Abdaljawad Omar
Mondoweiss / January 24, 2025
The recent ceasefire celebrations with Hamas fighters in the heart of Gaza City exposed Israel’s military failures, and also showed how Palestinian joy is a direct affront to the petty gods who seek to rule over us.
The most recent student council elections at Birzeit University took place in May 2023. Unlike typical campus governance exercises, these elections transcend their immediate academic context to mirror the broader political landscape of Palestine. They bring together factions affiliated with the Left, Islamist movements, and Fatah, all competing for approximately 50 seats on the council. The process is intensely ideological, capturing the societal divisions and aspirations that extend far beyond the university’s gates. At the heart of this competition lies the highly performative and theatrical debates, which have become the defining centerpiece of these elections.
These debates offered moments of ironic humour, with each political bloc aiming to outwit its rivals, often by resurfacing contentious past statements or exposing inconsistencies in their opponents’ ideologies. The debates unfolded as a tragicomedy, illuminating the complex and often painful history of Palestinian political movements—their contradictions, fractures, and transformations—yet somehow reframed with a light-heartedness that elicited cautious smiles from the audience. One of the most striking aspects of the debates was the fleeting, almost disarming camaraderie that emerged when members of rival factions couldn’t suppress a grin at a particularly sharp jab aimed at their own bloc—a brief acknowledgment of shared truths amidst the competition.
The final debate was held in the university’s multipurpose sports court, which had been transformed into a symbolic arena. Each bloc’s behaviour during the debate mirrored the political culture and symbolism of its parent movement. For example, the Progressive Democratic Bloc positioned itself both literally and ideologically at the center of the court. Acting as a mediating force between the dominant factions of Hamas and Fatah, this bloc aimed to project itself as a “voice of conscience” beyond the entrenched polarization. Its physical placement on the court amplified its visibility, emphasizing its ideological stance as an alternative, despite its relatively small numbers. The bold red flags of the Left became focal points in the debate, asserting a presence that outpaced its actual strength.
Fatah’s Shabiba, or youth movement, revealed a subtler dynamic during the event. Beneath their outward unity, quiet rivalries simmered as members vied for visibility behind the lead debater or sought a position on the stage. These internal tensions reflected a broader fragmentation within Fatah itself, with regional factions and local rivalries across the West Bank playing out in microcosm on the debate stage.
The Islamic Bloc, representing Hamas, took a calculated and methodical approach. Members arranged themselves with precision, forming a geometric arc that strategically optimized acoustics and amplified their collective voice. This disciplined formation ensured their chants reverberated across the court, enhancing their debaters’ presence. Their coordinated attire, flags, and the aesthetic of Islamic garb served to further solidify their visual identity and strategic messaging.
This careful attention to symbolic detail is emblematic of the engineering and science students who gravitate toward the Islamic Bloc’s message of piety and conservatism. Their deliberate planning was reflected not only in the debates but also in the aftermath of the recent Gaza ceasefire. Fighters emerged with a similar sense of calculated symbolism: military fatigues, precise tactical movements, and the untouched white pickup trucks that became emblematic of their disciplined operations. These displays were interwoven with scenes of non-combatant Palestinians expressing pride and relief after enduring relentless bombardment for over a year.
The release of Israeli prisoners in the northern Gaza Strip, particularly in Saraya Square—once a site symbolizing Israeli military dominance during the early days of their invasion of Gaza City—carried profound symbolic meaning. This event was a deliberate statement by Hamas, showcasing their strength and resilience while exposing Israel’s failure to locate the prisoners despite its prolonged and intense military campaign. The attention to detail in this spectacle underscored Hamas’s broader narrative: one of enduring resistance and strategic prowess. The message was directed not only at Gaza’s population but also at Israeli society, highlighting the gaps in Israel’s military and intelligence capabilities.
Celebration upends Israeli narrative
The reception in Israel to the fully uniformed Al-Qassam fighters—disciplined, organized, and attentive to aesthetic, political, and symbolic dimensions—was met with a heavy heart. Here was Israel, having unleashed its entire arsenal of American-made weapons, only to fall short. Its leaders face pursuit by the International Criminal Court (ICC), its actions have horrified people worldwide, and its sadistic, almost festive approach to violence has rendered Israel a moral pariah. Despite risking its soldiers and devastating Gaza, Al-Qassam fighters emerged with white pick-ups, military garb, arms in hand, and organizing a handover ceremony as crowds chanted for resistance.
This spectacle exposed the gap between Israel’s inflated claims of success in Gaza and the persistent reality on the ground. For months, Israel had touted Hamas as nearly defeated, with its military prowess supposedly decimating thousands of fighters. Yet, despite these claims, Hamas remained defiant, and the narrative of Israeli victory crumbled.
Central to this moment was the fact that it unfolded under Israel’s most right-wing government, one that had promised a “final and decisive solution” to its issues with the Palestinians. This government pushed for new Jewish settlements in Gaza, the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians, and the silencing of Palestinian claims to historical Palestine. Israel, with its extreme approach, went all-in, but the Palestinians did not surrender.
Israel had bet that time—and the accumulation of pain—would break Palestinian resolve. However, this assumption was met with unwavering resistance, revealing the disconnect between Israel’s promises and the grim reality it faced.
This discrepancy is significant for several reasons. The right-wing faction in Israel had hoped for a perpetual war that would destroy Gaza, clear the West Bank, and expel millions of Palestinians. This vision of victory remains unfulfilled. The government promised its people that present pain would eventually end, and that peace would mean not concessions, but a life free from conflict, wars, and the Palestinian question.
However, the reality has been different. Despite extreme measures, Israel has failed to silence Palestinian resistance. The right-wing government is now seeking ways to return to open conflict, prevent a meaningful ceasefire, and continue its goals of settlement expansion, ethnic cleansing, and silencing Palestinian claims. To achieve this, violence in areas like the West Bank is kept constant, ensuring the strategy of escalation remains in play, or at least some semblance of this violence.
Disturbing joy
Before the ceasefire was declared, Palestinians on social media protested the airing of an Al-Jazeera Arabic program produced by Tamer Mishal, one of the most prominent Palestinian journalists. The program was intended to feature never-before-seen footage of Palestinian resistance successes throughout the war with Gaza. However, Palestinians, both from Gaza and elsewhere, urged Al Jazeera to postpone the broadcast until after the ceasefire had been officially declared.
The logic behind many Palestinians’ request to Al-Jazeera was to avoid provoking the “sensitive bully,” namely Israel. In this context, the “bully” is not only defined by its overwhelming force but also by its deep insecurity—its need to assert dominance, even in the face of its own contradictions. For Palestinians, the concern was that airing such footage could intensify Israel’s sense of vulnerability, triggering a disproportionate response at a delicate moment when a ceasefire was within reach. For those in Gaza, the end of war was not to be disturbed in any way. While this concern might have been an exaggeration, Israel has not failed to meet the expectations of Palestinians.
The images of victory signs in Gaza, and the unity displayed between resistance and its people, paired with the celebration of prisoners being released from Israeli jails in the West Bank, and the collective sigh of relief that Israel’s genocidal campaign had, for now, come to a halt, would soon be met with a total blockade.
The hundreds of checkpoints scattered across the West Bank would form a suffocating cordon, tightening the grip on Palestinian mobility, communication, and daily life. Palestinians were stranded at checkpoints, and their question over why Israel installed this blockade would find its answer, in the inability of Israelis to stomach Palestinian joy.
The Arabic word “تنغيص” refers to causing distress, discomfort, or disruption, particularly in a way that interrupts peace or joy. It is derived from the root “ن-غ-ص,” which connotes a sense of disturbance or making something unpleasant or less enjoyable. The term is often used metaphorically to describe actions or circumstances that spoil someone’s sense of well-being or tranquillity.
Most Palestinians stranded at these checkpoints understood almost instinctively that the closure served no practical purpose. It was not about security or control in any material sense but stemmed from an Israeli inability to bear the sight of Palestinian joy—a joy that is neither simple nor unburdened. This joy, marked by deep scars of loss and the echoes of pain, defies the occupier’s carefully curated image of domination. It is a joy that emerges in resistance. The checkpoints, in their brutal banality, are a testament to the colonizer’s inability to stomach such defiance: a defiance that comes not from weapons but from life’s insistence on flourishing through smiles.
The message of Al-Saraya coupled with the joy of reuniting with prisoners and the collective sense of relief at the temporary halt of war—was met with three successive actions designed to suppress that momentary joy.
The first unfolded in the village of Funduq, where Jewish settlers, emboldened by the state’s tacit encouragement of violence, organized a pogrom. In the chaos, an Israeli officer mistakenly identified settlers as Palestinians and critically shot two settlers in what became a “friendly fire” incident. While parts of the village were burned, this act of internal miscalculation exposed the raw, unrestrained nature of settler aggression, even when it backfired on its perpetrators.
The second was Israel’s initiation of yet another military operation in Jenin, titled “Iron Wall.” This operation followed the Palestinian Authority’s deliberate erosion of organized resistance through a 45-day siege on the Jenin Refugee Camp. Ostensibly aimed at reasserting military control, the operation sought to do more than demonstrate supremacy. It was a calculated move to sustain the Israeli right-wing’s narrative of perpetual war—a narrative that justifies continued oppression, land expropriation, and settlement expansion. At its core, this operation aimed to extinguish the joy emanating from Palestinian celebrations in Gaza over their resistance and the release of prisoners through an exchange agreement.
The third act of repression was the total closure of the West Bank, a calculated and deliberate move to disrupt the flow of life itself by slowing and shutting down 900 checkpoints. An act of manufactured chaos, where soldiers shut down gates, erected makeshift roadblocks, and turned daily commutes into hours of stagnant frustration.
How we endure
The meticulously orchestrated display at Al-Saraya had one element the planners had not anticipated: the unrestrained outpouring of joy from the thousands of Palestinians who gathered to witness it. Despite the armed movement’s carefully choreographed presentation meant as a message to Israeli society, a reminder of the gulf that separates rhetoric of the right-wing government from the reality of enduring capacity to resist. This unscripted wave of collective emotion represented, paradoxically, both a triumph and a challenge for the organizers.
This joy, sparked by the temporary cessation of war, carried profound significance. It was not merely relief from the bombing but the palpable satisfaction of witnessing Israel concede to an agreement it had resisted since May. This joy was not confined to the relentlessly bombed streets of Gaza; it transcended the borders of the besieged enclave, resonating across historic Palestine. It echoed in the hearts of Palestinians in villages and cities alike, uniting them in a collective moment of triumph, however fleeting.
A thread that connects the debates at Birzeit, the release of Israeli prisoners in Al-Saraya, and the joy of seeing prisoners reunite with their families is the undeniable reality that our joy is a direct affront to the petty gods who seek to rule over us. Our smiles must be interrupted through the use of techniques of “تنغيص,” including pogroms in Qalqilya, large-scale military operations repeatedly named and renamed with excessive imagery of “Iron,” and checkpoints deliberately closed to create endless traffic jams and frustrating waits. Here, perhaps, we must grant the Israelis their unrelenting will: the will to disturb, to provoke anger, to inflict grievance, to mete out punishment, to kill, to maim, and to act with monstrous cruelty.
But for now, the smiles stand out as a testament to how we endure—sometimes by not taking ourselves too seriously, as in the debates, other times by being almost too organized, too calculated, but most often through the spontaneous outpouring of momentary joy at surviving and emerging unbroken. This is especially true when dealing with a highly sensitive bully.
Abdaljawad Omar is a Palestinian scholar and theorist whose work focuses on the politics of resistance, decolonization, and the Palestinian struggle
