Peace and Palestine

As someone who has long advocated for the fundamental dignity of people, I find myself grappling with the relentless crisis in Palestine. The situation in Gaza and the broader Palestinian territories demands our attention—not just as a geopolitical issue, but as a profound humanitarian tragedy that challenges our collective moral compass. Drawing from the complex realities laid bare in recent discussions, I want to unpack the layers of this conflict, from its historical roots to the current escalation, and reflect on what it means for those of us who believe in justice and equality. My perspective is shaped by a commitment to amplifying the voiceless and questioning systems that perpetuate suffering, and I invite you to join me in this sobering exploration.

The crisis in Gaza is nothing short of harrowing. I see a population subjected to starvation, bombardment, and the denial of basic necessities like clean water and medicine. Airstrikes are not the only weapon; they are part of a broader strategy that seems designed to erase the people. The absence of safe havens for Palestinians in Gaza, coupled with the international community’s failure to deploy peacekeeping forces or impose meaningful sanctions, leaves me questioning the world’s commitment to humanity. Despite international arrest warrants issued against Israeli leadership, the lack of concrete action feels like a betrayal of justice. The working-class lens I bring to this issue sharpens my outrage—ordinary Palestinians, like commoners everywhere, bear the brunt of decisions made by those in power, with no recourse to escape the violence.

Efforts to broker peace, such as U.S. backchannel talks with Hamas proposing extended ceasefires and prisoner exchanges, have faltered. The friction with the Israeli administration, particularly under Netanyahu, underscores a deeper issue: a lack of genuine commitment to peace. The dismissal of a U.S. envoy who attempted to revive negotiations—after making controversial remarks about Hamas—further dims the prospects for dialogue. I view this not as a mere diplomatic hiccup but as a symptom of a broader unwillingness to confront the root causes of the conflict. For the working class, peace is not just a lofty ideal; it’s a prerequisite for survival. The absence of a ceasefire agreement feels like a deliberate choice to prolong suffering, and I can’t help but wonder why the international community tolerates this impasse.

The stated goal of Israel’s leadership to ethnically cleanse Palestinians from Gaza is a chilling reality. This isn’t hyperbole—it’s a policy articulated from the outset of the current escalation. As someone who champions humanity, I find this intent horrifying. The idea that an entire population could be systematically displaced or eradicated while the world watches is a moral failure of epic proportions. The working-class communities I advocate for often face systemic marginalization, but the scale of this violence—targeting an entire people—demands a unique reckoning. I see parallels in how power structures dehumanize the vulnerable, whether it’s workers in factories or Palestinians under siege.

To understand the present, I must reflect on the past. The Nakba of 1948, when hundreds of thousands of Palestinians were displaced, set a precedent for ongoing dispossession. Even after this catastrophe, Palestinians who remained within Israel’s borders lived under a military governorate until 1966, belying the narrative of a democratic state. The occupation of the West Bank and Gaza since 1967 has only deepened this injustice. I view this history through the lens of systemic oppression, akin to how working-class communities are often denied agency. The refusal to acknowledge the Nakba or the occupation’s brutality fuels a cycle of violence that benefits those in power while crushing ordinary people.

The Oslo Accords of the 1990s, once heralded as a step toward peace, now seem like a missed opportunity. I see them as a flawed attempt at reconciliation, criticized at the time for abandoning key Palestinian rights, such as the refugees’ right to return. The Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO), under Arafat, had legitimacy as a unifying force, but its concessions led to division rather than progress. Today, the absence of a singular Palestinian leader or movement complicates negotiations. For me, this reflects a broader truth: peace processes that prioritize power imbalances over justice are doomed to fail. The working class knows this well—deals that favor elites rarely deliver for the masses.

The Abraham Accords, particularly the UAE’s normalization with Israel, represent a devastating blow to Palestinian liberation. I view this as a betrayal of solidarity, signaling to Israel that it can act with impunity. The narrative that “the world doesn’t care about Palestinians” gained traction, emboldening extremist policies. As someone who values collective struggle, I find this normalization disheartening. It’s akin to workers’ unions being co-opted by corporate interests, leaving the most vulnerable without allies. The prospect of further normalization, potentially with Saudi Arabia, only deepens my concern for Palestine’s future.

The radicalization of Israeli society is impossible to ignore. Public opinion polls, like one from March 2025 showing 60% of Israelis supporting continued war in Gaza, reflect a troubling shift. I’m disturbed by reports of soldiers committing atrocities and civilians engaging in dehumanizing behavior, from mocking Palestinian suffering on social media to justifying violence. This isn’t just a policy issue; it’s a societal one, rooted in decades of dehumanization and unchecked impunity. For the working class, this mirrors how propaganda can pit communities against each other, diverting attention from shared struggles. I wonder how a society so steeped in trauma and militarism can find a path to introspection.

The dehumanization of Palestinians within Israel is compounded by a media that often acts as an inciter of violence. I see parallels with how corporate media in other contexts vilifies workers or marginalized groups to maintain the status quo. The self-censorship and mobilization of Israeli media to support state narratives remind me of Radio Rwanda’s role in the 1994 genocide. This isn’t just a failure of journalism; it’s a weaponization of narrative that erases Palestinian humanity. As someone who fights for truth, I’m appalled by how Western media and leaders often echo Israel’s framing, equating criticism with anti-Semitism rather than engaging with the reality of occupation.

Israel’s actions have been enabled by a lack of accountability. The U.S. and European governments provide unwavering support, from arms shipments to diplomatic cover, despite evidence of international law violations. I view this as a form of global complicity, similar to how multinational corporations exploit workers with impunity. The redefinition of anti-Semitism to silence criticism further shields Israel from scrutiny. For me, this impunity fuels extremism, as Israel faces no consequences for its actions. The working-class principle of accountability—holding power to task—feels absent here, and I’m left questioning why the international community prioritizes geopolitics over humanity.

A common narrative claims Palestinians are the primary obstacle to peace. I reject this outright. Israel, as the occupying power, holds disproportionate control. If it genuinely sought peace, a deal could be struck swiftly. The refusal to address issues like transitional justice or truth and reconciliation reveals a negotiation process more about self-preservation than resolution. For the working class, this resonates with how employers often blame workers for stalled labor talks while refusing to budge. The asymmetry of power in this conflict is staggering, and blaming Palestinians is a distraction from Israel’s unwillingness to compromise.

Another myth is that there’s no Palestinian partner for peace. I see this as a half-truth twisted to obscure reality. The Palestinian Authority (PA) has often acted as an adjunct to Israel’s occupation, prioritizing security cooperation over its people’s interests. This isn’t a lack of a partner but a lack of a unified, strategic Palestinian movement capable of challenging the status quo. The PLO’s acceptance of a diminished territorial claim post-1967 led to a perception that Israel could demand anything without resistance. For me, this underscores the need for a robust liberation movement, much like workers need strong unions to negotiate effectively.

The designation of Hamas as a terrorist organization complicates dialogue. I believe this label serves political ends, criminalizing dissent and hindering negotiations. International law recognizes Palestinians’ right to resist an illegal occupation, though within legal bounds. No liberation struggle, from South Africa to Ireland, has succeeded without some form of resistance. Hamas’s willingness to engage in ceasefire talks and reconciliation efforts suggests it’s not the monolithic obstacle it’s portrayed as. For me, the terrorism label is less about security and more about maintaining a narrative that avoids addressing root causes, much like labeling striking workers as “disruptors” to discredit their cause.

The events of October 7th were tragic, with real crimes committed against Israeli civilians, many of whom were peace advocates. Yet, I can’t ignore the context: decades of structural violence, an illegal occupation, and what some have called a “slow genocide” in Gaza. Israel’s response—indiscriminate bombing, cutting off essentials like food and water—violated international law from day one. The lies about October 7th, like the debunked “40 beheaded babies” story, amplified the justification for this escalation. As someone who values truth, I’m frustrated by how these fabrications obscure the broader project of Palestinian displacement.

Netanyahu’s leadership is driven by personal and political survival. Facing corruption charges and a tarnished legacy, he’s leveraged the crisis to position himself as a war leader, delaying accountability for October 7th’s failures. His coalition’s extremist elements push for Palestinian removal, not just in Gaza but also the West Bank, where over 40,000 have been displaced recently. I see this as a cynical exploitation of a programmed, vengeful society, akin to how politicians manipulate working-class fears to cling to power. The broader goal—resettlement and ethnic purification—is a chilling escalation of historical policies.

The two-state solution, once a diplomatic cornerstone, feels like a fantasy today. Israeli settlements in the West Bank and Gaza’s decimation have created a single, apartheid-like state. The idea of a Palestinian state seems increasingly implausible, leaving two zero-sum outcomes: either Israel succeeds in ethnically cleansing Palestinians, or its society implodes under internal divisions and external pressures. A third possibility—equal rights for all in a single state—requires dismantling supremacist structures, as South Africa’s ANC did. I believe this is the only just path, but it demands a Palestinian movement with a clear vision and global solidarity.

The South African anti-apartheid movement succeeded through popular movements, not government action. I see a similar need today. Western governments, complicit in Israel’s actions, are unlikely to lead change. Instead, civil society—through legal strategies, coalitions, and grassroots pressure—must drive accountability. The global South, with its own history of colonial struggles, offers potential allies. For the working class, this is about solidarity across borders, recognizing that Palestinian liberation is tied to our fight against systemic oppression everywhere.

The ongoing conflict risks further entrenching Israel’s apartheid system, with devastating human costs. If impunity continues, extremism will only grow, potentially destabilizing the region and beyond. However, cracks in Israeli society—economic strain, reservist fatigue, and internal polarization—could force a reckoning. Global awareness, reflected in polls like the UK’s 54% youth opposition to Israel’s existence, suggests a shifting tide. Popular movements could amplify this, pressuring governments to act. For me, the fight is about restoring humanity to a dehumanized narrative, ensuring the working class and oppressed everywhere see their struggles reflected in Palestine’s.

What will it take to break this cycle of violence? Can global solidarity and internal dissent shift the balance toward justice, or will complicity prevail, condemning Palestinians to further suffering? How do we, as advocates for humanity, build a movement strong enough to challenge this injustice?