It may be time for the Palestinians to consider the Ghost Dance. No one else cares enough to fight for them. Intervention is unthinkable; hypocritical non-intervention is the order of the day. It's clear that Israel is going to exterminate them down to a negligible population of aboriginals, perhaps trapped on tiny reservations and granted casino rights--or just keep right on steamrolling until every Arab inside those ridiculous 1948 British borders is dead.
If you're not up on it, the Ghost Dance was sort of a "goodbye, us" from the dark aboriginal tribes of North America. A Paiute with a sadly westernized name (Jack Wilson) started it in the late 19th century, when two things had become massively apparent:
1) The genocide was not going to stop;
2) The well-equipped white invaders were not going to leave;
3) No other country in the world cared enough to send a modern military in to stop the invaders and help the natives;
4) No amount of massive, world-historical hypocrisy, however well-documented, however staggering and lopsided, however flagrantly inhuman, was going to reverse what Columbus had begun.
And Palestine is certainly there. It was certainly there a long time ago, perhaps, even, on Day 1 of the attack. Maybe even before the slaughter began; when the first Zionists were discussing National Socialism as a means of encouraging white European populations to migrate into the oil lands.
So the Paiute turned traditional tribal circle dances into a Ghost Dance. Jack Wilson began traveling around the country, telling Native Americans that if they did not drink, and if they overlooked tribal divisions and embraced brotherhood, the white invaders would stop massacring the tribes, and eventually go home--and the tribes would be reunited with their murdered ancestors.
It was a last gasp, of course. Certainly some people believed in it, but more likely it was like that moment when you hold someone's hand and tell them that the doctors said they'd made a mistake on their scans and the cancer was retreating, just because you wanted to give them one last night of restful sleep before they passed away. Give the Indians some credit. It was a confessional; an absolution; a ritual of acceptance; a plea to the Powers That Be that the passage on could be easier. It also won the historical war against the white invaders. Because the Ghost Dance was so tragic a movement, it proved for once and for all the hopelessness of the tribes' plight, and settled forever the question of Who Was Responsible, just in case anyone would have been stupid enough to see innocence in Columbus or Netanyahu, Cortes or Ben-Gurion.
Really, what else are the Palestinians going to do? Fight back? Even every single one of them suddenly resisting in coordination would fail. Make a plea to the international community? The international community doesn't care. Everyone was eager to sign on to a war to save the Kurds from Saddam Hussein, but no one wants to save a Palestinian.
Even some Palestinians don't. Just you wait--in a hundred years, when the genocide is "over," some half-Arab, half-Jewish Obama-equivalent will be the Prime Minister of Israel, and he will mastermind the invasion of Egypt, or something, while simultaneously assuaging ordinary liberal Israelites that their lamentable century-old racism against Arabs has been solved, since, like, they voted for the half-Arab guy. How ignoble, how treacherous, how truly vile that Sambo will be, selling out his own blood to make old murder look shiny and new.
The burglars have kicked in the door, taken over the living room and the kitchen and the dining room, shot the family dog, cleared the fridge, raped the daughters, tortured the sons, moved up the stairs, taken over the spare bedroom, and the last two Palestinians are huddled in the guest closet, occasionally flinging a fork. It's time to come to terms with things. It's time to dance in a circle and pray that pure living and brotherhood will reunite you with your ancestors, because there's a better chance of that working out than there is of the white people deciding to spare the rest of the family and let them keep any of the house. It's time for the Ghost Dance.