Omar Dweik: ‘My rebellious side is rooted in Palestine’

As a twenty-something, Omar Dweik, the son of a Palestinian father and a Dutch mother, often felt like a ‘foreigner who should keep his mouth shut.’ But since Oct. 7, 2023, national media have been asking him to interpret the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. At the University, the subject is still sensitive, notes the PhD researcher. ‘The academic freedom to publish about the conflict is being suppressed.’

Lees dit interview in het Nederlands.

It is the fall of 2022, as Omar Dweik (30) begins his PhD research in the lee on how Israeli and Palestinian youth activists use algorithms to spread their messages. By means of anonymous accounts, he maps topics of conversation, political beliefs, and language, looking for the building blocks of their way of thinking.

Sometimes he stumbles upon an interesting discussion between the two groups. But then on Oct. 7, 2023, armed supporters of the Palestinian militant movement Hamas break through the border fence between Gaza and Israel and kill 1.200 Israelis.

As the violence on the groundescalates, platforms like Instagram and TikTok are flooded with opinions. Dweik decides to focus on trendinghashtags on X, he says, in a fluorescent-lit study room at the Tilburg School of Humanities and Digital Sciences.

In the three hours we talk, he regularly massages his shoulder muscles. ‘Yesterday I spent the whole evening on the couch with neck pains and headaches because I freeze up due to all the horrific images. My stress level is constantly high.’

What do you notice about the online discourse?

‘Huge polarization. On social media, the Palestine-Israel conflict is a soccer game. Everything my team does is good and everything their team does is bad. The discussion has completely disappeared because terms like child killer or terrorist hugger evoke more engagement than nuanced conversation.

‘That has real life consequences. The deaths in Gaza and in Israel can be directly linked to the hardening in public opinion. Both sides glorify violence against civilians. That makes a plea for a cease-fire more difficult than ever.

‘One of the most striking trends I found was the like retweet post. ‘If you’re pro-Israel, retweet’ or ‘If you’re pro-Palestine press like.’ That someone in the midst of this tragedy is collecting likes and retweets, I find to be the lowest point of humanity. That you start polarizing, for the hollow victory of a dopamine shock of a few seconds.’

What have you discovered so far?

‘One of the findings of my research is that people respond online to what they think is doing well in algorithms, what professor of media studies, Taina Bucher, refers to as algorithmic imaginary. But what they post online does not always match what they say offline.

‘Hananya Naftali, for example, is an important Israeli activist who sends propagandistic populist messages into the world all day long. But I know from his old profiles that he used to be a lot more moderate and nuanced. So to what extent is he doing this just to make money? There are quite a few political influencers who do this as a profession and not out of ideological activism.’

Does that insight mean you advocate staying away from social media in favor of traditional news media?

‘On the contrary, I think the ‘mainstream media’ are moving toward social media and polarizing because they are competing with social media as a platform where people get their information. The major media platforms have moved away from factual reporting. Platforms such as Al Jazeera and The Times of Israel bring completely different perspectives on the situation, so as a reader you don’t know what is accurate or not.

‘On the way to school, soldiers checked our papers’

‘Then, as a medium, you are protesting more than offering news. I don’t have a problem with an analysis differing, but when reporting is so fundamentally different that you can’t even compare two newspapers in terms of content, I think ’traditional media’ are too concerned with the effects of reporting and too little with their journalistic task.

‘You see this in the U.S. with MSNBC News and Fox News, who put such a spin on the situation that they become political arguments packaged as news. That’s what I want to explore further in my research: how does online activism from both camps affect the perception of the conflict here in the West?’

How will you further shape your research?

‘In June, I hope to do field research in Palestine and Israel to see how activists live on a daily basis. Are they 40-something people living in the basement of their parents’ houses or are they articulate young people? I want to become part of the lives of both groups.

‘Ideally, I want them to be completely blank, especially about their fantasies for the future. Everyone has a vision of how the conflict should be resolved, but how do they get there?

For Omar Dweik, the conflict between Palestinians and Israelis forms the backdrop of his youth.

He is born in France, where his Dutch mother studies history and his Palestinian father neurosurgery. After a year, the family left for Al-Ram, now a suburb of Jerusalem but, at the time, still ‘a hamlet of a few houses dumped on a hill,’ Dweik says. ‘My father wanted to go back; all his family and friends lived there. It was just after the Oslo Accords, there was optimism between Palestinians and Israelis.’

As a child, what did you see of the relationship between Israelis and Palestinians?

‘In Jerusalem there was rock-hard segregation. We were somewhat more integrated; my Palestinian uncle worked as an educator for an Israeli school group. But the bulk of the population didn’t see the other side. We were told as children: you shouldn’t go to the Jewish sides of town, it’s dangerous. On the way to school we had to go through a checkpoint where soldiers checked our papers; that made a big impression.

‘There was a giga difference between the two sides, and there still is today. The Palestinian-The Arab side is quite traditional, with souks. On the Israeli side, you see more pomp and circumstance and Western department stores. The Israeli side is much richer than the Arab side, even though the whole city is under Israeli control. So the segregation exists not only in a religious sense, and in a social and cultural sense, but is also evident in government investment.’

In 2002, the Second Palestinian uprising began. You were eight at the time. What do you remember from that time?

‘There were elections in Israel. As a political stunt, the right-wing candidate from the same party as Benjamin Netanyahu walked with soldiers across the Temple Mount, to the Al-Aqsa Mosque. For the Palestinians, this was a total provocation. They felt: this is our territory; this city does not belong to you!

‘That day I was at my brother’s birthday party. The riots broke out so quickly that we had to rush home. From then on, the violence was everywhere. I saw tanks driving down the street. My father wanted to stay, but my mother wanted to leave. There was a curfew, the schools were mostly closed.

‘My brother and I often sat for hours playing with my father at the hospital or with my mother at the embassy. Dweik laughs, ‘The other day I happened to hear that the turtles we had secretly released there had multiplied in large numbers afterwards.’

What did you know about the Netherlands before you came here?

‘We already knew the Netherlands from visits to my grandparents. That was fun, we learned to ride bikes and skate. The move was not a big shock. We were given a heartwarming welcome. Parents at school took us to the library; we were invited to classmates’ houses.

‘To me, that was the essence of Dutch society: embracing a family and thus enabling integration. I think it’s very unfortunate that the mood in the Netherlands has changed since the Syrian refugee crisis in 2015.’

Did you have to get used to things?

‘In Palestine, a child’s life is not as contained as here. With my Dutch cousins, we did board games, it was quiet and good fun. In Palestine, I was mostly outside fooling around with friends, at a kind of dump of white goods and fantastic junk. A Walhalla for a child. In Palestine, there are hardly any extracurricular activities, and there is less parental supervision.

‘You have to convince people that there is an alternative. You don’t do that by punishing an entire population’

‘If you did something naughty, there was always an aunt or a neighbor to come and correct you. Things are rougher in Arab culture than they are here. I remember when we had just arrived in Holland and went to after-school care. My brother and I were quite wild; we were often pushing and pulling. They thought that horsing about was a risk. Once I accidentally broke my brother’s tooth because I threw a rock at him.’

In Belfast you got your Master’s degree in International Relations with honors, but I gather you did not have this urge to study in your teens.

‘I was a horribly bad high school student. I dropped out twice, and almost got kicked out of school once. My rebellious side is rooted in Palestine. You are surrounded there by stories of resistance and standing up to power. There is graffiti on every wall.

‘Like many Palestinians, I had a strong sense of justice, but for me it was also accompanied by an unhealthy laziness and criticism of the school system—the golden troika to get into trouble. I listened to punk a lot, bands like Bad Religion, Anti-Flag, Zebrahead. That music had a lot of energy and rebellious lyrics.

‘I especially liked the song Prayer of the Refugee by Rise Against, because it described a major problem within American culture, in which the strong crush the weak. They gave a critical but hopeful counterpoint.’

In his senior year, Dweik channels his critical attitude in the participation council. At The Hague University of Applied Sciences, he starts studying international law. ‘That was more of the same for me.’ His Bachelor’s thesis deals with the definition of terrorism, using Hamas as an example.

‘It’s an analysis from the moment they took over Gaza in 2007. In 2014, when I started that thesis, it was already clear that the conflict would explode at some point. Because the Israelis wanted to control Gaza so much, an explosive situation was created. That is the security paradox: too much security leads to a lack of security.

‘If you want to demilitarize Hamas, you have to convince people that there is a better alternative than Hamas. You don’t do that by punishing an entire population for the actions of a militant movement that came to power before 50% of Gazans were born.’

You grew up on the Arab side of Jerusalem, but later gained Israeli friends.

‘In 2014, I was 20 at the time, I had to go back to Jerusalem to replace my ID card. Jews who grew up in Manhattan get their residence permits mailed to them. For Palestinians, different rules apply. I had to live in Jerusalem for six months to prove that I have contacts and pay taxes there.

‘In fact, I had to prove that I am a Palestinian to a government that I see as illegally occupying my territory. That affects you deeply if, like me, you grew up in that region and recognize Israel’s right to exist. From then on, I became interested in the Israeli attitude to the conflict. I wanted to know: why do they want us gone?’

Did you find out?

‘Well, it’s nuanced. Much of the Israeli population is totally ignorant of how oppressive the measures are for Palestinian society. Israelis genuinely believe it is necessary for their security. That insight made me see it less as a personal attack.’

In 2015, you said in the Volkskrant, ‘Only if we work together and I don’t have to keep my mouth shut because I’m supposedly not from here, but am seen as an equal citizen, can we join forces and find a solution to the violence.’

‘That was just after the attack on the satirical magazine Charlie Hebdo. I published an article in One World Magazine, arguing that profound discrimination against Arabs did exist in the Netherlands. Making a caricature of the Prophet Muhammad is a blatant violation of freedom of religion in order to maximize your own right to freedom of expression.

‘But such a caricature is a form of extremism that we in Western society can apparently live with. I got wind of this from Dutch people around me and in on social media: ‘You ought to shut up, you are not from here.’ While I am educated in the Netherlands, pay taxes, and participate in the labor market. But still it was: you are an immigrant criticizing from outside. As if I want to Islamize Dutch society.’

You never quite belong?

‘Exactly. The undertone is: if you don’t agree with me you will always be the immigrant. Then you can get very angry, when you have made every effort to integrate and speak Dutch. I recently had a discussion with a Dutchman who said, ‘We don’t discriminate in the Netherlands. I have never experienced that.’

‘Exactly, because you have blond hair and blue eyes. The world of experience of immigrants in the Netherlands is totally unknown to the Dutchman. Both parties become entrenched and know less and less about each other. Deep down, 99% of people want the same thing: to see your children grow up and have a stable job.

‘But if someone is religious or an immigrant, that is seen as the essence of that person. Whereas a society functions not because we all agree with each other but because we try to find common ground alongside those differences.’

What is the advantage of having two identities?

‘I was raised quadrilingual. With my father I spoke French until I was about eight years old and then Arabic, with my mother I speak Dutch. We were in a bilingual school where we were taught in Arabic and English. My background makes me more culturally sensitive. With my family in Jerusalem, I am more diplomatic than with my Dutch family.

‘I was raised a Muslim, but I have never practiced. I am quite a hard atheist. When my family asks if I will join them in prayer, I say, ‘No, not today.’ They understand that hint very well. There is mutual respect: I don’t go against it, and they don’t try to persuade me.’

Do you ever feel homesick for Jerusalem?

‘I feel a deep connection to the city. I always tell my girlfriend: as soon as there’s a peace agreement, I’ll pack my bags and go live there. It’s a much warmer culture. If you are invited to dinner you get a fifteen-course meal with baklava for dessert. People tend to help each other faster.

‘I think we can learn a lot in the West from the cultural aspects of being Muslim. Solidarity with your fellow humans, charity, taking care of each other. For example, I once lost my parents in downtown Jerusalem. That is one big souk full of markets, crammed with people. A labyrinth of streets.

‘Once the conflict is inside you, it will never let you go’

‘During that period, tension began to rise between Palestinians and Israelis. Kidnappings were frequent. I knew my parents would never find me. I walked to the big gate outside the old city and sat down on a step. A shoe vendor recognized me and asked what my name was.

‘In Palestinian culture, you inherit your father’s name as your second name and your grandfather’s as your third name. So I said, ‘I am Omar Aref Subhi Dweik.’ Subhi Dweik, he thought, I know him. He called my grandfather and he came and got me right away.’

Did your childhood in Palestine have much impact on your life choices?

‘Certainly, I wonder if I would be doing the same thing I am doing now if I had not been a Palestinian. Once the conflict is inside you, it will never let you go. It will continue to affect you.’

How easy is it then to remain objective?

‘I think I have a more nuanced view precisely because of my background. Because I know people entangled on both sides, I feel empathy for both groups.

‘I do try to keep emotional distance, by describing what is happening, and analyzing how we got into that situation. I want to use the knowledge of both sides to see how on earth we can move forward.’

In the days following the Hamas attack, you addressed Radio 1 and NOS Nieuwsuur as a ‘Middle East expert,’ You were even asked when the war would end, as if you possessed a crystal ball. As a scientist, do you feel any discomfort about that role?

‘No, because, as a scientist, you never claim absolute truth. I usually tell them right away when I’m speculating. Especially with such a sensitive subject that affects the whole of society, you need scientists who can step back and describe developments, with empathy for both sides. That’s why I guard against taking a stand or joining groups of activists.’

The anonymous Palestinians Solidarity Tilburg recently called for a boycott of collaboration with Israeli universities. That doesn’t include you?

‘I’m not a part of that.’

Do you think such a boycott is a good idea?

‘I’m not going to answer that on the record,because for my situation it’s not advantageous.’

I can see that you are beginning to twitch nervously.

‘No way, I have a restless leg.’

Do people at the University also believe in your objectivity, or do you notice that you have been looked at differently since October 7?

‘I think I used to be seen more as activist or possibly pro-Palestine. I had to be careful what I said. It was: you’re from there, so you must have a colored opinion. That’s like saying that every Dutch person abroad voices Rutte’s opinion.

‘I think that shadow has fallen away a bit because of my media appearances. That’s a relief, that I can embark upon the conflict without my analysis being challenged by my background.

‘You have to be equally critical of Israel and Palestine. What baloney’

‘Discrimination or racism I don’t encounter very often, probably because many people now see me as Dutch. But in my work there have been questionable things going on recently. We wanted to set up a group that had only one of the two countries in the name and that was not allowed. I say it very diplomatically.’

Who are ‘we’?

‘People from Cultural Studies, Law, and Public Administration. It was totally innocuous. It was not an action group, it was not taking a stand, the idea was to hear from different disciplines how they look at this conflict, and what our core mission as researchers is. But we were not allowed to highlight that.

‘The fact that we focused on one of the two groups, and did not include the other group, was enough to not dare to promote that. Then you notice how institutionalized that idea is that it has to be a proportional debate, where you have to be equally critical of Israel and Palestine. What baloney.’

But so that debate group focused on Palestinians?

‘Those are your words and not mine.’

What exactly happened?

‘We were not allowed to announce it, the flyers we had put up were taken down by the University.’

By whom from the University?

‘I don’t know, but the next day they were gone. Then we asked if we could invite people through School channels; they refused. The advice was: just hand out flyers on campus. The academic freedom to publish about the conflict is suppressed. Obviously, the University doesn’t want it.’

What could the University do to increase knowledge about Israel and Palestine?

‘Disconnect Palestine and Israel, instead of seeing both countries as a topic we can only discuss in relation to each other because otherwise you wouldn’t be objective. That reduces Palestinians and Israelis to actors in a conflict, rather than two separate cultures with rich backgrounds.

‘If I want to analyze only Israeli literature, why does it necessarily have to be within the context of the conflict? If I want to examine the cultural-historical significance of the Palestinian scarf, why should I focus on militants wearing such a thing?

‘As a researcher, I am also concerned with people’s lives, their background, their hopes for the future, the music that emotes them. I don’t want to analyze that only in relation to what it’s like to be occupied or to be the occupier. In the end, it’s about the question: what does it mean to be human?’

Translated by Language Center, Riet Bettonviel

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