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5.2 Erasing Episteme

5.2 Erasing Episteme

The systematic destruction of Palestinian knowledge, identity, and lived experience is not incidental but constitutive of the broader settler-colonial project in Palestine. As I will demonstrate in this section, the targeting of agricultural traditions, the forced displacement of communities, and the manipulation of education systems are not isolated acts of violence but rather an ongoing process of epistemic erasure. This erasure functions as a mechanism of domination, severing Palestinians from their historical and cultural ties to the land while imposing alternative narratives that seek to legitimise their dispossession. The destruction of olive trees, a defining feature of Palestinian agriculture and heritage, represents more than economic deprivation; it is an attack on the embodied knowledge that sustains Palestinian agrarian life. Similarly, the coercive urbanisation of the Bedouin in the Naqab desert is designed to dismantle their traditional knowledge structures, replacing them with state-sanctioned modes of existence that reinforce settler futurity. The educational system, meanwhile, functions as a primary site for rewriting history, obscuring Palestinian narratives and ensuring that knowledge of the Nakba and its ongoing consequences is systematically erased from public discourse. In this section, I examine how these processes operate in different spheres of Palestinian life, revealing the settler-colonial logic that underpins them. The aim is not simply to document acts of dispossession but to understand their more profound epistemic implications, how they disrupt the transmission of Palestinian ways of knowing, reshape identities, and foreclose possibilities for resistance and continuity. Not only does the architecture of the wall make it almost impossible for Palestinians to reach their olive groves. Following 7 October 2023 and the genocide in Gaza that started soon after, more than 96,000 dunams of olive-cultivated land across the West Bank remained unharvested due to Israeli restrictions on Palestinian access. This translated to a harvest of just 10,000 tons of olives, compared to 36,000 tons the year before (Qassis 2024)1. These lands include areas behind the West Bank Barrier in the so-called “Seam Zone,” areas bordering the barrier within 150 metres on the West Bank side, lands near settlements where scheduled military permissions (referred to as “prior coordination”) have traditionally been required, and other areas adjacent to settlements (UNOCHA 2024)2. Sayel Kanaan, a farmer living in the West Bank village of Burqa, for example, was working the land with his family when settlers from the nearby Givat Atsaf settlement attacked and destroyed 150 “olive trees with 300 to 500 years of age had been hacked down, as well as the newly planted trees ... All the trees that we have inherited from our ancestors have been lost.” (Hammad 2019)3. Since the beginning of the occupation of the West Bank in 1967, over a million olive trees have been destroyed by Israel (Qassis 2024)1. Olive trees are integral to traditional Palestinian agriculture, where generations of families gather to harvest olives for two months starting in mid-September. This period is not merely about labour but a time of joy and festivity. Families and local communities celebrate with traditional Palestinian folk music and dancing, making the harvest season a cherished cultural event (Özerdem and Roberts 2012)4. This destruction of olive trees not only eliminates a critical economic resource—olives account for 4.6% of the Palestinian gross domestic product (GDP) (Pant et al. 2018)5—but also severs a living connection to Palestinian heritage and ancestral knowledge. The settler tactics of olive destruction often go hand in hand with direct bodily violence from Israeli settlers, protected by the military, especially during the olive harvest season. The targeted destruction of olive trees thus represents a broader strategy of erasing Palestinian agency, identity, and knowledge. By disrupting the agricultural practices and cultural traditions associated with olive harvesting, these actions aim to sever the deeply rooted connections Palestinians have to their land and heritage. This erasure not only impacts the present generation but also hinders the transmission of cultural knowledge and practices to future generations, further entrenching the displacement and disenfranchisement of Palestinian communities.

5.2.1 Attacking Bedouin life-knowledge

“My culture is Bedouin, my narrative is Palestinian, and my civilization is Arab.” —Fadi Elobra, quoted in (Prince-Gibson 2015)6. As this section will illustrate, there is a direct connection between the forced relocation of Palestinian bodies and the vulnerability of Palestinian episteme. Here, I will examine two forms of knowledge that are threatened by the biopolitics and body politics at play, specifically the knowledge passed on through the act of living in a specific locality and the knowledge acquired (or denied) within education systems. To explore this further, I will focus on Bedouin Palestinians who still reside in the desert of 48. Due to their social structure and nomadic culture, the history of the Bedouin population of Palestine, especially during the Nakba, has been largely excluded from discourse (Aburabia 2015)7. The lived realities of the Bedouin tribes in the Naqab desert under direct Israeli control have not received the same level of academic attention as Palestinians in the West Bank, East Jerusalem, or Gaza. Following the Nakba in 1948, the traditional Bedouin structures that existed prior to the Nakba were dismantled (Nasasra 2017, 132)8. While many Bedouins were forced to flee or were expelled, primarily to Gaza, the Sinai Peninsula, and Jordan, approximately 90,000 Bedouins remained, comprising three major tribes and around 95 subtribes. The Zionist settlers’ aim of “making the desert bloom” (George 1979, 88)9 was challenged by the presence of the Bedouin population, who already inhabited the Naqab desert and posed an obstacle to the successful implementation of Zionist goals (Pappé 2015, 60)10. Pappé notes that Zionist settlers and the military were encouraged to learn from the Bedouin way of life, agriculture, and herding, not out of admiration but rather with the intention to eliminate them (Pappé 2015, 60)10. Bedouin populations have often been portrayed through an orientalist lens, depicting them as rootless due to their nomadic nature, upholding archaic and unchangeable traditions, and following tribal rules passed down through generations (Assi 2018)11. Following the establishment of Israel, efforts were made to reshape the Bedouin way of life. Israel’s plan for Bedouin communities involved coercing them into permanent urban settlements that were built with a Western, ‘modern’ vision (Aburabia 2015)7. These policies not only disrupt the knowledge transmitted through generations by living in a specific locality but also impact the education system available to Bedouin Palestinians (Nasasra 2017)8. The reasoning behind the plan of reshaping the Bedouin way of life was explained by the Israeli minister of agriculture at the time, Moshe Dayan:

We should transform the Bedouins into an urban proletariat – in industry, services, construction, and agriculture. 88% of the Israeli population are not farmers, let the Bedouins be like them. Indeed, this will be a radical move which means that the Bedouin would not live on the land with his herds, but would become an urban person who comes home in the afternoon and puts his slippers on. His children would be accustomed to a father who wears trousers, does not carry a Shabaria [the traditional Bedouin knife] and does not search for vermin in public. The children would go to school with their hair properly combed. This would be a revolution, but it may be fixed within two generations. Without coercion but with governmental direction...this phenomenon of the Bedouins will disappear. (Moshe Dayan 1963 as quoted in Shamir 1996)12

The words of Dayan above make the intent of erasure very clear. The identity of the Bedouin needs to be erased, and the Bedouin culture must disappear. In 1977, 45 Bedouin families were forced to relocate to a closed military area with their movement controlled by the Israeli military (Pappé 2015, 64)10. Several researchers defended this relocation with orientalist viewpoints, including Avinoam Meir and Yosef Ben-David (Meir and Ben-David 1995)13, Meir (Meir 1986; Meir 1987, 1990)14 15 16, and Dinero (Dinero 1997)17, who argued that it would improve the lives of the Bedouin. However, as Safa Aburabia points out, this perspective couldn’t be further from the truth. The Israeli-built designated Bedouin towns are characterised by poverty, overcrowding, and a lack of essential services, urban policy frameworks, business districts, or industrial zones, making them the most deprived towns in Israel (Abu-Saad et al. 2004)18. This starkly contrasts with nearby Jewish-Israeli towns that boast universities, colleges, hospitals, golf resorts, industrial zones, and high-tech houses. Racist disdain toward the Bedouins is evident in the words of authors and politicians alike. Amos Oz famously described Bedouins who took water from a kibbutz and the subsequent retaliation from Israeli settlers as, “[t]o the defence of the retaliators, I will say that the Bedouin shepherd has the shiftiest of faces: one-eyed, broken nose, drooling mouth full of long and sharp twisted foxy teeth. One who looks capable of perpetrating any atrocity” (Amos Oz as quoted in Pappé 2011, 249)19. Similarly, Israeli politicians have expressed discriminatory views. In 2001, Moshe Shohat, the Israeli Minister of Bedouin Affairs, stated, “bloodthirsty Bedouins who commit polygamy, have 30 children, and continue to expand their illegal settlements taking over state land” (Martin 2011)20.

Bedouins who still live on their lands reside in ‘unrecognised villages,’ and they face constant pressure to move to government-planned settlements. Their villages are under the constant threat of demolition, with homes being destroyed by Israeli troops without warning. For example, in 2015, the Israeli Supreme Court deemed the planned destruction of the village of Umm al-Hiran legal to make way for the construction of Hiran, a modern city intended to house 2,500 national-religious Jews, and to expand the Yatir Forest on the ruins of 150 homes (Prince-Gibson 2015)6. In 2017, during the demolition of houses in Umm al-Hiran, Israeli police and the Israeli Land Authority shot and killed Yaqoub Abu al-Qia’an, a mathematics teacher from the village, as he was driving away from his soon-to-be-demolished house. The forced resettlement has resulted in a radical departure from the Bedouin traditional way of life as they have been stripped of their land and their ability to pursue their traditional economic endeavours, leaving them with no hope of returning to their previous lives (Abu-Saad 2001)21.

In the paragraphs above, I not only describe house demolitions and the body politics of forced relocation but also the severance of the bodily links between the Bedouins and their lands. This severance affects the knowledge that has been acquired and transmitted for countless generations, known as the Bedouin episteme. Ironically, a tactic used to erase this knowledge is through the education system to which Bedouin children are subjected, a strategy employed in other settler-colonial projects as well. Within settler-colonial projects, the educational aspect is a form of replacement invested in settler futurity, as described by Eve Tuck and Rubén A. Gaztambide-Fernández (Tuck and Gaztambide-Fernández 2013)22. By forcibly relocating and enrolling Bedouin children and youth in Israeli schools, the traditional transmission of Bedouin episteme, including knowledge of the Bedouin way of life, is aimed to be destroyed. In traditional Bedouin Arab society, education for children is not structured through a defined curriculum; instead, knowledge necessary for success is passed on through day-to-day observation and participation in the community, while history, religious teachings, and moral values are transmitted orally by poets, respected elders, and storytellers (Abu-Saad 2001)21. By separating children from this form of traditional education, combined with the displacement of the Bedouin from their land, their knowledge of the land and way of life is slowly but surely erased. As Michael W. Apple points out, educational institutions serve as major mechanisms for the reproduction and contestation of power in society (Apple 2004)23. This is not unique to Palestine, but is endemic to settler-colonial projects. In Turtle Island, the settler-colonial Canadian government forcibly removed Indigenous children from their families and confined them in residential schools, often located far from their homes, with the intent to separate them from family and culture, effectively erasing episteme (National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation 2020)24.

5.2.2 Erasing episteme in the educational system

Reflecting on the connection between episteme and slow erasure, it becomes evident that both the forced movement of Bedouins and the segregation within the Israeli education system aim to destroy the Palestinian identity. As discussed in Chapter Three, Palestinians are systematically placed at the bottom of the settler-colonial enterprise, ensuring their perpetual subjugation. The actions of forced relocation and subjugation to the Israeli educational curriculum go beyond mere “integration” efforts. They seek to erase the episteme, which has a profound impact on the culture, identity and agency of the subjugated Bedouin. The disconnection from ancestral lands disrupts intergenerational knowledge transmission, leading to a loss of cultural heritage, language, and traditional practices for Bedouins and forcefully relocated Palestinians. Over time, this attack on the episteme results in the slow erasure of unique knowledge systems that have been developed, refined, and cherished over centuries, forming an integral part of bodily identity.

The textbook functions as a technology of epistemic control that obscures Indigenous presence. By removing Palestinian history and centring the Jewish-Zionist narrative, the Israeli curriculum enacts a colonial epistemology, a deliberate rewriting of historical memory to reinforce settler legitimacy. This is not merely about curricular design but about what students learn, internalise, and reproduce in their social worlds. The textbook serves as a cultural artefact that aims to shape the everyday consciousness of students, legitimising the settler-colonial narrative and delegitimising Palestinian presence, removing Indigenous continuity. Because the textbooks are used in schools, this process becomes institutionalised and repetitive, embedded in everyday life. Every child who reads that text is subjected to a state narrative that slowly undermines their knowledge of self, sense of history, and connection to land.

The actual force of slow erasure lies in its accumulative nature. These educational erasures do not stand alone; they work in tandem with land dispossession, movement restrictions, and dehumanisation (as the next chapter will explore) to construct a total environment where being Palestinian becomes harder to sustain across generations.

Research on Israeli textbooks reveals the exacerbation of racism within Israeli society through the educational system (Adwan and Bar-Tal 2013; Peled-Elhanan 2012; Pinson 2007)25 26 27. Racism is perpetuated and amplified within schools, as highlighted by Goldberg (Goldberg 1993)28 and Mills (Mills 2015)29. The ethno-nationalist narratives embedded in the system provide fertile grounds for reinforcing and perpetuating racism. In the context of settler-colonialism and Israel’s necropolitical practices, the Israeli educational system serves to segregate Palestinian Israeli students from their Jewish counterparts, aiming to subjugate Palestinians further and exert control over their lives and bodies.

Evans-Winters (Evans-Winters 2017)30 argues that education can potentially counter state-sanctioned violence and colonisation. However, within a settler-colonial system, education becomes a tool that reinforces existing apartheid and necropolitical tendencies deeply entrenched in society’s dominant structures. The words of an Israeli teacher, as cited by Stephen W. Sheps, emphasise the lack of desire among Jewish students to engage with and learn from the Other, driven by a sense of animosity and hatred (Sheps 2016)31:

Now the students in our school are very right wing [in terms of the conflict]. I would even say there is complete hatred to Arabs. It’s in some classes just saying the word ‘Arabs’, for the whole lesson the rules change. Once you say ‘Arab’ in certain groups, everything is allowed. It’s very hard to stop it in some classes, not in all, so I find more and more that I have to be much more subtle in my way of dealing with it (Sheps 2016, 7)31.

According to Sheps, there is a “fairly generalizable condition” in Israel where Zionists advocate for a total separation between Hebrew and non-Hebrew (Jewish) settlements (Sheps 2016, 7)31. This ideology is reflected in the segregated educational system established by Israel, which further segregates Palestinians within the country. By eliminating Palestinians from view, it becomes easier to cultivate fear and hatred towards the Other, as they remain unfamiliar and distant. The Israeli curriculum for Palestinians emphasises Zionist nationalism while suppressing Palestinian and Arabic knowledge and identity (Abu-Saad 2019)32. Sa’id Barghouti draws on his personal experience as a teacher of Palestinian students within the Israeli public school system, as well as his professional roles as a school inspector and coordinator of the history curriculum for Arab schools:

Sixth grade history textbooks do not differ in method or content. The history of Palestine under Roman rule is the history of Jews in “Israel” until the destruction of the temple in 70 BC. About seven hundred years of the indigenous Palestinians’ history is absent from the pages of the book until the onset of the Arab-Islamic conquest. It briefly mentions the Arab conquest of Jerusalem under the heading “The Conquest of Jerusalem,” with one sentence in particular standing out: “Omar [the second Muslim caliph] treated the Jews, who helped the Muslims, well, left them their property and pardoned them from paying taxes.” The aim of this sentence is to provide assurance of a Jewish presence in the city at that time … The Zionist historical narrative is completed in the eighth grade history textbook which presents the contemporary history of Palestine. The topic is divided into two units: “The English in Israel” (instead of the British Mandate in Palestine) and “The Founding of the State of Israel.” Thirty of sixty class periods that eighth graders must attend are devoted to this second chapter. In the spirit of the curriculum, the narrative in this book revolves around subheadings with suggestive meanings, such as “The Continuous Yearning for Return and National Independence. This chapter, as well as the chapters that follow, address at length everything that has any connection to contemporary Jewish history from the perspective of the Zionist historical narrative, until the founding of the state of Israel in 1948. Under the heading “War of Independence, the book states that “the armies of the Arab countries entered the country in May of 1948 and fought against the Israeli forces . . . which were able to push back these armies until the four countries that have shared borders with Israel were forced . . . to sign a truce.” As for Arab-Palestinian society, it is completely absent in the textbook. Moreover, not even one word is spent on the Palestinian refugees. This trend repeats itself in the high school curriculum and textbooks, and which are all translated from Hebrew… (Barghouti 2009, 18)33

The Israeli school system serves as a tool for segregating Palestinian and Jewish children, aiming to reinforce the Jewish connection to the land while disregarding Palestinian identity and history. As Stephen W. Sheps points out, this segregation and building of narrative is instrumental in maintaining “the historical–mythological and contemporary Jewish connection to the land” (Sheps 2016, 2)31. The curriculum, rooted in Zionist national discourse, fosters a strong collective identity among Jewish students, as Peled-Elhanan noted (Peled-Elhanan 2012)26. However, it significantly lacks recognition of Palestinian identity and history (Sheps 2016)31. Palestinian teachers working in Arab sections of Israeli schools face dilemmas due to these erasure efforts. For instance, since 1967, Israel has prohibited the display of the Palestinian flag or political emblems, as well as the creation of art or documents with political significance. It has even restricted Palestinian artists in Israel from using the combined colours of the Palestinian flag (white, black, red, and green) in their art. A Palestinian teacher in the Israeli educational sector explains:

I’ve run into a lot of students here who draw, let’s say, a Palestinian flag. Now I’ve got to tell the student that this is forbidden. But the student will consider me a traitor. And maybe I am a traitor. And maybe I’ll also feel that I’m a traitor. But if I show any approval of his drawing maybe they’ll fire me, or summon me for an investigation, So what do I do? I don’t tell them anything. I pretend that I don’t notice (Grossman 1992, 2)34.

This is exemplified in the words of a Palestinian student, whose experience defies the intended suppression and reinforces their connection to their history and heritage:

I went to a very poorly developed and very poorly resourced high school that provided us with such limited, second-class opportunities for the future. Every day for 3 years we were bussed past a wealthy Jewish suburb – built on our land – and we watched the construction of a beautiful, modern, state-of-the-art high school for that community. In ways like this, the State has planted bitterness in our hearts. We weren’t born with this feeling; it is the harvest of the discrimination we’ve experienced (Abu-Saad 2006a, 50)35.

One such experience I took note of in Palestine shed light on the challenges Palestinians face, the narratives they encounter, and the impact the efforts to erase Palestinian knowledge and identity have.

I was introduced to a Palestinian man in his 20s who grew up in 48. As we got talking, I became intrigued by the extent to which Palestinian history is covered in the Israeli educational system. We delved into a discussion about the Nakba, the violence, and the massacres that were part of the ethnic cleansing that led to the displacement of Palestinians and the establishment of Israel. To my surprise, the young man was unaware of many historical facts and asked me to give more details on some historical events. Curious about his perspective, I asked him why he thought he lacked this knowledge. He shared that his family rarely talked about the past, and in school, there was a complete absence of Palestinian history or even recognition of the existence of Palestinians. It was as if the creation of Israel was presented in isolation, detached from the experiences and narratives of the Palestinian people. This encounter leaves reflecting on the deep-seated impact of the Israeli educational system on shaping perspectives and perpetuating a one-sided narrative. (research journal, March 2018)

As suggested by Peled-Elhanan, even if proven historically and factually wrong, official histories have a stronger impact on collective memory and identity formation than historical accuracy (Peled-Elhanan 2012)26. This was evident in 2007, as the Israeli newspapers Haartez documented, when then-Israeli Minister of Education Yuli Tamir approved a textbook for “Arab” schools within Israel that mentioned the Nakba (Kashti 2007)36. The approval of the textbook faced opposition from leaders such as Benjamin Netanyahu, who criticised it for damaging “Zionist values and not strengthening Jewish heritage,” and Zebulun Orlev from the National Religious Party, who called for Tamir’s resignation, labelling the approval as “anti-Zionist” (Kashti 2007)36.

The approved text describing, though not naming, the Nakba was not comprehensive in its factual representation, failing to mention the number of Palestinian refugees resulting from the Nakba (see Chapter Three). Instead, it vaguely stated that “some of them [Palestinians] became refugees and were forced to move” (Kashti 2007)36. The discourse used by Netanyahu and Orlev highlights the emphasis of the Israeli education system on the development and strengthening of Jewish national identity rooted in Zionist ideology.

The Israeli education system is a clear example of the slow erasure of Palestinian episteme, specifically targeting the Palestinian identity of Palestinians residing in Israel. As mentioned in a previous section of this chapter, Israel refers to Palestinians living in the 1948 territories as Israeli Arabs, a deliberate attempt to erase the word Palestine or Palestinian from discourse. Since the establishment of the Israeli educational system, the Zionist institutional structure and ideological content have been at the core of the curriculum, transmitted to students through the Hebrew language. Abu-Saad (Abu-Saad 2006b)37 argues that the Israeli educational curriculum aimed at Palestinians residing in Israel is a multifaceted process of marginalisation that aims to exclude Palestinians within Israel and suppress their knowledge and identity.

Here, I want to emphasise the importance of acknowledging the experiences and perspectives of Palestinians who have grown up within the Israeli educational system. They can provide first-hand insights into the impact of the educational curriculum on their identity and understanding of history. Abu-Saad’s observations highlight Israel’s intention to maintain distance and assert superiority over Palestinians in Israel by perpetuating stereotypical and historical portrayals of Palestinian citizens through the educational system (Abu-Saad 2006a)35. This serves to undermine efforts to address the land issue, diminish Palestinian nationality, and deny basic rights to Palestinians as a whole.

The deliberate attempts to suppress Palestinian historical knowledge and erase it from both Israeli and Palestinian-controlled curricula serves not only to undermine Palestinian resistance but also to erode Palestinian identity. The examples above highlight the impact of this slow erasure process. The institutionalised education system, which children are exposed to from a young age and throughout their formative years, plays a central role in perpetuating this multi-generational erasure of Palestinian history. However, it is essential to note that there are many, if not more, instances where these efforts at ontological violence backfire, leading to a strengthening of Palestinian identity instead of erasure (Abu-Saad 2006a)35.

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