This is the second part of a two part analysis of the constitution of the way that certain speeches delivered at that great performative theater that is the United Nations also usefully help unmask the underlying cognitive verities within which each is buried and also surfaces even as their discourse suggests something else entirely.
The first part undertook a close, multi-layered reading of four addresses delivered before the 81st Session of the United Nations General Assembly: those of the United States (Trump), the Islamic Republic of Iran (Pezeshkian), Turkey (Erdoğan), and the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan (Abdullah II). The analysis proceeds through seven interpretive registers—surface diplomatic grammar, underlying legal-structural claims, theological Lebenswelt, civilizational self-positioning, the construction of absence and silence, instrumental invocations of international law, and the embedding of eschatological temporality within ostensibly secular rhetoric. Its principal contribution was meant to be encased in and as a demonstration that the shared vocabulary of multilateral diplomacy—sovereignty, human rights, rules-based order, peace—conceals radically incompatible meaning-structures, such that speakers who appear to be engaged in common discourse may in fact be operating within incommensurable semiotic universes.
The present essay brings into the analytical field the two voices that occupied, or might be said to have occupied, the very position of that structuring absence itself. Benjamin Netanyahu, Prime Minister of Israel, spoke as the voice of Jewish sovereignty — the claim to statehood grounded, at least in part, in theological narrative and historical suffering. Mahmoud Abbas, President of the Palestinian Authority, spoke as the voice of Palestinian statehood — the counter-claim grounded in international law, territorial integrity, and the lived experience of dispossession. One might suggest that these two addresses, read against the seven-layer semiotic architecture developed in the original essay, illuminate dimensions of the structuring silence that the original analysis could only gesture toward.
The performative conditions under which each address was delivered are themselves of considerable analytical significance. Netanyahu spoke in person to a General Assembly hall from which approximately seventy-seven delegations had already walked out in coordinated protest — addressing, therefore, a hall defined as much by its absences as by its presences. Abbas, for the second consecutive year, was denied a United States visa and was compelled to address the Assembly via pre-recorded video — a mediated presence that enacts, at the level of the body itself, the very exclusion that the substance of his address decries. These conditions of delivery are not incidental to the analysis but constitute its outermost frame: physical presence amid orchestrated absence, and enforced absence within the institution of universal presence.
The analytical method remains, as in the original essay, phenomenological and semiotic rather than evaluative. The concern is not with the truth or falsity of the claims advanced by either speaker but rather with the positioning of those claims within layered systems of signification, the use of language simultaneously to disclose and to conceal, and the structures through which meaning is produced, contested, and rendered incommensurable. Everything, as the original essay insisted, must be read against the language and semiotics of "Reading in Three Dimensions."
And it starts, not as the operatic conflict between Gaza and the clan tribes of Israel, the children of Jacob in the land of Canaan in ther form of Samson and Delilah, though there is a bit of that going on here as well, but in the more broadly contemporary stage settiong of Verdi's opera Nabucco.Va’, pensiero, sull’ali dorate;
Va’, ti posa sui clivi, sui colli,
Ove olezzano tepide e molli
L’aure dolci del suolo natal!
Del Giordano le rive saluta,
Di Sionne le torri atterrate.
O mia Patria, sì bella e perduta!
O membranza, sì cara e fatal!
Arpa d’or dei fatidici vati,
Perché muta dal salice pendi?
Le memorie nel petto raccendi,
Ci favella del tempo che fu!
O simile di Solima ai fati,
Traggi un suono di crudo lamento,
O t’ispiri il Signore un concento
Che ne infonda al patire virtù!
Fly, thought, on golden wings;
Go, settle upon the slopes and the hills,
Where the warm and soft breezes
Of our native soil smell sweet!
Greet the banks of the Jordan
And the toppled towers of Zion.
O my country, so lovely and so lost!
O memory, so dear and so fatal!
Golden harp of the prophetic seers,
Why do you hang mute upon the willow?
Rekindle the memories in our breast,
And speak to us of the time gone by!
Mindful of the fate of Jerusalem,
Give forth a sound of raw lamentation,
Or may the Lord inspire you with a harmony
That infuses us with virtue to bear our suffering!
(Verdi, Nabucco (1842), libretto by Temistocle Solera, chorus, Va’ Pensiero)
Va’, pensiero begins not with an unmarked future but with the recollection of a damaged place, with the banks of the Jordan and the toppled towers of Zion, so that longing appears neither as a private emotion nor as an aesthetic response to loss but as a way in which a people inhabits history, and memory, lamentation, sacred geography, and the demand that suffering be made bearable become joined in a single movement of thought. The chorus is therefore not merely an evocative literary allusion but a phenomenological entry point: it discloses the Lebenswelt — the living world of longing, sacred geography, and fatal memory — from which the political and theological languages of the speeches draw their force. Read in this way, the chorus does not offer a proposition about the truth of a people or the justice of a claim; it opens the living world in which an absent homeland is made present through language, a ruined sanctuary becomes a sign of continuity, and endurance depends upon the return of a past that remains intimate, fatal, and unfinished.
The speeches cannot be understood apart from this Lebenswelt, and the Lebenswelt cannot be discerned except through the speeches. It is not a background against which political language happens to appear, but the living world of religious competition, longing, loss, and fatal othering that gives the language its objects and its urgency, even as the language discloses that world in partial and contested form. What the discourse reveals is therefore also what makes the discourse intelligible: the addresses are evidence of the Lebenswelt, while the Lebenswelt is the condition under which their invocations of land, sovereignty, return, sacrifice, and justice can be heard as more than public formulas.
Within this living world, religious competition is not a contest among discrete propositions but a struggle among comprehensive accounts of origin, inheritance, loss, and return, each organizing persons, places, histories, and institutions according to an account of where the world came from and what its restoration would require. When such accounts harden into reductionist essentialism, persons become bearers of categories, communities become remnants of an earlier dispensation, and political conflict is cast within a providential drama in which some are made to carry the future while others are treated as obstacles to its arrival. The secular vocabulary of sovereignty, occupation, security, recognition, and humanitarian obligation can then carry an older religious contest without naming it, and the speeches become the place where that contest is both concealed and made legible.
The essay follows below and may be accessed here.















