Post on 06-Apr-2017
Control and Resistance:
An exploration of the use and impact of
drones by the Israeli Defense Force in Gaza
Author: Polly Vaughan Lyth Morgan
Advisor: Dr. Kyle Grayson
Submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the
degree of Master of Arts in International Studies
School of Geography, Politics and Sociology, University of
Newcastle Upon Tyne
December 2015
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Abstract
The paper traces the practices of drones by the Israeli Defense Force (IDF) in
Gaza. Focusing on the more micro-scale, subtle effects of drone use, the paper
first investigates how drones are being used to help enforce a ‘system of control’
in Gaza, using a loosely Foucauldian analysis to frame this. It then explores the
ways in which these practices impact the everyday lives of those that reside in
Gaza, centring towards the less visible, and therefore often ignored, impacts of
drones. Despite these mechanisms of control being effective, they are not
passively accepted in Gaza. Thus the paper challenges how everyday Palestinians
are often ignored or framed as ‘powerless’ by arguing that Palestinians do hold
agency and power. It sees that Palestinians resist drone practices (and the
occupation more widely), albeit in ways which seek to disrupt their subject
positions. Thus resistance here centres on Palestinians enabling themselves to
continue to live their lives ‘as much as possible’ within the parameters of the
IDF’s ‘system of control’.
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Acknowledgements First, a thank you to those who proof read my work, Robyn Morgan, Aaron Ben-Joseph and Alice Wakefield. Secondly, thank you to the staff in the Politics department, whom, for over four years, I have gained so much from. Special mention goes to Kyle Grayson who has provided me with support that surpasses what is expected from a supervisor.
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Contents
Abstract…………………………………………………………………………………………………….……... 2 Acknowledgements……………………………………………………………………………………..…… 3 Contents………………………………………………………………………………………………………..…. 4 Abbreviations………………………………………….……………………………………………………..… 5 Introduction………………………….……………………………………………………..………….……….. 6
1. Research aim……………………………………………………………………………………… 6 2. Justification of research……………………………………………………………………… 7 3. Methodology……………………………………………………………………………………… 9 4. Structure………………………………………………………………………………………….. 12
Chapter 1: How the IDF seek to control Palestinians in Gaza using drones.…… 14 1. Introduction…………………………………………………………………………………..… 14
2. Technological features of the drone………………………………………………… 17 3. The IDF’s vision of ‘control’ through drone use……………………………….. 17 3a. Control: legal devices…………………………………………………………. 18
3b. Control: social practices and coercive measures………………... 21 3c. Control: coercive measures that help implement social ……practices…………………………………………………………………………..… 28 3d. Control: bureaucratic apparatuses……………………….…………….. 31
4. Conclusion………………………………………………………….…………………….……… 33
Chapter 2: Everyday Resistance to the IDF’s drone practices in Gaza…….…….… 36 1. Introduction…………………………………………………………………………………..… 36 2. Everyday life in Gaza living under drones……………………………………….... 38 3. Reconceptualising ‘resistance’…………………………………………………….…... 42
3a. Everyday acts of resistance as political…………………………….…. 44 3b. Everyday acts of resistance as simultaneously individual and ……collective…………………………………………………………………………….. 45
4. Forms of everyday resistance to drone practices in Gaza………..……….. 46 4a. Survival and Self-help: evasion and masking…………………….... 48
4b. Resilience ………………………………………………………………………….. 49 5. Conclusion……………………………………………………………………………………….. 51
Conclusion………………………………………………………………………………………………………. 53 1. Introduction……………………………………………………………………………..……… 53 2. Summary……………………..………………………………………………………………….. 53 3. Future research……………………………………………………………………………….. 55
Bibliography……………………………………………………………………………………………………. 57
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List of Abbreviations
CIA Central Intelligence Bureau
HRW Human Rights Watch IDF Israeli Defence Force
ICRC International Committee of the Red Cross
MFA (Israeli) Ministry of Foreign Affairs PA Palestinian Authority
UAV Unmanned Aerial Vehicle
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Introduction
“There are three kinds of zenana. One watches over us and photographs
every move, every person. The second fires missiles at us. And the third
kind…its whole purpose is to annoy us, to drive us crazy.”
Mohammed Shurrab, Palestinian in Gaza (Hass, 2011: 28).
1. Research aim
The Israeli Defense Force’s (IDFs) technological development, production and
frequency of usage of unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs), often known colloquially
as ‘drones’, has proliferated since their inception in the late 1970s (Rodgers,
2014: 8; Opal-Rome, 2013). Drones, particularly since the Second Intifada, have
quickly become just one, yet a key component, of the system of control
operating in Gaza (Weizman, 2011: 119). The use of drones, alongside other
technologies and methods of ‘control’, has helped shape the shift in the nature
of ‘control’ in Gaza from one of physical occupation to ‘occupying from afar’. This
dissertation argues the IDF are using drones to try and control the minutiae of
daily life for those in Gaza and therefore intends to explore the workings of
power produced by drone use in Gaza and its everyday impact on Palestinians
residing there.
However current traditional conceptions of Israeli-Palestinian power relations do
not provide the mechanisms to cater to this task. They often portray power as
uni-directional, held in this case by the IDF. When Palestinians are recognised as
also commanding power, current discourse often perceives it to be located in the
hands of a few, often in the form of organised and violent groups such as Fatah
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or Hamas (see for example, Darweish and Rigby, 2015: 38; Schanzer: 2008). To
help mitigate this problem, this dissertation applies a loosely Foucauldian, post-
structural conception of power, which sees all Palestinians in Gaza as power-
holding and involved in power processes. It looks at how the IDF uses drones to
try and control those in Gaza, how this impacts the lives of Palestinians, and how
this is resisted. Thus this dissertation argues that through this attempt at control
using drones, a space is created in which Palestinians resist drone practices on a
daily basis.
2. Justification of research
There is an extensive body of research concerning the use of drones in the field
of politics. Despite that when drone practices are condemned it represents an
attempt to help defend victims of drone usage, there is an omission of academic
research that wields sufficient focus on the victims themselves and how drones
impact their lives. For example, Williams (2011) critiques the ‘asymmetries’ of
drones and how they create an unequal battlefield, but then interviews the
drone operators to identify how this impacts them psychologically. Likewise
Zehfuss (2011) and Halabi (2006) both criticise drones by examining their
relationship with ethics and the law. This is not to disregard the importance of
any of these approaches: all are crucial in scrutinising the use of drones
worldwide. But what many omit is a deeper understanding as to why this
matters, namely a focus on those impacted the most: the victims of drone
practices. Drone studies rarely give a platform to the voices of those whom the
drone are designed to observe and to kill: this means we have little sense of
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what life is like on a daily basis for those living under drones. Without these
voices, without letting the ‘subaltern speak’, we cannot help to empower those
we are writing in support of and we cannot know the true extent to which drone
practices are causing harm (Spivak, 1988: 271).
Drone use is increasingly widespread across the globe, but the place that is
victim to the most frequent and extensive use of drones is the Palestinian
population in the Occupied Territories (OT), particularly Gaza. The
Israel/Palestine conflict has spanned many decades and the use of surveillance
and force as a powerful strategy of imperial dominance is not new (Ashcroft et
al., 1998: 28; Rodgers, 2014: 106). Drones mark merely a relatively newer form
of this strategy. To say that studies of drones in the OT have been totally
neglected is an unfair allegation, but considering the extent to which those in the
OT are subjected to drone practices, few devote much attention to their usage.
This is in part due to the well-known secrecy of the IDF, which admits to using
drones but hides the extent of its usage (Pfeffer, 2013; Dobbing and Cole, 2014:
3).
When academics have focused on the use of drones in Gaza, they tend to
concentrate on the missile function of the drone, despite that the majority of
drones are unarmed and used in a surveillance capacity (Halabi, 2011: 197;
Human Rights Watch, 2009; Dreazen, 2014). This is not surprising in some ways
as the destruction of buildings and infrastructures as well as the deaths of
Palestinians are more visibly damaging. But this limits harm to something mainly
physical, as predominantly relevant when ‘large scale’ events occur, such as
when missiles are launched or during particularly concentrated times of war such
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as ‘Operation Edge’ in 2014 (see for example Cooper and Anderson, 2015). Yet
these examinations fail to look at the wider implications of drone warfare as well
as how macro level practices are shaped by micro level patterns, and vice versa
(Scott, 2009: 1). It neglects how for those in Gaza, drones constantly negatively
impact life and that impacts of drone use are long-enduring and long-reaching,
transpiring often in subtle and less direct ways.
3. Methodology
Similar themes emerge when looking at the macro-scale ontological approach
that many take when studying power relations between ‘controller’ and the
‘controlled’ more generally. This applies to the Palestinian context too, where
some are portrayed as violent, and as resisting only in the form of an organised
opposition group. This leaves those who do not directly involve themselves with
these groups to be portrayed as passive and accepting of this control. It also
ignores how ‘subaltern populations and communities of the disenfranchised can
bring about changes in their life-world through their quiet and unassuming daily
struggles’ (Bayat, 2013: 5).
Despite the literature on everyday life, micropolitics and resistance being well
established, many academics still do not consider how everyday forms of
resistance affect how operations designed to control are carried out. This
conception of power is arguably misconstrued and it also means that
understanding the workings of power at play here can only go so far using this
framework. This is why Foucault’s perception of power as diffused, as
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productive, as well as his move away from looking solely at the macro and
instead looking at the subtleties of everyday life is adopted as an ontological
approach here.
Naturally, writing about any contentious political issue wields problems, but few
are as explicitly contentious, sensitive, and (often) polarising as the Israel-
Palestine conflict. For this reason, measures to ensure sources are reliable are
especially thorough. Where substantial claims have been made, references are
triangulated, which involves seeking accounts from three or more perspectives,
using as many ‘independent’ sources as possible from sources largely perceived
as ‘credible’, as a way to cross-check a range of political stances and check for
false allegations (Pierce, 2006: 79).
This interpretivist epistemological stance and philosophy is hindered by some
practical constraints. With no primary access to Palestinians in Gaza, research
instead consists of textual analysis of witness accounts. Empirical claims are
backed using a mix of carefully selected studies from sources such as peer-
reviewed journals and books by academics, as well as NGO reports, and credible
newspaper sources. A key reason for this mix of sources is that NGOs are making
greater efforts to document the everyday impacts of drones in Gaza (see for
example, Saif, 2014; HRW, 2009). However they lack the theoretical
underpinnings that academic papers arguably better provide. At the same time,
due to the nature of the study carried out, some arguments are bolstered using
witness accounts including diaries. These kind of sources provide a window into
the minutest aspects of everyday events that might not be amenable from other
sources (Elliot, 1997: 187). The inclusion of these sources are vital, as they
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contain the voices of those of whom the dissertation is written to help, and
which also best unmask the questions at hand.
Case studies help gain a humanistic understanding and add to existing
experiences (Stake, 2000). Whilst these accounts come from individuals,
naturally individuals interpret and react to things differently. But equally, as
Maynes et al. (2008: 3) recognise, in many ways these accounts are never simply
individual, ‘but are told in historically specific ties and settings, and draw on the
rules and models in circulation that govern how story elements link together in
narrative logics’. Aspects of the system of control in Gaza, in this case drone
practices, impact differently upon each individual Palestinian. But all are targets
of control as they are all de facto subjects of the IDF and it is possible to identify
certain underlying routines and regularities in the behaviours of Palestinians in
Gaza. This tells us something about how the settings are socially organised as
individual responses are always embedded in their context, and therefore
provide unique insights into the connections between individual life trajectories
and collective forces beyond the individual.
It is important to be reflexive here, particularly as this commitment to creating a
valid picture of drone use in Gaza raises ethical issues as to who can speak for
whom as well as the problem of ‘can the subaltern speak?’ (Spivak, 1988: 271;
Clough, 2000: 284). But this research does not seek to ‘speak for’ those in Gaza,
neither does it claim to provide a truly valid insight into the lives of those
concerned. Instead this research shares the moral perspective of Scott (2009:
193) who views the social scientist as standing in a position of privileged power,
and therefore holding a responsibility to raise the voices of the marginalised in
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less powerful positions, otherwise unheard. Whilst it is impossible not to speak
for these marginalised groups as their experiences are always interpreted and
framed in the way the researcher decides, this problem is slightly alleviated by
using the claims Palestinians have made about their experiences to guide each
point. So despite these considerations, it is more important to try and raise these
issues described.
4. Structure
The dissertation is comprised of two chapters, the first focuses on the notion of
‘control’, and the latter looks at the impact these practices have on the everyday
lives of those in Gaza as well as how they are resisted. The first chapter begins by
trying to understand how, and in what ways, drones are being used by the IDF as
a key means to control those who reside in Gaza, defining ‘control’ using drones
as something reaching further than simple coercive measures. This opens room
to explore the array of mechanisms and devices that enable this effort to control
the behaviours and mindsets of those in Gaza. This chapter is heavily theoretical,
using the work of Foucault and other poststructuralist thinkers to help make
sense of the IDF’s actions here.
The next chapter has two key sections. Initially it draws upon the literature
surrounding everyday life to explore the impacts these practices have on those in
Gaza, focusing on the more subtle, often mundane and sometimes unconscious
ways drones are impacting on the livelihoods on those that reside there. Whilst
recognising that power is deeply concentrated in a single direction, the second
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half of the chapter argues that this attempt at control is resisted to an extent,
albeit in forms not usually included in traditional descriptions of resistance.
Finally, the conclusion seeks to pool these ideas together before reflecting upon
the importance and shortcomings of the research as well as the study’s broader
implications.
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Chapter 1: How the IDF use drones to
seek to control Palestinians in Gaza.
1. Introduction:
As described earlier, drones have been used by the IDF in some capacity since
their inception in the late 1970s and many argue that drones increasingly lie at
the heart of the Israel’s ‘system of control’ since the start of the Second Intifada
(Weizman, 2011: 119; Rogers, 2014: 8). This chapter argues the use of drones,
alongside other technologies and methods of ‘control’ have helped shape the
shift in the nature of ‘control’ in Gaza from one of physical occupation to
‘occupying from afar’. As the purpose of this dissertation is to analyse the
workings of power between the IDF and Palestinians in Gaza in relation to drone
use, this chapter seeks to gain a clearer understanding of how the drone enables
the IDF to try and control the everyday lives of those living in the Gaza Strip,
particularly emphasising the connection between Gaza use of drones to
Foucault’s panopticon metaphor.
The production of drones and their use in Gaza are inextricably linked to the
wider system of control Israel exerts over the Palestinian population more
generally. A key part of exerting this control is through employing a colonial style
of surveillance. Whilst the Palestinian Authority has some surveillance
mechanisms commonly associated with the state, these will not be discussed, as
the IDF is the key actor surveying the population of Gaza. Before justifying these
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assertions, it is important to clarify what is meant here by ‘control’. Neve Gordon
(2008: 2) best describes ‘control’ in the Israel/Palestine context as:
‘…not only the coercive mechanisms used to prohibit, exclude and repress people, but rather the entire array of institutions, legal devices, bureaucratic apparatuses, social practises, and physical edifices that operate both on the individual and the population in order to produce new modes of behaviour, habits, interests, tastes and aspirations.’
Gordon’s definition acknowledges the extent to which Israel’s system of control
is all-encompassing, permeating every aspect of life for those in Gaza. It also
recognises the range of levels the system operates on to achieve this. Most
importantly Gordon affirms the significance of non-violent forms of control, as
well as how control is targeted at both the individual and the population as a
whole. Although it is not mentioned in Gordon’s definition, surveillance plays a
prominent role in how these mechanisms are carried out. Wilson (2012: 273)
notices the IDF’s increasing focus on ‘visualization technologies’, demonstrating
how ‘securitisation through surveillance’ lies at the centre of the IDF’s strategy,
demonstrated by the immense assortment and magnitude of its surveillance
equipment. This means whilst the use of physical violence remains part of the
IDF’s repertoire of ‘control’, of increasingly greater importance is the role
surveillance plays.
It is important to stress that Gordon wrote this definition to capture Israel’s
whole system of control. Yet it is a useful definition to apply to different
practices of control employed by the IDF, including use of drones in Gaza. This
considered, this chapter will look individually at each of the mechanisms of
control described by Gordon, applying them to the practice of drones in Gaza,
exploring the power this commands for the IDF. However before these are
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analysed, the technological features of the drones need to be looked at to give
greater insight into the physical instrument that enables these practices to be
carried out.
2. Technological features of the drone
The technological features of the drone should never be considered as separate,
as if the advancement of drone technologies and its features has emerged
irrespective of context. Equally no military technologies should be treated as if
they are something detached from the human beings operating them: the
operator still decides how the visual data will be interpreted and understood
(Macgregor, 2005: 82; Kroener and Neyland, 2012: 145). That said, as long as this
principle is recognised, this does not mean the drone’s technical features cannot
first be analysed here in isolation. It is important to understand the features of
the drone as it helps us to better recognise how drones in Gaza currently
operate.
Essentially there are two main types of drone: surveillance and missile-launching
(De Shaw et al., 2014: 11). Both types are equipped with the former, but only
some can release missiles (Saif, 2014: 8). Whilst drones are unmanned they are
not unpiloted: crew are located at a land base to direct the craft and analyse the
video ‘data’ it collects (Shaw, 2013: 1). Drones can loiter in the skies from as high
as 60,000 feet, often invisible from the ground. Some, such as the Heron TP
remain aloft for up to 36 hours (Benjamin, 2012: 17). Although the Israeli military
will not confirm this, overwhelming evidence and witness accounts suggest
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drones are a permanent presence in the skies of Gaza (Graham, 2010: 42; Li,
2006: 48; Dobbing and Cole, 2014: 3).
Drones are well equipped with a range of sensors on-board. This includes
cameras, image intensifiers, radar, infra-red imaging for low-light conditions, and
lasers for targeting (Haggerty, 2006: 255; Rodgers, 2014: 98). Despite that many
portray the high-quality cameras fitted on drones as enabling drone operators to
‘see’ individuals on the ground with precision, others have proved this to be
largely unfounded, with targets often identified by a ‘blurry spot of colour’ (Saif,
2014: 22). To a certain degree, near-infrared and image-intensifiers gives the
operators some vision at night and through all weather conditions (Szetchman et
al., 2008: 28). These mean that with the removal of Israeli ground troops, the
drone can help the IDF observe terrain otherwise inaccessible.
3. The IDF’s vision of ‘control’ through drone use
Whilst Gordon’s definition of ‘control’ will be used as a guiding framework, two
devices laid out by Gordon are less relevant to this particular case at hand.
Firstly, ‘physical edifices’ in the form of the wall and its checkpoints are
important here, but only as far as the wall acts largely as a container to
Palestinians in Gaza, limiting the parameters the drones need to operate in. In a
similar vein, civil institutions such as educational and medical systems play a role
in relation to Israeli control more generally, but not directly to the practice of
drones here.
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Looking more specifically at the IDF’s operation of drones themselves, they do
not seem (in neither their surveillance nor killing capacity) to serve a single, or
even a limited set of purposes for control. Although discussing surveillance in
general, Lyon (2006: 29) sees how these practices often evolve in ‘unanticipated
ways, not always established in advance’. This belief is also applicable to Israel’s
system of control more generally, as well as the use of drones, particularly their
killing function. Put differently, in most part how the drone is used in Gaza, and
for what purpose, is not always a result of intense planning, but sometimes
determined by the immediate context and circumstances. The drone is just one
key instrument the IDF has employed that enables this reinvention of control.
3a. Control: legal devices
One device that enables the IDF’s drone operation lies with the law. To clarify,
there is a different nature of control in Gaza to the West Bank. The West Bank
has been under ‘full, direct and daily military control’ as well as ‘partial civilian
control’ since around 1967 (Shaul, 2015). In Gaza, the 2005 Disengagement Plan
marked the ‘removal’ of direct military control, meaning IDF troops no longer
had access to the ground (MFA, 2005). However, the Oslo process and Camp
David Negotiations had already granted Israel the right to access the ‘airspace
[over Palestine] and [its] electromagnetic spectrum and their supervision’ (Sher,
2001: 424).
This change in the law could be interpreted as allowing Israel to simultaneously
continue to control the Gaza Strip from afar and free themselves of legal
obligations of responsibility over the welfare of Gaza’s inhabitants. The
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international laws of occupation apply if a state has ‘effective control’ over the
territory in question. These are stated in The Hague Convention (1907) and the
Fourth Geneva Convention (1949), which impose general responsibility to the
occupying state for the safety and welfare of civilians living in this territory (ICRC,
2007). The Israeli government stated that implementing the plan would
‘invalidate the claims against Israel regarding its responsibility for the
Palestinians in the Gaza Strip’, directing them to the PA instead (MFA, 2004).1
The Plan also meant the IDF could benefit from increasing the safety of its troops
by removing them from the ground and be praised for making a step in the ‘right
direction’ towards ending the occupation. Weizman (2012: 11) argues this new
form of control ‘seeks to control the Palestinians from beyond the envelopes of
their walled-off spaces’, a process of ‘partial decolonization’ with one ‘system of
domination’ replacing another. Meaning the plan arguably just changed the form
of control, from a horizontal form to a vertical form from ‘afar’. The
Disengagement Plan therefore used the law as a catalyst to a welcomed shift
that merely reinvented the IDF’s general repertoire of control in Gaza.
As already alluded to, Israel’s relationship with Gaza arguably continues to be
colonial in nature, albeit in a modern form. This is because usually when a power
withdraws it abdicates control over the movement of the people. This would
mean Palestinians in Gaza were free to leave when they choose. However in
Gaza, despite that troops have withdrawn (although there are periodic instances
1 This is not to ignore how many still interpret that Israel still has an obligation under the law as it
still ‘effectively controls’ Gaza (see for example, BT Selem, 2015).
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where they re-enter), Israel is using other means to prevent this movement,
notably in the form of the physical edifice of the wall and its checkpoints, and
increasingly using drones too.
This change in law relied on a modification of military technology. Li (2006: 38)
observes how being largely limited to vertical space, makes airpower an ‘integral,
if not leading component of Israel’s management of the Gaza Strip’. The IDF
explicitly verifies this, with the Head of the Israeli Air Force, Amir Eshel, stating
that the IDF’s ‘vision of air control zeroes in on the notion of control’, adding that
the IDF looks at ‘how you control a city or a territory from the air when it’s no
longer legitimate to hold or occupy that territory from the ground’ (Opall-Rome,
2004). Airpower includes a range of military equipment such as air balloons,
helicopters and military jets, all of which still operate alongside drones (Gordon,
2008: 203; Weizman, 2007: 240). However, as already outlined, the aerial drone
brings unique benefits compared to other forms of airpower and it is these
features that fit so well with the shift in how Gaza is controlled.
Jones (2015: 1-14) points out that this shows how increasingly states like Israel
use the law as ‘a political tool to achieve its own military ends’, seeking to
‘legitimise’ their war tactics through abusing the rule of law, calling this ‘lawfare’.
For example the Israeli Supreme Court interprets targeted killing as falling under
human rights law or under the laws of war when better suited. In fact Israel
publicly proclaims the legality of ‘pre-emptive targeted killing’, with officials
asserting this as lawful on the basis that the ‘laws of war permit states to kill
their enemies’ and that ’Israel needs to protect itself from terror’ (MFA, 2009).
Officials add that with no ground access to Gaza, targeted individuals are ‘ticking
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bombs’ with assassination as a legitimate form of national defence because
suspects could not be arrested (MFA, 2009; Guiora, 2004: 319-334).
Much of this is simultaneously achieved by frequently declaring a ‘state of
emergency’, meaning that various laws to protect Palestinians can be waived,
and Israel can justify certain acts otherwise illegal such as drone strikes (PMO,
2011). In this sense the IDF can be seen as attempting to play into common
discourse that if something is legal it will be regarded acceptable. Alongside
‘lawfare’, and in recognition that not everyone buys in to this means of
‘legitimisation’, the IDF tries to uphold high levels of secrecy in its drone
operations, often denying drone accusations by Palestinians and their
sympathisers (Gordon, 2004: 309). The Israeli state also recognises that, in
incidences where neither of these hold, it can try to justify deadly use of force by
claiming pre-planned kill operations were ‘arrest operations that went awry’
(Strawser et al, 2014: 44; Black, 2014). Put clearly, the Israeli state enables its
drone operation in Gaza through secrecy and by using whichever legal
framework best protects itself in each incidence.
3b. Control: social practices and coercive measures
The law is a key device that enables certain social practices and coercive
measures to be carried out using drones. Social practices refer to everyday
practices and the way these are typically and habitually performed in society
(Reckwitz, 2002: 243). Largely invisible from the ground, the drones’ vertical
access allows the IDF’s control to be more covert than previous forms of warfare,
meaning they can track those on the ground often unbeknown to them. The
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drones’ loitering and camera surveillance function allows the IDF to map
territory and buildings; collect data on individuals over a significant period of
time and track the spaces and places in which people operate their everyday
lives. Graham (2010: 24) notes how the IDF targets ‘essential city infrastructures’
in attempt to ‘demodernize’ societies through the destruction of infrastructure
in Gaza. Drones are used to identify key buildings to destroy. For example, this
was the fate of Gaza’s ‘Al-Aqsa’ media centre and its main power station (HRW,
2012; Lubell, 2014; Black, 2014). Often structures built close to the border are
identified using drones for demolition to extend Israeli territory (HRW, 2004;
Halper, 2015: 44). Besides loss of life and costs of rebuilding, these destructions
make Palestinians feel vulnerable and limit daily practices such as catching-up
with news.
This also means the IDF has a significant advantage over the Palestinians,
granting near-full observation of those in Gaza and having the military advantage
of knowing where Palestinian resistance is located. Of note is the IDF’s
‘swarming’ technique’ whereby an individual is ‘followed’, sometimes for weeks,
by a ‘swarm’ of drones. This allows the IDF to establish the individual’s daily
habits and routines by having a constant visual watch on them, often with the
intent to kill (Weizman, 2012: 241). This covertness also makes it harder for
individuals or opposition groups to monitor and track the drones, making it
harder to protect themselves from surveillance and attack and enabling drone
operations to continue.
The significance of the drone is not just about enabling the IDF to utilise this
access to space vertically. So much of the system of control employed in Gaza
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relies on producing a certain type of asymmetric power. The drone gives
operators the ability to look down over Gaza from above, creating what Donna
Haraway (1988: 29) famously coined ‘the god-trick’. Foucault alludes to a similar
idea in his analysis of a series of paintings of dogs by Paul Rebeyrolle, which
stress the significance of having access to vertical space alone and the
implications on power this has. He writes: ‘In the world of prisons, as in the
world of dogs, the vertical is not one of the dimensions of space, it is the
dimension of power’ (Foucault, 1973: 170). Thus Foucault and Haraway highlight
the superiority of the ability to watch from above to see a larger picture in
contrast to those on the more limiting ground.
But Haraway’s ‘god-trick’ is more than the obvious military advantage of seeing
more than those on the ground, it creates a power dynamic reminiscent of
colonial power whereby judgments are perceived to be made from a superior
source of knowledge and from a perceived objective moral standpoint (Haraway,
1988: 29). Reiterating an earlier observation, the discursive view that technology
brings ‘objectivity’ furthers this assertion. It creates a system that assumes the
watchful eye is an ‘objective’ eye, as if the drone operator does not hold a
subjective ability or an objective agenda to process and interpret what they see
(Ashcroft et al., 2013: 48). This, amongst other things, is likely designed by the
IDF to instil a feeling in Gaza that the IDF’s acts are morally based, attempting to
infuse a vulnerability and a sense of ‘subalternity and powerlessness’ to those
below by making Palestinians feel as if they are being watched (Dahan et al.,
2012: 28).
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In this sense, one way drones are being used is in the form of collective control.
As rather than identifying ‘known’ individuals by tracking their personal
characteristics, the IDF seeks to control the population through identifying
certain patterns of life, to detect groups that need to be monitored by
identifying certain characteristics by dividing up the population. Shaw (2013: 13)
points out how these ‘patterns of life’ are assessed on the ‘potential to become
dangerous’, extending the IDF’s focus from known threats to ‘potential threats’.
This is a form of what Foucault terms ‘biopolitical control’, as power is directed
at the control of the whole population.
This leads to a similar, but importantly distinct point to the two made already,
relating to how the drone is being used to imbue those underneath with the
perception their every move is being observed. This connotes to Foucault’s
interpretation of the panopticon metaphor. Some already note a resemblance to
the image of the drone loitering above the airspace of Gaza and its resemblance
to the panopticon (see for example, Hass, 2011: 28; Dahan, 2012; Sorek, 2011:
113). The panopticon is most often described as a prison hosting a central tower
from which it is possible to see each prisoner’s cell. Central is the notion the
prisoners can be observed at all times, but are never sure or aware of when they
are being observed or exactly who is observing them (Foucault, 1977: 198-202).
The panopticon metaphor is grounded on the aim of increasing efficiency.
Foucault (1977: 20) describes it as a ‘functional mechanism that must improve
the exercise of power by making it lighter, more rapid, more effective’. This
applies to the IDF too. As described earlier, whilst the IDF collects data from a
small number of individuals, it does not track every individual. Although multiple
25
drones can operate at one time there are still limits to what the drone operator
can ‘see’, especially as the drone cannot see through walls or underground. It is
currently not possible to track every person at all times using drones: Gaza is the
most densely populated urban landscape in the world with a population of
almost two million (CIA, 2015).
Not only is it impractical to maintain control this way, this practice alone
commands the IDF limited power. This is why central to the panopticon is the
notion that it is a space whereby each prisoner feels their bodily actions are
being watched under the scrutinising eye of the guard in the central watchtower.
According to Foucault (1977:20) this is a design of subtle coercion whereby
inhabitants feel they must self-regulate behaviour in accordance to what they
perceive is ‘acceptable’ in the eyes of the controlling power, producing a
‘disciplinary’ form of power. Thus disciplinary power aspires to ‘fix’ people’s
‘undesirable’ actions by ‘means of tight control over the minutest acts and
behaviours’ (Handel, 2011: 262). This argues that the IDF see a more efficient use
of the drones than constant-watch is to form a degree of control on their
subjects through shaping their behaviours.
This form of power aims to do more than change people’s physical actions; it
seeks to permeate people’s minds within, which Deleuze criticises Foucault for
failing to recognise. Deleuze (1988: 34) sees that key to the panoptic mechanism
is the aim to ‘impose a particular conduct’. However the objective of the
panopticon metaphor is not just about influencing physical actions, but the
‘potential to instil self-discipline through making the subject aware they are
being watched’ (Sorek, 2011: 113). Thus disciplinary mechanisms ideally aim to
26
gradually change people’s perceptions on whether certain actions are morally
right or wrong, and this in turn, will be internalised by subtly changing their
thought processes, mind-sets and beliefs. This means disciplinary power is
implemented from above but operates from below, in attempt to impose
homogeneity over the population’s individual thoughts and modify their daily
practices. Thus it aims to simultaneously render people ‘docile’ and
‘individualise’ inhabitants by making it possible to detect differences among the
population to pick out those that need to be watched more closely (Mitchell,
1991: 93).
Foucault (1977: 200–202) saw that for panoptic power to compel obedience
power must appear always present and this relied on two things: visibility and
non-verifiability. Elmer (2014: 24) sees this did not mean Foucault saw the
panopticon as all-seeing or all-registered, ‘but a landscape that could at any time
impact in an individual a likelihood of surveillance’. It is a system of non-
verifiable power where one can never be certain if they are being observed but is
sure there is a strong likelihood he will be so (Foucault, 1977: 201).
The notion of ‘visibility’ here is less clear-cut. The ‘swarming’ technique
described earlier considered the advantage of being invisible in terms of its
ability to monitor (and sometimes kill) subjects unbeknown to those on the
ground. When Foucault (1977, 201) describes visibility he comments on how the
inmate will constantly have the tall outline of the central tower from which he is
spied on before his eyes. This suggests the IDF’s strategy relies on one of
invisibility rather than visibility. But arguably Foucault does not define ‘visible’
here as something the eye sees, but visible in the sense of awareness of a
27
presence. In Gaza, when multiple drones ‘swarm’ together at once, those on the
ground can hear the ‘zenana’, or know of their presence due to ‘fuzziness’ on
their televisions (Halper, 2015: 184; Wilson, 2011).2
Even so it is hard to calculate how effective disciplinary techniques the IDF uses
are. For these reasons the panopticon and its disciplinary power are relevant, but
should be taken as a light metaphor, a starting point at how in a dystopic setting
the IDF could control those in Gaza. This will be further examined in the
subsequent chapter. There are other shortcomings to the panoptic metaphor
relevant to the use of drones in Gaza. More generally in surveillance studies, in
many ways for good reason, some shy away from the panoptic metaphor. Many
subscribe to Deleuze’s ‘Postscript on the Societies of Control’ (1995: 4) as a
corrective to Foucault’s panopticon, highlighting what he regards as a shift in the
18th century from ‘disciplinary societies’ to ‘societies of control’. This marks the
panopticon and its disciplinary function as a limited program designed to keep
watch over confined populations, seeing that global societies no longer live in an
‘enclosure’ as Foucault claimed (Deleuze, 1995: 5).
Clearly in one sense Gaza is confined: it is commonly described as an ‘open-air
prison’ as it is so difficult to leave (see for example Tax, 2014; Benjamin, 2013:
74). But what Deleuze alludes to here is the interconnected nature of the
surveillance system of control, rather than a system where the individual passes
from one closed space to another as Foucault asserts. This change to a ‘control’
society means individuals can be permanently tracked. Just because Gaza is a
fairly exceptional case, with the key observer being the IDF rather than its own
2 ‘Zenana’ denotes the name Palestinians give to the ‘buzzing’ sound of the drone.
28
state, this does not mean the panopticon metaphor or disciplinary power is
made redundant but that it needs adapting to Gaza’s context.
3c. Control: coercive measures that help implement social practices
But these disciplinary and biopolitical social practices cannot implement control
through the presence of surveillance drones alone. Another part of the drone
that enables the IDF to attempt to ‘control’ lives in Gaza lies with using coercion
in the form of the drone’s missile function. Achille Mbembe (2003: 11-12)
recognises this, extending Foucault’s writing on power by arguing there is more
to control than disciplinary and biopower power. Mbembe (2003: 11) sees in
large part, ‘the power and capacity to dictate who may live and who must die’ is
the ‘ultimate expression’ of sovereignty and control, coining this ‘necropower’. If
biopower denotes how physical bodies are subjugated and made to behave in
certain ways as a microcosm of social control over the wider population,
necropower is about wielding autonomy over another’s life, a mixture of
disciplinary power and biopolitics (Foucault, 2010: 84; Mbembe, 2003). This
commonality of autonomy over life make biopower and necropower two sides of
the same coin. Although Mbembe was writing before the proliferation of drones,
it is clear drones with their capacity to release ‘targeted’ missiles means the
concept of necropower is still appropriate in Gaza.
Clearly the ability to decide who lives or dies is an important form of ‘control’,
but as mentioned and justified earlier; this dissertation centres on the
surveillance aspect of the drone. Similarly, although drone attacks are fairly
common, in lots of ways directing too much analysis on the killing per se diverts
29
away from the commitment to focus on everyday life. This considered, killing
Palestinians in Gaza helps the IDF to attain the power to control those who
remain alive as evoking a fear of being watched only becomes a reality if a
person feels there is evidence, or reason to believe there are negative
consequences to certain behaviours. It seems this explains in part why violent
attacks are carried out periodically, often using drone missiles to strike
individuals, smaller groups, buildings and infrastructure.
As Weizman (2007: 238) explains, periodic attacks on Palestinians (this should be
extended to include destruction of infrastructure and homes) can no longer be
explained simply as ‘terrorist prevention’ as whilst ‘targeted killings’ are often
carried out on those the IDF perceives as ‘terrorists’, it could be argued the IDF is
aware these killings are not going to ‘protect’ Israeli territory and its people as
they have other mechanisms in place to assure this such as the defensive ‘iron
dome’ (see for example, Armstrong, 2014).
Instead these attacks are best seen as death tactics or ‘thanato-tactics’ as
Weizman (2011: 125) describes them. They are small-scale, but fairly regular
killings, that act as a reminder to the rest of the population that, as individuals,
they must act and behave in accordance to what the IDF perceives as ‘correct’.
They are limited in number, arguably to discourage large-scale retaliation, and to
limit international attention and condemnation in order to preserve Israel’s
political hegemony, but frequent enough to send a message that non-
compliance will be punished by death and destruction (Weizman, 2011: 130).
This military tactic has often been described as ‘cutting the grass’, with those
who advocate this strategy framing it as a defensive tool designed to undermine
30
the ability of terror groups to threaten Israel’s security (Shaul, 2015). For others,
it is a device that enables the IDF to preserve control by continuously ensuring
Palestinians remain weak and vulnerable, as these periodic attacks seek to
spread fear and evoke psychological trauma (Feffer, 2014).
Shaul (2015), a former Israeli soldier and the founder of Palestinian rights group
‘Breaking the Silence’, describes how his involvement in ‘countless operations
aimed at ‘lowering the heads’ of Palestinians’, designed to demonstrate that the
‘IDF are always present in every place’. Again, the buzz or ‘zenana’, of the drone
contributes to this logic, a near-constant auditory reminder of the possibility of
imminent death, an attempt to encourage the Palestinians in Gaza to consider
how they conduct their every move (Hussain, 2013). Mbembe (2003: 40)
captures this sentiment in his description of how necropower ensures ‘vast
populations are subjected to conditions of life conferring upon them the status
of the living dead’.
To go back to Weizman (2007: 210), and to comment more wholesomely on the
role of the missile function of the drone and its relation to influencing social
behaviour and control, the ‘thanato-tactics’ surrounding the drone are intended
to try and maintain a sufficient level of security and political influence in Gaza. It
allows control to be maintained without carrying out too many attacks. This
reduces financial costs as well as limiting international attention and
condemnation. Put differently, it means Israel can attempt to continue its
mission without facing significant political repercussions.
31
3d. Control: bureaucratic apparatuses
‘Necropower’ and the ‘killing’ function of the drone are further relevant here. As
already discussed, the argument Israel uses surveillance on Palestinians to secure
itself from threat is not unfounded, but it is clear the system of control it has in
place is disproportionate to the threat posed. This begs the question as to why
such disproportionate force is used and how Israel is able to continue this
process. Arguably the connection here, as Parisi (2004) argues, is with the notion
of ‘life’ which lies central to bio-genetic capitalism, an opportunity for financial
investments and potential profit. This fits into Deleuze’s work on ‘Societies of
Control’ as a significant part of Deleuze’s focus surrounds the relationship
between surveillance and control, and their connection to global capitalism.
The correlation between Israel’s booming international drone industry (and
military and policing technology more generally) and its increased use of drones
and violence in the Palestinian Territories is strong. Put differently, profit can be
gained from exporting missile-launching drones and surveillance technologies.
This has provoked accusations by some that the IDF is using Gaza as a
‘laboratory’, a testing ground for the development of drones as well as other
weapons, security systems models of population control and tactics (See for
example, Halper, 2015: 4; Li, 2006: 38; Dahan, 2012: 29; Graham, 2010: 40).
This claim is not unfounded: Israel is currently a world leader in the
manufacturing and exportation of drones (Kreps and Zenko, 2014: 78; Rodgers,
2014: 99; Li, 2006; Boyle, 2015: 2; Webb, 2010: 33). Estimates on the value of
Israel’s drone industry significantly vary, but as around 40 percent of the world’s
32
drones come from Israel show a glimpse into the extent of profit drones are
wielding (Ben-David, 2013; Boltom et al, 2012).
The fairly unique system of control Israel has over Gaza provides a ‘desirable’
environment for the IDF to carry out these practices. This makes the drone
industry beneficial to Israel for two main reasons. First is its financial income.
Without exporting these weapons, their systems, and their tactics, Israel would
be unable to compete so highly in the international arms and security markets.
No less important is how being a major military power that serves other
militaries and security services across the globe brings Israel a prestigious
international status among global hegemons that would probably not have
otherwise achieved to the same extent (Halper, 2015: 4). Thus how the IDF aims
to ‘control’ the population is partly designed with this in mind. These two
explanations also help understand how Israel largely ‘get away with’ this
politically, as the military benefits for importing countries helps better explain
why internationally there is not more pressure for Israel to end its occupation.
The use of the law and the IDF’s secrecy described earlier help justify this.
These points may seem off-piste from the argument of this chapter, but they
help explain the logic behind the techniques of control Israel uses in Gaza and
how the drones aid this. It also provides the context to understand why Israel’s
drone industry has accelerated so significantly. Without this modern colonial
relationship of control, Israel would have neither the drive nor the conditions by
which to develop, deploy, test and export world-class weaponry and modes of
control. Halper (2015: 36) states this sentiment succinctly: ‘the need to pursue
33
an aggressive security politics is what thrusts Israel into wide-ranging global
involvement unusual for such a small country.
4. Conclusion: restricting movement, limiting certain behaviour
It is difficult to assert which came first: the move away from ‘control’ from the
ground or efforts to develop drone technologies and their usage which would
allow control from afar: the two are mutually constitutive and intertwined.
Regardless of this, there has not been a major modification of the means of
control, instead a shift in emphasis of the modes of power used. Drones are one
key technology that have replaced the direct presence of ground troops and
settlements by attempting instead to control by regulating movement through
space.
Applying Gordon’s definition of control to the context of drone use in Gaza has
helped outline the range of devices the IDF has used to try and exert control over
those that reside there. This chapter found that the IDF uses drones to exert
control using social practices to try and internalise Palestinians’ mindsets and
influence their behaviour, enforced using coercive measures in the form of
periodic drone missile attacks. The chapter saw that these practices were
enabled, in part, through using legal devices to help to try to legitimise these acts
in order to try and discursively make it acceptable for the bureaucrats to export
drones to other states to minimise international pressure and condemnation of
its actions towards Palestinians as well as maximising financial profits from these
exports.
34
Whilst Gordon helped define control, Foucault, as well as the body of academics
who have corrected and extended his work, have created a useful theoretical
framework that can be applied to the case at hand. Despite that neither
Foucault’s panopticon metaphor nor Deleuze’s ‘Societies of Control’ match
entirely to the IDF’s use of drones as a means of control over the population of
Gaza, in large part applying these ideas helps explain at least the logic behind the
IDF’s use of drones in Gaza as well as their workings of power and how this is
carried out.
What these drone tactics all have in common are the intent to control the
population of Gaza by creating an environment of uncertainty and anxiety for
those residing there, aiming to disrupt Palestinians in their everyday lives. The
IDF are trying to create an atmosphere of constant persecution by sending a
message to those in Gaza they must limit certain behaviours and restrict
movements or their livelihoods will be disrupted, they may even be killed. The
drone is not a mere weapon, but a tool aimed just as much at regulating as it is
killing. As Mmembe (2003: 29) sums up, there are a ‘concatenation of multiple
powers’ present here: ‘disciplinary, biopolitical and necropolitical’. The drone is
just one technology that makes up these workings of power. Whilst this chapter
cannot explain the entire present logic of the IDF, it tried to demonstrate how a
key part of ‘control’ for the IDF is less about gathering data and information and
is more a tactical logic that aims to disrupt Palestinian political and armed
resistance. So whereas this chapter has looked at the logic and intent of the IDF
35
to control, the next section will delve further into the impact this has on those in
Gaza and how they interact with this workings of power in resistance.
36
Chapter 2: Everyday resistance to the
IDF’s drone practices in Gaza
‘Escaping the imaginary totalizations produced by the eye, the everyday
has a certain strangeness that does not surface, or whose surface is only
its upper limit, outlining itself against the visible.’
De Certeau, 1984: 93.
1. Introduction
Academics and the media mostly frame the impact of the IDF’s use of drones in
relation to the devastating effects the missile strikes have on those directly
struck (see for example Rodgers, 2014; Webb et al, 2010; Loenwenstein, 2007).
This includes those killed, as well as their families and friends who have to deal
with the implications of their destroyed homes and livelihoods whilst mourning
loved ones. Most coverage on this issue documents the extent to which drones
are being used to launch missiles as a way to hold the secretive IDF to account
and alert the world to these practices. This focus is not surprising, neither is it
problematic in large part: death and destruction indisputably impacts those in
Gaza significantly. But by restricting analysis to those ‘exceptional moments of
popular explosion’, we are limiting attention to the more obvious and visible
implications of the drones (Scott, 1996: 323). This traditional ontological
approach cannot capture the impact, significance and implications of the IDF’s
use of drones in a way that recognises how they interact with power on a
minute, mundane and everyday basis.
37
Another problem with focusing on ‘grand events’ in this context lies with how
power is conceptualised, including how it is resisted. It is unhelpful to merely
focus on how the drones are being used to try to ‘control’ life in Gaza, as if this
process is concentrated in an entirely singular direction. As Foucault (1978: 95)
asserts, we cannot speak of power without resistance. This frames power and
resistance not in binary opposition but in a decoupled, circulatory, complex
perpetual ‘dance of control’ (Pile, 1997: 4). Foucault sees neither control nor
resistance are ever produced independently of one another: they are
interrelated and inter-dependent.
Similarly, whilst the IDF’s system of power does not determine the form
resistance takes, it does set the parameters for a distinct type of resistance to
emerge as Palestinian resistance is conditioned within these boundaries (Richter-
Devroe, 2011: 34). This creates a tendency for analysts to focus on the pre-
planned, systematic, organised, or ‘selfless’ practices that have revolutionary
consequences because they are more clear-cut forms of resistance. This
particularly applies to Palestinian resistance groups such as Fatah and Hamas.
However this approach is very one-dimensional, narrow and exclusionary as it
ignores a large section of Gaza’s population, many of whom may not directly
involve themselves with the operations of these groups intentionally or on a
regular basis.
The first section of this paper took a more top-down approach, using a mix of
empirical examples and theoretical approaches to model how the IDF seeks to
‘control’ the everyday lives of those in Gaza. What this missed was a more
empirical look at how this impacts those lives on the ground below and how
38
effectively the IDF have regulated the bodies and minds of Palestinians. Of
course this approach wields problems. First, it is nearly impossible to identify
such subtle changes in behaviour, especially when many are normalised and
done unconsciously. Similarly is it hard to distinguish behaviours that are a direct
consequence of the drones and those which are a result of the wider system of
control employed in Gaza. In the most part, we cannot definitively speak for
Palestinians and know the true extent to the workings of power at play here. But
it is still worth attempting to uncover the workings of power here, especially as
there are examples of the everyday consequences of the drones and how this
practice is resisted.
This chapter plans to help partially mitigate this problem. To understand the kind
of practices used to resist drones, it is essential to understand the context that
produces these kinds of resistance. This chapter first delves into how the drones
impact the lives of those in Gaza on an everyday basis, using the literature on the
‘everyday’ and ‘micropolitics’ to support some examples. This chapter tries to
argue that these practices are resisted, mapping the types of small-scale and
everyday forms of resistance. It seeks to show how in their struggle to regain
normalcy in their lives, Palestinians in Gaza have developed multiple indirect and
direct survival techniques to resist the IDF’s system of control.
2. Everyday life in Gaza living under drones
The study of micropolitics and ‘everyday life’ are not new. Micropolitics is an
established ontological approach associated with post-structuralism, chiefly
associated with Gilles Deleuze, Félix Guattari and Michel Foucault (Scherer, 2007:
39
564). It argues that to understand the political sphere ‘it is not enough to study
the behaviour of large-scale political formations such as the state, instead we
must attend to the political character of the everyday and show how the texture
of day-to-day life produces particular political subjects’ (Glezos, 2010: 884). As
already declared, micropolitics is popular in some research areas, but there is an
omission in applying this to drone use in Gaza. A ‘micro’ approach to power
deems focusing on the missile function itself does not recognise how the IDF’s
use of drones permeates even the minutest levels of life in Gaza, often in subtle
and mundane ways. Just because these ‘grand events’ involving missiles are
fairly common in Gaza, this does not mean they represent the everyday lives of
those residing there.
Drones are preventing people from conducting their normal activities: both
leisure activities and those conducted as part of surviving everyday life. For
example accounts by Palestinians in Gaza report minimising and even cancelling
activities imperative to daily survival, which involve travelling far or even leaving
the house. This includes actions such as going on runs, going to market for
essential items, hanging out washing on rooftops, and travelling in cars for work
or school (HRW, 2009: 6; Macintyre, 2014: 27; Dobbing and Cole, 2014: 16;
Wilson, 2011). These occur primarily when drones are loudly heard overhead,
but some report feeling so fearful they limit their movements more frequently
(Wilson, 2011; Macintyre, 2014: 27). For instance Wilson speaks to a Palestinian,
Hamdi Shaqqura, who started skipping jogs, fearing the drone operators could
interpret the pace of his run as suspicious behaviour. When he did go, he
changed the colour he wore from black to a lighter colour as he heard how if the
40
IDF were to accidently equate his black uniform (the same colour as military
uniform) whilst he was running he would risk attack (Wilson, 2011).
The drones are having similar impacts on social activities too. Palestinians in
Gaza report curbing activities such as meeting with friends, sitting outside their
homes with friends, and prohibiting their children from playing outdoors (HRW:
2009: 5; Saif, 2015: 9; Wilson, 2011). But as demonstrated in the previous
chapter, staying at home does not even guarantee safety. Constant fear of attack
means even the home is not a physical refuge, or a place where social activities
can take place, or a space to escape the reminder of constant conflict.
Furthermore, even when people do conduct these activities at home, they are
often disrupted. When drones fly overhead they frequently affect the quality of
the reception by distorting the screen because the drones use the same satellite
signals (see for example, Saif, 2014: 40; Balousha, 2013). This applies to watching
television, listening to the radio and telephoning friends (Saif, 2014: 41).
Implications here reach further than simply disrupting these activities. First it
cuts off the ability for Palestinians to connect with one another and the outside
world, through limiting activities such as watching the news or phoning family
from further afield. Physical interaction is already limited by restricting how
much people meet in person. The use of drones extends this to non-physical
forms of interaction. This disruption seeks to disconnect Palestinians from one
another. These kinds of activities also help people cope with life in Gaza, acting
as escapism, respite, and a release from living constantly in a battlefield (Cooper
and Anderson, 2015: 7). These combined with factors such as the poverty the
majority in Gaza experience means there are increasingly fewer social spaces and
41
social activities to engage in (see for example Saif, 2015: 58; UN Habitat, 2008:
128). Limiting movement also impedes upon aspects of life such as health and
comfort; some Palestinians in Gaza report spending increasing amounts of time
indoors in order to maximise their safety (Corporate Watch, 2014; Human Rights
Watch, 2009: 14).
We have seen so far that it is the drone’s ‘buzzing’ that seems to trigger the
greatest detrimental impact on Palestinian everyday life (see, Scherer, 2013;
Levy, 2005; Hookes, 2011). Asma Al-Ghoul, talks about the ‘buzz’, adding ‘it does
not want me to see or hear anything around me but its sounds and to think of its
next strike.” (Saif, 2014: 40). Multiple others claim they associate the ‘buzzing’
with imminent death, and that this is key to why high numbers of people suffer
from moderate to severe post-traumatic stress syndrome (Hauslohner, 2013;
Thabet and Thabet, 2015: 1). One Palestinian in Gaza, Bar Sheshet, explains how
the drones constantly put many ‘on edge’, giving an example of a time he took
cover when he heard buzzing then saw a ‘shiny object’ fly past and fearing it was
a missile only to find it was a bundle of birthday balloons (Dreazan 2014).
Simultaneously for some, and at other times for others, people describe the
constant buzzing of the drones as ‘annoying’ (Hass, 2011: 28; HRW, 2009: 28).
There are claims if more than one drone is directly overhead ‘to make a
conversation with the person in the same room is difficult’ (Saif, 2014: 25). This
sentiment is poignant in an interview by Human Rights Watch (2009: 28) where
Mahmud al-Habbash recalls hearing an explosion nearby and feeling
simultaneously ‘annoyed and worried’, before discovering her children had been
struck. The disturbing dualism of this description shows how constant and
42
normalised they are for those that live in Gaza, perfectly capturing the impact of
the drones.
These mark only a few examples, rather than an all-inclusive list, to give just a
glimpse into how drones are disrupting everyday life, impacting on economic and
social structures as well as mental and physical health. This is not to claim it is
the IDF’s direct intent to get a person to change, say, what they wear or how
they transport themselves to work specifically as how people regulate their
behaviour is less important for the IDF. But by encouraging these sorts of self-
regulating behaviours, the IDF is aiming to inject a sense of constant fear and
uncertainty into Gaza, by constantly reminding Palestinians of their presence and
by encouraging Palestinians to consider the implications of each action they
make.
3. Reconceptualising ‘resistance’
Intimately connected to the politics of everyday life is the idea of everyday
resistance. Formal conceptions of resistance portray subaltern groups as passive
and accepting of control (Bayat, 2013: 37-38). This depiction is dangerous: it
suggests the lives these marginalised groups live are not political lives and that
they are docile. Just because the IDF is trying to create a disciplinary structure
and it is effective to some extent, control does not always work in the intended
way, as actors do not compliantly accept this fate (De Certeau, 1984). Instead
Foucault (1978: 95-96) argues when a force actively attempts to discipline the
body, a space is created, producing an array of ways to resist these practices.
This is because resistance is not independent of control but conditioned by it,
43
thus each action by one group creates another reaction from the other (Richter-
Devroe, 2011: 34). Just as tactics are not always necessarily planned out by the
IDF and are instead responsive to changes in context, the same applies to
resistance: this interlock of power is not fixed but historically contingent, (Lilja
and Vithagen, 2009). Weizman (2007: 189) calls this practice ‘mimicry’ whereby
‘the military attempts to adapt their practices and forms of organisation inspired
by the guerrilla forms of violence it is confronted with’, entering a cycle of co-
evolution.
The concept of ‘everyday resistance’ originates with James Scott and his 1984
study ‘The Weapons of the Weak’ but has since been expanded and adapted.
Thus everyday resistance in this context marks how people in Gaza act in their
everyday lives in ways that undermine power and control. Many qualities make
everyday resistance different to more conventional resistance. Besides those
already discussed, everyday resistance tends to be unorganised, less visible,
more subtle, largely un-confrontational, and therefore, safer (Scott, 1989: 34-35;
Lyon, 2014: 364; Gilliom and Monahan, 2012: 410). As Scott (1989: 35-53)
affirms, the relative safety of everyday forms of resistance ‘has much to do with
the small scale of the action’, these acts are ‘below the radar’ as often the main
aim is quietly meeting one's needs, often for vital material gains. For this reason
these acts often go unnoticed as the act can be so minute, common and
normalised that it is not always consciously carried out (Curtis, 2015: 105). This is
why everyday resistance is largely nonviolent (Scott, 1997). These characteristics
of everyday resistance all fit the kind of space they are operating within,
productive of the disparities in power between the IDF and the Palestinians in
Gaza.
44
3a. Everyday acts of resistance as political
Due to the subtle and mundane form of everyday resistance, at first glance it
appears difficult to distinguish if an individual’s act should be described as
‘resistance’. Closely related is the dispute over the extent these types of actions
can be counted as resistance with accusations they are trivial coping mechanisms
of self-help rather than ‘politically protesting’ (for example, Hobsbawm, 1984:
282; Genovese, 1974). Scott (1985: 296) broaches this point, arguing isolated and
rare acts are insignificant, arguing only when acts are ‘consistent patterns’
(regardless of whether they are unorganised and uncoordinated) do they
become acts of resistance. Bayat (2013: 48) adds how these kinds of activities
are not carried out as deliberate political acts but out of necessity to survive and
improve life. But this does not prevent these sorts of practices concurrently
fitting into the realm of contentious politics, they just do so ‘quietly’ (Bayat,
2013: 45). Thus Bayat (2013: 20) helps specify how resistance is not about
protesting but the practising of ‘redress through direct and disparate actions’.
Bayat (2013: 45) suggests, as do others, that for something to count as resistance
it must be ‘unlawful’. However he writes in the context of people in post-colonial
Middle Eastern states (in large part) resisting state practices, unlike those in Gaza
who are resisting a colonial power. There is no reason why something must be
illegal to count as resistance, instead it just needs to deviate from what the
controlling power deems as in the realms of acceptability. As Darweish and Rigby
(2015: 37) put it, an act of resistance involves ‘contentious practices that subvert
existing regulations’ of the authoritative power. Just because ‘resistance’ does
45
not have explicit political objectives in the traditional sense’, it is still political
because it ‘creates a tacit challenge and introduces symbolic friction to existing
systems of domination or control’ (Gilliom and Monahan, 2012: 405).
Rightly, others worry that the desire to challenge the portrayal of Palestinians as
weak and uninvolved in the conflict brings a considerable risk of overly
politicising and romanticising resistance, heroifying their actions, branding them
as definitive signs of freedom and a trajectory for change (Abu-Lughod, 1990: 42;
Macleod, 1992). This is not the intent here; especially as it is clear the IDF’s
control over Gaza far surpasses the resistance regular Palestinians are able to
push back as the Israeli side has more resources.
3b. Everyday acts of resistance as simultaneously individual and collective
Many who criticise that everyday resistance does not ‘count’ as resistance
because it is too often in the form of self-help, also make the same allegation on
the grounds that they see the acts as individual and this is in numerous ways.
Despite self-help potentially extending to a group such as family and friends,
these acts are still individual in the sense that no organised unified group has
formed (Darweish and Rigby, 2015: 37). These individual acts are political and
therefore count as resistance. As Foucault (1977: 233) proclaims, it is those
directly involved at each site of action who determine which methods they use
to resist. Each individual has multiple understandings and practices of resistance,
carried out in different ways and to varying degrees (Richter-Devroe, 2011: 44).
Put succinctly, people do not have a collective understanding of resistance. As
46
already alluded to, everyday resistance is also individual in the sense they
frequently resist drones in the form of self-help, often to survive.
This does not prevent everyday resistance in Gaza to be simultaneously
collective too. Scott (1989: 36) sees there is nearly always an element of
collective action involved, even if this just entails an observer turning a blind eye
to a person’s action to help them avoid detection from an act the controller
perceives as deviant. Even if a group’s goal is not the same, and their activities
may be fragmented, their path is similar with their sheer cumulative number
shaping them into an eventual social force. (Darweish and Rigbyn, 2015: 37). For
instance, just because Palestinians are divided as to whether they favour a one-
state or two-state solution, this does not mean they all do not want the use of
drones in Gaza to stop. Even though the specific way and immediate context in
which they are carried out may vary slightly, in large part everyday resistance
embodies similar shared practices of large numbers of ordinary people in Gaza.
Therefore any allegations that these everyday acts do not count as resistance
because they serve no collective effort are unfounded as they are simultaneously
individual and collective.
4. Forms of everyday resistance to drone practices in Gaza
So far the focus has been more theory based. This next section will look more at
what everyday resistance to drone use in Gaza looks like. Just as the role of
space is key to how the drone’s system of control is carried out by the IDF,
naturally the same applies to those in Gaza. In the previous section we saw how
47
the 2005 Disengagement Plan changed the nature of the occupation from
horizontal to a more vertical power, with the IDF having the advantage of an
aerial view of Gaza’s landscape. However this leaves Palestinians with the ability
to use those spaces drones are unable to reach to resist surveillance. Palestinians
report increasingly moving themselves and their daily activities inside buildings,
whilst there is some suggestion Palestinians are also maximising their advantages
of vertical power by transferring their activities below the ground and into cave
networks (Herman, 2014; Rodgers, 2014: 106).
But more than the role of vertical space, yet intimately connected, is how the
organisational environment becomes a resource for those in resistance as
Palestinians begin to learn the tactics of the IDF for protection and survival. Ball
(2006: 3000-1) writes how all resistance strategies involve creating a ‘spatio-
temporal gap’ between watcher and watched by breaking or disrupting the flows
of information and knowledge being transferred about themselves between the
various parties of the dominant power.
Abujidi (2011: 328) supports this sentiment when he declares Palestinians are
knowledgeable and powerful, ‘unconsciously mentally mapping the patterns and
rhythms generated by the control network’. This is how Palestinians formulate
strategies and tactics designed to infiltrate the IDF’s system of control more
generally. In other words, Palestinians learn how to resist the drones by living on
the ground and communicating with one another. This sentiment is not made
blindly of the inequalities of power relations at play, but power does not need to
have lasting persistent effects to count as resistance. But the better-matched
48
resistance tactics are to the environment, the more likely it will succeed (Gilliom
and Monahan, 2012: 409).
4a. Survival and Self-help: evasion and masking
In Gaza, and the context of drone use, power is so dominated in one direction it
seems resistance mainly revolves around maximising safety and protection to
minimise the likelihood of attack. Put differently, much of Palestinian resistance
in Gaza revolves around avoiding surveillance and the ‘thanatotactics’ described
previously. The role of surveillance is increasingly more significant than Scott’s
conception because of the extensiveness and sophistication in Gaza. The
surveillance aspect of the drone is the means in which the IDF uses to decide
where they will launch a missile, therefore resistance to drone surveillance is
central to the repertoire of resistance constantly formed. This includes tactics
such as evading and masking to try and escape the watchful eye of the drones
above.
Saif (2014: 25) and Dobbing and Cole (2014: 16) interviews find examples of
evasion, each noticing how Palestinians have learned to use the drone’s sound to
indicate if there is a significant risk. For instance Nader Elkhuzandar, a Palestinian
from Gaza explains how ‘when the drone engine gets louder and more
persistent’ he should remain inside, as it means there is danger of strike as the
drone is looking for a target. Wilson (2011) interviewed a Palestinian who evades
drones in a different form. For instance he recalls how when the drones are
above him, he meets people face to face rather than taking taxis or cars.
49
These examples also demonstrate how sometimes everyday resistance overlaps
with catering to the benefit of the IDF to the extent these acts actually
contribute to stabilising the IDF’s system. But resistance can have different
meanings, intentions and effects on different power structures. So whilst in
some ways the noise hinders Palestinians through evoking fear and irritation, this
very device to control can also provide Palestinians with the means to resist
attack and break through the network of surveillance albeit to varying success. It
is for this reason that Macleod (1992) reminds us not to conceptualise agency
only within the dichotomies of resistance and conformance, but to see that
frequently an act is simultaneously conforming and subverting.
4b. Resilience: life goes on, life as resistance, injecting enjoyment into life
In addition to this, for many, and to varying degrees, resistance involves
continuing to live life through carrying on activities as usual. The previous
chapter looked at Mbembe’s claim that Palestinian lives are increasingly being
reduced to a status of the ‘living dead’ (2003). Whilst the first half of the chapter
showed this is the case in many ways, this does not mean it is accepted or not
resisted. For some this is a conscious decision, a form of empowerment to send a
message to the Israelis that they will not be controlled. In large part though ‘life
goes on’ to an extent not out of defiance, but because the conflict in Gaza is so
long enduring and continuous, irrespective of the endangerments involved and
people cannot maintain living such reductive lives. Such inequalities in power
make resistance difficult, the drone is even harder to resist because it cannot be
interacted with in the same way as with the ground control. But if a key aim of
50
Israeli drone use is to disrupt Palestinian life, carrying on as normal is an effective
way to resist this practice. In this sense ‘to exist is to resist’, not cooperating
denies a key intent of the IDF’s power. Palestinians call this ‘sumud’, denoting
the ‘steadfast and stubborn insistence on carrying on with life despite all odds’
(Richter-Devroe, 2009). Regardless of either intention, these acts count as
resistance as the IDF’s system of control seeks to limit and discipline movement
and they are rejecting this.
This also includes keeping up hope and laughing despite the death and loss they
have experienced at the hands of the IDF. For example Saif (2015: 99) in his
published diary about life in Gaza mentions how after several days of being
restricted to his home with limited food because of drones overhead, he and his
wife started making jokes up, personifying the drones as if they were alive
animals and joking that the drones must be begging the drone operators to be
allowed to leave as the drones would be hungry too. Just because this pursuit of
everyday enjoyment and normalcy cannot change the material this is
unimportant as it is not the aim here. Richter-Devroe’s (2009) observation,
although made about Palestinian women, is arguably just as applicable to many
Palestinians in general when she writes how they realise that controlling physical
space is impossible, so instead they ‘stress the need to maintain their own
alternative and ideational spaces’. This shows us that resistance is not limited to
practical survival strategies on the material level but extends to more abstract
spaces too.
51
5. Conclusion
The initial half of this chapter showed how Palestinian experience of control by
drone and power more generally has reached into the very core of Palestinian
individuals and their everyday lives, touching their bodies, permeating their
actions and attitudes and changing discourse in many ways. It argued the effects
of feeling constantly watched, of feeling at constant risk of imminent death has
just as significant impact on lives in Gaza as those more obvious impacts
discussed more frequently. The second half of the essay explored how
Palestinians, have widened the scope for what counts as resistance. These two
arguments may have initially appeared contradictory, but instead highlight the
unequal nature of power in the Israel/Palestine conflict and how the IDF’s drone
practice is effective in many ways but is also resisted.
It is hard to definitely separate what acts are a result of drone use rather than a
part of the wider system of control, and which actions are so minute we cannot
map them. However it is possible to identify some clear impacts to drones and
how they are resisted. Therefore everyday resistance is a useful analytical tool to
the case of drone use in Gaza. This demonstrates the importance of looking at
everyday resistance, as considering the kind of acts of resistance that come
about in relation to drone use in Gaza reveal certain things about the ever-
shifting power relations in the conflict. It also demonstrates that the acts of
these groups matter. It is here we see that the kind of resistance carried out is
reflective of both unequal power dynamic but also the length of time things have
gone on: that life must continue and that people are tired of more explicit forms
of resistance and scared of death as a result of non-compliance. Whilst these
52
control practices are resisted to an extent, ultimately the strong power position
of the IDF means that resistance is limited in effectiveness and this locates it
mainly in the realm of resistance to survive. In this sense, power and resistance
in this case is about Palestinians disrupting the positions the IDF is trying to
subject them to, as well as resisting any attempt to internalise this power.
Hammami (2004) captures everyday resistance to drones in Gaza perfectly when
he describes how ‘resistance for Palestinians is about simply getting there’.
53
Conclusion
1. Introduction
Finally, this dissertation returns to the research questions first laid out with the
intent to answer them more succinctly. The key research question asked what
power relations are produced by the IDF’s use of drones in Gaza as well as how
this impacts the everyday lives of those that reside there.
To help answer this question a subset of questions were asked. How does the
IDF’s use drones to help employ a system of control in Gaza? In what ways do
the practice of drones impact the lives of those who reside there and how is this
control resisted? First, a summary of the findings will be offered before exploring
what these findings mean more broadly. The dissertation will end by identifying
some shortcomings to the research, many of which the opportunity to explore
these further could be employed in future research.
2. Summary
The research found that the drone’s power reaches further than simple
annihilation of individual Palestinians, extending to the use of social practices as
a means to try and ‘control’ those that reside there. These social practices are a
mixture of disciplinary, biopolitical and necropolitical powers, all designed at
‘lowering the heads’ of Palestinians and making them feel vulnerable so that the
IDF can encourage Palestinians in Gaza to restrict movement and limit certain
‘undesirable’ behaviours. This is all built on the notion of the panopticon, and is
54
designed to create a more efficient, and more ‘ethically acceptable’, form of
modern colonial control in Gaza, employed ‘from afar’. This process is enabled
using the law to ‘legitimise’ drone practices. It also relies on bureaucratic
apparatuses to minimise international pressure to stop this. Connected to this is
the argument that a key motivation for Israel to continue and expand this system
in Gaza lies with its highly profitable military equipment exportation industry.
The second chapter explored how these practices impact negatively on those on
the ground in Gaza on an everyday basis, albeit in forms not always apparent at
first glance. This showed that in many ways the alleged desire of the IDF to
restrict movement and limit certain ‘undesirable’ movements was working
‘effectively’ for the IDF. It tried to demonstrate how detrimentally encompassing
life in Gaza continues to be, largely as a result of these drone practices. However,
despite this suggesting that the IDF’s attempt to control is effective to a degree,
this does not mean these attempts at control simply make Palestinians ‘docile’.
Although power is dominated in the hands of the IDF, attempts at control always
point to latent possibilities for resistance. These forms of resistance are rarely
presented in a way that would dramatically change wider outcomes. Instead
they tend to disrupt subject positions as a way to enable life to continue as much
as possible, most often in the form of evasion.
Thus resistance here remains to be something that disrupts power, working
within the confines of the control itself. Put differently, even with significant
disparities in power between Palestinians in Gaza and the IDF, there are still
examples of how Palestinians are powerful and resist this practice. It shows that
55
Palestinians are exercising their agency to maximise their own control over their
everyday lives, despite the constraints posed by drone practices.
3. Future research
This study does not, neither did it ever intend to, provide a complete picture of
the workings of power at play here or the ways in which the IDF’s drone practice
impact the everyday lives of those in Gaza. It can only scrape the surface of these
questions due to a number of constraints. Firstly, that the study is limited in
length. Also as research was secondary, the dissertation over-relied on theory
and secondary sources. Other shortcomings are harder to improve in future work
as it is impossible to ever fully map either the impact of drones or how power
materialises. This is due to the nature of the study, especially its ontological
focus to the ‘micro’, meaning power often takes an unobvious, less visible form.
This withstanding, and as this research has tried to show, it is possible to identify
some patterns and example of these. This is why further research would benefit
from a fully ethnographic approach: it would create a richer depth to research
findings, relax reliance on secondary sources and therefore better suit the
ontological and epistemological commitments.
The need for more research of this nature, especially as the use of drones
increase worldwide, reaches beyond Palestinians who live under drones in Gaza,
albeit adapted to fit varied contextual settings. It extends to any individual or
group that persistently encounter drones, and even more widely to those
subjected to control practices. Thus more challenges to the portrayal of such
56
groups as weak and submissive to power need to be forged, with greater efforts
to allow those involved to voice their insights. What this says more widely is a
plea to a greater commitment in this subject area to moving focus away from the
‘macro’, and the more ‘visibly political’, which as of yet have only got so far in
helping to understand power and understand those subaltern groups’ suffering.
13, 200 words.
57
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