Keeping Palestinians in Place… and Out of the Equation

When Ali Jarabawi distinguished between physical transfer and legal transfer, he was not looking for a new term as much as he was trying to read a profound transformation in the tools of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. In 1948, the scene was clear and shocking: direct expulsion, mass uprooting, and a forceful reshaping of the demographic map. The goal then was to settle the conflict on the ground by reducing the Arab presence to the minimum possible.

But 1967 presented Israel with a different equation. The land expanded, but the population did not disappear. Suddenly, it found itself facing a large Palestinian human mass that could not be easily uprooted, not only for demographic reasons, but because the world had changed, and the cost of overt displacement became politically and morally higher. At this moment, the shift began: the question was no longer how to remove people from the land, but how to keep them in it without them owning it.

Thus, what can be called “legal transfer” was born. The Palestinian remains on his land, but he is separated from its keys. The borders are not in his hands, the resources are not in his hands, the airspace is not in his hands, the security decision is not in his hands. Daily life seems relatively normal—schools, markets, institutions—but sovereignty is absent. Control is no longer noisy as in scenes of mass expulsion, but has become quiet, organized, and legally framed.

In this model, there is no need for displacement trucks. A complex legal and administrative system is sufficient to rearrange the relationship between man and land, so that the body remains in place while the land is managed from outside. Control here is less confrontational with the international community, and seemingly less morally costly, but it is more entrenched in the long run.

And it seems that the current reality represents the culmination of this logic. Settlement expansion, reclassification of lands, strengthening control over strategic areas, and complicating the administrative structure in the West Bank and Jerusalem, all reflect one philosophy: consolidating control while keeping the population. The goal is no longer mass expulsion as in the mid-20th century, but creating a suffocating and oppressive environment that pushes towards “silent migration,” making the Palestinian presence fragile, limited in sovereignty, and restricted in potential.

At the heart of this transformation stands the Oslo station. When the Palestinian Authority was established, it was presented as a transitional step towards an independent state. But with the faltering political path, it gradually transformed into an entity that manages the population within a narrow ceiling of powers. The issue was no longer about liberating the land as much as it became about managing society under occupation.

Here, the most dangerous transformation occurred: the redefinition of responsibility.

Before the establishment of the Authority, as in the First Intifada, society moved on its own initiative. Popular committees managed daily life, and initiative came from the grassroots. No one waited for an official signal. After the establishment of the Authority, however, the question was repeated with every escalation: What will the Authority do? Not what will we do?

The existence of an official authority repositioned political action. Initiative shifted from society to the institution, and with it, the logic of confrontation changed. The Authority, by virtue of being an authority, prioritizes internal stability, preventing chaos, and maintaining public order. This is a logic of administration, not a logic of a liberation movement.

The paradox is that the Authority is popularly demanded to act, but it operates within arrangements that do not grant it control over land, borders, or resources. It is an authority without sovereignty. If it escalates, it risks its very structure. If it refrains, it is accused of inaction. In this gray area, the model of administration is entrenched instead of the model of liberation.

Thus, what resembles a “compromise” is formed on the ground: no independent Palestinian state, no single state with equal rights, but a continuation of Israeli control with limited Palestinian self-rule. A model that postpones resolution but does not cancel it, and manages the crisis instead of solving it.

This reality may provide short-term tactical gains for Israel, as it avoids major decisions related to withdrawal or granting full political rights. But it does not solve the structural contradiction at its core. Keeping an entire people without sovereignty, while continuing to control their land and resources, does not produce lasting stability, but rather reproduces the conflict in a new form.

The question is how can control over land be combined with depriving the population of sovereignty or equality? How long can this contradiction be managed without exploding again?

Unless a political horizon is opened that recognizes full rights—whether through two real states or one state with equal rights—the current formula will remain a temporary management of a deep historical crisis.

At the heart of this equation, Palestinian society faces a difficult test: Will it remain waiting within a tightly managed system, or will it redefine its position as an actor, not an object of control?

Perhaps here, specifically, lies the most important question for the next phase.