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.

Israel’s death penalty: A biblical perspective on the Death Penalty

Israel's death penalty: Chagall's crucifixioin

Israel’s death penalty law has been amended particularly in how it should be applied. We have been asked for a biblical perspective on the death penalty in general.

It’s always controversial — in the West

The death penalty is controversial because it sits at the intersection of justice, morality, and state power. For many people, capital punishment raises the question of whether the state should ever take a life, even in response to the most serious crimes.

Others focus on the risk of error: no legal system is perfect, and a wrongful conviction in a capital case cannot be undone. There is also debate about fairness. Around the world, critics point to uneven application across different populations, court systems, or regions, which can undermine public confidence in equal justice.

Supporters often argue that some crimes are so grave that the strongest possible penalty is justified, but opponents counter that life imprisonment already protects society without crossing a moral line. These tensions make the death penalty a recurring flashpoint in legal and public debate.

Israel’s death penalty before the amendment

Israel’s death penalty has remained almost entirely unused because the legal system was designed to make execution possible in theory but extraordinarily difficult in practice.

For decades, a death sentence in the military courts required a unanimous panel of three judges, all of whom had to be senior officers. This unanimity rule created a built‑in brake: even in severe terrorism cases, a single dissenting judge prevented the sentence.

Alongside this, the regional military commander held broad clemency powers and routinely commuted any death sentence that did emerge. In the civilian system, courts consistently preferred life imprisonment, reflecting a judicial culture shaped by the singular experience of the Eichmann trial, which reinforced the idea that execution should be reserved for uniquely exceptional crimes.

Together, these structural and cultural factors meant the death penalty existed largely as a symbolic provision rather than a practical sentencing option.

Even when prosecutors sought it, the combination of procedural safeguards and institutional caution ensured it was never carried out. This history explains why the new amendment is so significant: it removes the very safeguards that kept the death penalty dormant for more than sixty years.

For those looking for that biblical perspective, here’s a thought-provoking piece:  Carpe Deo: Israel’s death penalty

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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How Headlines help Anti‑Israel Bias Escape Scrutiny

Headline push Anti‑Israel Bias

Most people never read past a headline. In the age of scrolling, swiping, and instant reactions, the headline is the story for a huge share of the audience. It shapes the emotional response, sets the frame, and often becomes the public’s memory of the event, regardless of what the article actually says.

That is why headlines matter so much in reporting on Israel. And it is why complaints to the Broadcasting Standards Authority (BSA) and the NZ Media Council so often fail, even when the headline is blatantly misleading or inflammatory.

A recent Stuff story is a perfect example.

The Stuff Headline That Does the Damage

Stuff ran the headline:

“Human rights experts join rising chorus that accuses Israel of genocide in Gaza.”

It is a headline designed to hit hard. It implies a growing, authoritative consensus. It frames Israel as a state facing a swelling global indictment. And it uses the most explosive word in the political vocabulary: genocide.

But the article itself tells a different story. Buried further down, readers learn that:

  • The International Court of Justice has not found Israel guilty of genocide.
  • The UN “experts” are not judges, not investigators, and do not speak for the UN as a whole.
  • The legal question is unresolved and contested.

A more accurate, less inflammatory headline could easily have been:

“UN-appointed experts repeat genocide allegations; legal bodies yet to rule.”

Same facts. Less heat. No distortion. But most readers never get that far. They see the headline, absorb the accusation, and move on.

Why Regulators Keep Saying “Not Guilty”

When NZFOI or others complain about biased headlines, the outcome is depressingly predictable. The BSA and Media Council almost always judge the entire article, not the headline that shaped public perception.

Their reasoning follows a familiar pattern:

  • A “reasonable reader” is assumed to read the whole article.
  • Headlines are allowed to be punchy or provocative.
  • Balance in the body text is treated as a cure for imbalance in the headline.

This approach made sense in the print era, when readers sat down with a newspaper and consumed the whole story. It makes no sense in a digital environment where headlines circulate independently on social media, often without any context at all.

The regulators are evaluating journalism as it exists on paper, not as it is consumed in the real world.

This allows headlines to help anti-Israel bias to escape scrutiny.

What the Research Shows About Headlines

Modern media research is unequivocal:

  • Many readers never click through to the article.
  • Emotional reactions occur at the headline level alone.
  • First impressions formed from headlines persist even when contradicted by the body.
  • Social media amplifies headlines in isolation, without nuance or context.

In other words, a fair body cannot fix a misleading headline. The harm has already happened.

This is especially true for Israel-related reporting, where words like “genocide,” “apartheid,” and “war crimes” carry enormous emotional weight and can inflame public sentiment instantly.

Why This Matters for Israel

Israel is uniquely vulnerable to headline distortion because:

  • Allegations are often presented as facts.
  • Headlines frequently omit legal context.
  • Nuance appears only deep in the article.
  • Social media spreads the headline, not the correction.

The Stuff headline is a textbook case. It primes readers to believe Israel is committing genocide, even though the article itself acknowledges that no court has made such a finding.

The headline becomes the verdict. The article becomes the footnote.

What Needs to Change

New Zealand’s media standards need to catch up with how news is actually consumed.

  • Headlines must be assessed as standalone communications. If the headline misleads, the complaint should be upheld, even if the body is balanced.
  • Newsrooms must stop using headlines as emotional weapons. Accuracy should not be sacrificed for clicks, especially on matters of war and public safety.
  • Regulators must recognise the real-world impact of framing. The “reasonable reader” of 2026 does not behave like the reader of 1996.

Until that happens, misleading headlines about Israel will continue to shape public opinion while escaping accountability.

 

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.

Call it what it was: Genocide

The atrocities committed by Hamas on October 7 were shocking not only in scale but in intent. Thousands of terrorists crossed into Israel, murdering families in their homes, burning civilians alive, kidnapping children and the elderly, and targeting entire communities because of who they were. As the world tried to absorb the horror, a difficult but necessary question emerged:  Do Hamas’s actions meet the legal definition of genocide?

The word “genocide” carries enormous weight, and international law defines it with precision. When the events of October 7 are viewed through the lens of the UN Genocide Convention, the picture that  emerges is disturbingly clear:  the attack fits the core elements of genocide.

What the Genocide Convention Says

The 1948 Convention defines genocide as acts committed with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part,
a national, ethnic, racial, or religious group. Jews fall into all three of those categories:
they are a religious group, an ethnic group, and in many contexts a national group.
That alone places them squarely within the Convention’s protected categories.

Targeting Jews as Jews

The October 7 attack was not a military operation. It was a deliberate assault on Jewish civilians: families in their homes, children in their bedrooms, elderly people in wheelchairs, festival‑goers at a music event, and entire kibbutzim that are overwhelmingly Jewish communities. The attackers did not distinguish between combatants and civilians. They sought out Jews specifically, killing them “as such,” which is the exact language of the Genocide Convention.

This isn’t just an interpretive claim. Leading genocide scholars and jurists have already described the attack in these terms.

Leading genocide scholars and jurists have already described the October 7 attack in terms consistent with genocidal intent.

Gregory Stanton, founder of Genocide Watch, stated that “Hamas’s attack was genocidal. They targeted Jews because they were Jews.” Source: Stanton interview with The Jerusalem Post, 12 Oct 2023; Genocide Watch public statement, Oct 2023.

Irwin Cotler, former Canadian Justice Minister and a leading human‑rights jurist, wrote that the atrocities “bear the hallmarks of genocidal intent” and reflect Hamas’s “genocidal antisemitism.” Source: Irwin Cotler, Times of Israel, 15 Oct 2023; Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs briefing, Oct 2023.

William Schabas, one of the most cited genocide‑law scholars, explained that if the intent to destroy Jews as such—even in part—is established, then the acts of October 7 fall within the legal definition of genocide. Source: William Schabas interview with Haaretz, 20 Oct 2023; Schabas commentary in JusticeInfo, Nov 2023.

David Scheffer, the first U.S. Ambassador‑at‑Large for War Crimes, similarly noted that the deliberate killing of Jewish civilians by Hamas can constitute genocidal acts, provided that the requisite intent to destroy the group is demonstrated. Source: Scheffer interview with PBS NewsHour, 18 Oct 2023; Scheffer analysis in Just Security, Oct 2023.

Yehuda Bauer, one of the most respected Holocaust and genocide scholars alive, was even more direct: “Hamas’s ideology is genocidal, and October 7 was an expression of that ideology.” Source: Bauer interview with Ynet, 22 Oct 2023; Bauer remarks at Hebrew University panel, Nov 2023.

Aharon Barak, former President of Israel’s Supreme Court and a judge at the International Criminal Court, stated that Hamas’s attack was aimed at Jews as Jews, which he described as the essence of genocidal intent. Source: Barak interview with Der Spiegel, 27 Oct 2023; Barak remarks in ICC press briefing, Nov 2023.

These are not political commentators. They are among the most authoritative voices in international law and genocide studies.

Genocidal Acts in Practice

The Genocide Convention lists specific acts that qualify when paired with genocidal intent. Hamas’s actions match several of them: killing members of the group, causing serious bodily and mental harm, and forcibly transferring children through hostage‑taking. International tribunals have repeatedly held that targeting a geographic subset of a protected group — such as Jews in southern Israel — still qualifies as genocide “in part.”

The pattern on October 7 resembles other cases where courts have found genocide, such as Srebrenica in 1995 and ISIS’s attacks on the Yazidis in 2014. In both examples, the perpetrators did not attempt to wipe out the entire group globally — only a part of it. Yet courts still ruled the acts genocidal. The same legal logic applies to Hamas.

Sometimes people mix up being deliberate with intent. 

Under the Genocide Convention, being deliberate is not the same as the legal requirement of intent (specifically genocidal intent, or dolus specialis). The Convention requires a very specific, purpose‑based intent to destroy a protected group — far beyond merely acting deliberately or foreseeably.
 

Why This Matters

Calling something “genocide” is not about rhetoric. It is about accurately naming the crime, understanding the intent behind the violence, recognizing the vulnerability of the targeted group, and clarifying the obligations of the international community. If the October 7 attack meets the definition —  and the evidence strongly suggests it does — then the world has a responsibility to acknowledge it.

A Final Reflection

The Genocide Convention sets a high bar, but Hamas’s actions on October 7 meet its core criteria. The victims were a protected group. They were targeted because of their identity. The acts committed — mass killing, torture, hostage‑taking, and the targeting of children — are explicitly listed as genocidal acts. And Hamas’s own ideology and statements demonstrate intent to destroy Jews, at least in part.

Whether international courts ultimately rule on this is a separate question. But from a legal and moral standpoint, the October 7 massacre fits the definition of genocide far more clearly than many historical cases that have been recognized as such.

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NZFOI Newsletter 202602
NZFOI Newsletter 202602

The latest newsletter is out and it may be downloaded from here: Download Newsletter.

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Why New Zealand Should Not Stay Silent on Iran’s Uprising

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

14 JANUARY 2026

New Zealand often sees itself as a small, principled nation—one that stands for human dignity, democratic freedoms, and the rule of law. Yet in the past two weeks, as Iranians have once again taken to the streets demanding basic rights, every major political party in Aotearoa has remained silent. Not a single new statement. Not a single expression of solidarity. Not even a brief acknowledgement of the courage and suffering of ordinary Iranians.

Some might argue that New Zealand has no leverage. That we are too small, too distant, too economically disconnected from Iran to make any difference. But that argument misunderstands both the nature of Iran’s regime and the role a country like ours can play in the international system. Silence is not neutrality. Silence is a choice. And in this case, it is the wrong one.

Iran’s Internal Repression and Regional Aggression Are the Same Problem

The world often treats Iran’s domestic uprisings as a moral issue and its nuclear programme or regional interventions as geopolitical issues. But these are not separate stories. They are two expressions of the same underlying reality: the nature of the Iranian regime itself.

A government that crushes dissent at home does not behave responsibly abroad. The same security apparatus that beats protesters in Tehran also arms and directs proxy militias across the Middle East. The same leadership that executes political prisoners also supplies weapons, training, and funding to groups operating in Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, and Gaza.

Many analysts have noted that the Gaza war cannot be understood in isolation. Hamas and Hezbollah did not emerge in a vacuum. They have long been instruments through which Iran projects power, disrupts regional stability, and asserts hegemony. Their actions—whether in Gaza, southern Lebanon, or Syria—reflect strategic decisions made in Tehran.

In that sense, the Gaza conflict is not merely a local tragedy. It is a symptom of a much larger system of coercion and violence that begins with the Iranian regime’s treatment of its own people. When a state uses brutality as its primary tool of governance, that brutality inevitably spills across borders.

New Zealand’s Voice Matters More Than We Think

It is true that New Zealand cannot force Iran to change course. We cannot dictate the outcome of its internal struggles or its regional ambitions. But influence is not the same as control, and moral clarity is not the same as interference. New Zealand has tools—real ones.

1. We have a vote at the United Nations

Our vote carries weight precisely because we are seen as independent, principled, and not driven by great‑power agendas. When New Zealand speaks at the UN, other countries listen—not because we are powerful, but because we are trusted.

2. We can help shape international norms

Small states often play outsized roles in human‑rights debates, nuclear non‑proliferation discussions, and multilateral diplomacy. New Zealand has a long history of doing exactly that—from opposing apartheid to championing nuclear‑free principles.

3. We can encourage like‑minded countries to act

Diplomacy is not a solo sport. When smaller democracies coordinate, they can shift the tone of international conversations. A statement from Wellington can help embolden statements from Ottawa, Oslo, Dublin, or Canberra.

4. We can stand with oppressed people even when we cannot rescue them

Solidarity is not symbolic. For people risking their lives in the streets of Tehran, Shiraz, or Mashhad, knowing that the world is watching can be a lifeline. Silence, by contrast, is a gift to their oppressors.

Silence Sends the Wrong Message

When New Zealand says nothing, it communicates something—whether we intend it or not. It suggests that Iran’s internal repression is someone else’s problem. That the suffering of ordinary Iranians is not worth political attention. That we only speak when larger powers tell us it is safe to do so. That our values are negotiable.

That is not who we claim to be. Aotearoa has always aspired to be a nation that stands for justice, peace, and human dignity. Those principles do not stop at our borders. They do not depend on whether we have trade ties or military alliances. They do not require us to be powerful—only to be principled.

A Call for Moral Consistency

If New Zealand can speak loudly about Gaza—and we have—then we can also speak about the forces that helped shape that conflict. If we can condemn violence against civilians in one part of the Middle East, we can condemn violence against civilians in another. If we believe in human rights, then we believe in them universally.

Iran’s uprising is not just a domestic matter. It is part of a wider pattern of repression and aggression that affects the entire region and, ultimately, global stability. The people of Iran are not asking New Zealand to solve their problems. They are asking the world not to look away.

We should not.

NZ FRIENDS OF ISRAEL ASSOCIATION INC
BOX 37 363
CHRISTCHURCH
NEW ZEALAND
contact@nzfoi.org
027 433 9745

 

 

What Anti-Zionism Really Is

We came across this thought provoking article and realised its importance in documenting this new evolutionary step of Antisemitism to become “Anti-Zionism.”

After October 7, friends called me ‘filthy Zionist.’ Longtime colleagues refused to work with me. This isn’t criticism of Israel. It’s about making Jews pariahs. By Adam Louis-Klein, 10.07.25 —Israel

After three months in a remote Amazonian village with no internet or phone signal, I returned to a small Colombian town on October 9, 2023—still in the rainforest, but now with internet—and checked social media for the first time. The jungle was still in my ears—squawking macaws, torrential rain, the low hum of a generator—when my screen filled with images from another world entirely: young people sprinting through dust and gunfire at the Nova music festival in Israel.

I had crossed between worlds, only to find that the world I returned to was no longer the same.

The deeper shock came in the hours that followed, as I scrolled through the reactions of friends and colleagues. Denial, justification, and open hostility toward anyone who expressed care for Israelis. I typed a simple phrase—Am Yisrael Chai, “the people of Israel live”—and learned that, in my circles of left-wing academia, that too was considered an act of aggression.

Almost immediately, I saw that a colleague had commented with a photo of people burning an Israeli flag. A former friend declared that my words revealed me as nothing but a “filthy Zionist.” Longtime intellectual collaborators informed me it was unacceptable to work with me given my support for the Jewish people. For them, even calling Jews a “people” was offensive and “right-wing.”

In the days following October 7, I was already experiencing what Marion Kaplan, in her study of Jewish life under Nazi Germany, terms “social death”—complete ostracization and the cutting of one’s previous social bonds. I was beginning to understand that to be a Jewish intellectual—to be a person who speaks in a Jewish voice, and who sees his fate as bound up in the collective fate of the Jewish people—was simply not something the academy could accept.

But I wasn’t about to submit. I knew that Jewishness was as legitimate a site as any identity from which to think, reason, and argue.

That was two long years ago. I have learned much in refusing to submit. Not just about the marginalization of Jews in the universities of the West, but about the enduring value of distinct peoples and voices—even in the face of a powerful ideological movement that uses the language of pluralism to conceal its demand for total conformity.

The Anti-Zionist Worldview

I had always been a good student. At my prep school, we read Antigone in Greek and the Aeneid in Latin. At Yale, I worked my way through the Western canon, from Aristotle to Hannah Arendt, in the Directed Studies program.

I first became an anthropologist because I was searching for something beyond the Western philosophical tradition I had studied. I wanted to understand worlds that were not my own. What I didn’t quite understand was that the twenty-first-century academy would demand that I disavow my own.

By the time I began my PhD, I was fully immersed in the critical, anti-colonial thought that now dominates the academy—an orientation bent on interrogating and dismantling the West. But living alongside the Desana, an indigenous group in Brazil and Colombia, ultimately brought me back—back to an embrace of my own Judaism and back to my Western inheritance as one tradition among others. Instead of thinking against the West, I came to see the value of thinking across civilizations, between living peoples and the worlds they continue to sustain.

The Desana of the Vaupés region, in today’s Brazil and Colombia, are often described as marginal to the global economy. But in their own eyes, they stand at the center of the universe—a chosen people with a unique story. They call themselves the Ümücori Masa, the universe-people, descended from the universe-person, or God.

For them, chosenness simply means peoplehood. In the early twentieth century, Catholic missionaries destroyed their traditional longhouses and forced them into mission towns. The surrounding Spanish-speaking society showed little interest in their memory or survival. In response, the Desana have fought to preserve their sacred names and endure as a people.

In the same way in which antisemitism once cast the Jew as the world’s metaphysical enemy, anti-Zionism now casts Israel and its supporters in the same role.

Today, we work together to translate old texts about the Desana into their own language—restoring the name of their God, re-centering their sacred lineages, and helping turn the historical record into a living part of their future.

Their struggle to remain themselves in the face of erasure echoed 3,000 years of Jewish history and what I found on my return: a so-called liberal world where Jewish distinctiveness is no longer tolerated, where Jewish continuity is recoded as a threat, where Jewish power is seen as illegitimate.

Nowhere is that worldview more powerful than in the academy. There, educated elites are being taught that it is righteous to hate Jews.

They call that world view anti-Zionism.

While anti-Zionism introduces itself as a “political opinion,” I came to see that it was something else entirely. Anti-Zionism, like antisemitism, is an entire cosmology. In the same way in which antisemitism once cast the Jew as the world’s metaphysical enemy, anti-Zionism now casts Israel and its supporters in the same role.

I began to study anti-Zionism the way I might study any culture’s system of meaning: its myths, rituals, and taboos. It functioned as a symbolic system, its force drawn from recurring metaphors—genocide, settler-colonialism, apartheid—ritually deployed not to clarify but to accuse, forming a closed circuit of moral judgment, reproduced across academia, media, and international organizations.

A major mistake would be to think that anti-Zionism is opposition to Zionism as an actually existing political ideology. Instead, it constructs a fantasy “Zionism” as a cosmic symbol of global injustice itself, one in which every possible crime—including U.S. police violence, trans exclusion9/11, even the climate crisis—converges in the image of Israel’s evil.

The central operation of anti-Zionism is libel. Anti-Zionists bypass the charge of antisemitism by redirecting their defamation at Israel and “Zionists” rather than Jews. By repeating accusations without serious demonstration or credible sourcing, they produce the appearance of an incontestable reality: a displaced evil attributed to “Israel.”

Anti-Zionists repeatedly claim that they are simply criticizing Israel. What makes the difference between critique and libel is not what is said, but how it is proffered, whether it belongs in the space of reason—answerable to refutation—or travels merely through repetition.

People who have been targeted by anti-Zionism know the difference. They are not reacting to individual opinions but to an organized movement that marks Jews as suspect through their association with a libeled Israel. The common deflection—that Jews “assume” criticism of Israel is antisemitic because they believe in some “inherent link” between Israel and all Jews—misses the point entirely.

The central operation of anti-Zionism is libel. Anti-Zionists bypass the charge of antisemitism by redirecting their defamation at Israel and “Zionists” rather than Jews.

In truth, it is a projection by those uncomfortable with being called antisemitic, who may not understand how anti-Zionism actually works—as a closed system of accusation, designed to force Jews to disavow their identities.

What makes anti-Zionism so seductive in academia is the way it cloaks itself in the moral language of human rights. Words like decolonizationanti-racism, and solidarity circulate as moral currencies, exchanged for prestige and authority in the academy. Yet behind this pose of inclusion, anti-Zionism works as an exclusionary ritual.

For example, when I proposed hosting a single academic talk at my university, McGill, on the antisemitic genealogies of anti-Zionism, particularly on the Soviet roots of so much of today’s anti-Israel sloganeering—amid at least 10 events in my department on the so-called Gaza genocide—my request was denied without explanation.

Another colleague warned that the journal I worked on would become “untenable” if it published anything that spoke positively about Jews. The perspective rooted in Jewish peoplehood was simply not to be part of the conversation.

The Forgotten History

To understand how the anti-Zionist worldview took hold, we have to look at the history it so carefully avoids. For a movement so obsessed with historical injustice, it remains almost entirely ignorant of its own origins.

But its genealogy is not mysterious, if you care to look.

The Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, Haj Amin al-Husseini, collaborated with the Nazis, met with Hitler, and broadcast antisemitic propaganda to the Arab world. Husseini worked closely with the Muslim Brotherhood, one of whose offshoots eventually became Hamas.

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Haj Amin al-Husseini, the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, inspecting Bosnian volunteers of the Waffen SS while giving the Nazi salute, 1941. (History/Universal Images Group via Getty Images)

Following Israel’s victory over the Arab League in the Six-Day War of 1967, the Soviet Union took up the cause. Their strategy was clear: After the Soviet proxies lost on the physical battlefield, they turned to ideological and information warfare.

As Izabella Tabarovsky and others have documented, Soviet “Zionology” turned classical antisemitism into a global discourse of liberation. Zionism was no longer a Jewish national movement of Jewish liberation, but rather, a world conspiracy of “U.S-Israeli stooges” to undermine socialism and Third World revolution. Zionism was cast as a form of “Jewish imperialism”—a term with Nazi origins—and Israel as the world’s moral pariah.

Inside the Soviet Union, the consequences were stark. Jews were barred from emigrating to Israel, Hebrew was outlawed, and Jewish cultural associations were shuttered. Those who persisted were arrested and tried as “spies” or “traitors” to socialism. To live openly as a Jew, to insist on belonging to the Jewish people, was recast as political criminality—a climate that echoes in today’s elite institutions. These Jews became known as refuseniks: refused visas to Israel, but also refusing to submit to an anti-Zionist regime determined to crush their Jewish spirit.

Born out of the alliance between Nazism and Islamism, the rhetoric that was adopted by the Soviets ultimately found a global audience through the UN and its web of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs). In 2001, at the United Nations World Conference Against Racism in Durban, South Africa, these ideas went mainstream—thanks to a decades-long campaign by Arab nationalist regimes, Soviet propagandists, and the Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIC), an umbrella group for the Muslim-majority states within the United Nations. The NGO forum revived the Soviet slogan “Zionism is racism,” circulated leaflets comparing Israel to Nazi Germany, and helped cement the “apartheid” libel in progressive discourse.

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The Jewish Demonstration in front of Moscow’s Lenin Library on May 29, 1988, on the first day of the Gorbachev-Reagan summit. (Vitaly Armand/AFP via Getty Images)

This is how antisemitism got repackaged in the moral idiom of human rights. The tropes migrated across different aesthetics and discourses—Nazi, Islamist, Soviet, and now the postcolonial left—each time repositioning “Zionism” as the axis of global evil. What started as Nazism became human rights, while Zionists—the modern name of Jews—were recast as “the new Nazis.”

The Genocide Libel

 

Nowhere is the logic of anti-Zionist accusation more stark than in the charge that Israel is committing genocide. This claim also dates back to Soviet propaganda in the 1970s—and within days of October 7, it was being triumphantly revived by activist professors across the West. Having reframed Jewish peoplehood as inherently oppressive, anti-Zionism seeks to criminalize it altogether—by redefining Israel’s very being as genocide: the “crime of crimes.”

This maneuver rests not just on propaganda, but on explicit efforts to rewrite international law. A small circle of academics has worked nonstop over the past two years to erase the distinction between war and genocide. Dirk Moses, editor of the Journal of Genocide Research—which in 2024 devoted an entire issue to accusing Israel—has argued for abandoning genocide’s core requirement of intent to destroy a people. In its place, he proposes that all “settler-colonial” states are guilty by definition. Within this logic, Israel does not need to commit extermination to be genocidal; it is guilty simply for being.

While millions today are told that a “majority of genocide experts” believe Israel is committing genocide, few realize that this supposed consensus rests on a very small circle of academics whose self-avowed project is to redefine and even abolish the concept of genocide itself.

Meanwhile, another group of scholars, including leading experts on antisemitism, have rejected the genocide libel outright. Yet their voices receive virtually no coverage in the mainstream press, which prefers the spectacle of accusation to the discipline of debate—excluding Jews from the conversation unless they serve as tokens to legitimize anti-Zionism.

Legal scholar Avraham Russell Shalev, for example, has argued that October 7 itself meets the legal threshold for genocide, given Hamas’s clear intent to annihilate Israeli Jews. He also notes that genocidal actors have often made reverse accusations—a pattern seen with the Nazis, the Serbs, and the Hutus.

Anti-Zionism is not a spontaneous reaction to Israeli policy. It is a symbolic ideology with a specific history. Its moral authority depends not on truth, but on inversion—of victims and aggressors, of genocide and self-defense. It thrives not through argument, but through erasure. This is its deepest function: to delegitimize the Jewish claim to peoplehood by refashioning an old hatred in the language of justice.

What Indigenous Really Means

To truly understand anti-Zionism, we must examine what it seeks to erase: the indigenous connection between the Jewish people and the land of Israel.

Anti-Zionism construes Jews as “colonizers”: an alien, outsider presence in the Middle East. The colonizer libel not only erases Jewish belonging, but enlists Jews as scapegoats for everything modern Western culture now seeks to disavow: racism, imperial violence, settler domination.

In the months following October 7—while still engaged in my work with the Desana people in the Amazon—I set out to peel back the ideological layers wrapped around this fashionable term and recover what indigeneity really means.

At bottom, indigeneity is simply a way of being a people, one in which land and lineage are braided together at the root of identity itself. For the Desana, peoplehood is inseparable from the Vaupés River and the sacred sites along its banks. Their ancestors are said to have arrived upriver in a snake-shaped canoe, guided by primordial beings, who established the clan houses from which souls are born and to which they return.

In today’s academy, however, indigeneity has been reduced to a claim of victimhood at the hands of European colonialism. It is fundamentally a reactive identity—defined only in opposition to “white settler” power. This narrowing of meaning flattens the richness of civilizational difference. By this logic, Jews—now cast as symbols of whiteness, empire, and Western dominance—are excluded in advance.

Indigeneity has been reduced to a claim of victimhood at the hands of European colonialism. It is fundamentally a reactive identity—defined only in opposition to “white settler” power.

Such a framework cannot account for histories of conquest and displacement carried out by non-Europeans. The Arab conquests of the seventh century reshaped the Middle East and North Africa in ways that perfectly fit the “settler-colonial” model now applied to Israel. As Egyptian Jewish historian Bat Ye’or has shown, these conquests suppressed local languages, marginalized non-Muslim peoples, and absorbed indigenous populations into an imperial order—not unlike the Catholic missions in the Amazon.

Yet none of this fits the fashionable narrative. So it is ignored.

Anti-Zionism erases the Jewish story by casting Jews as foreign oppressors. Yet that story is one of exile and return: from Ur to Canaan, from Egypt back to the land of Israel, and after centuries of dispersion, return again. Indigeneity, in this fuller sense, is not a reactive label for the colonized but a structure of peoplehood—a way of inhabiting place, memory, and time.

The Desana, too, tell of a great migration—from the mouth of the Amazon upriver to the Vaupés, where the world took form. For the Desana, to belong is to descend from a journey and to return to its source. What the Desana are to the Vaupés, the Jews are to the land of Israel: a people at the center.

The Space of Reason

I had gone to the Amazon to learn how a people could live at the center of their own world—defined not by others, but by their own destiny. I came back to the erasure of my own.

In all of the spaces I had once thought of as home—universities, cultural institutions, humanitarian NGOs—an ideology that demands the erasure of me and my people has taken hold.

Anti-Zionism’s spread through the institutions of our liberal democracy is a test case for whether equality and justice can survive once they’ve been hollowed out and turned into weapons of exclusion.

This is not only about academia, and it is certainly not only about Jews. It is about defending the right of any people to exist as themselves, to live in security, and to speak in their own voice.

If we fail to defend those basic values, the future will belong to those who erase entire peoples from the human story, twisting the language of justice into tools of violence, intimidation, and propaganda. We cannot let that happen.

The right of every people to stand in the space of reason—to speak, to be heard, and to be recognized as equals—is not a gift from the powerful. It is the birthright of humanity.