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Recognition of Palestine: Historic Gesture or Too Late? 223

Aziz Daouda, 1 d.

- World Politics - History -

2 min read.

The decision this week by several Western powers to recognize the State of Palestine could have been hailed as a founding moment in contemporary history. Coordinated and announced almost in unison, it seems to mark a decisive milestone in a conflict that has torn the Middle East apart for more than seven decades. Yet, between symbolic significance and concrete impotence, this gesture raises a dilemma: is it an act that will make history or a missed opportunity due to its tardiness? A recognition long awaited and especially delayed for numerous reasons, more or less understandable. Since the proclamation of the State of Palestine by the PLO in 1988, at the behest of the most alert Arab countries, with Morocco leading the way, marking the transition from an armed struggle bordering on terrorism to a reliable entity, a political interlocutor and partner, more than 140 countries, mainly from the Global South, have taken the step of recognition. It is the Western powers, particularly European ones, that were slow to align. Yet, their political, diplomatic, and financial weight could have, in the 1990s or 2000s, influenced the intense negotiations then underway and given substance to the two-state solution promoted by the Oslo Accords. By choosing to act today, in a context where the prospect of a viable Palestinian state seems more distant than ever, many facts having shifted on the ground, the Western powers appear to recognize more the legitimate cause of a people than they make it effective. The Oslo Accords have been bypassed and are now worthless. What remains is the symbolic weight of recognition. However, it would be reductive to minimize the significance of this gesture. In the diplomatic arena, official recognition could be a major symbolic weapon: it would confer additional legitimacy to Palestine, strengthen its positions in international bodies, and create a political precedent. For Israel, it sends a clear message: the patience of its traditional allies may have eroded in the face of the deadlock of the status quo and the continued expansion of settlements in particular. Unfortunately, it also reveals Western impotence. Beyond the symbol, the reality remains harsh: Gaza remains under siege, the West Bank fragmented, and East Jerusalem under constant tension. Without coercive mechanisms, without economic or diplomatic pressure, these announcements risk remaining a moral signal rather than an instrument of transformation. In other words, the West writes a declaration in history but without real control over its course, even though it is decisions by this same West that are at the origin of the extremely dramatic situation in the region. So, what will we talk about after time has taken its toll? Has the West marked or missed history? The recognition of the State of Palestine by these Western powers remains an important diplomatic step but also reveals a paradox: it comes at a time when the solution it was supposed to endorse seems more distant than ever. To make history is to act when action can change the fate of peoples. To miss it is to settle for observing, too late, what history has already decided. The ambiguity is there: this is a gesture heavy with symbols but weak in concrete effects, and above all, a meeting probably too late to have the historical impact it could have had two or three decades ago. It remains to address the Palestinians themselves: The numerous militant factions attached to unsavory causes and ideologies should cease their harmful game and all should align around an intelligent and achievable line. Palestinians should seize the opportunity with pragmatism and especially independence in their way of understanding, seeing, and acting. Perhaps this is the condition for these recognitions to weigh on the course of history.

My Generation 341

Boucharfou, 2 d.

- Society - Philosophy - Romance -

1.3 min read.

I come from a generation that never knew electronic tablets. Our tablets were wooden boards, where we copied verses from the Quran, learned them by heart, and recited them before the fqih. A single mistake meant the sting of a stick, followed by the laughter of classmates. We never begged our parents for toys. We built them ourselves—rolling bicycle rims with a stick for handlebars, imitating the roar of engines with our mouths, or crafting skateboards from wood and ball bearings. Our games were simple but endless: hide-and-seek, marbles, spinning tops. We did not need private lessons. Our teachers were masters of their craft, teaching with passion and devotion. We discovered poetry, crossword puzzles, and the joy of words at an early age. Respect for elders was a rule, and care for the younger ones a duty. Holidays were not for travel but for small jobs that earned us coins to buy books—Camus, Hugo, Balzac, and others that today’s youth rarely open. We lived fully in the real world, untouched by the virtual. Our joys were simple: an old movie at the cinema, a homemade sandwich of tomatoes and peppers, afternoons at the public pool, or slipping into a football match just before the final whistle. One black-and-white TV channel was enough, and a transistor radio was a treasure. We kissed our parents’ hands, respected teachers and policemen, shared our scholarship money with siblings, and saved schoolbags and textbooks for years. We listened to our grandmothers’ tales in the dark, our imaginations weaving monsters, heroes, and enchanted princesses. We knew the Solex, the 2CV, the Dauphine, the R8. We wrote letters and waited for the postman as if he were a hero. Pocket money came only at Eid, and our first driver’s license only after our first paycheck. We grew up running errands, carrying bread to the oven, water from the fountain, groceries on credit in the neighborhood shop. We learned values the hard way—through discipline, slaps, and the watchful eyes of parents, neighbors, and teachers. Elders were always right. We listened more than we spoke. That is why my generation is so different from today’s. We are often misunderstood, dismissed as outdated—even by our own children. Yet I cannot help but feel that those who never lived what we did have truly missed something. Dr. Fouad Bouchareb All rights reserved