of 300,000 in Tel Aviv – with 130,000 others demonstrating in cities around the country – as the leader of a campaign for ‘social justice’ that her protest had spawned. Leef attacked ‘swinish capitalism’ but at the same time rejected traditional political identities, declaring:

So they called us the extreme left. They tried to define us. How on earth do they know who I am? How do they know who you are? Where do they get the chutzpah? The best answer to their assertions came not from me or from my friends, it came from the tent camps that sprang up in the Hatikva neighbourhood, in Jesse Cohen, in Kiryat Gat, Kiryat Shmona, Modiin, Rahat, Kalansawa, Jerusalem, Haifa, Bet Shean, Yerucham, and in tens of other places. All of us, the whole country, realised that there is no right or left – we are all servants/we all serve.

What produced this remarkable and unexpected political event? This article explores the historical contexts, political forms and theoretical implications of Israeli social protests of 2011.

 

Historical contexts

The social protests that swept Israel’s boulevards and city squares during the summer of 2011 caught many observers of Israeli society and politics by surprise. Though differences over Israel’s diplomatic and security policy have led to waves of activism, in over six decades the country has witnessed only a handful of incidents where social discontent led to the formation of organised protest movements. Several factors contributed to this phenomenon.

From its inception, severe external threats to Israel’s security have inevitably pushed social, cultural and economic issues down the agenda. Though it succeeded in overcoming the military challenges of the 1948 War of Independence, Israel paid an immensely heavy price, losing one per cent of its population in the fighting. The country faced severe economic difficulties while at the same time taking in approximately 700,000 newly-arrived Jewish immigrants in the late 1940s. Lacking better solutions, whole communities were forced to reside in provisional immigrant camps well into the 1950s. The nascent social fabric of Israel did not tear, in good part due to the country’s leadership at the time, and in particular, to Israel’s first Prime Minister David Ben Gurion. Celebrated as the father of Israel’s democratic foundations, he was above all a pragmatist who understood the fragility of Israel’s society and was willing to suppress any challenge to it. When, in November 1951, seamen in the Haifa port announced a labour dispute that brought the country’s only commercial port to a standstill, Ben Gurion and others in the ruling Mapai party, which preceded the Israeli Labour Party, took extreme measures to end the strike, even calling up the union leaders to military service. There was uproar among the country’s intellectuals, but the episode solidified his reputation as a man determined to prevent social and economic dissent from undermining the country’s stability.

With security trumping social questions, and Mapai politically dominant, protracted social unrest was not seen until the early 1970s. Ironically, it was Israel’s decisive victory in the 1967 Six Day War and Israelis’ (over-)confidence in their country’s ability to defend its borders that allowed deep social grievances to rise to the surface. The Israeli Black Panthers, perhaps the most prominent Israeli social protest movement to date, emerged in Jerusalem in 1971 and though obviously inspired by its namesake in the United States, were rooted in local social and economic circumstances. The Panthers were mostly second-generation Jewish immigrants from Middle Eastern countries who fought against cultural marginalisation and social exclusion. The government’s response was dismissive and patronising: after meeting representatives of the movement in April 1971, Prime Minister Golda Meir famously said, ‘The Panthers are not nice people’. In a matter of weeks, however, small gatherings in slum neighbourhoods turned into raucous demonstrations that could not be ignored. Beyond specific grievances, the Panthers’ demonstrations were the first real effort to challenge Mapai’s hegemony and Israel’s prevailing social order.

In purely political terms, the Panthers’ success was short lived. Internal disputes within the movement became apparent early on and a plan by some members to attend an international Black Panthers meeting exposed the group to allegations of collaboration with Israel’s enemies. When the group competed in the Knesset elections that took place in December 1973, shortly after the Yom Kippur War, it did not pass the electoral threshold. Nonetheless, for a brief period Israel’s political landscape had been transformed; overtaken by a new vocabulary of social justice and equal opportunity. It took the grave outcome of the 1973 Yom Kippur War to reverse this trend and return the country’s agenda, once again, to security and new divisions over the fate of land captured in 1967. Thereafter, a dynamic was established: in times of insecurity, the social question takes a back seat.

The real political impact of the Panthers only became apparent in the late 1970s and generated a dramatic change in Israeli political culture. The relative silence with which Mizrahi Jews had born their grievances for decades was over, and the dominance of the country’s liberal European elites was no longer taken for granted. In the 1977 elections, these social and cultural currents took on a concrete political form, sweeping the centre-right Likud party into power. Likud’s leader Menahem Begin astutely identified the popular anger at the old political guard, first ignited by the Black Panthers, and a staggering 75 per cent of Likud voters in 1977 were Mizrahi Jews.

Even during the 1980s when the global turn to neo-liberalism saw Israel’s social democratic foundations radically eroded, politics remained stubbornly focussed on security and diplomatic concerns. Whilst centre-left leaders, including Yitzhak Rabin in 1992 and Ehud Barak in 1999, did widen the agenda to social issues to their electoral benefit, issues of peace and security remained the foremost issue in the public discourse. But this was to change dramatically in the summer of 2011.

 

Political forms

The context of anti-politics in Israel

As described by Tamar Hermann among others, Israel has recently undergone a process of disenchantment with institutional politics. Up until the 1990s, voter turnout in Israel’s general elections was around 80 per cent, and party membership and identification were also high. In the 1990s, the central political debate was about the peace process with the Palestinians and the fate of the occupied territories. The energy that infused this debate was visible on the streets. People advertised their political identities with myriad car bumper stickers bearing political slogans, and hundreds of thousands also gathered in mass rallies both to support and oppose the Oslo process.

However, during the noughties, political engagement went into decline and voter turnout dropped below 65 per cent. Even the bumper stickers disappeared. The apparent Palestinian rejection of the Clinton two-state proposals at the end of 2000, and four bitter years of the Second Intifada, undermined the ideological standpoints of both the left and right. The left’s call for ‘peace now’ sounded naïve and hollow to the majority of Israelis who believed there was no Palestinian partner ready to make a deal. On the other hand, the right’s call to hold on to all the land of Israel sounded equally untenable. The old differences between the mainstream centre-right and centre-left parties lost significance.

Even Ariel Sharon’s third way approach of unilateral withdrawal was discredited when Israel’s pull-out from the Gaza Strip led to the establishment of a Hamas regime. On the central political-security question, middle Israel was left without clear positions to rally around. Whilst marginal minority sectors, including Haredim (ultra-Orthodox Jews), Arabs, ideological settlers and recent immigrants from the former Soviet Union retained their political motivation and focused agenda, the centre ground majority fell relatively quiet. Parties representing the Israeli centre-ground of secular, middle-class Jews lost ground in recent elections to minority interest parties, with constituencies that have grown demographically, and turnout in greater numbers to the polls.

A general distaste for politics among middle Israel was fuelled in the 2000s by a series of political corruption scandals that damaged the credibility of the political class as a whole, while the incapacitation of Ariel Sharon in early 2006 left a leadership vacuum.

There were few issues that could bring masses onto the streets in the way that the peace process did in the 1990s. Two notable exceptions were the campaigns to release Gilad Shalit, held by Hamas from 2006 to 2011, and demonstrations over the government’s mishandling of the Second Lebanon War. In both cases, the issue in question appealed to a common denominator uniting the Israeli centre ground: the government’s responsibility to its men and women in uniform. Whilst Israeli society was becoming more anti-political, it remained patriotic, and with a latent potential for political activism and mass mobilisation.

 

Why 2011? Why social justice?

Israelis watched young people across the Arab world coming out onto the streets in early 2011 to demonstrate against their political class and making use of social media to organise and communicate. Some of the leaders of Israel’s social justice movement claimed to have been inspired by what they had seen. Israelis did not have to take to the streets to get rid of its political leadership, since they had the opportunity to do this at the ballot box. But they nonetheless shared the desire to change something fundamental about the way their country was run.

The forerunner for Dafna Leef’s housing protest was a mass consumer boycott targeting, of all things, cottage cheese. This innocuous foodstuff, a staple of the Israeli diet, had risen dramatically in price along with many other basic consumer goods. A Facebook campaign to boycott the product led the small number of manufacturers, who are protected from foreign competition, to reduce their prices. This success gave many Israelis the sense that the tool of rapid, decentralised mass (online) mobilisation, that appeared to have been used so effectively in the Arab world, could be used to push back on the issues that angered them: the high cost of living, income inequality, the erosion of the social safety net and the monopolisation of economic power.

The price of cottage cheese was emblematic of a wider problem of consumer prices. An individual moving to Israel from the UK instantly notices that basic household goods and utilities cost considerably more in Israel. This is despite the fact that the average salary in Israel, at approximately 8,500 shekels/a month (approximately £1,450), is considerably lower than the £2,200 average monthly salary in the UK. Add to this, the second half of the last decade saw a surge in housing and rental costs, with the housing needs of Israel’s fast-growing population failing to keep up with demand fuelled by low interest rates. This creates a situation in which families with two parents, in decent paying jobs, still struggle to balance their bank account at the end of the month, especially when the cost of childcare is taken into account.

There has also been increasing public awareness that the concentration of ownership of a considerable proportion of the economy in the hands of a relatively small number of families breeds a lack of competition and rising inequality. In 2009, Israel’s central bank stated in its annual report that ‘some twenty business groups, nearly all of family nature and structured in a pronounced pyramid form, continue to control a large proportion of public firms (some 25 per cent of firms listed for trading) and about half of market share’.

The small number of super-rich individuals that own large swathes of the economy became targets for the frustration of the middle-classes. At the same time, whilst privatisation and fiscal contraction had liberalised the economy and helped it to grow, many felt this had severely weakened public services, especially health, education, and welfare.

This sense among middle class Israelis that they were being exploited by a tiny cadre of super-rich was an important motivating factor that turned Dafna Leef’s tent protest into a mass movement. It quickly attracted the support of the national student union and led to tent encampments springing up in cities across the country. The demands of the protesters expanded almost as quickly as the protests themselves. By mid-August the activists issued a document calling on the government to address six areas: minimising social inequalities and creating social cohesion; altering the economic system to lower the cost of living; achieving full employment and imposing state price controls on basic items; prioritising areas on the outskirts of cities; addressing the needs of the weaker population in the country, with an emphasis on the handicapped, the elderly and the sick; investing in education, health and personal safety; and providing genuine solutions to the housing shortage.

Apart from the impact of the Arab Spring, there were two other factors that made a mass movement possible.

The first was a relatively quiet diplomatic-security situation. The two-and-a-half years prior to the protests were marked by almost complete stagnation in the peace process. The period was also marked by a reduction in violence and immediate security threats. The peace process had absorbed the energies of middle Israel, and divided it between hawks and doves; periods of conflict typically unite the Israeli centre-ground around the need to repel the security threats. A context in which there was no peace process, but also no conflict, created space for social and economic issues to come to the fore.

The second factor was the success of the organisers in resisting issues that typically divide Israeli society. They largely set aside the political-security debate, including the utility of spending money and building and defending settlements in the West Bank. Nor did they focus explicitly on the subsidies paid to Haredi (ultra-Orthodox) Jews, many of whom dedicate their life to study and do not contribute to the economy or serve in the army, despite the fact that this is a major grievance of the middle class.

No less a writer than Amos Oz typified the view of many in the Israeli centre-left, that money going to these groups, as much as the wealth of the tycoons, was the source of the problem. In identifying where the resources lay to improve social justice in Israel, Oz listed first, ‘the billions Israel has invested in the settlements, which are the greatest mistake in the state’s history, as well as its greatest injustice’. However, the movement did not make this a banner issue. Indeed, one of the most innovative – and controversial – aspects of the 2011 social protests in Israel was their rejection of the dogma that has guided Israel’s centre-left in recent decades. Since the 1980s left-wing parties have been willing to sacrifice socio-economic issues on the altar of the Israeli-Palestinian peace process. What Oz refused to acknowledge was that the brutal neo-liberalisation of the Israeli welfare state was a bipartisan project, and only a bipartisan coalition could challenge it.

Indeed Haredim, settlers and representatives of Israel’s Arab minority were at times participants on protest platforms, though their presence was largely irrelevant in terms of the numbers they brought or their contribution to the agenda. Whilst left-wing political movements played a significant supporting role, and left-wing economic slogans dominated some of the rallies, the movement leaders adopted slogans that could not be explicitly identified with any political camp. Leef told one interviewer, ‘I feel huge responsibility because I think the fact that I am not a politician, that I have no intention of founding a party and tend to forget politicians’ names, is an important point’. Had the movement’s leadership pointed the finger of blame explicitly at the settlements, the inclusiveness that gave the movement its power would have been undermined. As it was the overarching call for ‘tzedek hevrati’, or ‘social justice’, was about as vague and inoffensive as anyone could imagine; the main targets were the super-rich.

Polls showing upwards of 75 per cent of the public supported the protests, but because the goals of the movement were so diffuse, it is hard to say that they all had the same view on what they were supporting. If ‘social justice’ meant helping the poorest in Israeli society, one could not say that this was what this protest was primarily about. By far the two poorest sectors of Israeli society, Arabs and ultra-Orthodox Jews, were neither the instigators of the protests, nor their focus. Israelis Jews living in poor peripheral towns, often of Middle Eastern origin, were also not the driving force. Rather the organisation, and the mass numbers, came from the ranks of the middle-class, secular, Jewish Israel.

Though many among this sector find it a struggle to get through the month, they are not generally in economic despair. When the newspaper Yediot Ahronot asked 500 Israeli adults at the end of September 2011 whether their economic situation was good or bad, 74 per cent said ‘good’.

Israel has fared relatively well in the global economic crisis. Its banks, having suffered acute crises in the 1980s, have followed a relatively conservative policy, and so were less exposed to the global credit crisis. Israel’s economy suffered only a short and shallow recession in 2009, with unemployment staying relatively low.

There was certainly an element of altruism to the protests; the call to protect the worst off, such as those in poor peripheral towns and aging holocaust survivors, appeals to the enduring Zionist values of collectivism, humanism and equality. However, the primary motivation for Israel’s ‘squeezed middle’ to come out onto the streets was the desire to protect their own interests.

This is expressed in the writing of Yair Lapid, a popular political TV journalist and the most recent Israeli public figure to declare his intention to compete in the next Israeli elections. In the midst of the protests, Lapid described it as ‘the movement of the 42 per cent’, a figure he said referred to the largest sector in Israeli society: Zionist and secular. He wrote:

Once upon a time we were the most influential group in this country, yet this is no longer the case. On the one hand, we are the largest group in society, more than the Arabs (20 per cent), more than the religious (12 per cent) and more than the Haredim (8 per cent). On the other hand, they always defeat us, because we’re the majority, so we don’t deserve anything.

He continued: 

The majority is neither rich nor poor, because that’s statistics. If you’re the majority, it means you are not in the top or bottom echelon. You’re somewhere in the middle. You earn too much to be entitled for government support, but too little to breathe easy.

Those below you lost, and you don’t want to be like them. Those above you play a game you don’t understand, until one day you suddenly realise that they are playing it at your expense. You’re angry about it and would like to give someone a call, but the majority never has anyone it can call. It doesn’t know the right people.

Lapid was putting a finger on the feeling among the largest sector of Israeli society of somehow having been disenfranchised. Whilst minority sectors elected parties solely to haggle for their interests as the price to prop-up governing coalitions, the majority have no one to do this for them. The summer of 2011 saw the Israeli centre-ground cast aside its internal divisions over territory and security and demand the government represent its social and economic interests.

 

What were the political ramifications?

Though many protesters attacked Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and his coalition, the fall of a particular government was not an explicit aim of the organisers. There was little popular enthusiasm for an election, and little sense that new leadership would change the system. In fact, the demand was that government per se change its priorities.

Forced to address the concerns of the protesters, Netanyahu established the Trajtenberg Committee to make policy recommendations. The result was not, as many protesters demanded, an enlarged state budget. Instead the government tried to appease the middle classes with hand-outs – including tax cuts for parents of small children and free childcare from the age of three, to be paid for by shaving billions of shekels off the country’s defence budget. The tents are largely gone; but the feeling remains that the middle class has made its voice heard, and the political class is on notice.

With an election not due until the end of 2013, the electoral impact may not be seen for some time. Remarkably, polls indicate that the parties within the governing coalition have so far been largely unscathed. This is due in part to Netanyahu’s efforts to address some of the grievances, but mostly because coalition parties either represent minority sectors which were not part of the movement or the ideological right-wing, which continues to think first and foremost about the diplomatic-security agenda.

Ironically, the biggest loser to date has been the centrist Kadima party, the largest party in the Knesset, led by Tzipi Livni whose voters were exactly the types of people at the protests: secular, centre-ground Jews. Livni was unable to take a credible role in the protests, partly because she feared that by identifying with the movement she might taint it politically, and partly because her association with the dominant neo-liberal economic programme gave her no credibility on the issues. Livni’s primary offer to her constituents was progress on the peace process with the Palestinians. As such, when the agenda switched to social issues, she was rendered irrelevant.

The first beneficiary has been the ailing centre-left Israeli Labour party, which once dominated the state, but collapsed to its lowest position ever in the 2009 election. In the wake of the protests Labour elected Shelly Yachimovich as its leader. A fiery former journalist who has made her name as a campaigner on social issues, she is better qualified to speak the language of the protests.

Beyond electoral politics, another development that can be traced back to the protest movement is the increasing determination of non-haredi sectors in society, both modern-Orthodox and secular, to resist attempts by a minority of the haredi to impose their strict code. Having raised its voice over unfairness in the economy, the middle classes are more ready to raise their voices over the burden of financially supporting the haredim, and carrying the weight of military service which the haredim refuse to share. Whether the middle-classes inside the Green Line will yet turn on those in the settlements remains to be seen.

 

Theoretical implications

One of the most suggestive analyses of the global ‘occupy’ movements has been Anthony Barnett’s 2011 Raymond Williams Lecture, ‘The Long and the Quick of Revolution’ (Barnett, 2011). Barnett addressed two questions: why did the protests happen when they did, and do they show us the shape of a new politics? His answers help to illuminate Israel’s hot summer.

Barnett claims that the global protests, while always irreducibly particular and local in foci and forms, were made possible by two genuinely global developments.

First, the eclipse not only of ‘Bin Ladenism’, but also of the dominant Western response to it, the so-called ‘War on Terror’. This created a new political space, not least in the Arab world, as ‘the decade of the Towers’ ended and, Barnett clearly hopes, ‘the decade of the Squares’ began.

Second, the failure of market fundamentalism to repair the damage caused by the 2008 crash led many to conclude that this was not merely an economic failure. Rather, political systems were indicted as ‘post-democracies’ –hollowed out and unable to express majoritarian aspiration, while political parties, even social democratic parties, were viewed as having become system-managers not vehicles for protest.

The combined collapse of geo-political and economic foundations, argues Barnett, made possible mass social protest movements which escaped the narrow channels of security or religion, but which also evaded the deadening political moderation of the mainstream parties. The result burst into life in a series of ‘occupy’ public spaces from Tahrir Square to Zuccotti Park, Plaza del Sol to St John Lateral Square, and from Rothschild Boulevard in Tel Aviv to Horse Park in Jerusalem.

How does the Israeli case measure up against Barnett’s thesis? Certainly, an unusual political space was opened up in Israel. ‘No peace process, but also no conflict’ made new things possible, at a time the Arab Spring was still in its ‘Google-generation’ phase, before the better organised (and more socially rooted) Islamist hard men took the reins. Popular energies could be redirected to the socio-economic. Writing in Yedioth Ahronoth, the Israeli columnist Nahum Barnea captured the basic message of the protesters: ‘From a society that sanctifies solidarity we have turned into a piggish, greedy and shameless society’. Student leader Itzik Shmuli told a crowd in Tel Aviv that: ‘We are demanding a more humane economic policy that won’t destroy people; that recognises their distress and doesn’t merely tally the financial numbers’. Tamar Hermann, senior fellow at the Israel Democracy Institute notes that this is not a call for socialism. ‘No one is talking about the nationalisation of industries. These people just want more government, more oversight and regulation’.

Three important features of the global ‘occupy’ protests identified by Barnett characterised the Israeli hot summer.

First, the protesters showed the capacity to overcome ‘the opposition of word and deed to develop a thinking politics’, melding together different kinds of expertise, scientific and experiential. Professor Yossi Yonah, an academic and social activist, led a panel of sixty experts working in collaboration with the protesters to develop a comprehensive ‘social justice’ alternative to the official Trajtenberg Committee. Among Yonah’s many ideas were radical proposals for tax reform, with higher brackets for the wealthy and changes in both inheritance and capital gains tax.

Second, by combining ‘high-tech networking and no-tech gathering’ and by ‘combining authority with deliberating’ the protests offered intimations of a new form of political participation. Like the movementsBarnett studied in Europe, the Israelis also exhibited ‘care, seriousness and good humour’, and were ‘well-governed, purposive and engaged with the future of the country’, as well as being non-violent, anti-hierarchical, fiercely proud of their flat structures and of their inclusivity.

Let us take you to Modiin. One of us was a participant of the protests there; a commuter town on the highway between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, overwhelmingly dominated by young, middle class families, with working parents and children in school or day-care. It is a picture of suburbia, as far from the radical left as one can imagine, yet Modiin spawned its own tent protest and weekly marches. One Saturday night at the peak of the movement, saw thousands of residents, carrying Israeli flags and placards demanding change, surge into the main Jerusalem-Tel Aviv highway, blocking it completely. With police looking on helplessly, we sang and chanted our demands for ‘social justice’ before we voluntarily removed ourselves. The palpable sense of social solidarity and political empowerment such experiences created for Israel’s middle classes, brought up on the Zionist vision of activism and self-emancipation, but driven to cynicism by the disappointments of the peace process and the griminess of the political class, was exhilarating.

Third, the Israeli movement also developed what Barnett argued has been central to the success of the movements –a new ‘vocabulary for the national and the particular’. He argues that the global protests were each profoundly national events. None –with the exception perhaps of the ineffectual St Paul’s protests in the UK –were content to ‘float on a sea of internationalism’ but had to calibrate ‘territorial facticity and patriotic constraint’ as Barnett puts it.

The manner in which this was achieved in Israel suggests that the full impact of the summer protests may only be felt in the future. For one thing, ‘The language of brutal capitalism will be an embarrassment’, argues Gadi Wolfsfeld, professor of political science at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. The discourse and the sensibility that re-emerged to ‘speak’ the frustrations of the people – and this may be uncomfortable for many in the West – was an adaptation of an older Zionist social democracy. It was not just a matter of reclaiming the old traditions of collectivism, social solidarity and justice. More than that, what was striking was the riveting of attention to life within Green Line Israel, and the relative indifference to the settlements and the settlers. These choices spoke eloquently to what the Israeli novelist David Grossman in his 2004 essay ‘Contemplations on Peace’ called ‘the flare of identity’ in Israel today, which he argued

reaches as far as the Green Line and no farther. Beyond this line the nature of the blaze changes: it either cools and melts away indifferently, alienated from what is occurring there, or becomes an exaggerated frenzy, among the settlers and the various messianic Jews. (Grossman, 2008)

When the protest organisers showed clips of the 1948 signing of the Declaration of Independence and laid claim to the founders’ old idea of ‘justice’ for the new movement, they spoke precisely to the ‘constraint of patriotism’, while bending it to progressive ends. Listen to Rachel Azaria, a protest leader:

We waited two thousand years for the miracle of the State of Israel. We won’t give up. We won’t let them take our country. We will stay in our tents. And we will demonstrate week after week, until they return our country to us.

And when the organisers read out those verses of the Declaration of Independence that proclaim the country’s commitment to equality for all Israel’s citizens, just as they welcomed to the stage Saed Kashua, an Arab-Israeli writer, to wild applause, perhaps they expressed the ‘flare’ of Israeli identity that will yet carry the future.

 

References

Barnett, A. (2011) ‘The long and quick of revolution’, Open Democracy 16.12.2011, at http://www.opendemocracy.net/anthony-barnett/long-and-quick-of-revolution.

Grossman, D. (2008) Writing in the Dark: Essays on Literature and Politics, Farrar, Strauss and Giroux.

Renewal