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Civil Imagination: A Political Ontology of Photography
Understanding photography is more than a matter of assessing photographs, writes Ariella Azoulay. The photograph is merely one event in a sequence that constitutes photography and which always involves an actual or potential spectator in the relationship between the photographer and the individual portrayed. The shift in focus from product to practice, outlined in Civil Imagination , brings to light the way images can both reinforce and resist the oppressive reality foisted upon the people depicted.
Through photography, Civil Imagination seeks out relations of partnership, solidarity, and sharing that come into being at the expense of sovereign powers that threaten to destroy them. Azoulay argues that the “civil” must be distinguished from the “political” as the interest that citizens have in themselves, in others, in their shared forms of coexistence, as well as in the world they create and transform. Azoulay’s book sketches out a new horizon of civil living for citizens as well as subjects denied citizenship—inevitable partners in a reality they are invited to imagine anew and to reconstruct.
Beautifully produced with many illustrations, Civil Imagination is a provocative argument for photography as a civic practice capable of reclaiming civil power.
Through photography, Civil Imagination seeks out relations of partnership, solidarity, and sharing that come into being at the expense of sovereign powers that threaten to destroy them. Azoulay argues that the “civil” must be distinguished from the “political” as the interest that citizens have in themselves, in others, in their shared forms of coexistence, as well as in the world they create and transform. Azoulay’s book sketches out a new horizon of civil living for citizens as well as subjects denied citizenship—inevitable partners in a reality they are invited to imagine anew and to reconstruct.
Beautifully produced with many illustrations, Civil Imagination is a provocative argument for photography as a civic practice capable of reclaiming civil power.
288 pages, Hardcover
First published February 1, 2012
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June 25, 2018
Keista ir sunki (sunkiai skaitoma) knyga - bet įspūdinga. Iš pradžių galvojau, kad svarbiausia joje bus specifinis žvilgsnis į fotografiją, ir iš tiesų čia Azoulay pateikia savo fotografijos sampratą: kad tai įvykis, kuriame dalyvauja 4 šalys - fotoaparatas, fotografuotoja/s, fotografuojamieji ir žiūrėtoja/s. Taip ir yra, bet tai apipinama gausybe medžiagos - nuo kritinės teorijos įvado, pereinančio į smarkiai advanced lygį (man vietomis buvo sunku), iki ilgų apmąstymų apie vizualumą ir politiškumą (o per tai etiką). Azoulay nerašo poetiškai kaip koks Barthes'as - ji rašo griežtai, kapotai, dažniau sudėtingai (bet ne iki batleriško lygio), net sakyčiau rūsčiai.
Intonacija, kaip ir smarkiai smarkiai sunkiasvoriškai pakrauta pradžia reikalinga tam, kad atsirastų antra knygos žinutė - labai stipriai antimilitaristinis ir anti-izraelietiškas (ne antisemitine, o konflikto Gazos ruože prasme) tekstas. Prie jo einama per visą sunkią pradžią iki maždaug ties antrąja knygos puse prasidedančios fotoesė, kurios tema - erdvinis ruožo ir palestiniečių gyvenamosios vietos naikinimas (namų nubuldozerinimas, kelių ir perėjų uždarymas, patikrinimo postai etc). Vėliau ji pereina ir apskritai prie karinių veiksmų - žudymo, prievartos, na ir tada - prie režimo kritikos. Tačiau visą laiką akiraty išlaiko karo zonų fotografiją ir vaizdus.
Kai jautrumo centras ne vienas, tai kažkaip svarstymai apie fotografiją biški nublanksta - nors yra labai įdomūs ir vis norėjau daugiau pavyzdžių ar išplėtojimo, nes karo / konfliktinė fotografija visgi tėra vienas jos atvejis. Kita vertus - pagauni save taip svarstant ir tada susimąstai, ar iš tiesų tokia hierarchija: karo kaip žemesnė, visa fotografija - kaip kažkokia atskira metasistema. Bet juk taip tik iš vienos perspektyvos, ir būtent tokios, kurią kritikuoja Azoulay, - kur menas yra kažkas atsieta, neutralu, o politika - tik vienas iš jo panaudojimo būdų, tipo "menas vulgaris". Tuo tarpu pagal kairiąją filosofiją, kuriai ir atstovauja šita knyga, - politika visa yra persmelkusi, taip pat ir meną menui, nekalbant apie kitokias jo versijas. Galiausia - ar gali būt ekstremalesnė būklė už karą, organizuotą žmonių naikinimą? Čia jis ir yra pirmoj vietoj, kaip visa nulemianti patirtis. Todėl tokia ir hierarchija.
Taigi - sudėtinga, nevienareikšmė, bet gera. Ir dar tai, ko Lietuvoj visai nėra - atvirai kairioji filosofija ir meno kritika, išplėtota, nuosekli, arši, bet ne šiaip "kva kva aš pikta". Sveika vis paskaitinėti.
Intonacija, kaip ir smarkiai smarkiai sunkiasvoriškai pakrauta pradžia reikalinga tam, kad atsirastų antra knygos žinutė - labai stipriai antimilitaristinis ir anti-izraelietiškas (ne antisemitine, o konflikto Gazos ruože prasme) tekstas. Prie jo einama per visą sunkią pradžią iki maždaug ties antrąja knygos puse prasidedančios fotoesė, kurios tema - erdvinis ruožo ir palestiniečių gyvenamosios vietos naikinimas (namų nubuldozerinimas, kelių ir perėjų uždarymas, patikrinimo postai etc). Vėliau ji pereina ir apskritai prie karinių veiksmų - žudymo, prievartos, na ir tada - prie režimo kritikos. Tačiau visą laiką akiraty išlaiko karo zonų fotografiją ir vaizdus.
Kai jautrumo centras ne vienas, tai kažkaip svarstymai apie fotografiją biški nublanksta - nors yra labai įdomūs ir vis norėjau daugiau pavyzdžių ar išplėtojimo, nes karo / konfliktinė fotografija visgi tėra vienas jos atvejis. Kita vertus - pagauni save taip svarstant ir tada susimąstai, ar iš tiesų tokia hierarchija: karo kaip žemesnė, visa fotografija - kaip kažkokia atskira metasistema. Bet juk taip tik iš vienos perspektyvos, ir būtent tokios, kurią kritikuoja Azoulay, - kur menas yra kažkas atsieta, neutralu, o politika - tik vienas iš jo panaudojimo būdų, tipo "menas vulgaris". Tuo tarpu pagal kairiąją filosofiją, kuriai ir atstovauja šita knyga, - politika visa yra persmelkusi, taip pat ir meną menui, nekalbant apie kitokias jo versijas. Galiausia - ar gali būt ekstremalesnė būklė už karą, organizuotą žmonių naikinimą? Čia jis ir yra pirmoj vietoj, kaip visa nulemianti patirtis. Todėl tokia ir hierarchija.
Taigi - sudėtinga, nevienareikšmė, bet gera. Ir dar tai, ko Lietuvoj visai nėra - atvirai kairioji filosofija ir meno kritika, išplėtota, nuosekli, arši, bet ne šiaip "kva kva aš pikta". Sveika vis paskaitinėti.
June 10, 2024
A few gem quotes and concepts, but they had to be mined from within a huge amount of filler that interested the author but was often tangential to the theme of the book or chapter. The drifting was frequent and contradicted the theories presented. Overall has benefitted my visual literacy thinking greatly, but was not always pleasure to read.
August 2, 2024
New Review
Yesterday I was in a meeting where we discussed the new introduction to this book and in doing that close reading I’ve become dissatisfied with my previous review and have decided to have another go.
I want to start by saying that the author is a Jewish woman who was born in what she refers to as the Zionist colony of Palestine. I’ve read two books by her in quick succession. The other is called The One-State Condition: Occupation and Democracy in Israel/Palestine. I have read many books this year on Palestine – that is easily the best. But I am unlikely to get time to review it in a way that I would feel would do it justice – you should read it. It is stunningly good.
The other thing I want to say is that she has rewritten the introduction to the second edition of this book in a way that I find breathtakingly interesting. She has written over parts of her old introduction – which she retains in normal text – with text in italics. I want to say that she is speaking back to her previous self in doing this, or arguing with herself, or correcting herself – but none of these are quite right. But since she is not the same person as the person who wrote the original introduction, now she shows how her ideas have become clearer and modified over time. And she does this by overlaying new text in italics across her selection of text from the previous edition.
Photography is a complicated thing – much more complicated than you might expect. Does it have a role in emancipation? Photography produces images – but who owns those images and who gets to decide what those images mean? Photographs, like so much else from colonies, are ‘taken’. Is it possible for photographs to not be appropriated?
The book is called the Civil Imagination and so we should think about those two words and what they mean. In one sense the French Revolution moved people from being subjects of the state to becoming citizens. As citizens they were understood to be able to act in ways that are simply not available to subjects. She says that in a society like Israel’s there are effectively two classes of citizens, sovereign citizens and effectively subjects. However, the myth of the society is that it is a democracy and so there is really only one class of citizen. This fundamental untruth lies at the heart of the conflict across these occupied lands. This is not merely a matter of dispossession, something at the heart of every colonisation, but also of a kind of legal fiction about what it means to be a citizen and so of the definition of the civil.
Imagination imagines what does not currently exist. And in this, the author sees the role of photography, to create an image of possible worlds. Rather than photographs being ‘taken’, and rather than them being objects that are owned by the person ‘taking’ them, photographs become part of an event of emancipation. The question then becomes not only who took the photograph, but what is it that they chose to record, what is the context of that recording, who is included, who is left out? That is, image theory becomes contextualised and each photograph becomes an event in that context. As such, any photograph is political in that it is always about more than the choices of the photographer, but is embedded within a civil context and speaks to that context, whether the photographer recognises this or not.
I am going to have to read more of Azoulay’s work. And in doing so try to read it more closely. She is seriously intelligent and throughout this book I could feel her taking my breath away with her insights. I wanted to add to my previous review, but felt it would be wrong to do so as she does in her second introduction, by writing in italics to show her additions/editings – but rather to leave my previous review as was.
Old Review
One of the best things about reading is the opportunity it gives you to think inside the head of someone who thinks quite differently to how you do. The author of this is remarkably systematic in her thinking. She refers to ideas like the three versions of the judgement of taste, or that the political judgement of taste has both an inclusive and exclusive form. This always makes me think of Aristotle or Kant, and how reading them I am constantly struck by how differently our brains work. I really don’t think in well-ordered categories that build into coherent structures. But I marvel at it while I watch someone do exactly that.
In many ways this book is a working through of the author’s attempt to understand her own reaction to a photograph she reproduces on the first page of the Introduction – also on the cover. And central to how she attempts to understand this is to question whether she should respond to this image as a work of art – that is, using aesthetic criteria and judging it according to formal considerations like how it is composed, lit, framed and so on – or whether, given it is the photograph of a Palestinian woman at her son, a woman who has just been removed from months of Israeli administrative detention while her home was demolished, she should consider it as a political image. That is, what is the relationship between the aesthetic and the political? Can a political image be too aesthetic or a work of art too political? How do we go about making these judgements? And should they both be held separate?
In many ways her answer follows her own engagement with these questions, except she frames these within remarkably interesting discussions with some very important ‘image theorists’, including Walter Benjamin, Hannah Arendt, Roland Barthes and John Berger – that is, some of my heroes. Her point is not to say that art is political and the political is also artistic – although, this might well be something people reading her might take her to be saying – but rather that while there clearly are spheres and ways of understanding the world that are political and aesthetic, visual culture is always both aesthetic and political, in the broadest senses. An image always has been created with formal constraints that can be judged aesthetically, and images exist within communities and those communities are essentially political.
She makes the very interesting point that the history of photography could be seen as introducing us to a new way of seeing. One that is not exhausted by the mechanical processes that go into making particular images, but rather where the meanings of images are, in many ways, the product of a process of negotiation between the photographer and those who observe the image. And that the context in which the image has been taken, or even just understood to have been taken, and what that is then taken to mean, provides a layer of interpretation and understanding of images that are much harder to pin down and fix for all time than people sometimes assume. She gives an example of Jonathan Walker who was tattooed with SS (Slave Stealer) after he had helped smuggle slaves to the north. He went into a photographic studio and had his hand photographed – people then referred to the SS as Slave Savior. Her point is that photography provided a means to effectively overturn the decision of the legal system – a way for the community to pass judgement upon the politics of the day. And this was done within an aesthetic medium, within a photograph. A discussion of how and whether this was political or aesthetic, or where on the spectrum between the political and the aesthetic this photograph might have sat seems almost entirely beside the point.
I’m Irish, and so I am more likely to think of these distinctions in terms of songs, rather than photographs. And I’ve never really had a problem with songs being political, but being political is never really enough. Take Kevin Barry – the story of an 18 year-old who was tortured and then hanged by the English – clearly a political song – but there is no subtlety to it. But a very similar song, on a nearly identical topic, the murder by the British of an Irish rebel, James Connolly, virtually moves me to tears whenever I hear it.
“The black flag was hoisted
The cruel deed was over
Gone was the man who loved Ireland so well
There was many a sad heart
In Dublin that morning
When they murdered James Connolly
The Irish rebel.”
I think this is the dance that is necessary between the aesthetic and the political. It is pointless saying something is too political to be aesthetic – art is about life and life is inherently political – but also that something is too aesthetic to be political too – the political cannot exist outside of formal considerations.
I feel her main point is that images now exist within civil imaginations in the sense that they exist, and derive their meaning, from where they sit within communities. This book is written by someone who was brought up in Israel and who uses the complex and insanely difficult situation there to explain the politics and aesthetics of images. She provides breathtaking analyses of photographs and, in the last chapter, of architecture. This is a stunningly interesting book that I’ve barely scratched the surface of. Honestly, get hold of this book. She is so incredibly smart, interesting and so worth reading.
Yesterday I was in a meeting where we discussed the new introduction to this book and in doing that close reading I’ve become dissatisfied with my previous review and have decided to have another go.
I want to start by saying that the author is a Jewish woman who was born in what she refers to as the Zionist colony of Palestine. I’ve read two books by her in quick succession. The other is called The One-State Condition: Occupation and Democracy in Israel/Palestine. I have read many books this year on Palestine – that is easily the best. But I am unlikely to get time to review it in a way that I would feel would do it justice – you should read it. It is stunningly good.
The other thing I want to say is that she has rewritten the introduction to the second edition of this book in a way that I find breathtakingly interesting. She has written over parts of her old introduction – which she retains in normal text – with text in italics. I want to say that she is speaking back to her previous self in doing this, or arguing with herself, or correcting herself – but none of these are quite right. But since she is not the same person as the person who wrote the original introduction, now she shows how her ideas have become clearer and modified over time. And she does this by overlaying new text in italics across her selection of text from the previous edition.
Photography is a complicated thing – much more complicated than you might expect. Does it have a role in emancipation? Photography produces images – but who owns those images and who gets to decide what those images mean? Photographs, like so much else from colonies, are ‘taken’. Is it possible for photographs to not be appropriated?
The book is called the Civil Imagination and so we should think about those two words and what they mean. In one sense the French Revolution moved people from being subjects of the state to becoming citizens. As citizens they were understood to be able to act in ways that are simply not available to subjects. She says that in a society like Israel’s there are effectively two classes of citizens, sovereign citizens and effectively subjects. However, the myth of the society is that it is a democracy and so there is really only one class of citizen. This fundamental untruth lies at the heart of the conflict across these occupied lands. This is not merely a matter of dispossession, something at the heart of every colonisation, but also of a kind of legal fiction about what it means to be a citizen and so of the definition of the civil.
Imagination imagines what does not currently exist. And in this, the author sees the role of photography, to create an image of possible worlds. Rather than photographs being ‘taken’, and rather than them being objects that are owned by the person ‘taking’ them, photographs become part of an event of emancipation. The question then becomes not only who took the photograph, but what is it that they chose to record, what is the context of that recording, who is included, who is left out? That is, image theory becomes contextualised and each photograph becomes an event in that context. As such, any photograph is political in that it is always about more than the choices of the photographer, but is embedded within a civil context and speaks to that context, whether the photographer recognises this or not.
I am going to have to read more of Azoulay’s work. And in doing so try to read it more closely. She is seriously intelligent and throughout this book I could feel her taking my breath away with her insights. I wanted to add to my previous review, but felt it would be wrong to do so as she does in her second introduction, by writing in italics to show her additions/editings – but rather to leave my previous review as was.
Old Review
One of the best things about reading is the opportunity it gives you to think inside the head of someone who thinks quite differently to how you do. The author of this is remarkably systematic in her thinking. She refers to ideas like the three versions of the judgement of taste, or that the political judgement of taste has both an inclusive and exclusive form. This always makes me think of Aristotle or Kant, and how reading them I am constantly struck by how differently our brains work. I really don’t think in well-ordered categories that build into coherent structures. But I marvel at it while I watch someone do exactly that.
In many ways this book is a working through of the author’s attempt to understand her own reaction to a photograph she reproduces on the first page of the Introduction – also on the cover. And central to how she attempts to understand this is to question whether she should respond to this image as a work of art – that is, using aesthetic criteria and judging it according to formal considerations like how it is composed, lit, framed and so on – or whether, given it is the photograph of a Palestinian woman at her son, a woman who has just been removed from months of Israeli administrative detention while her home was demolished, she should consider it as a political image. That is, what is the relationship between the aesthetic and the political? Can a political image be too aesthetic or a work of art too political? How do we go about making these judgements? And should they both be held separate?
In many ways her answer follows her own engagement with these questions, except she frames these within remarkably interesting discussions with some very important ‘image theorists’, including Walter Benjamin, Hannah Arendt, Roland Barthes and John Berger – that is, some of my heroes. Her point is not to say that art is political and the political is also artistic – although, this might well be something people reading her might take her to be saying – but rather that while there clearly are spheres and ways of understanding the world that are political and aesthetic, visual culture is always both aesthetic and political, in the broadest senses. An image always has been created with formal constraints that can be judged aesthetically, and images exist within communities and those communities are essentially political.
She makes the very interesting point that the history of photography could be seen as introducing us to a new way of seeing. One that is not exhausted by the mechanical processes that go into making particular images, but rather where the meanings of images are, in many ways, the product of a process of negotiation between the photographer and those who observe the image. And that the context in which the image has been taken, or even just understood to have been taken, and what that is then taken to mean, provides a layer of interpretation and understanding of images that are much harder to pin down and fix for all time than people sometimes assume. She gives an example of Jonathan Walker who was tattooed with SS (Slave Stealer) after he had helped smuggle slaves to the north. He went into a photographic studio and had his hand photographed – people then referred to the SS as Slave Savior. Her point is that photography provided a means to effectively overturn the decision of the legal system – a way for the community to pass judgement upon the politics of the day. And this was done within an aesthetic medium, within a photograph. A discussion of how and whether this was political or aesthetic, or where on the spectrum between the political and the aesthetic this photograph might have sat seems almost entirely beside the point.
I’m Irish, and so I am more likely to think of these distinctions in terms of songs, rather than photographs. And I’ve never really had a problem with songs being political, but being political is never really enough. Take Kevin Barry – the story of an 18 year-old who was tortured and then hanged by the English – clearly a political song – but there is no subtlety to it. But a very similar song, on a nearly identical topic, the murder by the British of an Irish rebel, James Connolly, virtually moves me to tears whenever I hear it.
“The black flag was hoisted
The cruel deed was over
Gone was the man who loved Ireland so well
There was many a sad heart
In Dublin that morning
When they murdered James Connolly
The Irish rebel.”
I think this is the dance that is necessary between the aesthetic and the political. It is pointless saying something is too political to be aesthetic – art is about life and life is inherently political – but also that something is too aesthetic to be political too – the political cannot exist outside of formal considerations.
I feel her main point is that images now exist within civil imaginations in the sense that they exist, and derive their meaning, from where they sit within communities. This book is written by someone who was brought up in Israel and who uses the complex and insanely difficult situation there to explain the politics and aesthetics of images. She provides breathtaking analyses of photographs and, in the last chapter, of architecture. This is a stunningly interesting book that I’ve barely scratched the surface of. Honestly, get hold of this book. She is so incredibly smart, interesting and so worth reading.
April 16, 2024
I started reading this book because I thought I was about photography. The title kind of pointed in that direction…
Thing is: this is not a book about photography! It is a book about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and partly about the misguiding role of (press)photography in the way it is depicted. Yes the idea of placing the aesthetic versus the political is certainly interesting but gets lost in the rest of the book.
Thing is: this is not a book about photography! It is a book about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and partly about the misguiding role of (press)photography in the way it is depicted. Yes the idea of placing the aesthetic versus the political is certainly interesting but gets lost in the rest of the book.
February 23, 2013
Disguised as a book about "the photographic event," this is a sloppy, unprofessional book about the Israel-Palestine conflict. Major figures in the area of photojournalism don't appear here. Some figures come from Wikipedia. The sliver of actual content that is here gets buried under anti-Semitism and sloppy research.
August 27, 2024
A difficult read, but what an eye-opening book.
April 30, 2013
The book consisted of several elements working in tandem, some that worked for me and some that didn't. The strongest element of the book was a photo essay depicting the everyday of the occupation of Palestine, an example of demonstrating her political project of civil imagination. Azoulay does a lot of work to conceptualize photography as an event, one that brought forth a new way of seeing and being in the world, that every moment is one with potential to be captured in film and that each framing via photography only captures an iota of the entire world. Hence, photography becomes a way of being presented with a world, one with others in it that we have a duty to consider.
That political project, albeit not described well by me, is really awesome and her use of it I can totally get behind. All too often, though, it sounded like Heideggerian aesthetics, which she doesn't mention once, instead opting for Kant and Arendt, the latter doing much more convincing work for her. Ultimately, her use of Kantian spectatorship seems to contradict the imaginary practice that she is describing later in the book and so I don't know why she front-loaded the book with critiquing judgments of taste while subscribing to the notion of a Kantian spectator. I may have misread her in that moment, because it simply doesn't jive properly. In bringing Kantian judgments of taste into her framework, imagination is smuggled in as a faculty that interacts with the understanding in the process of judging. Meanwhile, her account relies on a non-Kantian notion of a political imagination that might coincide more with utopian politics and imagining the potential in particular moments or maybe even an imagination that establishes solidarity across social positions. Regardless, the seeming equivocation of those two forms of imagination left me a little less impressed overall with the initial theoretical schema that she outlines, prior to the more applied stuff, which completely won me over.
That political project, albeit not described well by me, is really awesome and her use of it I can totally get behind. All too often, though, it sounded like Heideggerian aesthetics, which she doesn't mention once, instead opting for Kant and Arendt, the latter doing much more convincing work for her. Ultimately, her use of Kantian spectatorship seems to contradict the imaginary practice that she is describing later in the book and so I don't know why she front-loaded the book with critiquing judgments of taste while subscribing to the notion of a Kantian spectator. I may have misread her in that moment, because it simply doesn't jive properly. In bringing Kantian judgments of taste into her framework, imagination is smuggled in as a faculty that interacts with the understanding in the process of judging. Meanwhile, her account relies on a non-Kantian notion of a political imagination that might coincide more with utopian politics and imagining the potential in particular moments or maybe even an imagination that establishes solidarity across social positions. Regardless, the seeming equivocation of those two forms of imagination left me a little less impressed overall with the initial theoretical schema that she outlines, prior to the more applied stuff, which completely won me over.
November 3, 2023
Visto la situazione in queste settimane (e che va avanti indisturbata dal 1948) questo è un libro che va assolutamente letto. Azoulay, servendosi del medium dellla fotografia, ripercorre le tappe del conflitto israeliano-palestinese soffermandosi sulle modalità con cui il governo israeliano ha utilizzato la fotografia per fini di propaganda e allo stesso tempo per nascondere verità crudeli e ricostruire una nuova realtà.
È un libro che a tratti è forte e schitto, tanto che più volte ho dovuto fermarmi e chiuderlo.
Azoulay con precisione - anche se a volte onestamente se non si ha familiarità con il mondo e la storia della fotografia diventa complesso da comprendere nella sua totalità - descrive questo genocidio dando voce non solo ai milioni di palestinesi ma adottando anche il punto di vista degli israeliani. L'autrice, isreaeliana di nascita, infatti non si dimentica degli isrealiani in questo libro, riconoscendo le loro colpe e soffermandosi anche sulla propaganda nella quali sono immersi.
Civil Imagination è un libro che deve essere assolutamente letto per poter comprendere davvero quello che sta succedendo.
È un libro che a tratti è forte e schitto, tanto che più volte ho dovuto fermarmi e chiuderlo.
Azoulay con precisione - anche se a volte onestamente se non si ha familiarità con il mondo e la storia della fotografia diventa complesso da comprendere nella sua totalità - descrive questo genocidio dando voce non solo ai milioni di palestinesi ma adottando anche il punto di vista degli israeliani. L'autrice, isreaeliana di nascita, infatti non si dimentica degli isrealiani in questo libro, riconoscendo le loro colpe e soffermandosi anche sulla propaganda nella quali sono immersi.
Civil Imagination è un libro che deve essere assolutamente letto per poter comprendere davvero quello che sta succedendo.
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews