Why the US and Israel want to prevent a Nuclear Iran

Few issues in global security are as charged, or as misunderstood, as the determination of the United States and Israel to prevent Iran from obtaining nuclear weapons. To many, it looks like power politics or regional rivalry. In reality, it’s about something far more basic: survival in a world where nuclear weapons and apocalyptic ideology can collide.

The World That Shaped Our View of Nukes

To understand today’s fears, it helps to start in 1945. By mid–World War II, Japan’s military government showed no sign of surrender. American planners expected hundreds of thousands of Allied casualties and millions of Japanese deaths in a full-scale invasion of the home islands. Every serious assessment pointed to a fight to the death.

In that context, the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki were seen as the least catastrophic option. They forced a rapid surrender and avoided an invasion that could have been far bloodier. Under the law as it existed then, the bombings were not illegal. There were no treaties banning area bombing, no codified proportionality rules, and no legal framework for weapons of such unprecedented destructive power.

Why Those Same Attacks Would Be Illegal Today

Modern Laws of Armed Conflict (LOAC) take a very different view. Nuclear weapons are inherently indiscriminate. They cannot be directed only at military targets, they cause long-term radiation effects, and they inflict suffering on a scale that modern humanitarian law does not accept.

Today, proportionality is judged strike by strike, not war by war. You cannot justify killing hundreds of thousands of civilians on the grounds that it might prevent a larger number of deaths later. Civilian immunity is central, and nuclear weapons violate that principle by design. Under the current legal framework, Hiroshima and Nagasaki would almost certainly be considered unlawful, even if the strategic logic were identical.

How Modern Enemies Exploit the Law

Urban warfare adds another layer of complexity. Armed groups such as Hamas, a designated terrorist organisation responsible for severe harm and human rights violations, often fight without uniforms, embed themselves in civilian neighbourhoods, and use human shields. They operate from hospitals, schools, mosques and apartment blocks precisely because they know modern militaries are bound by rules they themselves ignore.

The attacker still has to verify targets, minimise civilian harm and apply proportionality. The defender’s violations do not cancel the attacker’s obligations. This creates a moral and tactical asymmetry: the side that follows the law is constrained; the side that violates it is not.

Most modern jurists accept this imbalance. They argue that weakening these protections would lead to catastrophic civilian suffering. The law is designed to restrain the powerful, not the powerless. It is imperfect, but the alternative is a return to total war.

Why Nuclear Weapons Break the Entire Logic

Nuclear weapons sit outside this framework. They are not just another tool in the arsenal. They are existential. A single detonation can destroy a city, collapse a health system, poison the environment and destabilise an entire region. Once used, the question is no longer who wins a battle, but whether societies can survive.

Deterrence worked in the Cold War because both sides wanted to live. The United States and the Soviet Union feared mutual destruction. The same basic logic applies today with other nuclear states: they may be rivals, but they are not suicidal.

The problem arises when nuclear weapons are paired with apocalyptic ideology. Elements within the Iranian regime frame history and conflict in eschatological terms. Martyrdom, redemptive suffering and the idea of a purifying crisis are not just rhetorical flourishes; they are part of the worldview. Groups like Hamas also draw on themes of martyrdom and sacrificial struggle.

Deterrence assumes that the other side values survival. But if a leadership believes that destruction can serve a divine purpose, or that martyrdom is victory rather than defeat, the entire logic of deterrence begins to fail. You cannot deter someone who is willing to burn the house down while still inside it.

Why the US and Israel Draw a Red Line at Nuclear Iran

This is the core reason the United States and Israel fear a nuclear Iran. It is not simply about regional influence or prestige. A nuclear-armed Iran would not just shift the balance of power; it would undermine the basic assumptions that have kept nuclear weapons unused since 1945.

Even if Iran never launched a nuclear strike, the mere possession of such weapons would radically change the strategic landscape. It would embolden Iran’s network of allied militias and proxies. It would increase the risk of miscalculation. It would make every crisis in the region potentially existential.

The nightmare scenario is not only an Iranian missile. It is also the possibility that nuclear materials, technology or even a device could find their way into the hands of a non-state group with apocalyptic theology and nothing to lose. A state can be deterred by the threat of retaliation against its cities and infrastructure. A dispersed movement with no capital, no conventional economy and a cult of martyrdom is far harder to deter.

The Hard Truth About Law, Power and Survival

The atomic bombings of 1945 were justified in their time because they prevented a far greater catastrophe. Under today’s laws of armed conflict, they would be illegal. Modern law intentionally restrains powerful states, even when adversaries exploit those restraints. Jurists accept this because the alternative is unregulated destruction.

But nuclear weapons break the entire system. They are strategic, not tactical. They are existential, not proportional. When combined with apocalyptic ideology, they create a threat that no legal framework can reliably contain.

That is why the United States and Israel fear a nuclear Iran. It is why they use diplomacy, sanctions, covert action and, at times, force to slow or disrupt its nuclear programme. This is not simply about dominance or prestige. It is about preventing a world in which nuclear weapons sit in the hands of actors who may not be deterred by the prospect of mutual destruction.

In that sense, the red line on a nuclear Iran is not just a strategic preference. It is a civilisational necessity.

And if prevention fails…

But this is also why appeals to LOAC ring hollow in the real world. LOAC can restrain responsible states, but it has no power to restrain a regime that already commits war crimes as doctrine. If Iran acquires nuclear weapons, nothing in LOAC prevents it from using them. The only actors bound by proportionality, distinction, and necessity would be the very states trying to stop a nuclear attack — not the regime initiating one.

And once a nuclear weapon is used, the conflict leaves the LOAC framework entirely. A nuclear detonation triggers the right of unrestricted self‑defence under Article 51 of the UN Charter. At that point, the priority is not legal theory but preventing a second strike. The likely consequence is regime‑ending retaliation, regional escalation, or nuclear coercion that destabilises the entire Middle East. This is why the world cannot simply “live with” a nuclear Iran. After the first use, every option becomes catastrophic — which is exactly why prevention, not reaction, is the only responsible path.

 

 

Review: The Sword of Freedom – Israel, Mossad, and the Secret War by Yossi Cohen

Yossi Cohen’s The Sword of Freedom is marketed as an inside look at Israel’s Mossad: high-stakes operations, secret wars, and the shadow struggle against Iran. On that level, it delivers. Cohen recounts, in vivid and sometimes cinematic detail, operations such as the remote-controlled assassination of an Iranian nuclear scientist and the daring theft of the Iranian nuclear archive. These episodes are gripping, polished, and clearly designed to showcase the reach and precision of Israel’s intelligence services.

But to read this book only as a Mossad memoir is to miss its deeper purpose. Beneath the operational anecdotes and cloak-and-dagger atmosphere, The Sword of Freedom functions as a kind of political “stretch application” – or perhaps more accurately, a “reach application” – for the office of Prime Minister of Israel. The Mossad stories are the vehicle; the leadership narrative is the destination.

Cohen consistently presents himself not merely as a former intelligence chief, but as a statesman-in-waiting: articulate, globally connected, morally certain, and strategically far-sighted. Each chapter is structured so that the operation described becomes a parable of leadership. A covert action against Iran becomes a lesson in resolve; a diplomatic back-channel becomes a lesson in statecraft; a high-risk decision becomes a lesson in moral clarity. The message is subtle but unmistakable: these are not just stories about what he did, but arguments for what he could be trusted to do in a higher office.

Several reviewers have picked up on this dual character of the book. One reviewer remarked that it “reads less like a conventional intelligence memoir and more like a carefully crafted leadership profile,” noting how often Cohen shifts from operational detail to broad reflections on Israel’s destiny and the qualities required of its leaders. Another observed that the book “feels at times like a campaign biography in disguise,” pointing out how frequently Cohen places himself at the centre of pivotal moments, framed as the decisive, steady hand in times of crisis. A third review commented that Cohen “seems to be auditioning for a larger role on the national stage,” highlighting the way he moves from Mossad operations to sweeping political and moral conclusions.

None of this makes the book less interesting; in many ways, it makes it more revealing. As a pure institutional history of the Mossad, The Sword of Freedom is selective and highly curated. Cohen avoids the internal frictions, bureaucratic struggles, and strategic missteps that would complicate the heroic narrative. What he offers instead is a streamlined version of events that consistently reinforces a particular image of himself: bold but measured, ruthless when necessary yet guided by a strong moral compass, deeply rooted in Jewish identity yet comfortable on the global stage.

Where the book is most striking is in its treatment of Iran. Cohen frames the Islamic Republic not only as a strategic adversary, but as a civilisational threat that demands exceptional clarity and resolve from Israel’s leadership. The implication is clear: the kind of leader who successfully orchestrated these covert operations is the kind of leader Israel will need in the years ahead. The past operations become, in effect, a résumé for a future role.

Readers who come to The Sword of Freedom expecting a comprehensive, warts-and-all history of the Mossad may feel that the institutional story is thinner than the marketing suggests. But readers interested in the future of Israeli politics will find something else: a carefully constructed self-portrait of a man who plainly sees himself as a contender for national leadership. The book is less about the Mossad as an organisation and more about Yossi Cohen as a brand.

In that sense, the cover is only half right. Yes, this is a book about the Mossad and its secret war. But more than that, it is a public, polished, and deliberate reach application for the highest office in the country. The operations are the backdrop; the real subject is the man who wants to be seen as Israel’s next sword of freedom.

NZFOI Condemns Antisemitic Graffiti

NZFOI condemns in the strongest terms the recent spate of antisemitic and hate‑motivated graffiti that has appeared across Aotearoa over the past several days. The violent antisemitic message spray‑painted on a Nelson footbridge—described by the New Zealand Jewish Council as a “direct call for violence”—is deeply disturbing and has no place in our society. Scoop

These incidents have not occurred in isolation. In the same week, police arrested a man in Papatoetoe, Auckland, after graffiti inciting racial violence was discovered, and a second piece of threatening graffiti carrying the same message was found in a public toilet in Royal Oak. RNZ

Acts like these—whether targeting Jewish New Zealanders or any other community—undermine the safety, cohesion, and shared values that bind us together. They create fear, embolden further hatred, and erode the sense of trust that every person in Aotearoa deserves.

We stand in solidarity with Jewish New Zealanders and with all communities affected by hate. We echo the call of the New Zealand Jewish Council: there is no place in our society for messages that dehumanise or call for harm against any group. RNZ

NZFOI urges community members to speak out against all forms of hate, support those targeted, and work together to ensure Aotearoa remains a place where everyone can live safely and freely.

NZFOI Curriculum Refresh Feedback to Ministry of Education

NZFOI Curriculum Refresh Feedback
Anti-Semitic Graffiti Posted in Te Aro, Wellington. 2025.

NZFOI: The Ministry of Education is currently refreshing the Years 1–10 Curriculum and has invited public submissions on its draft proposals. We have taken this opportunity to contribute to the process. Below is the full text of our submission.

24 April 2026
5:00pm Deadline Submission

To:
The Curriculum Refresh Team
Te Tāhuhu o te Mātauranga | Ministry of Education
Wellington, New Zealand

Re: Submission on the Social Sciences Curriculum Refresh (Years 1–10) and the Need for Senior Civics Education (Years 11–13)

Tēnā koutou,

On behalf of the New Zealand Friends of Israel Association Inc., I welcome the opportunity to provide feedback on the Social Sciences Curriculum Refresh. Our organisation is committed to promoting understanding, dialogue, and the safety and wellbeing of Jewish New Zealanders. We appreciate the Ministry’s work in strengthening Social Sciences education and its emphasis on human rights, democratic values, and informed civic participation.

The draft Year 10 Social Sciences sequence already includes the Holocaust within the History strand. This is an important foundation. However, international evidence shows that Holocaust education is most effective when it is not taught as an isolated historical event, but as part of a broader understanding of human rights, democratic systems, and civic responsibility — all of which are central to the Ministry’s Civics and Society strand.

Our submission therefore focuses on strengthening the Holocaust content already present, ensuring historical accuracy, and connecting it to contemporary issues of antisemitism and civic participation. We also strongly recommend the development of a dedicated Civics course for Years 11–13, where students have the maturity to engage with these issues in depth.

1. Strengthening Holocaust Education Within the Year 10 Framework

The draft curriculum correctly includes the Holocaust under World War Two. To ensure clarity, accuracy, and alignment with the Ministry’s stated goals, we recommend:

A. Clarifying the historical specificity of the Holocaust

The Holocaust was the Nazi regime’s systematic attempt to annihilate the Jewish people. Other groups — including Roma, disabled people, Poles, Soviet POWs, LGBTQ+ people, and political dissidents — suffered terribly under Nazism and must be taught with dignity and accuracy. Each group’s experience should be taught distinctly, not collapsed into a single narrative.

This approach aligns with the Ministry’s emphasis on:

  • analysing evidence
  • understanding multiple perspectives
  • recognising injustice
  • learning how human rights frameworks developed

B. Connecting Holocaust education to contemporary antisemitism

Because of antisemitism, a portion of our society is being harassed, intimidated, and sometimes even violently attacked simply for being Jewish. This is a contemporary human rights issue that fits squarely within the Civics and Society strand.

Students should learn:

  • how antisemitism operates today
  • how to recognise antisemitic tropes
  • how conspiracy theories spread
  • how to respond safely and appropriately
  • how to support peers who are targeted
  • how to report incidents
  • how to uphold democratic values and human rights

If we want justice — and surely we do — then we must teach students how to stand up for it.

2. Teaching Students How to Push Back Against Antisemitism

One of the most important objectives of Holocaust and Civics education should be to teach students how to respond safely and appropriately when they encounter antisemitism.

This does not mean confrontation. It means:

  • recognising harmful stereotypes
  • understanding why they are dangerous
  • knowing how to challenge misinformation
  • knowing when and how to seek help
  • knowing how to support classmates who are targeted
  • knowing how to report incidents through appropriate channels

This aligns directly with the Ministry’s commitments to:

  • student wellbeing
  • anti‑bullying frameworks
  • digital citizenship
  • safe school environments
  • the development of confident, connected, actively involved young people

3. The Case for Civics Education in Years 11–13

The Ministry’s draft states that Year 10 Social Sciences “prepares students with the knowledge and practices to access related curriculum subjects for Years 11–13.” This creates a natural pathway for a dedicated senior Civics course, where students have the cognitive maturity to engage with:

  • democratic institutions
  • human rights frameworks
  • extremism and radicalisation
  • propaganda and media manipulation
  • contemporary antisemitism
  • the responsibilities of citizenship

Holocaust education should be a core case study within this senior Civics course, enabling students to connect historical injustice with contemporary civic responsibilities.

Older students are developmentally ready to:

  • analyse complex political and ethical issues
  • understand the consequences of democratic failure
  • evaluate competing perspectives
  • participate meaningfully in civic life
  • prepare for voting and public engagement

A senior Civics course would therefore strengthen the Ministry’s goals of producing informed, thoughtful, and active citizens.

4. Summary of Recommendations

For Years 1–10

  • Strengthen Holocaust content already present in Year 10.
  • Clarify the Holocaust’s historical specificity.
  • Teach the persecution of other victim groups distinctly and accurately.
  • Integrate Jewish life and culture, not only Jewish victimhood.
  • Teach students how to recognise and respond to prejudice.
  • Connect Holocaust education to human rights and democratic values.
  • Provide teachers with training and high‑quality resources.

For Years 11–13

  • Develop a dedicated Civics course.
  • Include Holocaust education as a central case study.
  • Teach contemporary antisemitism, conspiracy culture, and online radicalisation.
  • Teach students how to push back safely and appropriately when they encounter antisemitism.
  • Connect historical lessons to democratic participation and critical media literacy.

5. Key takeaways

Holocaust education is not simply about teaching a historical event. It is about equipping young New Zealanders with the knowledge and moral clarity to recognise antisemitism — a threat that continues to harm Jewish communities today — and to repudiate it wherever it appears.

Because of antisemitism, a portion of our society is being harassed, intimidated, and sometimes violently attacked simply for being Jewish. That is an injustice. A curriculum committed to equity and citizenship must prepare students to recognise injustice and to act.

The Curriculum Refresh is a rare opportunity to strengthen this essential part of our national education. We urge the Ministry to adopt the recommendations above to ensure that Holocaust and Civics education in Aotearoa is accurate, meaningful, and future‑focused — and that it prepares young people not only to understand injustice, but to stand against it.

Ngā mihi nui,

Tony Kan
President
New Zealand Friends of Israel Association Inc.
Charities Commission Registration No: CC 43880

 

Social Media, State Actors, and the Battle for World Opinion on Israel

Over the last five years, social media has transformed from a digital town square into a geopolitical battlespace. Nowhere is this clearer than in the global conversation about Israel. What once unfolded through journalism, diplomacy, and long‑form analysis now happens through 15‑second videos, anonymous accounts, and algorithm‑driven outrage. And while many in the West still treat social media as entertainment, hostile states treat it as a weapon.

The new information battlefield

During the October 7 attacks and the Gaza war that followed, platforms like TikTok, X, Instagram, and Telegram became the primary source of information for millions. But “information” is generous. Much of what went viral was unverified, emotionally charged, or outright fabricated. Israel often found itself responding to false claims within minutes simply to prevent them from hardening into “truth.”

This shift has had measurable consequences. In 2023, for the first time since polling began in 1998, more Americans sympathised with Palestinians than with Israelis. That change did not happen in a vacuum. It was accelerated by digital ecosystems optimised for emotional impact, not accuracy.

State actors are exploiting Western vulnerabilities

Foreign governments have learned that social media allows them to influence Western societies at almost no cost. Russia’s bot networks are well‑documented. China’s algorithmic shaping of TikTok content is now a matter of national‑security concern in the United States. And Iran—often underestimated in this space— has become increasingly sophisticated.

One of the most revealing examples came when Iran shut down its own internet during a 12‑day internal crisis. Almost immediately, the volume of social‑media posts advocating Scottish separatism collapsed. That wasn’t a coincidence. It was a glimpse into how foreign actors seed and amplify divisive narratives abroad. When the servers went dark in Tehran, the “grassroots” Scottish nationalism online suddenly evaporated.

This is the world we now inhabit: a world where adversarial regimes can reach directly into Western societies and widen every existing fault line—political, racial, religious, generational—because division weakens democracies.

The herd instinct and the illusion of consensus

Human beings are social creatures. We instinctively assume that if thousands of people are saying something, it must be true—or at least partly true. Social media exploits this instinct mercilessly.

When users see a flood of posts vilifying Israel or demonising Jews, the sheer volume creates an illusion of consensus. But volume is not evidence. It is often automation.

AI‑driven botnets can generate thousands of posts per minute, each containing a sliver of selective truth wrapped in emotionally charged framing. These posts mimic human behaviour, recycle trending language, and create the impression of a global groundswell. In reality, it may be a handful of operators in Moscow, Tehran, or Beijing pressing a button.

This is not public opinion. It is manufactured perception.

And once people fall into these digital stampedes, they become trapped in algorithmic silos so deep they can no longer see out of them. They stop encountering opposing views. They stop trusting mainstream institutions. They stop believing that disagreement can be honest.

A society that cannot talk to itself cannot defend itself.

War may not interest the West—but war is interested in the West

Many in the West understandably want nothing to do with conflict in the Middle East. But geopolitical adversaries are deeply interested in them. Iran, Russia, and China all view Western freedoms—speech, religion, equality, democratic governance—as existential threats to their own systems.

This is why Iran calls the United States “the Great Satan.” Not because of culture or history, but because a free society is a standing rebuke to tyranny. As long as the West remains free, Iran will continue pursuing nuclear capability and sponsoring proxy groups like Hamas and Hezbollah to destabilise the region and  weaken Western resolve.  And it’s working.  In the last two conflicts in the Middle East, the US has lacked the resolve to complete the mission.  

Tyrannies do not fear Western armies as much as they fear Western ideas.

Weaponising Western empathy

One of the most effective tools used against the West is its own moral instinct. Free societies value compassion, fairness, and human rights. Authoritarian regimes understand this—and exploit it.

They flood social media with emotionally charged content designed to provoke outrage, guilt, or moral confusion. They present themselves as victims while hiding their own abuses. They manipulate Western audiences who assume that everyone values truth the same way we do.

But in many parts of the world, truth is not a virtue—it is a tactic.

How free societies defend themselves without sacrificing freedom

The answer is not censorship. It is discernment.

People must learn to slow down, cross‑check, and seek independent sources. They must look for the overlap between credible accounts rather than trusting the first viral post that appears in their feed. They must understand that not everyone online shares Western values—or Western respect for truth.

We must be as gentle as doves and as wise as serpents.

A free society can survive lies. What it cannot survive is naivety.

Holocaust Education Is Everywhere — So Why Isn’t It Working?

The Ministry of Education has released its draft Social Sciences curriculum for Year 10. On the face of it, the Holocaust content looks solid: Nazi antisemitism, Kristallnacht, ghettos, mass shootings, extermination camps, resistance, liberation — the usual landmarks.

And yet, something isn’t adding up. Around the world, Holocaust education has expanded dramatically over the past two decades, but antisemitism hasn’t gone away. In many places, it’s getting worse. That’s not just an overseas problem. Jewish New Zealanders are being shouted at, pushed around, and occasionally assaulted simply for being Jewish. You don’t need a PhD in history to see that something isn’t working.

So what’s going on? And what might we need to think about here in Aotearoa?

What the experts keep saying

If you look at the work of people who’ve spent their lives studying this — Yehuda Bauer, Deborah Lipstadt, Matti Friedman, the teams at UNESCO, IHRA, Yad Vashem — a pattern emerges.

They’re not arguing over details. Their concern is that we teach the history, but we don’t teach students how to recognise the same patterns when they appear today.

Students often get the events, but not the underlying logic. They learn the horror, but not the warning. They learn what happened, but not how to recognise the same currents when they appear in their own world — in jokes, in slogans, in conspiracy theories, in the way people talk about “them.” Students learn Jewish death, not Jewish life.  Jews are often presented as victims, not as a living people with culture, agency, and continuity.

These gaps matter.

The Holocaust was meant to destroy the Jews

One point the experts are almost unanimous on: the Holocaust needs to be taught with clarity. It was the Nazi project to annihilate the Jewish people. That’s the core of it.

Other groups suffered terribly under Nazism — Roma, disabled people, political dissidents, LGBTQ+ people, and others — and their stories deserve to be taught properly, in their own right. But when everything gets folded into one big, blurred narrative, students lose the ability to understand why Jews were targeted then, and why antisemitism still has such a long half‑life now.

Clarity isn’t exclusion. It’s accuracy. And accuracy is what lets students make sense of the present.

The missing skill: what to do when you see antisemitism

One thing that rarely appears in any curriculum — here or overseas — is the practical side. Students need to know what to do when they encounter antisemitism.

Not confrontation. Not speeches. Just the basics:

  • spotting harmful stereotypes
  • understanding why they’re dangerous
  • knowing how to challenge misinformation
  • knowing when to get help
  • knowing how to support someone who’s being targeted

This isn’t a political agenda. It’s the same logic behind anti‑bullying programmes and digital citizenship. If we want young people to recognise injustice, they need tools, not just stories.

A thought for New Zealand: what about senior Civics?

The Ministry’s draft curriculum stops at Year 10, but it also says Year 10 Social Sciences prepares students for senior subjects. That opens a door.

By Years 11–13, students are ready for the deeper questions:

  • how democracies fail
  • how propaganda works
  • how prejudice becomes policy
  • how extremism spreads
  • how human rights frameworks were built
  • how to participate meaningfully in civic life

This is where Holocaust education becomes more than history. It becomes civic literacy — the kind that helps young adults understand the world they’re about to vote in, work in, and live in.

Young people want meaning.  They have a thirst for justice.  A senior Civics course isn’t a radical idea. It’s a practical one.

Some ideas that might be worth considering

After looking at the international research, the Ministry’s draft, and the reality facing Jewish New Zealanders today, a few ideas seem worth putting on the table:

  • Strengthen the Holocaust content already in Year 10 by making the purpose clearer, not just the events.
  • Teach the persecution of other groups distinctly, so their experiences aren’t lost in generalisation.
  • Make the link between historical antisemitism and contemporary antisemitism explicit.
  • Connect students to living Jewish communities.
  • Give students practical tools for responding safely when they encounter prejudice.
  • Explore a senior Civics course where these themes can be taught with the depth and maturity they require.

None of this requires tearing up the curriculum. It’s about sharpening the focus so the history does what it’s meant to do: help young people understand the world they’re stepping into — and their responsibility to stand up for justice and ensure that no community is left to face intimidation, harassment, or violence because of antisemitism.

Tony Kan
President
NZ Friends of Israel Association Inc

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New Palestinian Constitution creates Apartheid state

PA President Mahmoud Abbas

Why Only One Side Gets the Apartheid Label

Israel is routinely accused of “apartheid” for defining itself as a Jewish state. Yet the proposed Palestinian Constitution openly defines a future Palestine as Arab, Islamic, and Sharia‑based — without a whisper of criticism from the same organisations. This double standard tells us more about the politics of the accusation than about the realities on the ground.

A Palestinian Constitution That Speaks Loudly — and Selectively

The Palestinian Authority’s new draft constitution is remarkably clear about the kind of state it intends to build. It doesn’t hide behind vague language or symbolic gestures. It spells out, in black and white, a national identity rooted in Arab ethnicity, Islamic religion, and Sharia‑based law.

Palestine is described as “part of the Arab homeland.”
The Palestinian people are “part of the Arab nation.”
Arabic is the only official language.

This is not a civic definition of citizenship. It is an ethnic one.

And the religious identity is just as explicit. Islam is the official religion, and Sharia is the primary source of legislation. Christianity is acknowledged; Judaism is not mentioned at all — not as a religion, not as a heritage, not as a protected minority.

For a document intended to guide a future state, the message is unmistakable:
This is an Arab and Islamic nation, constitutionally and structurally.

What Happens When We Apply HRW and Amnesty’s Own Standards?

Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International have both accused Israel of apartheid using definitions so broad that they sweep up identity clauses, language laws, immigration policies, and symbolic national character.

So let’s take those same criteria — the ones used to condemn Israel — and apply them to the Palestinian draft constitution.

Identity as Domination

HRW argues that Israel’s Basic Law (“Jewish state”) shows intent to privilege one group.
By that logic, defining Palestine as Arab and Islamic is the same thing.

Systematic Privilege

Amnesty treats language, religion, and national identity as tools of domination.
The Palestinian draft privileges Arabic, privileges Islam, and excludes Jewish identity entirely.

Legal Supremacy

Sharia as the primary source of legislation creates a built‑in hierarchy of religious communities.
Under Amnesty’s framework, that is a textbook example of legal supremacy.

Exclusion of Minorities

Israel is accused of apartheid despite full political rights for Arab citizens.
The Palestinian draft offers no political rights, protections, or recognition for any Jewish minority that might live under its authority.

By HRW and Amnesty’s own definitions, the Palestinian draft constitution meets — and in some areas exceeds — the criteria they use to condemn Israel.

So Why the Silence?

If the standards were applied consistently, both organisations would be sounding alarms. But they aren’t. And the reasons have nothing to do with law.

The Narrative Requires a Villain

Israel is cast as the settler‑colonial oppressor.
Palestinians are cast as the indigenous oppressed.
This framing leaves no room for Palestinian discrimination or exclusion.

Ideology Over Analysis

In activist discourse, “indigenous” groups cannot commit apartheid.
This is a political assumption, not a legal principle.

Diplomatic and Financial Incentives

Calling a future Palestinian state “apartheid” would strain relationships with Arab and Muslim-majority governments — and with donors.


It would also invite accusations of Islamophobia.

Selective Scrutiny Is Built In

HRW and Amnesty do not apply their apartheid framework to:


Arab states
Islamic republics
Countries with ethnic‑national identity clauses
Countries with discriminatory nationality laws

Only Israel is examined through this lens.

A One‑Way Accusation Is Not Justice

Israel is condemned as an apartheid state because it defines itself as Jewish — even though it grants full political rights to all its citizens.


A future Palestinian state is praised and supported even though it is defined as Arab, Islamic, and Sharia‑based, with no recognition of Jewish rights at all.

When the same standards are applied to one side and ignored for the other, the accusation stops being a moral judgment and becomes a political weapon.

And that is why the apartheid label, as used today, is not only wrong —
it is fundamentally unjust.

Australia’s Hate‑Speech Debate and the Lessons Hidden in History

Australia Prime Minister Anthony Albanese has authorised a Royal Commission in the aftermath of the Bondi Massacre. The Bondi Massacre has renewed calls for Hate-Speech Laws to be passed.

Australia’s renewed push to strengthen hate‑speech laws, after the Bondi Massacre, has stirred up a familiar conversation across the Tasman. Whenever one democracy tightens the boundaries of acceptable speech, its neighbours inevitably ask themselves the same questions: What exactly are we trying to prevent? Do these laws work? And how do we avoid repeating the mistakes of the past?

To answer those questions, it helps to step back and look at the long, winding history of how societies have tried to regulate dangerous speech — from medieval blasphemy laws to modern hate‑speech statutes — and how New Zealand found itself wrestling with these issues in recent years.

Before “Hate Speech”: The Era of Proto‑Laws

Long before anyone coined the phrase “hate speech,” societies were already policing words. But the targets were very different from today.

Early speech restrictions were designed to protect the powerful, not the vulnerable. Medieval and early‑modern Europe punished blasphemy, heresy, and insults to monarchs. Sedition laws protected the state. Public‑order laws punished speech that threatened stability. These weren’t hate‑speech laws — but they were the ancestors of modern speech regulation. They recognised that words could inflame, destabilise, or provoke violence.

They were, in a sense, proto–hate speech laws: early attempts to control dangerous expression, but aimed at shielding institutions and dominant religions rather than minority communities.

Weimar Germany: A Warning From the Middle Ground

By the early 20th century, democracies began experimenting with laws that looked closer to what we recognise today. The Weimar Republic had statutes against inciting hatred, insulting religious communities, and spreading inflammatory propaganda. These laws were used — sporadically — against Hitler and the Nazi Party.

But they were weak, inconsistently enforced, and applied by courts often sympathetic to nationalist rhetoric. They failed not because the idea of regulating incitement was flawed, but because the state enforcing them was collapsing.

This failure became a turning point. After the war, the world understood that propaganda and dehumanising rhetoric weren’t abstract harms — they were precursors to genocide.

After the Holocaust: The Birth of Modern Hate‑Speech Law

Modern hate‑speech laws are a post‑WWII creation. Germany led the way with strict bans on Nazi symbols, Holocaust denial, and incitement against groups. These laws influenced the European Convention on Human Rights, UN anti‑racism conventions, and the frameworks adopted by Canada, the UK, and others.

For the first time, speech regulation was designed to protect vulnerable minorities, not the state or the dominant religion. The moral logic was clear: if hateful propaganda helped pave the road to genocide, democracies had a duty to intervene earlier.

But even with this moral clarity, the practical challenges remained.

The Drafting Dilemma: Why Hate‑Speech Laws Are So Hard to Get Right

Even supporters of hate‑speech laws acknowledge the same recurring problems.

Definitions are slippery.
Words like “hatred,” “insult,” and “hostility” are subjective. What one person sees as critique, another sees as bigotry.

Enforcement can become political.
Police and courts must interpret emotional concepts. That opens the door to inconsistency — or misuse.

Ideas are not people.
Laws should protect individuals from harm, not shield belief systems from criticism. When religion becomes a protected category, the line between hate‑speech law and blasphemy law can blur quickly.

Effectiveness is mixed.
Countries with strong hate‑speech laws still experience rising extremism. The laws can reduce public displays of hate, but they rarely change underlying prejudice.

These tensions are exactly what Australia is grappling with now — and what New Zealand confronted recently.

New Zealand’s High‑Threshold Approach

New Zealand has some of the narrowest hate‑speech laws in the democratic world. Under the Human Rights Act 1993, only racial incitement is covered. The threshold is high: the speech must be threatening, abusive, or insulting and likely to incite hostility or contempt.

Religion, gender, sexuality, disability, and political belief are not included. Most offensive or hateful speech is not illegal unless it crosses into threats, harassment, or incitement to violence — all of which are already covered by the Crimes Act and other statutes.

This approach reflects a strong cultural preference for free expression and a reluctance to criminalise attitudes rather than actions.

The Push to Add Religion — And Why It Backfired

After the Christchurch mosque attacks, the Royal Commission recommended expanding hate‑speech protections to include religion. The government proposed amending the Human Rights Act so that “insulting” or “hostile” speech about religious groups could become a criminal offence.

The reaction was swift and intense.

Critics warned that criminalising “insults” to religion risked creating a de facto blasphemy law — just two years after New Zealand had formally repealed its old blasphemy offence. The concern wasn’t abstract. Around the world, laws protecting religion from “insult” have been used to:

  • Suppress theological disagreement
  • Silence ex‑believers
  • Chill academic study of comparative religion
  • Shield harmful practices from scrutiny
  • Protect ideas instead of people

Public submissions overwhelmingly argued that the proposal would undermine open debate, academic freedom, and the ability to challenge belief systems — all essential in a pluralistic society.

In the end, the Law Commission declined to include hate‑speech reform in its work programme, and the government withdrew the proposal entirely.

What Australia Can Learn From New Zealand’s Experience

Australia’s debate is unfolding in a global context where hate‑speech laws are common but their effectiveness is mixed. The New Zealand experience offers a quiet but important lesson: even well‑intentioned reforms can stumble when they risk suppressing legitimate debate, especially around religion.

The challenge is not whether to protect vulnerable communities — everyone agrees on that. The challenge is how to do it without sliding back into the old pattern of protecting belief systems from criticism, the very thing modern democracies have spent decades moving away from.

If Australia wants to avoid repeating history — both ancient and modern — it will need to draft with extraordinary care, clear thresholds, and a firm commitment to protecting people rather than ideas.

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NZFOI Newsletter 202602
NZFOI Newsletter 202602

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