Discipline

by Randa Abdel-Fattah

Sydney, May 2021. Ashraf is an academic whose career and personal life are in freefall. Hannah is a young journalist struggling to honour the voices of her community. When a Year 12 student from a local Islamic college is arrested for protesting a university's ties to an Israeli weapons manufacturer, Ashraf sees an opportunity to exploit his personal connection to the situation for professional redemption. Meanwhile Hannah, who is juggling the demands of new motherhood and family trauma, fights racism in the newsroom. As Israel's bombardment of Gaza intensifies into the final weeks of Ramadan, Ashraf and Hannah must reckon with their choices, values and places in their communities. Will they be prepared to make sacrifices in the pursuit of what is right? With a focus on two of today's most contested fields, academia and the media, Discipline tallies the price we all pay when those with privilege choose to remain silent.

Genres: Fiction, Contemporary, Australia, Middle East, Politics, Literary Fiction, Book Club

256 pages, Paperback

Published December 2, 2025

About the author

Randa Abdel-Fattah was born in Sydney in 1979. She is a Muslim of Palestinian and Egyptian heritage. She grew up in Melbourne and attended a Catholic primary school and Islamic secondary college where she obtained an International Baccaularetate. She studied Arts/Law at Melbourne University during which time she was the Media Liaison Officer at the Islamic council of Victoria, a role which afforded her the opportunity to write for newspapers and engage with media institutions about their representation of Muslims and Islam.

During university and her role at the ICV, Randa was a passionate human rights advocate and stood in the 1996 federal election as a member of the Unity Party-Say No To Hanson. Randa has also been deeply interested in inter-faith dialogue and has been a member of various inter-faith networks. She also volunteered with different human rights and migrant resource organisations including the Australian Arabic council, the Victorian migrant resource centre, Islamic women’s welfare council, Palestine human rights campaign, Asylum Seeker Resource Centre, to name a few.

Randa has used her writing as a medium for expressing her views about the occupation of Palestine. Her articles about Palestine, Australian Muslims and the misunderstood status of women in Islam have been published in the Australian, the Age, the Sydney Morning Herald, the Canberra Times, New Matilda, Le Monde (France).

Randa is frequently sought for comment by the media on issues pertaining to Palestine, Islam or Australian Muslims. She has appeared on SBS’s Insight, ABC’s First Tuesday Book Club, ABC’s Q & A, Channel 7’s Sunrise and Channel 10’s 9am.

Randa is also a regular guest at schools around Australia addressing students about her books and the social justice issues they raise. Randa has also been a guest at Sweden’s Gothenburg and Litterlund book festivals (2007 and 2008) and Kuala Lumpur’s Book festival (2008). She has also toured in Brunei and the UK.

Randa lives in Sydney with her husband and their two children. She works as a litigation lawyer.

Reviews

[Liisa · Rating 5 out of 5]

“….message to students is clear: study genocide, but don’t dare protest it. Write about genocide, but don’t dare question our complicity in it.”

This line stopped me in my tracks. It encapsulates the urgency and rawness of Discipline, Abdel-Fattah’s first novel for adults, and one that feels both vital and timely.

Set in Western Sydney, we follow Ashraf, a middle-aged academic wrestling with self-preservation and moral responsibility, and Hannah, a young journalist navigating family, motherhood, and the pressures of being the lone Muslim voice at a national broadsheet. Their intersecting lives illuminate the cost of silence, complicity, and the precarious act of speaking out.

Abdel-Fattah’s use of internal monologue brilliantly exposes the gulf between thought and expression—the constant burden of self-censorship, and the fear of consequences. Every character here is touched by trauma, racism, and the weight of ongoing genocide, whether through lived experience, complicity, or avoidance.

I’m really proud of UQP for publishing this book, and for every academic and creative who supported Randa in bringing this work to life. The acknowledgements themselves read almost like a manifesto, honouring those who risked their own safety to support the book’s creation:

“I acknowledge you for speaking and acting despite the personal costs, and I acknowledge your courage for taking the moral path, not the safe one.”

It’s rare that a work of fiction feels like an act of resistance in and of itself, but Discipline does exactly that. It challenges us to stray from our algorithms, to listen harder, to sit with uncomfortable truths rather than turn away.

Important, confronting, and unforgettable.

[Rach A. · Rating 5 out of 5]

this book is a devastating scream at the shame and complicity of our media and institutions

[Ashley Tam · Rating 5 out of 5]

Too real 🥲
At the end of the day, the media and “education” institutions are tools of the oppressor
(Master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house and all that)

[Klara · Rating 5 out of 5]

Randa Abdel-Fattah, an Australian Palestinian author, has been removed from the Adelaide Writers Week program. Many in the literary community describe the removal as censorship and anti-Palestinian discrimination — arguing the festival is silencing a voice because of political views and identity, especially around topics of genocide and complicity.

Over 100 authors have explicitly condemned the decision on free-speech grounds and withdrawn themselves from the line-up in protest.

I have purchased a copy of this book in solidarity and encourage others to do so, so that her voice is not silenced.

I will also be adding books from the other authors who withdrew, to my TBR.

[nusaybah · Rating 4 out of 5]

A nuanced and blistering assessment of the current academic & media landscape in Australia. Having a bit of a crisis now as Randa gave me a severe reality check on BOTH my prospective career choices…

[Gayle · Rating 5 out of 5]

An insightful commentary on media and educational institutions as well as all of humanity really; everyone should read this book.

Randa Abdel-Fattah is the Australian author who was pulled from the Adelaide Writers festival, leading authors from here and all over the world to pull out in solidarity, leading to the cancellation of the event.

I sought out this book to show support to the author, and on reading it, I found a devastating, excellent and important book.

After reading it, my incredulity of the rescinded invitation to speak at the festival has multiplied. Had any of them read it? The irony here is strong.

Written in easy, but clever language, this book flows so well. It follows an academic and a set of new parents in Australia during Ramadan, against the background of the bombardment of Gaza, and both abject and covert racism in Australia.

With incredible insight, knowledge and evident passion she asks us to look beyond race, to keep looking at Gaza ( “That’s why I don’t watch the news. It’s too depressing”as an acquaintance says to Hannah) and not to ever look away again, and overall just be better humans.

[ValTheBookEater]

"I'm not pro-Palestinian. I am Palestinian!"

Discipline is such a good title, and I have been thinking about it in the context of real world examples ever since. I think the second half of the novel is where the stakes get higher and the writing is more incisive which is what I was waiting for. I liked the juxtaposition between Ashraf and Hannah's perspectives, brought a lot of real world discourse to the forefront regarding solidarity, activism and surviving in the workplace. There was a line to the effect of: How can I raise Palestinian children when I see Palestinian children being killed everyday? and that hit hard.

There are specific quotes towards the end where I'm pretty sure Randa has said or has directly experienced so I feel grateful for her being able to share this with the world after it felt like she was being shut out and ostracised from academia. I also liked the hopeful note the novel ended on.

Free Palestine.

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

Discipline is a nuanced and engrossing read, exploring in a fictionalised format the ethical and personal challenges faced daily by Arab-Australian citizens, academics and journalists since the escalation in hostilities in Gaza since October 2023.

Hannah (like author Randa Abdel-Fattah) is an Australian-born woman of Palestinian heritage, and is the sole Muslim journalist at (fictional) Sydney newspaper The Chronicle. She's balancing the pressures of her career with parenthood of her fourteen-month old daughter, Aya. Her Palestinian-born husband Jamal, a PhD student at (fictional) Joseph Banks University, is forced to confront the complexities of academic politics as his concerns for the safety of his immediate and extended family, all of whom remain in Gaza, increase by the day.

Meanwhile, Jamal's supervisor in his PhD, Egyptian-born Australian Middle Eastern studies professor Ashraf is struggling to maintain his academic standing at the university, while bewildered at the implosion of his marriage to Mya, who divorced him after embracing a conservative Islamic way of life, and who now lives with Ashraf's two teenaged daughters and her new husband in Aden, Yemen.

The book opens during Ramadan in March 2024, with the arrest of an 18-year-old Sydney high school student, Nabil Mostafa, on terrorism charges following a pro-Palestinian protest at Joseph Banks University. The three protagonists are affected and react to these events in different ways:

Jamal voices his support for the protestors on social media and by writing an open letter detailing the situation in Gaza to the JSU academic community. He immediately faces backlash, and pressure to remove the material under threat of the withdrawal of his PhD funding.

"I deleted the posts. But I'll post them again, across different platforms, in creative ways. I'll keep writing, teaching and disrupting. I'm a child of Gaza. Do they think a white mediocre manager named Barnaby is going to get the better of me? (p.240)

Ashraf, more experienced with the delicate political climate surrounding debate on Israel and Palestine, is caught between supporting Jamal academically while simultaneously distancing himself from the student's controversial statements, as he's being head-hunted for a prestigious new de-radicalisation initiative funded by the Australian government.

"This new project pushed me up a few branches. I think I might just be safe - for now. But there's possibly nothing more likely to push me down again than political controversy over Palestine." (p. 194)

Hannah finds herself in an invidious position - expected to use her "Muslim network" to draw out comment from those in Nabil's family and school community, her content manipulated to present a veneer of media neutrality, while constantly facing the internalised sexism and racism of her more senior (white, male) colleagues, who are intent on "double-siding" the story with angles sympathetic to Israel and Australia's Zionist lobby.

"She was sandwiched between racism and sexism by people who gave speeches at International Women's Day breakfasts and pasted Acknowledgements of Country in their email signatures." (p. 29)

"Hannah felt not only the burden of representation, but also the burden of mere existence. And yet, for every shitty moment, every indignity and racist encounter, she felt a responsibility to persevere." (p. 230)

Full Disclosure: I personally am supportive of the Palestinian resistance and have marched in peaceful protest in support of Palestine over the past 2 1/2 years. I thus came to Discipline with an existing sympathy for the protagonists, and an antipathy towards the attempts by some politicians and elements of the media to suppress perspectives that are pro-Palestinian and/or critical of Israel in the Australian mainstream. Hannah was the protagonist with whom I most identified, and I felt her frustration, anger and mental exhaustion viscerally at the injustices of the situation that she, Jamal and Nabil face. I found the clear double-standards infuriating, but representative of the personal and collective discrimination and wilful misunderstanding faced by many Muslim Australians. While I felt disappointed at Ashram's decision to prioritise his job security over voicing truth to power, I do understand his position and the struggles that those who are employed within government and academia face to maintain the "approved line" over what they actually know and believe.

Discipline is a powerful read, and particularly useful for readers like me (white, privileged, no "skin in the game" in the Middle East) to gain a better understanding of the complexities that exist around the Palestinian cause and the 78-year existence of the Israeli state. I'd highly recommend it to other readers who are keen to gain a wider appreciation of the personal impacts of the current international political situation.

[Natalia Figueroa Barroso · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a parallelism of life and fiction.

“If everything about our resistance is taboo now, nothing from our oppressors will be taboo later.”
— Jamal, p.238, Discipline by Randa Abdel-Fattah (quote from my favourite character Jamal and yes he’s not a protagonist but he also is).

This brilliant book is a searing call for accountability — particularly for the violent silence of mainstream media and academia in 2021, 2014, 2012, 2008–09, and on and on since 1948— in the face of genocidal war crimes against Palestinians and the slow ecocide of Palestine by the settler-colonial, apartheid state of Israel. This silent violence has led to the current, live-streamed genocide of 2023–present.

Discipline is an essential read. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again (and again): Dr @randaafattah is a must-follow.

And I want to finish off with an important quote by Francesca Albanese, UN Special Rapporteur for the occupied Palestinian territory who said at the National Press Club in November 2023, “Israel cannot claim the right of self-defence against a threat that emanates from a territory it occupies, from a territory that is under belligerent occupation.”

[Lauryn D]

It doesn't feel right to rate this book, which feels more a snapshot of life than a novel.
The last lines of the acknowledgements: "May we remain undisciplined. It is the only hope for this broken world.". I had my own undisciplined moment this week speaking up against someone bullying people on their way to a peaceful protest in support of the Palestinian people. I felt awful for the confrontation afterwards, but I would have felt worse saying nothing. My friend said she is nonchalant but I am extremely chalant. I will carry that with me, and remain undisciplined and always chalant.

[Janelle · Rating 5 out of 5]

A powerful read.

[chloe · Rating 4 out of 5]

i am so thankful for the people, including the author themself, who fought so hard for this book to be published despite the people who tried to stop it—which is deeply ironic and unfortunately quite fitting considering this novel is a scathing critique of how institutions attempt to silence those who attempt to question or fight back against them. i really appreciated the alternating dual perspective, one being that of a young female palestinian journalist and a muslim academic. i thought the voices of the characters were distinct and thought the ways they were interconnected really made this story hard hitting. the writing is incredibly concise and easy to consume but this is by no means an easy read. i found it really interesting how nabil was less of an important character than i initially expected him to be, but rather he is the catalyst for main characters reckonings with the institutions they work for. i was so struck by the scene where hannah decides to record her fathers life story, and how once she goes to read the transcription the names of his family members, of the camp he was born in in lebanon are not picked up by the transcription. hannah herself makes a comment on how it is such a fitting metaphor. fuck censorship and the useless australian media, and international mainstream media outlets at large and fuck universities who, in their own cowardice, will not divest from partnerships with weapons companies who have murdered entire bloodlines. free palestine always.

[Jacqueline · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 rounding down

I wanted to love this book and I ended up only liking it, maybe it was a mismatch of expectations I had based on my interpretation of the blurb.

I think this book fell flat for me in a few ways, my main complaint is lack of plot. Where the characters start are pretty much where they stay, the challenges they face remain the same, as do their ideologies. I suspect this is the point, to illustrate how frustrating and circuitous the path towards liberation can be, but it just made my reading experience a bit predictable. I was expecting the characters to meet and have some sort of reckoning but it never happened. There were threads that I would have been interested to see explored in more depth (Ashraf's ex for instance) but weren't.

If I had read a book like this before October 7th it probably would have felt more incisive, as things stand now I think that this book might better serve those who are less politically engaged. Despite my qualms with its delivery the message of the book remains vital.

Bonus - I love reading books set in Australia and I liked that unique perspective
Nitpick - Ash's little random transphobia felt quite out of place for me.

[perth ratbag · Rating 4 out of 5]

An infuriating read. I imagine this was a tremendous emotional and psychological effort for the author to publish. Especially in our country.

[Malcolm · Rating 5 out of 5]

Randa Abdel-Fattah’s first novel for adults (she’s written a whole bunch of children’s books) is timely in subject and ferocious in its ordinariness. At its core is Hannah and Jamal, two young Palestinian Australians trying to get by in their work – Hannah as a journalist, Jamal as a PhD student – and grapple with the systematic barriers that get in the way of their ability to do their jobs. Set against the Israeli siege of Gaza (it is set in 2021, before the 2023-? genocide) the novel takes its impetus from the arrest of a high school student during an occupation of an arms manufacturer where he is alleged to be using symbols that show support for Hamas – a proscribed organisation. The third key figure on the story is Ashraf, Jamal’s PhD supervisor, a middle aged, mid stalled career, unwilling to rock the academic boat.

One strand of the narrative turns on the differences in Hannah’s and Ashraf’s approaches to the incident; Hannah is sent in by her editor to get a story; Ashraf sees it as a career redeemer, especially as his ex-wife’s sister is the school principal involved. The second key strand is responses to the continuing military assaults on Gaza, whereas Hannah’s family had left 20 years ago, Jamal’s family is still there, making the tensions over their staying alive and intermittent contacts a recurrent theme. It is this tension – set against Ramadan, a time of sacrifice and community – that points to the book’s core strength. The student’s arrest provides the event that shapes the novel, but the barriers, the Islamophobia, the failures to understand that reduce Hannah’s analysis to identity and treat the Israeli occupation of and assaults on Palestine as one of two equal sides of an issue, are so profoundly mundane, everyday, and ordinary that the practices of censorship and repression of voices is shown as ubiquitous and pervasive, not extraordinary.

We see this in the way Abdel-Fattah has Jamal’s head of department invoke bureaucratic HR procedures when his social media posts are deemed to problematic – they breach the code of practice: there is no effort to grapple with the politics of the issue, it’s an HR issue. We see it also in the real sense that Hannah’s articles are managed through the production process, edited to a state beyond blandness to complicity, and the cynical way various her co-workers approach stories. The really impressive thing about the novel is Abdel-Fattah’s insight to the banality of constraint, and with that the insight to the everyday life of those deemed to be ‘difficult’ to manage.

Much as I enjoyed the novel for it clarity, is narrative direction and directness, the empathy at a very human and humane level we develop for Hannah and Jamal, its potent realism and sense of insight, there is no doubt the much of my enjoyment was to do with the circumstances under which I read it. The day after I started the book, Abdel-Fattah was uninvited to the Adelaide Writers’ Week because she is Palestinian, had been vocal in her criticisms of Israel, and according to the Board would be unwelcome in the wake of the massacre a Bondi. This decision, by the politically appointed board, against the advice of the Festival staff, is both paradoxical and self-destructive. First up, here was an author of a novel critical of mundane censorship of Palestinians because they are Palestinian being shut out of a major cultural event to which she had been invited because she is Palestinian; it’s almost as if they’d not read the book.

As I followed the fall out I was reading of the same kinds of things happening to the author’s characters. But second, the backlash was so intense that the vast majority of authors invited to the Writer’s Week, several of the publishers and sponsors as well as artists and performers booked for the arts festival Writer’s Week is part of all withdrew in support, the Writer’s Week collapsed, all but one of the Board resigned after the Director who had opposed the dis-invitation decision had resigned. It is important to note here that literature festivals of this kind produce huge sales: this act of solidarity by authors and publishers came with significant financial cost. The upshot was an unreserved apology to Abdel-Fattah and an invitation to the 2027 Festival. There was something intriguingly odd about watching one version of the novel I was reading play out as I was reading it, with the author at the centre.

Even without this contextual drama, the novel has power and insight to the current condition, as over the last two years we have seen renewed and concerted efforts to silence support for Palestine on campuses, in the decision of the UK government to declare a non-violent direct action group terrorists, in the ferociousness with which protests in support of the Palestinians have been policed, in the ways states flagrantly ignore the evidence of a genocide being broadcast into our living rooms every day, and so much more, everyday. Discipline is a compelling insight to the struggles of those trying to confront the repression, to change the narrative, to be heard – and all the more valuable for it.

[Belinda · Rating 5 out of 5]

I had heard of this book from activist circles before the Adelaide Writer's Festival debacle and had already downloaded the e-book, but I made sure to go out and buy the paperback as well.

The irony that a Palestinian woman, who dared to publish a scathing novel about the Australian treatment of the Palestinian genocide, was censored and crucified in the press because of the South Australian government is not lost on me. The exact same thing happens in this novel. As a person who belongs to a different minority group (though ultimately I have white cis het privilege, and that should be acknowledged), who has navigated academia, and my husband is working in academia at an Australian university, Abdel-Fattah absolutely nailed it. I laughed quite a few times at how damn hard she nailed it. It's infuriating, but so relatable. The universities are being eviscerated piece by piece, year after year, and funded by weapons manufacturers to boot. You're constantly beating your head against a wall, and any activism could be the death knell for your career. You're damned if you do, and damned if you don't. One is easier to have on your conscience than the other, but at what cost to your livelihood?

Going down to brass tacks, since this is a review of a novel, after all... I thought the writing was great. Even if the ARW shitshow hadn't happened, I would have rated it just as highly. I fully intended on giving a fair and honest review from the get go, even if I didn't like the writing, but I don't really have anything to criticise. The only thing was that I'd have liked to see Ashram coming to his senses, but I know that realistically, he probably wouldn't have. He sold his ideals because it was the path of least resistance, and cannot understand why others wouldn't do the same. He was so frustrating, but as I always say, I don't need to *like* a character to understand them or think they serve an important narrative purpose.

I had to laugh at some of the thinly veiled characters, especially Jay Hazley. Perhaps I should listen to his show more, because just thinking about him does wonders for my hypotension. I'll suggest it to my cardiologist next time.

Oh, and as always...
Free Palestine.

[Amy]

"If everything about our resistance is taboo now, nothing from our oppressors will be taboo later."

despite being fiction, there is such truth to this novel that it almost reads like narrative nonfiction. the feelings of helplessness and frustration in this were so palpable. while i found the prose a little simplistic at times, there is undoubtedly merit in a novel like this being as accessible as possible.

needless to say, this is an incredibly important novel and study of how media and academic institutions have failed palestine, and by doing so have failed the very purpose of their existence

[William Cross · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was fantastic, and such a well written perspective on how it can feel to navigate 'professional' spaces as a person of colour. I could relate to many parts, but it's written so accessibly that I think anyone would get a lot out of it.

I really appreciated each character's perspective as they navigated their own landscapes. Ashraf's cognitive dissonance is scarily relatable, and so is Hannah's sense of overwhelm. I was so angry reading Peter's article through her eyes, and I think this novel gave me the space to feel that anger in a way that I wouldn't let myself if I was in her shoes. It also really captured the danger of the "unbiased", "neutral" posturing.

From what I've heard, this was first drafted early in 2022, and then delayed. Sadly, it's only more relatable.

Highly recommend this 🙌🏽

[Emma · Rating 5 out of 5]

this is one of the best books i’ve ever read, i spent the entire time so so angry.

very well written, this novel will stay with you for a long time.

[Tev · Rating 4 out of 5]

This novel is powerful and incredibly timely. It exposes how systems that claim to stand for justice and equality often “discipline” those who challenge them. What really struck me is how clearly the book shows that not everyone is treated equally, especially when speaking up threatens institutional comfort or reputation.

As the novel puts it, “study genocide, but don't dare protest it. Write about genocide, but don't dare question our complicity in it.” That line perfectly captures the hypocrisy at the heart of the story. You’re allowed to research, to post, to speak but only within boundaries set for you. The moment you question power or call out complicity, the consequences can be professional, personal, and isolating.

A bold and thought-provoking read that challenges the idea of free speech in the West and asks who really gets to use their voice without punishment.

[YZ (wordwanderlust) · Rating 5 out of 5]

Speechless. Actually phenomenal. A powerful depiction of Palestinian resistance. I can see why Adelaide Writers Week would be threatened, they’re a bunch of cowardly fools. This book had me experience a range of feelings—frustration, anger, annoyance, and incredulity—towards an oppressive system. But importantly, it gave me hope and a direction to move towards. It was an honour to have read this.

[Permanently 23 · Rating 4 out of 5]

Inhaled this in a couple of days - it’s excellent.
If you want to know what it must feel like to be a Palestinian Australian right now, read this. It’s fiction but I’m pretty sure Randa Abdel-Fattah has encountered most frustrating encounters featured in this book at some point in her life. I just feel angry.
4.5 stars.

[Lucy · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a very timely and important read. Whilst the writing wasn't anything special, I thought the narrative structure was fantastic. It is rage-inducing but unflinching and the end note about resistance was what sealed this as a 5 star read for me.

[Ally Johnson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Imperative reading now more then ever!

[liv (≧▽≦) · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was single-handedly one of the best fiction books calling out the media and academic institutions in Australia for their incredibly biased reporting of the genocide in Gaza - as well as public institutions distancing themselves from Palestinian employees yet supporting and even promoting ties with Zionist organisations. I am lost for words as to the sheer impact this book holds, incredible.

The irony of Dr Randa Abdel-Fattah being kicked out of the Adelaide Writers Festival this year for being a public supporter of Palestine and the anti-genocide movement is INSANE. Clearly, none of the SA government nor the writers festival itself read this book, because they did EXACTLY what this book is calling out. And I mean exactly.

I smashed through this in two sittings, besides being incredibly powerful, it is written in very clear and easy to understand language, making it more accessible which I love. Simple and too the point. I borrowed from the library but I will be picking up a physical copy and forcing everyone in my life to read it.

[Angus McGregor · Rating 3 out of 5]

A polemic disguised as a novel. At points insightful and at points flippant, this book should be included in a 2024 time capsule.

[Sage Michaels · Rating 5 out of 5]

A must read for all

[shana · Rating 5 out of 5]

'Being affected by what's happening is looking after myself! Grief is love. At least my heart is alive. It's the people who don't feel a thing that you should worry about.'

Randa Abdel Fattah will never cease to astonish me. This has to be one of the most amazing, insightful, passionate books I have ever read, and among the other in this category for me is many of Abdel Fattah's other books. So full of anger and contempt, passion and determination, hope and fear. I hope to read this again and again in the future, to never forget these words and perspectives.

She considers a variety of perspectives and each characters' differs, so clearly representing the different perspectives of today, of modern society. Written through the 2 main POVs: Hannah, a young Palestinian journalist with strong personal ties to the genocide in Palestine, devoted to her homeland, and Ashraf, a middle aged divorced Arab academic who detests his origins, eager to feed into White perspectives.
While one was likeable, easy to sympathise for, strong and determined, the other was cowardly and pathetic, willing to do anything and exploit those who trust them for the sake of their own determination to prove some sort of point out of bitterness of their own situation.

'Study genocide, but don't dare protest it. Write about genocide, but don't dare question our complicity in it.'

What I loved the most about this was Abdel Fattah’s connection to reality. The way she almost crossed that line between fiction and nonfiction too many times, reminding us that this is a reality, that maybe Hannah’s and Ashraf’s stories are fiction, but also, they aren’t truly. All the things Jamal’s family went through trying to survive is a devastating portrayal of so many Palestinian families, living in fear but still with so much hope. She wrote this confronting book to send these messages, to tell the world she isn’t afraid. This is her country, both Australia and Palestine, and while one suffers the other is complicit in it. She reminds us that journalism, a career thought to be full of expression and liberty, subjectively objective, is truly none of these things. It’s full of restriction, bias, and prejudice. It’s no longer about writing what you believe in or what you see is right, it’s about satisfying others and conforming to society and those who want to bring you down. And that’s what I loved about Hannah and Jamal’s story, they refused to conform and in doing that their careers may have gone downhill but their loyalties and values remained. Maybe there was some part of Randa Abdel Fattah reflected in Hannah’s character, but ultimately they both want the same thing, the one thing the right minded, humane people of this world want:
A FREE PALESTINE
And a reminder, in the words of Mahmoud Darwish, "I don’t know who sold the homeland, but I know who paid the price" because fundamentally, "a war on Gaza is a war on children."

[Matthew Mercer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nothing proves this book’s main point better than Randa Abdel-Fattah’s own racist removal from the Adelaide Writers’ Festival. A deeply ironic event (and kind of perfect) given that Discipline is all about the complicity of ostensibly enlightened, progressive institutions - in this case, journalism and the academy - in racism, oppression and genocide.

In Discipline this complicity plays out mainly through individuals, naive liberal journalists and self-interested academics. One of the book’s biggest strengths is showing just how insufferable these people are, it’s a very frustrating read at times. Discipline does also reach towards expressing something about the structural function of these institutions, but really only at the emotional level of an individual fruitlessly struggling for change within them.

Whether or not Abdel-Fattah thinks this Sisyphean task is actually possible (I don’t know enough about her politics to say), her book is a righteous condemnation of those who set the terrain of acceptable and respectable debate in our society, and the role they have played to grease the wheels of genocide in Gaza.

[Simona Yash · Rating 5 out of 5]

Moving, devastating how universities and media stifle voices of the oppressed voices. Reading the pages I felt I needed to scream, I can’t even imagine the experiences of the people living this trying to keep their sanity and going about their day, not knowing if their loved ones are okay and then being silenced and asked to conform. I hope the author goes on to do well and keeps telling more stories that need to be heard loudly.