Preamble
In 1929, after an Arab uprising in Palestine, the British rulers of the land instigated an inquiry into the causes, resulting in the Shaw Report, named after Sir Walter Shaw, who led the inquiry. The findings were controversial and did not do justice to all parties. In fact, it all seemed a bit of a fudge. One of the commission’s members, Henry Snell, a Labour politician, certainly felt so. He issued a ‘note of Reservations’, an addendum to the report, listing his disagreements. His summary was that “a few men of both races” should “meet together and explore the possibilities of common effort for agreed ends,” to work towards co-operation in establishing inter-racial justice and goodwill. “Out of their efforts would grow a reserve of understanding,” he proposed, “to unite Arabs and Jews in the task of building up a happy and prosperous land.”
Now, almost a century later, they finally got round to it …
Prologue
THE PROGRAMME:
** Top Secret ** United Nations initiative: DRS12/45x.
A closed study of a small focus group brought together to discuss the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and explore the possibilities for peace.
Location: Secret.
Time: Early 2025.
Participants:
Mohammad (Mo) Hussein (Muslim) – age 27, Haifa, Israel.
Abigail (Abi) Weiss (Jew) – age 25, Jerusalem, Israel.
Jaqueline (Jax) Botham (Atheist/Marxist) – age 72, Highgate, UK.
Joseph (Joe) Parsons (Christian) – age 74, Cambridge, UK.
Convenor: Newt Swinton – age 44, Euston, UK
This may well be our last chance. Throw all the resources you have at this one. D.B.
Will do. I think we are good to go. H.G.
Then let’s do it … and may the ‘gods’ be with us all. D.B.
Chapter one
Four strangers sit in anticipation, ready for battle. There will be no quarter given. They are to fight for the truth as they see it. It will be brutal.
The room is square, with just a single window, slightly ajar but shuttered. The floor is expensively carpeted, and the ceiling is high. A few paintings adorn the wall opposite the window, all reproductions of the Masters. A single wooden podium in the centre of the room faces four desks spread apart in a semi-circle. Newt, the convener, sits behind the podium on a high chair. Behind him is a large circular area, surrounded by what looks like projector lenses, from floor to ceiling. Further back, on the wall, is a huge screen. Newt is expressionless, perhaps a little anxious. He has a challenging task ahead of him and breathes deeply to centre himself. The four candidates sit opposite him. They too show little expression, perhaps it is too early yet to emerge from behind their masks. Not a word has been spoken yet. The atmosphere is tense, as they all wait for the beginning of whatever is to come. It comes.
The lights in the room dim slightly and a growing jarring noise presses in from all four corners. There is a sudden activity in front of them all and the projector lenses flicker into life. Newt turns round to face it. It is the latest in holographic technology, the holo-bubble. It fades in and they are presented with a vast, noisy and colourful vista. Pandemonium, chanting, singing and shouting; discordant at first until things settle and images gradually appear that match the sounds. Firstly, a noisy chanting crowd pass through from right to left along a diagonal, a colourful sea of humanity brandishing Palestinian flags and banners declaring care for Palestinians, whilst heaping abuse on Israel. This is quickly followed on the other diagonal, from left to right, by a more sedate march of pro-Israel supporters, with their blue and white flags and gentler chanting. As both processions obliviously dissect each other over the heads of our small gathering, further images pop into view, tiny vignettes to add flavour to the developing narrative. A university sit-in, with angry students chanting from their make-shift tents. Noisy crowds outside the Israeli Embassy. An unseemly fracas in a TV studio. Shouty YouTube and TikTok videos, with extreme opinions from both sides of the debate. The overall message is clear. This whole situation is, in the words of Oliver Hardy, a fine mess, although what he actually said was here’s a nice mess. There is nothing nice or fine about this mess, though.
Newt stands up. With a gentle wave of his hand the tableau freezes and there is a sudden silence. He speaks, with a curiously high-pitched voice.
“Scenes from the last couple of weeks, Ladies and Gentlemen.”
He looks around from face to face. No one speaks. He continues.
“Much excitement, eh?”
Jax can’t stay silent. She is quite agitated. “And with good cause too. Hundreds of thousands of people can’t all be wrong. I’d be there too, if I weren’t … here.”
Joe speaks up. His voice is mainly controlled, but there is a tinge of emotion. “Don’t forget there were others there too … supporting the … other side.”
The other two are silent. In fact, they both seem embarrassed, as if they are witnessing a fight being fought on their behalf, by proxy verbal warriors. Neither feel able to say anything at this point. They steal glances at each other, not difficult as they are sitting opposite to each other. Abi smiles wryly. Mo stays expressionless.
Newt looks at them both in turn and decides not to draw them in at this point. He speaks.
“It’s the biggest issue of our day … Israel and Palestine … and it’s why we are all here today, Ladies and Gentlemen. This is a safe place … an open forum … a place where we can speak our minds without fear of … well, let’s just say … it’s only the five of us here together … five voices … to talk about issues that others would rather not speak about … without emotions and …”
“… I’m afraid I have to stop you there … Newt,” says Jax. “We would not be … human … with real emotions … if the sights we have seen in Gaza and Lebanon do not move us …”
Joe isn’t going to let this go unchallenged.
“Of course, we are all moved … not sure what you’re implying here … but … we all know when this started.”
“1948?” Jax is being provocative. Joe takes the bait with a passion that seems incompatible with his grey, ordered, austere features.
“October the seventh … you …”
He stops himself before mouthing an insult, which would have been totally out of character. He had promised himself that this woman, Jax, would not rile him. She had a fiery reputation as a very vocal activist and is already out to bait him. He considers himself unflappable. As a seasoned teacher and lecturer, he has seen it all, he thinks. His face has reddened and he is biting his lip. All is quiet for a few seconds and then, the scene changes.
The scenes are immediately recognisable. October 7th, 2023. The carnage at the music festival in the desert, with the abandoned cars. The devastation at the kibbutzim. Scenes that had shocked the world, paralysed a nation and instigated a bloody war. The sights and sounds combined to produce what must have been torture for Abi, the Israeli girl. This is heartless, thinks Newt, though he is powerless to affect the narrative, he is just a facilitator not a controller. Abi tries to hold it together, but her lips quiver and tears start flowing. She bows her head. Mo looks on, his face now slightly animated, a picture of compassion. Joe is quietly shedding a few tears too. The only person who seems unaffected is Jax, who appears to be fighting hard not to show any emotions.
“Yes, yes … we’ve seen this before. Perhaps too much. They had it coming …”
Her words are rudely interrupted by Joe, who can’t hold back his anger this time. He attempts to rise from his seat but fails. What they didn’t know, though one suspects that Newt was privy to this, was that a restraining force field was at play around the seating area. They are all effectively trapped in their chairs and Joe is the first to realise this.
“What, the …” he cries. “We are … prisoners? What kind of madness …?”
“Yes, it is a bit extreme,” says Newt. “But they really want us to see this through … we are actually … trapped … until they, someone … decides that we’re free to move around. Bad form, I say, but …”
“You knew about this, Newt?” hisses Jax. “How can we trust you now? What other surprises do they … you … have for us?”
“Trust me … you must trust me … without your trust I think we may be here a long time … and … no Jax … there are no more surprises of this kind and, if there are, they will be a surprise to me, too.” He knows full well that there will be plenty of surprises … of a different kind but decides not to mention that yet.
Jax nods reluctantly, but Joe’s anger has only been delayed, not extinguished.
“They had it coming?” He speaks these words slowly and deliberately, facing Jax.
Jax is unfazed.
“Too right … it had been coming for seventy-five years. As I said … 1948 …”
“… 1948? You mean the totally legal, United Nations approved, formation of the State of Israel … accepted by the world, apart from the Arab neighbours … who promptly invaded it from all sides. Tell me, Jax. Who were the aggressors then?”
“Looks like you need a history lesson, professor?”
“Professor?”
“Look at you … with your neatly trimmed beard, your carefully combed hair, your half-rimmed glasses, your … earnest expression.”
“Newt! Can you …?” exclaims Joe, pleading with the convener to intervene.
Newt interrupts. “I believe we must set some ground rules here, Ladies and Gentlemen. My fault for not bringing this up earlier.”
He reads from some notes before him.
“Short list really … No personal insults.”
There’s a silence as he looks up.
“And?” asks Joe.
“That’s it,” adds Newt. “No personal insults. That’s all it has here. Apart from that, you are free to speak on whatever is on your mind.”
He holds up a scrap of paper. He continues.
“I think the intention is that as long as we are … civilised … to each other … then we can feel free to speak freely without fear of personal attack.”
“Well, that’s gone well so far hasn’t it?” says Joe, with a hint of cynicism.
“Don’t see ‘professor’ as an insult. Quite the reverse really”, adds Jax.
“OK then,” says Joe, “Wizened old witch!”
“I can take the ‘witch’ part … I’m used to that, but … ‘wizened’?”
She stares at him, but there is unexpected mirth in her eyes. She is not as insulted as the others imagine. It seems that she’s had worse thrown at her in her life of activism. This insult is probably quite mild by comparison. Newt latches onto this temporary thawing.
“So, we have the Professor … and the Witch then. OK with you two?”
They both shrug their shoulders. The other two look on indifferently, as if they are thinking, let these dinosaurs play their games and get them out of their system.
“And Jax … the witch … is right … we need a history lesson. But … it is not up to Jax or, any of you to give it. We must arrive at a history that we can all … if possible … agree on … even if there are minor disagreements.”
“There can be only one … true history,” interjects Joe.
“Correct,” adds Newt. “So, let’s see if we can find it then.”