A good chess player often avoids traps. Yet some traps catch only good chess players. By the same token, emotional numbness and chauvinistic nationalism, those engines of furious and destructive herd mentality, usually characterize the masses. Political vigilance, lofty humanism, and sensitivity to discrimination, by contrast, sometimes turn into traps from which the ordinary person—and only the ordinary person—remains immune. The twentieth century produced examples of the catastrophes that follow both kinds of error: the kind that characterizes the masses and the kind that characterizes intellectuals. Yet only the second kind merits the label “tragedy.” Fanatical nationalism that breeds racism and fascism produces cruel consequences, but those consequences fulfill the original intent. By contrast, when emancipatory ideas—whether Enlightenment or postmodern—end up oppressing segments of humanity, including the very people they claim to defend, tragedy unfolds. Judith Butler, the progressive Jewish philosopher, exemplified this second kind of tragedy in the positions she took following the October 7 massacre.

Judith Butler ranks among the most influential thinkers in Western academia and international discourse. Her critical views on gender established her as a leading figure in queer theory, and prominent members of the Democratic Party, including Zohran Mamdani and Bernie Sanders, often express similar views on a range of issues, making the following analysis applicable to them to some extent as well. Butler has never called for the delegitimization of Israel, a position that distinguishes her from Noam Chomsky and others. Despite criticism from many quarters, her views fit within the tradition of radical progressivism rather than antisemitism or, in the context of October 7, justification for the actions of Hamas.

The present discussion focuses on Butler’s position regarding the events of October 7 and her emphasis on nonviolence as a value that has a place in political thought. The following analysis examines the failure of her position, given the assumptions that guide it, and asks where the flaw lies. Does the flaw stem from the naïve ideal of nonviolence? Could that ideal itself invite disaster, and has it always done so, as the history of Christianity suggests? The analysis also asks whether the flaw instead stems from framing the situation in the Middle East as colonial. Finally, it asks the most important question: What lessons can this failure teach?

This article opens by presenting Butler’s shift in her position on the events of October 7, a shift that culminates in accusing Israel of genocide. To the best of the author’s knowledge, Butler has never explained that shift in her position, and her critics have not given sufficient attention to the connection between that shift and her conception of nonviolence. The grave accusation of genocide against Israel falls, with considerable justification, outside the bounds of legitimate debate. Moreover, anyone who levels such an accusation seeks not dialogue but the end of dialogue. Yet in this era of boycott campaigns, of people rallying around increasingly extreme camps, of aggressive public campaigns, and of rising antisemitism that draws strength from all these developments, no one can avoid attempting to broaden the possibilities for dialogue in the hope of creating the broadest possible agreement.

Butler’s Reversal

The events of October 7 confronted Judith Butler with clear and sharp ideas about violence, equality, and the value of human life. Butler emphasizes that no life passes unnoticed and, therefore, no loss of life lacks significance. Violence begins with distinguishing between deaths that deserve mourning and deaths that require no reflection. In an article published on October 19, 2023, titled The Compass of Mourning, Butler makes this position explicit in the title itself and applies it to the new reality that emerged after the massacre. The article offers an “unqualified” condemnation of Hamas’s violence on October 7 while calling for a broader perspective that recognizes the “context”—not to justify the massacre but to understand it and, ultimately, to move from shock to hope.

Before long, however, Butler shifted her tone, and her invitation to engage in reflective discussion took on a different character. Eva Illouz, for example, criticized Butler’s cold response to the abuse of Jewish women on October 7 and her skepticism toward evidence presented by widely accepted sources. Illouz also criticized the favorable view Butler developed toward Hamas’s actions, which Butler began to describe as acts of “armed resistance.” The following remarks by Butler illustrate this shift. In March 2024, for example, she said:

We can have different opinions about Hamas as a political party. We can have different opinions about… uh, armed resistance. I think it would be more honest.

Illustration: by Menachem Halbershtat

To say that the October 7 uprising was an act of armed resistance. It was not a terrorist attack, and it was not an antisemitic attack. It was an attack against Israelis, and, you know, I did not like that attack… One can oppose armed resistance, one can support it, one can support or oppose Hamas. But let us at least call it armed resistance, and then we can discuss whether it was justified and whether they did the right thing…

Cary Nelson examined Butler’s retreat from her earlier position, tracing her shift from a sharp moral condemnation of the events of October 7 to a political framing of the massacre as “armed resistance.” According to Nelson, the “context” Butler proposes for examining the issue lacks neutrality and instead seeks to deny the antisemitic and terrorist dimensions of the event. He argues that Butler blurs the unique horror of the massacre and, under the guise of the right to criticize Israel, justifies violence against civilians.

Butler failed to address the reversal in her position. That omission invites regret. Had she offered an explanation, dialogue might have remained possible. What remains evident, however, is that Butler applied her preexisting theory of nonviolence to the new situation. The following analysis traces the worldview that guided Butler toward this position—a position that ultimately destroys the very foundation of her starting point.

The Accusation

Political vigilance plays no role in recognizing the catastrophe in Gaza or in understanding the horror that accompanies the disappearance of families and the killing of children. Political vigilance instead shapes how people relate to that suffering and how they describe it. About twenty days after the massacre, Butler gave an interview and made the following remarks:

I think we need to take that word [genocide] seriously, because it does in fact describe a situation in which a population—not only the military, but civilians as well—is being bombed, displaced… [There is also a legal organization] that published a forty-page study explaining why what is happening in Palestine should be defined as genocide. Other groups are also examining international law and showing that genocide does not always have to look like the Nazi regime. It can take the form of the systematic destruction of livelihoods, health, well-being, and the capacity to survive. That is exactly what is happening.

Butler chooses her words carefully. The bombardment in Gaza does not resemble an effort to achieve a final solution to the Palestinian question, nor does it exactly resemble the event that originally gave rise to the term “genocide.” Yet it involves displacement, the destruction of infrastructure, and, most importantly, an attempt to harm civilians rather than only Hamas militants.

The shift in Butler’s position described above connects to this portrayal of the war in Gaza. Several observations follow regarding the nature of the accusation. The term “genocide,” commonly defined as “the deliberate and systematic destruction, in whole or in part, of a national, ethnic, racial, or religious group,” also applies in this case. The timing deserves attention: October 26, 2023. Israeli civilians had suffered brutal massacres, abuse, and abduction into harsh captivity, while hundreds of thousands had fled and lost their homes. The ground invasion of Gaza had not yet begun; it started the following day, on October 27. Most of the allegations that later formed the basis of the Palestinian genocide claim concerned developments that occurred afterward. Butler’s immediate accusation therefore stemmed not from a careful examination of the situation but from identification with the suffering of the Palestinians. Butler follows the familiar approach of the radical camp, which treats any suspicion of harm to the “weak” as established truth while dismissing any argument that favors the “hegemony” as a social construction. That tendency also shapes the standard of evidence she requires. Butler demanded additional evidence for claims of abuse against Israeli women, yet she accepted without hesitation or critical scrutiny the genocide accusation against Israel and the characterization of Hamas’s violence as “armed resistance” rather than terrorism. Evidence that contradicts the “enlightened” agenda always invites suspicion, but every scrap of evidence that supports that agenda counts as reasonable confirmation. The following question merits consideration: Does Butler herself satisfy the standard of equal, nondiscriminatory mourning that she advocates?

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The accusations Butler and others advanced quickly gained acceptance among broad segments of the public, and debate over them reached its peak during the war. Before continuing the analysis of Butler’s argument, the following discussion briefly presents the author’s own view on the matter. Do the ruined buildings in Gaza justify the accusation? Does starvation—if it occurred and to the extent that it occurred—prove that this amounts to genocide?

The scale of the destruction alone does not provide unequivocal support for the genocide accusation. Israel’s actions might reflect an intention to displace the population, a point discussed in greater detail below. Gaza also merits description as a densely populated city filled with tunnels dug, among other purposes, to neutralize Israel’s aerial advantage and to support guerrilla warfare. Urban combat in a city permeated by tunnels almost inevitably produces catastrophe and destruction. A United Nations report described Grozny, after Russian bombardment during the Second Chechen War, as the most devastated city on Earth. Despite the deaths of tens of thousands of civilians, no one argued, “True, this does not resemble the Holocaust, but it constitutes genocide.” A broader conclusion follows: the tunnels—which in Gaza shifted from serving as routes for attacks into Israel to serving as a defensive network against aerial strikes—can force an invading army to inflict massive destruction on the city.

The aerial campaign against Iran, which began in February 2026 (Operation Roaring Lion), offers a simpler explanation for the scale of the destruction. Movements driven by religious zeal that sanctify violent jihad, such as Hamas and Iran’s Shiite regime, fail to shrink from the destruction they bring upon themselves. They remain indifferent to the devastation, bloodshed, and economic disasters they inflict on their own people and even find advantages in them. Certain currents within Shiite thought regard destruction as one of the signs that herald the arrival of the Mahdi, a belief that likely contributed to the determination of some figures within the Iranian regime to reject the victors’ demands despite the prospect of heavy losses. In the case of Hamas, widespread destruction serves as a tool in the struggle for global public opinion, a central component of the organization’s struggle against Israel.

An accusation of deliberately killing civilians logically requires a comparison between the number of uninvolved civilians killed and the number of Hamas fighters eliminated, alongside comparisons with other conflicts. Butler made no such examination before accusing Israel of failing to distinguish between combatants and noncombatants. Others, however, conducted such analyses, and their findings indicate that even the most stringent estimates do not support Butler’s accusation. A more serious accusation concerns deliberate starvation. Like many others, the announcement that supplies to Gaza’s residents had stopped prompted horror. Images comparing the situation to the starvation of Jews in the ghettos and of starving children remain deeply disturbing. Claims that Hamas steals humanitarian supplies do not by themselves absolve others of responsibility for starvation. In any case, no one can avoid the examination of the available evidence before judging the accusation. Such examinations have taken place, yet the findings remain disputed, and none of the organizations involved—UNRWA, the United Nations, human rights organizations, or the IDF—qualifies as neutral. What, then, should determine judgment? The enormous number of trucks that entered Gaza? The medicines, blood units, and medical equipment they carried? The American distribution system? Or the consequences of the supply suspensions announced at various stages of the war?

The assessments from Gaza, exposed to Hamas’s oversight, and the positions of UNRWA, whose workforce includes Hamas operatives, carry less credibility than the IDF’s reports. The same conclusion applies to United Nations reports, which have long reflected bias against Israel. Even the most severe assessments of starvation, however, do not suffice to justify an accusation of genocide. Any starvation that occurred served to pressure Hamas to release the Israeli hostages and disarm. Had Hamas done so, starvation would not have followed. Indeed, once the hostages returned and a path toward Hamas’s disarmament opened, the war and the accompanying catastrophe came to an end.

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The discussion now returns to Butler’s position. The earlier discussion showed that her leap from her initial position to the final accusation of genocide did not stem from an examination of the evidence. What explains both that leap and the categorical certainty of her position so early in the war is that, in her view, the genocide accusation advanced a desirable outcome. It strengthened the demand for an immediate end to the war in Gaza and an end to the killing of its residents, as well as to the deaths of IDF soldiers, although Butler expressed no sorrow over the latter. The accusation quickly developed into a media campaign led by various organizations and public figures and soon translated into specific demands from the Biden administration.

When the heart of the matter lies in the outcome produced by defining a particular situation rather than in the legal and ethical analysis required for a proper understanding, inconsistent accusations become understandable. Even wild, groundless accusations can join the discussion, provided they support the practical implications of the claim. That likely explains why many people helped circulate images that demonized Israel without taking the time to verify them and, at times, presumably while knowing the images contained falsehoods. Those individuals held the following position: the war should end immediately; careful debate over terminology and meaning can wait until the killing stops. But what if no genocide has occurred? Or at least no clear case of genocide? That makes no difference. The definition deserves expansion so that it includes this case as well, allowing the same judgment to apply.

No inherent flaw exists in consequentialist reasoning of this kind. Problems arise, however, when consideration extends to only some of the consequences. Butler’s accusation, for example, intensified antisemitic incidents on university campuses, encouraged attacks against Jewish people as such, contributed to the delegitimization of the very existence of the State of Israel, and, most important from Butler’s own perspective, encouraged Hamas and deepened the suffering of the Palestinians living under its brutal rule. In her article, Butler thoughtfully described the need to reach the root of the issue through empathy for suffering wherever it appears. Her leap to the accusation of genocide abandoned that value. Does that mean Butler accepts selective conclusions about which consequences deserve consideration? In other words, does she accept a distinction between harm to one person and harm to another?

Butler’s genocide accusation followed an earlier accusation by Raz Segal, who presents himself as an expert on the subject. As early as October 13, 2023, Segal called for a broader perspective rather than limiting the accusation against Israel to the Nakba alone:

Israel’s campaign to displace the people of Gaza—and even expel them entirely to Egypt—constitutes another chapter of the Nakba, during which approximately 750,000 Palestinians were expelled from their homes… But the attack against the people of Gaza can also be understood in other terms: as a textbook case of genocide unfolding before our eyes. I say this as a genocide scholar who has devoted many years to writing about Israeli violence against Palestinians.

Segal presented the Nakba as one way to understand the situation and genocide as another, which he regarded as more accurate. Displacement brings great suffering, and Jews require no explanation in Hebrew to understand that fact. Yet displacement does not amount to genocide. On the contrary, when Lithuanian nationalists blocked the escape of Lithuania’s Jews to kill them, and thus murdered my wife’s grandfather, Rabbi Menachem Mendel of the town of Kelme, they demonstrated that displacement sometimes stands as the opposite of genocide. Sad as the observation may seem, the countless expulsions and forced displacements of the Jewish people allowed Jewish communities to flourish in the new places they reached rather than perish in the places they left behind. Jews standing in line for the crematoria or beside mass graves would gladly have chosen displacement had anyone offered them that option.

The same principle applies to methods of warfare. Anyone seeking to resist the Nakba will attempt to stop displacement, whereas anyone seeking to stop genocide will seek to open the borders to people whose lives hang in the balance. In Gaza’s case, as is well known, those who accused Israel of genocide opposed efforts to encourage residents of Gaza to relocate elsewhere and criticized those who called on other countries to open their borders. That position indicates a belief that a better future for both peoples remained possible in the region. Stretching the definition of “genocide” may prove permissible, but extending it to include an attempt to displace a population from its homeland, an act that stands opposite to genocide, proves difficult to justify.

The Accordion

This piece discusses the unintended consequences of Butler’s position; now it will examine the implications of its underlying principles.

The scope of the concepts under discussion does not remain fixed but instead allows expansion and contraction. Butler expanded the definition of “genocide” with the aid of a pseudo-explanation consisting of a quotation from a forty-page report. Yet that expansion marks only the starting point of stretching the concept’s boundaries. One can hardly overlook the fact that Hamas terrorists’ brutal massacre of the residents of southern Israel, together with the manner in which they carried it out, satisfies the United Nations’ definition of an attempted genocide. The acts’ clear and openly declared intent targeted Jews and sought Israel’s destruction along with its inhabitants. The satanic antisemitism evident throughout the documented events never met denial from Hamas or from fanatical political Islam, which even granted religious legitimacy to the Hamas attack in the “Charter of Religious Scholars” issued in Turkey in June 2025. Yet Butler, as discussed above, describes ‘Al-Aqsa Flood’ as “armed resistance”—an act that she condemns, yet still regards as open to discussion and, in any event, excludes from the definition of “genocide.”

Absolving Hamas of attempting to create a dynamic in which Hezbollah and Hamas cells inside Israel, with Houthi, Syrian, and Iranian support, would bring about a second Holocaust whose brutality would eclipse the first follows a direct result of expanding the definition of “genocide” to include Israel’s response. Defining Israel’s actions as genocide invited a different definition for Hamas’s actions. If Israel commits genocide, Hamas’s struggle against it becomes analogous to the partisans’ struggle against Nazi oppression—armed resistance. Thus, artificially expanding the definition blocked the inclusion of conduct that naturally falls within it. One might sincerely believe that Butler felt horror at Hamas’s actions, yet that horror did not, in her view, justify the war against Hamas. By expanding the concept of genocide, Butler effectively created a description of the situation that prohibited such a war.

Another manipulation of terminology concerns the use of the term “antisemitism.” Hamas’s actions do not qualify as antisemitic—according to Butler—even though they appear to fit that description. The victims were Israelis; therefore, the attack counts as anti-Israeli rather than antisemitic. Butler likewise draws a distinction between criticism of Israel and antisemitism. Opposition to Israel through boycotts such as BDS does not qualify as antisemitic; at most, it qualifies as antizionist. The justification for this terminological shift—and for expanding the legitimate category of anti-Israeli or antizionist criticism at the expense of the illegitimate category of antisemitic criticism—rests on the same rationale. One can therefore imagine Butler defending herself before her critics as follows: “If you accept the position that a powerless population lives under occupation, and that the killing of powerless people demands an end, then tell me: how should I describe Hamas’s position?”

Butler’s position contains another internal flaw, one that she herself apparently failed to recognize. I will now present it, and it will lead to what I regard as ‘Butler’s Tragedy.’ The flaw concerns the multiple meanings of the term “occupation,” which Butler uses often, together with the “colonialist” perspective through which she examines the conflict between Israel and its enemies.

A first hint of the problem emerges from Iran’s and Hezbollah’s use of the term “occupation.” In this case, one can readily recognize that Iran and its proxy organization appropriated the Palestinian national struggle for purposes distinct from, and unrelated to, the exclusive goals of the Palestinian people’s welfare and freedom—namely, Israel’s destruction and the struggle against Western influence in the region. In Sartre’s terms, antisemites—and, in this context, Iran and its proxies—need occupation to fuel their hatred and advance their objectives; had no occupation existed, they would have invented one. Similarly, Hezbollah does not function as a movement for Lebanon’s liberation but as an organization willing to bring devastation upon Lebanon in pursuit of a different objective: Israel’s destruction. The question Butler needed to examine concerned the extent to which Hamas functions as a liberation movement and the extent to which it uses the idea of occupation, and liberation from it, in the same way that Iran, its proxies, and other antisemites do. Hamas’s role as an arm of Iran, together with its open affiliation with the Muslim Brotherhood and fanatical political Islam, should have marked it, in Butler’s view, as a malignant growth within the Palestinian struggle.

Butler did not confront this question. One may adopt a forgiving attitude toward Hamas’s wrongs while judging Israel more harshly to oppose the occupation. Yet one cannot simultaneously ignore the nature of Hamas’s connection to the occupation claim. Distinguishing between the stronger and weaker side proves relatively straightforward: Israel’s military superiority over Hamas stands beyond dispute. Yet that distinction does not suffice. One must also determine who fights for the Palestinian people’s liberation—the “weaker” party in the equation—and who uses the Palestinian struggle for other purposes. If the militarily weaker side falls into the latter category, it cannot claim protection under the rules that, according to Butler and those who share her view, govern the relationship between the strong and the weak, the occupier and the occupied.

The following analogy might help. Imagine a dispute between two neighbors, Reuven and Shimon. Sometime during the dispute, Reuven learns that Shimon plays soccer for Hapoel Haifa, so he joins Maccabi Haifa to face his neighbor on the field. If Reuven then targets Shimon during the match, no one could classify those attacks as fouls. Nor could anyone describe them as especially brutal fouls deserving condemnation. In reality, Reuven used the soccer match to conceal the dispute, so judgment should follow not the rules of soccer but the standards of criminal law.

Movements such as Hamas seek to use the Israeli-Palestinian strong-versus-weak, occupier-versus-occupied conflict as a disguise for a war of annihilation against Israel. For that reason, describing Hamas’s atrocities merely as “armed resistance,” or even as “disproportionate armed resistance,” falls short. When terms such as “occupation” or “colonialism” serve as a disguise for a fanatical Islamist revolution that exploits Palestinian suffering, no one should treat that movement as a national liberation movement. The solution calls for Hamas’s disarmament; because Hamas shows little willingness to disarm voluntarily, the fight against it should proceed by whatever means minimize harm to helpless civilians.

The Tragedy

This marks Butler’s tragedy. In seeking to protect the powerless, she ultimately found herself supporting Iran’s hijacking of the Palestinian struggle. Shiite messianism, after undermining the sovereignty of Lebanon, Yemen, and vast areas of the Middle East, reached into Gaza while trampling other movements within the Palestinian struggle. Palestinian suffering, refugee status, and their use in shaping public opinion around the world became the central instruments of fanatical Islam. Butler and those who share her outlook ultimately emerged as useful progressives who cooperated with it.

Sartre knew about the gulags and Stalin’s purges yet chose silence. Criticism of communism, he believed, would serve American capitalism, whereas standing with the oppressed and giving the long-awaited liberation a chance mattered more. Equality and human freedom would come through suffering, and through turning a blind eye. Butler, unlike Sartre, speaks out against violence in all its forms. Frantz Fanon stood as Sartre’s hero, but Sinwar does not stand as Butler’s. She likely believed that by siding with nonviolence, she would avoid contributing to violence and to the justification of terrorism, as Sartre did in the past.

Well, this does not mark the first time that nonviolence has ultimately led to violence. Butler’s writings on nonviolence recall Jesus’ rejection of violence, and one can read her book The Force of Nonviolence as a secularization of the Sermon on the Mount. Butler’s tragedy therefore invites comparison with that of Jesus. Jesus entered the world to atone through his death for humanity’s wrongs. That mission required sacrifice, in other words, death, and although he pleaded with his heavenly Father to forgive those who killed him, his followers used his death to commit further wrongs that may lie beyond atonement. Butler’s positions turned her into a tool in the hands of those who perpetuate Palestinian oppression. As a byproduct, perhaps one that concerned her less, her words also served attacks against Jews, and her incautious analysis of the situation fueled antisemitic acts. Matters reached the point at which the historic accusation of deicide now gives way to an accusation of genocide, one that the woman of conscience and her allies chose to direct against the Israel Defense Forces.

Diagnosis and Conclusion

One cannot conclude without asking: Where, exactly, did Butler go wrong? Did the mistake lie in the idea of nonviolence, in the terminology she used, or in the gap between her vision and its implementation? The following points offer a summary.

I will begin with the value of nonviolence. The twentieth century witnessed two major applications of that idea: Gandhi’s struggle against British rule in India and Martin Luther King Jr.’s struggle against discrimination against Black Americans. Few would challenge the great value of Gandhi’s use of this idea. As for King’s struggle, at least in my view, it achieved more than the competing struggle led by Malcolm X. King succeeded in rallying Jews, Christians, and supporters of human rights to his cause. Although questions still arise today about why Black Americans continue to face disadvantage, King’s noble achievement deserves profound gratitude.

Gandhi’s success became possible in part because Hinduism, Buddhism, and Jainism embrace ahimsa, the principle of nonviolence, which expresses their commitment to the sanctity of life. King likewise adopted an interpretation rooted in the Christian tradition. The radical progressive movement, however, lacks that tradition. History has repeatedly shown that a liberating idea can become a justification for murderous violence; the French and Soviet Revolutions offer clear examples. Conventions of suspicious discourse, sarcastic bitterness, and binary thinking readily develop into violent protest. Against that background, the ease with which this discourse aligned with political Islam, evident as early as Michel Foucault’s admiration for the Shiite Revolution in Iran, comes as no surprise. The noble ideal of nonviolence—the vision of “the wolf dwelling with the lamb,” which also appears in Jewish tradition—never functioned as a plan of action. Achieving that ideal requires extensive effort to develop a living culture centered on measured progress toward the ideal rather than its immediate realization. The radical progressive camp, however, never defined that objective as its goal.

Butler’s use of the value of nonviolence undermines its potential. That potential carries immense importance: existing technologies of mass destruction, together with the scale of devastation they make possible, demand the highest degree of maturity. In that context, nonviolence offers a value that may contribute to humanity’s very survival. Butler’s irresponsible use of that value makes more responsible use of it more difficult. Butler’s silence regarding Hamas’s armament and her indifference to Iran’s efforts to acquire nuclear weapons, while the struggle against occupation stands as the only consideration before her and at the same time deepens Palestinian suffering, proves tragic for her and deeply troubling for humanity.

The article continues to point to the problems with analyzing the situation through the lens of “colonialism.” The subject extends far beyond the scope of this discussion and has already received attention in the scholarly literature. The following remarks therefore remain limited to a few preliminary observations arising from the preceding analysis.

The postcolonial discourse’s disregard for the suffering of peoples and identities in the region demands critical examination. Has the political awareness that once characterized it given way to an inward-looking American discourse? To an inward-looking Western discourse? Which interests sustain it? Has a progressive identity discourse hijacked it? How does it function within the divide between Republicans and Democrats?

Butler’s position shows indifference to the use that political Islam makes of it after discovering the struggle over Western consciousness as a resource. This development offers nothing new: the Palestinian situation and the demonization of Israel serve as tools in an internal Islamic revolution aimed at destabilizing governments and disrupting the balance of the region. The assault on American academia exports that strategy to the West as well. That encouragement of Hamas in the battle for public consciousness makes every solution more difficult and deepens the scale of destruction in Gaza.

The Democratic camp’s hesitation in the face of Iranian aggression confirms the preceding analysis. Everyone witnessed how the feminist movement and the sacred cause of human rights gave way to avoid strengthening a narrative that might benefit Israel. The horrors of massacre, rape, and abuse gained legitimacy within the framework of the struggle against occupation. In the end, what started as opposition to Israel because of Palestinian suffering turned into indifference toward the slaughter of tens of thousands (for example, in Iran) while struggling for their basic freedoms, all in the name of harnessing the suffering of the region’s peoples to fuel antisemitism and the “anti-colonial” struggle.

Butler’s analysis frames the conflict as a colonial West confronting a resisting Third World. That framework overlooks the diversity within what it labels the Third World. Iran, Lebanon, Yemen, and Gaza appear as monolithic entities, without recognition of the distinct groups that compose them or of the complex relationships among them. Postcolonial discourse within Western society makes little effort to engage at a higher level of resolution. The Lebanese citizen groaning under Hezbollah’s rule must suppress grief and direct accusations toward the distant West while the Shiite militia devours the country and its people. Put differently, anti-colonial discourse silences a cry of anguish and perpetuates an intellectual hegemony devoid of any genuine promise.

The accusation of genocide generates moral outrage that may become blind. Anyone who regards themselves as the victim of genocide might permit cruel acts of revenge without inviting criticism, and that desire for revenge might persist even after the accusation achieves its intended effect. The accusation of genocide aimed to silence the intellectual dialogue that would have exposed the weakness of the antizionist position; a less severe accusation would not have achieved that objective. Butler and those who share her outlook may have used the term solely to stop the war, but in practice they encouraged Israel’s delegitimization, fostered antisemitism, and lent support to radical Islam in its struggle against the West. Their blindness serves to conceal the fact that lofty moral discourse perpetuates academic hegemony and objectifies peoples and identities while claiming to fight for the happiness and well-being of oppressed peoples. This analysis therefore calls for restoring the term “genocide” to its straightforward meaning, exemplified by the Final Solution devised by the Nazis and the death marches that the Turks forced upon the Armenians. Expanding the definition proves irresponsible and destructive. The idea of nonviolence, when used recklessly, irresponsibly, or simply with bias, likewise leads to greater violence. Lofty ideas such as equality, nonviolence, freedom, and even the idea of G-D paradoxically yet inherently contain aggression. Humanity cannot abandon them without abandoning its purpose, yet people carry an obligation to recognize the destruction he or contains.