We stand firmly against injustice in all its forms. Nothing can justify the current war crimes committed by Israel in occupied Palestine. Equally, nothing can excuse the continued support offered by other nations to this apartheid regime. If you believe in human rights, dignity, and justice, then we urge you to boycott this rogue state. Silence is complicity, do what’s right.
Who would like to support and keep the apartheid regime ?
The Western governments seem to me to support Israel to slaughter the indigenous people of Palestine “from the river to the sea”. On the other hand they dare to quickly condemn protesters chanting “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” which literally aims to dismantle Israeli apartheid to creat one state for the Palestinians and Jews so they can live together peacefully with equal rights and responsibilities.
This is perhaps indicative to all that the word ‘justice’ in the dictionary of western governments doesn’t apply to all people equally , and I’d rather dare to say ‘enough messing with our intelligence and end your racist policies of double standards’.
South Africa is the best and humane example where all sovereign countries should follow and submit a genocide case against Israel to the International Court of Justice (ICJ) for killing more than 22 thousand Palestinians and injuring around 60 thousands in Gaza in less than 3 months.
Will the ICJ be doing it’s job among the current ‘racist’ double standards? This is another and ultimate measure of the validity of international law and it’s failed institutions.
After the 75-year of miserable experience, Palestinians would like to say loudly and clearly ‘ENOUGH IS ENOUGH’.
Stretching over 700 kilometers, Israel’s separation wall in the West Bank is more than a physical barrier—it is a symbol of occupation, a tool of control, and a profound disruption to the daily lives of Palestinians. Erected in the early 2000s, the wall cuts across Palestinian land, displacing communities, severing families, and destroying livelihoods. As detailed in Palestine Inside Out: An Everyday Occupation by Saree Makdisi, the wall is not merely a line on a map; it is a living, breathing imposition of military power that reshapes the geography, economy, and social fabric of Palestinian life.
For Palestinians, the wall is a daily reminder of exclusion. Families are split—children attending school on one side of the wall, parents working on the other. Fields and olive groves are lost to the wall’s footprint, while roads, markets, and access points are blocked or monitored by checkpoints. Villages like Bil’in, Be’erot, and Ramallah are physically and emotionally isolated, their connection to neighbors, towns, and the broader world severed. The wall’s construction is often carried out without consultation, without compensation, and without regard for the lived experience of those it displaces.
Beyond physical division, the wall has economic consequences. Palestinian farmers cannot access their land, small businesses cannot transport goods, and families cannot visit relatives. The psychological toll is equally severe. The wall fosters a sense of confinement, turning communities into “prison-like” enclaves. Children grow up with the wall as a constant shadow, and elders mourn lost land and lost connections.
Moreover, the wall is not just a barrier—it is a mechanism of control. Israeli forces use it to prevent Palestinian movements, to enforce curfews, and to protect settlements. It has become a tool of psychological warfare, reinforcing the idea that Palestinians are “other”—outside the law, outside the state, outside the narrative of normalcy. The wall’s presence normalizes surveillance, suspicion, and fear, embedding the logic of occupation into daily life.
Despite its physical permanence, the wall is not invincible. Palestinian communities have resisted through protests, legal challenges, and acts of civil disobedience. Yet, the wall’s impact remains profound. It is a testament to how occupation reconfigures space—not just to control, but to erase. For Palestinians, the wall is not just a line—it is a wound, a prison, a monument to displacement. The wall, then, is not just a boundary—it is a living story of resistance, resilience, and the enduring struggle for dignity. Until it is dismantled, Palestinians will continue to live with its shadow—a reminder that occupation is not abstract, but embedded in every step, every breath, every day.
The South African genocide case filed with the International Court of Justice (ICJ) against Israel, accusing it of committing genocide against the Palestinian people in Gaza during the war that began in October 2023, has revealed the hypocrisy of some nations that have always claimed to protect human rights and uphold high moral standards.
Israel
President Isaac Herzog condemned the lawsuit, stating that “there is nothing more atrocious and preposterous.
United States
Voiced strong opposition, labeling South Africa’s submission as “meritless, counterproductive, and completely without any basis.
European Union
Maintained mostly silence on the ICJ case.
United Kingdom
Refused to support South Africa’s case, raising accusations of double standards due to submitting legal documents on Myanmar’s alleged genocide against the Rohingya community.
Canada
Prime Minister Justin Trudeau rejected the case, emphasizing support for the UN’s top court while disapproving of the case’s premise.
Germany
Announced plans to intervene, firmly rejecting the genocide accusation against Israel.
While these countries have taken their shameful stances, their objections to a case with humanitarian implications raise concerns. The rejection of South Africa’s genocide case against Israel, particularly by the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, and Germany, challenges the pursuit of justice for human rights violations. Such opposition underscores the complexities of international relations, where political considerations sometimes overshadow the pursuit of accountability for grave humanitarian offenses. The case serves as a reminder of the intricate dynamics surrounding geopolitical decisions and their impact on global efforts to address human rights abuses through legal avenues.
The stance taken by Germany and the United Kingdom in response to South Africa’s genocide case against Israel raises notable contradictions in light of their historical contexts concerning genocide. Germany, given its dark history and crimes against humanity, firmly rejects the genocide accusation against Israel for committing ethnic cleansing against Palestinians. This stands in contrast to its alleged commitment to the UN Genocide Convention, which is undoubtedly a contradiction.
On the other hand, the United Kingdom’s refusal to support South Africa’s case, coupled with its recent submission of detailed legal documents regarding Myanmar’s alleged genocide against the Rohingya community, invites scrutiny. The contradiction lies in the UK’s seemingly selective approach to acknowledging and addressing genocidal allegations. Critics argue that such a stance may be perceived as a double standard, where historical awareness of genocide does not consistently inform the UK’s responses to contemporary accusations. This contrast highlights the complexity and nuances surrounding the interpretation and application of historical lessons in the context of international relations.
Posted inJustice|TaggedICJ South Africa, western hypocrisy|Comments Off on Hypocrisy and Double-Standard Unveiled: Contradictions in Global Responses to South Africa’s Genocide Case Against Israel
The sun burns gold over a vast plaza lined with olive trees planted where concrete once divided lives.
The separation wall is gone — every stone dismantled, each slab crushed into gravel that now paves playgrounds and walking paths.
In the breeze, a faint echo of children laughing replaces the old hum of drones.
Across the square, signs mark the “Reclaimed Lands” — hundreds of former settlements, now returned to Palestinian families as part of a justice-for-land program.
Every new home bears a plaque: “Given back in compensation for the years of occupation.”
Handala stands where a museum once was rubble. His back still turned, fists small and unyielding.
A kid approaches, wearing a school badge that reads: “United Republic of Palestine-Israel — Department of Shared Memory.”
⸻
Kid (grinning):
You’re shorter than I imagined. But stronger. Our teachers say you carried the conscience of the world on your back.
Handala (without turning):
Carried it? No. I dragged it, kicking and screaming, through a century of excuses.
Kid (laughs):
You’ll be glad to know — the excuses didn’t survive the Truth Decade. The wall came down, the borders opened, the confiscated land was returned. We even turned the old checkpoints into art galleries.
Handala (dryly):
Art galleries? Fitting. The soldiers who once stopped ambulances can now stop and reflect.
Kid:
Exactly. And the settlements? They’re no longer fortresses. They were given to displaced families as reparations — the first tangible act of justice. Now they’re co-ops, schools, and tech hubs. You’d like them — every brick holds a confession.
Handala (a low hum):
And the world? Does it finally see what it looked away from?
Kid:
It had to. History made sure. The Museums of Gaza tell the story without filters — the starvation, the rubble, the lists of names that stretched longer than excuses. The footage that was once censored now opens every Gaza Day. People stand in silence, not out of guilt, but respect.
Handala:
And the people who justified it all?
Kid (shrugs, firm):
Judged by time, condemned by conscience. The tribunals after the Peace Accords named the crimes — not to punish the past, but to protect the future. The old powers who once shielded war criminals had to face their own hypocrisy. History didn’t forget them. We teach them in ethics classes under “The Cost of Complicity.”
Handala:
Good. Truth should have a syllabus. And what about your borders?
Kid:
Borders? Oh, you mean the lines where humanity used to stop?
They’re gone. People move freely. The new passport says “Equal Citizen.” Palestinians travel, study, work — everywhere. No one asks them for permits anymore, only stories.
Handala (half-smile):
Stories last longer than permits.
Kid (nodding):
That’s the idea. Our schools open with a line from your creator, Naji al-Ali: ‘Handala is the conscience that never dies.’
Now he’s part of the curriculum — Art of Resistance, Year One.
Handala (gruffly):
So, I’m homework now? That’s crueler than occupation.
Kid (grinning):
Sarcasm survived too, don’t worry. We kept it in your honor.
But you’d like our lessons — no censorship, no propaganda. We teach the old crimes not to shame, but to guard against forgetting. We call it Ethics of Memory.
Handala:
And the olive trees?
Kid:
They cover the hills again. Nobody burns them now. The groves were replanted over the ruins of demolished homes — as living monuments. Some people say when the wind moves through them, it sounds like forgiveness arguing with justice.
Handala:
Let justice win that argument. Forgiveness can follow later.
Kid (smiles softly):
It has. Every October, on Gaza Day, we pause — not for sorrow, but for renewal. Children light candles, teachers read the testimonies, and we plant one olive sapling for every town that was erased. Five hundred and fifty trees — every year. The land is green again.
Handala:
And the media? Still manufacturing silence?
Kid:
No. The new Charter of Journalism made “silence in the face of atrocity” an act of professional misconduct. Journalists who once looked away are now quoted in textbooks — as warnings. The press became the people’s conscience instead of their anesthetic.
Handala:
So… the world finally learned?
Kid:
It had to, or it wouldn’t have survived. When the occupation ended, humanity rediscovered itself. People finally understood that oppression anywhere poisons freedom everywhere. The lesson became law: there is no free world without a free Palestine.
Handala (slowly turns, facing the sunlight for the first time):
And the wall?
Kid:
Gone — ground into dust and mixed with soil to fertilize the olive groves. We called it “The Breaking of the Concrete.”
We built playgrounds on the rubble. Kids now play where snipers once perched. The laughter is loud enough to wake the ancestors.
Handala (a rare, tender smile):
Then maybe, finally, I can stop turning my back. Maybe the world has become something I can face.
Kid (salutes):
Welcome home, Handala. The land waited for you.
Handala:
No, child — it waited for all of us to grow up.
⸻
The plaza hums with life.
The olive trees sway over the foundations of what once was the wall.
A banner flutters between two lamp posts:
“Justice is the seed. Memory is the root. Peace is the fruit.”
And beneath it, the boy who never grew older finally smiles.
I will stumble on a head here, a foot there, a friend’s face
on the ground, his bag carrying crumbs for the little ones.
Scattered eyes, I’ll see them everywhere
and a heart that has gotten lost, panting
will settle on my shoulder
and I´ll walk it through the rubble
this broken stone with which we were killed.
No history book said how
to prepare for the long war
no class taught to pitch a tent
on the side of the road
no math teacher said that the corner
fits ten people
no religion class revealed:
children also die
also rise
as a butterfly, a bird, a star.
I hated chalk once
and the morning lineup too
but loved to pause in an opening line
stroll through the Eastern line
lose myself in the city perched on twin trees
But I am outside any city I know
outside all place and ejected from time
to the dimension of Gaza, to ask
what has happened what is happening
What is the name of our street?
Have any of you seen our street, our house?
Do the neighborhoods still know each other?
Can the city recognize us?
Can my mother?
Is the sea counting the victims?
Does the sun rise to shield the bodies in the streets?
Can the merchants afford heaven?
Will these bodies sprout tall buildings that bear their names?
Their names, will we know them all?
My aunts, will they fathom the catastrophe?
The house, was it really our house?
Does the soldier sleep a night?
My throat is swollen
from words
without remedy
but bayt: this line, home.
Translator’s note: This poem was first published in Arabic on February 8, 2024 on Heba Al-Agha’s Telegram channel and later the same day on the website gazastory.com: https://gazastory.com/archives/5335. Since October 22, 2023, the author has been sharing her diary from Gaza through these two channels. The entries include poetry, freeform narration, descriptions, and visuals, as she is forced to move with her children from her home in Khan Younis to Rafah, where this poem was written. Her work has not been translated to English, except for a short text that will appear in a forthcoming issue of ArabLit Quarterly(translated also by Julia Choucair Vizoso). Heba and Julia have been communicating through WhatsApp, through a family member of Heba, intermittently, whenever communication is possible.
Heba Al-Agha is a mother, amateur writer, and creative writing educator at the A.M. Qattan Foundation in Gaza City. She does not belong to any writers’ unions and has not published any literary books, but works with an army of young writers training them in freedom and the power of writing. She writes at t.me/hebalaghatalkwarandhttps://gazastory.com/archives/author/hebaaga.
Julia Choucair Vizoso is an independent scholar and seasonal translator. She hopes Heba Al-Agha’s words move you to refuse and resist the Israel-US genocide of the Palestinian people and destruction of Lebanon, wherever and however you can.
Israel’s reputation in the world steadily declines to that of a non-grata state, credit rating has dropped, the poverty index and the cost of living are flourishing, overloaded public services are collapsing, and the government (regime) is scratching its back while blaming everyone for the situation.
More than 130 prisoners are still in Gaza, and their families are consumed with lies, manipulations, and humiliations. Settlers of the northern and western Negev are refugees in their “own [occupied] land” and don’t know when they will return home, if there is a home left. In Gaza, there millions hungry and tens of thousands dead, most of them uninvolved, including 12,000 children – but Hamas is still alive and kicking; and every day, more israeli soldiers return in coffins to families whose world has collapsed.
Forgive me, but I’ve sworn quite a lot in this at @Keir_Starmer today as he had the brass neck to sit in parliament and not call what’s happening in Gaza a genocide.
Francesca Albanese, the UN special rapporteur on the occupied Palestinian territories, criticised British Foreign Secretary David Lammy for refusing to label the Israeli war on Gaza as genocide during his address in the UK Parliament last month. pic.twitter.com/JSpBxHJ0Vm
Handala (hands clasped behind his back, back to the reader):
You stand in a uniform and call it order. Tell me — what name do you give the empty cup you hand a man who asks only for water?
Israeli Guard (tight, practiced smile):
Procedure. Discipline. Measures for security.
Handala:
Procedure is a word people use to hide what they will not admit to their conscience. Do you feel secure when you deny another human the basics of life?
Israeli Guard:
We do what is necessary. The orders come from above, mainly from Ben-Gvir and Netanyahu.
Handala:
“Above” is a place for commands, not for conscience. When the ones above praise humiliation and racism as policy, whose face do you have to wash before you sleep?
Israeli Guard (bristles):
You speak as if you know the world of decisions. We protect Jewish citizens.
Handala:
Protection of one ethnic group that strips dignity from another becomes the very thing it pretends to guard against. If protection means turning a person into a lesson, who taught you that lesson?
Israeli Guard:
Leaders set the rules. We carry them out. Loyalty matters.
Handala:
Loyalty to apartheid and racist laws! Loyalty to cruelty! There is a line between following an order and becoming the instrument of someone’s cruelty. Do you draw that line or blur it?
Israeli Guard (low):
We’re told the stakes are existential for our nation. The rhetoric is hot; the streets demand toughness and iron hand against our enemies.
Handala:
Rhetoric is a fire that warms Israelis and burns Palestinians. When your nazi leaders stoke flames with words that dehumanise, do you not notice that smoke in your own lungs?
Israeli Guard:
Politics is complicated. People in power say hard things.
Handala:
“Complicated” is a comfortable coat to wear when you’re standing barefoot over someone else’s life. When a policy promises nothing but humiliation and discrimination and racism, is that protection — or punishment dressed as policy?
Israeli Guard (shifts):
We follow the legal chain. If there are problems, they are for the courts to resolve.
Handala:
Which courts? Israeli courts are part of this illegal apartheid. They have never punish Israeli war criminals but punished the victims and stripped them from their rights. Who speaks for the silent, for the ones who can no longer speak because the rules were too racist? If you were the one cuffed, who would bet that the same chain would loosen?
Israeli Guard:
There are checks. There are reports.
Handala:
Reports written by the perpetrators are lies — and lies written on paper burn easily.
Who strikes the match when accountability is turned into politics?
When leaders cheer the breaking of human spirits, is that justice — or just theatre?
Israeli Guard (voice cracks):
You accuse my nation, you are anti-Semite.
Handala:
I accuse these acts — criminal, inhumane, and racist — for what they are.
And don’t hide behind your tired propaganda; remember, I am Semitic too.
Nations are built by many hands: some create, some destroy.
You chose which hand to be — the one that breaks, not the one that builds.
Israeli Guard:
I am only one. What can one man do against a whole machine?
Handala:
One man can refuse to be the cog that grinds. One man can tell the truth in the corridor where the loud mouths boast. One man can hand a cup back, or stop a chained joke. Courage is small at first; its echo is large. What do you whisper to your kids in the evening about these tortures?
Israeli Guard (quiet):
And if I speak? If I refuse?
Handala:
Then you will be alone for a while and the right thing will be right forever. You will not be free of consequence — but you will be free of complicity.
Israeli Guard:
They will call me traitor.
Handala:
They will call many names, but many will call you hero for standing against the illegal and inhumane practices.
History calls them witnesses. Which name would you rather hear when the children come looking for answers — “he obeyed” or “he stopped”?
Israeli Guard (after a silence):
The orders… come from powerful men who promise safety, and they reward those who obey and punish those who refuse.
Handala:
Power that buys obedience with promises of false safety is cheap and corrupted power. True safety is built when mercy and equal law walk together — not when the occupier stomps people under occupation.
Israeli Guard:
And those above? They speak loudly. They have followers.
Handala:
Loud mouths are not the same as right hands. Followers that cheer humiliation and racism will one day need forgiveness. Will you be the hand that offers it, or the hand that tightens the lash?
Israeli Guard (looking away):
I have a uniform, a family, fear.
Handala:
So did the first man who refused an unjust order. Courage asks less than the conscience demands; it only asks you to remember you are a human when you no longer see one across from you.
Israeli Guard:
You speak as if you know forgiveness.
Handala:
I speak as if I know memory. Memory is the bank where we deposit our deeds. What you put in there you will one day withdraw.
Israeli Guard (a breath):
If I told the truth, what would change?
Handala:
Truth is a small seed that grows stubborn. It forces inquiries, protects witnesses, makes courts listen and may save victims. It does not erase what was done, but it stops the next hand from repeating the same act.
Israeli Guard:
They’ll silence me. They’ll punish me for exposing orders.
Handala:
Then let it not be said you were silent because it was easy. Let it be said you were silent because you feared. Fear is human. Regret is heavier. Choose which burden you will carry.
Israeli Guard (quietly, almost to himself):
If I refuse to obey an order to humiliate, will that make me a criminal to my people?
Handala:
Not to the people who build a future worth living in. You might be a criminal to a moment’s politics. But history forgives the man who saves another’s dignity more readily than it forgives the man who kept his badge and lost his humanity.
Israeli Guard (hands unclench):
And if the orders are from the very ministers who celebrate violence and torture?
Handala:
Ministers wore garments of authority — others wore bones of consequence. When ministers reward torture, they expose not strength but fragility. Strength does not need to humiliate.
Israeli Guard:
You will not turn. You will always stand with your back to the reader, unbowed.
Handala (still turned away):
My back faces the world that turned its back on justice. My posture is not surrender but a promise: that I will not look away until the hand that breaks is held to account.
Israeli Guard (softly):
And if I walk with you?
Handala:
Then the burden will be shared. Then the story will change — from a catalogue of brokenness to one of repair. Walk, but first empty your pockets of excuses.
Israeli Guard:
I will carry nothing but truth.
Handala:
Then begin by naming what you know. Names have weight. Once named, things can be fixed.
Israeli Guard (nods, a small, uncertain resolve):
I will… speak.
Handala (no fanfare, just the fixed posture of a child who will not be pulled in):
Speak and make your silence a bargain for life, not a receipt for shame.
The NYT, BBC, CNN, among others emphasized the attacks on Israeli fans, while minimizing the anti-Arab racism that seemingly provoked much of the violence.
Maccabi Tel Aviv fans stage a pro-Israel demonstration ahead of the UEFA Europa League match between Maccabi Tel Aviv and Ajax in Amsterdam, Netherlands, on Nov. 7, 2024. Photo by Mouneb Taim/Anadolu via Getty Images
When violence erupted around a soccer match in Amsterdam this week between fans of Israeli club Maccabi Tel Aviv and Dutch club Ajax, Western media outlets rushed to frame it mostly as an antisemitic attack on Israeli fans. But a closer examination of the coverage reveals troubling patterns in how racial violence is reported; not only is anti-Arab violence and racism marginalized and minimized, but violence against Israelis is amplified and reduced to antisemitism.
Consider this paradox: The New York Timesran the headline, “Israeli soccer fans injured in attacks linked to antisemitism in Amsterdam,” but the body article contained only verified evidence of anti-Arab racism. Its lede emphasized antisemitic motivation, while the body of the article cited footage by Maccabi Tel Aviv fans chanting anti-Arab and racist slogans – footage that the New York Times had actually verified. The only basis at the time for claiming antisemitism came from a single tweet by the Dutch prime minister, while the linked Amsterdam police’s own statement made no such attribution (subsequent police statements did condemn “antisemitic behavior”).
The New York Times was not alone in minimizing Israeli fan violence and anti-Arab and anti-Palestinian racism. Other mainstream outlets like NBC, CBS, CNN, and the BBC, all ran almost identical headlines that read like Israeli press releases, emphasizing that Israelis had been “attacked.”
The language was incendiary, suggesting that there had been some one-sided planned ethnic cleansing of Amsterdam. President Isaac Herzog used the word “pogrom” to describe what happened, a loaded term that was then picked up by other commentators. Reuters used the phrase “antisemitic attack squads,” while the Telegraph quoted the Dutch king in its headline, leading with “We failed Jews during football attacks as we did under Nazis.” The invocation of Nazism did not stop there, the US-based Anti-Defamation League emphasized that the attacks happened on the night before the anniversary of Kristallnacht in 1938. One commentator posted a photo of Anne Frank. Subscribe
Despite no Israelis being killed, a media system loathe to use the term genocide to describe the deaths of over 43,000 Palestinians seemed happy to use terminology redolent of the Holocaust. Suddenly, incidents of soccer hooliganism and anti-Israeli violence seemingly provoked by anti-Arab racism were being reduced to antisemitic pogroms.
Burying the Lede
Buried or omitted in most accounts was verified evidence of anti-Arab racism that had occurred prior to these events, including footage of Maccabi Tel Aviv fans tearing down Palestinian flags, attacking taxi drivers, and chanting explicitly racist slogans like “Death to the Arabs” and “Let the IDF fuck the Arabs.”
So marginalized were stories attempting to explain violence from Maccabi Tel Aviv fans that one Amsterdam resident took to social media to call out the media bias. She described hiding in fear as Israeli supporters attacked her home for displaying a Palestinian flag, stating in Dutch, “I hardly see anything in the media about my experience – that letting loose agitated football hooligans with war traumas, from a country that commits genocide and engages in extreme dehumanization, in the city *regardless of whether there are counter-protests* is not a good idea.”
This demotion of non-Israeli experiences and suffering in the media was evident in other outlets such as the Washington Post and Channel 4 News. On Instagram, their headlines emphasized the attacks on Israeli fans. Only in the accompanying text did they clarify the context, with Channel 4 news writing “that Maccabi Tel Aviv fans were involved in two days of violence in the city, including footage of them singing anti-Arab and racist chants.”
Minimizing anti-Arab racism and the provocations by Maccabi Tel Aviv fans was not subtle. The BBC’s extensive live blog of the unfolding events quoted 13 Israeli and Jewish sources while allowing just one or two alternative perspectives. Injuries to Israeli fans received detailed documentation and personal accounts, while the impact of racist abuse on local Arab and Muslim residents went largely unexplored.
My snap quantitative analysis of the BBC’s live coverage reveals the stark imbalance.
Marc Owen Jones, Associate Professor at Northwestern University in Qatar, is an award-winning expert on disinformation, media analytics and Middle East politics. His latest book is titled ‘Digital Authoritarianism in the Middle East’.
Posted inMedia, Palestinian history|TaggedAmsterdam, Bbc|Comments Off on Innocent Israelis, Bad Arabs? How the Media Scripted Amsterdam’s Soccer Violence
