The events that unfolded at the Oxford Union during its recent debate should leave us all appalled. What should have been a serious examination of the motion, “This House Believes Israel is an Apartheid State Responsible for Genocide”, descended into chaos, harassment, and outright glorification of violence. For those who still naively believe that universities remain bastions of free thought, the night’s proceedings were a stark reminder of how far this ideal has fallen.

The Union, once the proud home of intellectual rigor, was anything but. Outside, protesters organised by Oxford Action for Palestine chanted the chilling refrain, “Zionists are not welcome in Oxford,” their cries filtering into the chamber. Inside, the atmosphere was described as “hostile and toxic,” with Jewish students reportedly too intimidated to attend. This was not a debate—it was a witch hunt, a spectacle designed not to explore ideas but to suppress them.

The speakers opposing the motion—barrister Natasha Hausdorff, broadcaster Jonathan Sacerdoti, Arab-Israeli journalist Yoseph Haddad, and former Hamas informant Mosab Hassan Yousef—faced relentless heckling and venomous abuse. Sacerdoti’s arguments were met with shouts of “lies,” and insults so vile that security had to remove a member of the audience. Yoseph Haddad, a former IDF commander who highlighted Israel’s coexistence among Jews, Arabs, and Christians, was drowned out by jeers and ultimately ejected.

But the most grotesque moment of the evening came from Miko Peled, speaking in favour of the motion, who described Hamas’s barbaric attacks on October 7 as “acts of heroism.” That such words could be spoken at Oxford, without immediate condemnation, is astonishing. Peled glorified one of the most horrific massacres of modern times—a day when civilians were butchered, raped, and abducted—and yet the chamber’s atmosphere allowed this abhorrent rhetoric to pass. Worse, it found support among some attendees.

More chilling still was the response to a question posed by Yoseph Haddad: If you knew about the plans for October 7 in advance, would you have reported them to prevent the massacre?Astonishingly, 75% of the participants indicated they would not. This staggering revelation lays bare the depth of moral rot festering on university campuses, where ideological fervour now supersedes basic human decency.

This was not the only display of anti-Israel hostility in Oxford that week. Just a day earlier, anti-Israel activists disrupted a lecture by Professor Daniel Chamovitz, President of Ben-Gurion University, at Oxford Brookes University. Protesters waving flags and chanting slogans turned what should have been a scholarly discussion into a scene of chaos, leaving elderly members of Oxford’s Jewish community “shellshocked.” The activists later boasted of their actions, declaring their intent to deny a platform to any “Zionist.”

This is the reality on campuses across the UK: intimidation, harassment, and the silencing of dissent. Those who profess to care about justice and inclusion are, in practice, the greatest enemies of free speech. They do not wish to debate; they wish to silence. They do not seek understanding; they seek to dominate.

What took place at Oxford Union was not just a failure of decorum or a one-off incident of bad behaviour. It was the culmination of years of unchecked bias, where anti-Zionism—often indistinguishable from antisemitism—has been allowed to flourish. Universities, which should be places of inquiry and dialogue, have instead become breeding grounds for intolerance.

The responsibility for this decline rests squarely with university administrations. By failing to stand up for free speech, by allowing protests to cross the line into intimidation, and by refusing to hold individuals accountable, they have enabled this toxic culture to thrive. If Jewish students or pro-Israel speakers feel they cannot participate in debates without fear for their safety, then the university has failed in its most basic duty.

At We Believe in Israel, we call on Oxford and other institutions to take decisive action. This means enforcing standards of civility, protecting all participants in debates, and refusing to capitulate to those who seek to silence opposing views. The principles of free speech and intellectual inquiry must not be sacrificed to the demands of ideological mobs.

What happened at Oxford Union was a disgrace. It was not just an affront to Jewish students and pro-Israel voices but to the very idea of a university as a place where ideas can be discussed and challenged. If institutions like Oxford cannot defend free speech and decency, they will not only lose their credibility but their purpose. It is time for universities to decide whether they will stand for freedom or succumb to the tyranny of the mob. Let us hope they choose wisely.

The recent resignations of BBC staff over union instructions to wear Palestinian colours are not just a troubling moment for the institution but a damning indictment of its deeply entrenched and long-standing anti-Zionist culture. For years, many have raised concerns about the BBC’s skewed reporting on Israel, yet this latest episode confirms something more insidious: an abandonment of impartiality in favour of blatant political posturing.

The directive from the National Union of Journalists (NUJ) to dress in Palestinian colours goes beyond inappropriate—it is a brazen endorsement of one side in one of the world’s most divisive conflicts. It is not the job of journalists to engage in activism, let alone to visibly signal allegiance to any political cause. Yet the fact that this directive was even issued—and that some within the BBC appear to have complied—speaks volumes about the toxic atmosphere surrounding Israel within the institution.

For years, critics have noted a pattern of biased coverage from the BBC. Stories about Israel are framed in ways that vilify the state while erasing the context of its security concerns. Terror attacks against Israeli civilians are downplayed or outright ignored, while Palestinian actions are presented as heroic struggles. The term “anti-Zionist” is wielded as a shield against accusations of antisemitism, yet the overlap is clear to anyone paying attention. The BBC, it seems, has long been complicit in this narrative, giving anti-Zionist views an unchallenged platform under the guise of balance.

What makes this latest incident particularly egregious is the coercive nature of the NUJ’s instructions. By mandating that journalists wear Palestinian colours, the union not only abandoned its own impartiality but pressured its members to conform to a political stance. For those tasked with reporting on this issue, such a directive is nothing short of professional sabotage. The BBC journalists who resigned deserve commendation for their integrity, but their departure highlights a troubling reality: those who stand for fairness are increasingly isolated in an institution that seems uninterested in upholding it.

The BBC’s anti-Zionist bias is not accidental. It is the product of a culture that has allowed political agendas to fester unchecked. From editorial decisions to the language used in reporting, the institution has consistently framed Israel as the aggressor and its detractors as victims. This is not journalism; it is advocacy. And it is advocacy that fuels hostility toward the Jewish state while emboldening those who seek its destruction.

The BBC has positioned itself as a bastion of impartiality, yet time and again it falls short of this standard when it comes to Israel. The resignations of these journalists are a rare moment of accountability, a spotlight on a culture that prioritises ideology over facts. This is not just a failure of individual judgment—it is institutional rot.

For viewers, the consequences are profound. The BBC’s reporting shapes public perceptions, and when those perceptions are built on bias and misinformation, the damage extends far beyond the newsroom. It perpetuates harmful stereotypes, normalises hostility toward Israel, and distorts the very nature of the conflict.

The NUJ’s directive and the BBC’s broader failings are not just problems of journalistic ethics; they are emblematic of a wider societal issue. Anti-Zionism has become an acceptable prejudice in certain circles, cloaked in the language of human rights and justice. Yet its selective outrage and disproportionate focus on Israel reveal its true nature.

At WBII, we have long fought against this bias, calling for fair and accurate reporting on Israel and its people. The BBC’s latest scandal confirms what we have always known: that the battle for impartiality in journalism is far from over. The resignations of a few principled individuals are a start, but real change will require a complete reckoning within the institution.

The BBC must be held to account. Its credibility, already tarnished, depends on it. And if it cannot reform itself, then it should no longer claim the mantle of impartiality. For now, its reporting on Israel remains a stain on its reputation and a disservice to its audience. It is time for the BBC to choose: impartiality or irrelevance. It cannot have both.

The story of Kfir Bibas ought to chill the blood of anyone with a shred of moral decency. A 10-month-old infant, torn from the sanctuary of his home on 7 October 2023, alongside his mother, Shiri, and elder brother, Ariel, and made a hostage by Hamas. It is not merely a tragedy but a testament to the depths of depravity that humanity is capable of reaching.

Kfir, a child far too young to comprehend the world into which he was born, now stands as a grotesque emblem of innocence defiled by malevolence. To consider the cold and calculated decision to abduct him is to confront the terrifying reality of terror as strategy. This was no collateral damage; this was an act of deliberate barbarism, designed to instil fear, to shock the conscience, and to weaponise vulnerability.

We live in an age awash with images of conflict, where the horrors of war often blur into a seamless cycle of tragedy on our screens. Yet the face of Kfir Bibas, a baby whose greatest worry should have been teething, cuts through this numbness. His image demands that we ask ourselves: how have we allowed such unmitigated savagery to take root and, worse, to be rationalised?

Let there be no equivocation about Hamas. They are not freedom fighters, nor are they misunderstood revolutionaries. They are the adherents of an ideology that glorifies death, that seeks out the defenceless as targets, and that cloaks its grotesque deeds in the language of liberation. Nor should we shy away from condemning the international complacency that enables such acts. Every morally ambiguous statement that invokes “both sides,” every mealy-mouthed appeal to “understanding root causes,” serves only to excuse those who kidnap infants and brutalise families.

The plight of the Bibas family is not an isolated act of cruelty; it is emblematic of a much larger failure. Kfir’s story forces us to confront the fact that the victims of terror are not mere statistics to be tallied in bureaucratic reports or academic studies. They are real people, each life extinguished or scarred by ideologies that revel in violence and oppression.

And what of the so-called civilised world? The governments and institutions that condemn with one hand while placating with the other? Their unwillingness to take a clear and decisive stance against such evils, their hesitancy to name them for what they are, renders them culpable—not in the commission of these acts but in their perpetuation through inaction.

Kfir Bibas’s name may never appear in history books. He will not be remembered as a leader, a writer, or a thinker. But his story—and his hauntingly innocent face—should serve as a moral reckoning. It forces us to ask whether we still have the courage to defend the values we profess to hold dear. If we cannot rise to meet this challenge, if we cannot confront and defeat such evil, then what hope remains—not just for Kfir but for any child, anywhere?

The International Criminal Court (ICC) has long presented itself as the guardian of international justice, the arbiter of crimes too grave to be addressed within national jurisdictions. Yet its latest actions, issuing arrest warrants for Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and former Defence Minister Yoav Gallant, reveal a troubling undercurrent—one that raises serious questions about the court’s legitimacy, jurisdiction, and impartiality.

Israel’s response was swift and unequivocal. Rejecting the ICC’s jurisdiction outright, Netanyahu’s office branded the warrants as “absurd” and “without foundation.” It is not the first time Israel has clashed with the ICC. As a nation that is not a signatory to the Rome Statute, Israel has consistently maintained that the court has no authority over its actions or its citizens. The appeal filed this week reiterates that stance while exposing the political theatre at the heart of this legal manoeuvre.

The reaction from the international community has been predictably fragmented, underscoring not only the political nature of the ICC’s actions but also the fraught geopolitical landscape in which they unfold.

Hungary, always the maverick within European circles, invited Netanyahu for a state visit, offering assurances that he would not face arrest. France, while not as brazenly supportive, cited legal immunity for Netanyahu, recognising that the ICC’s jurisdiction simply does not extend to non-signatory states like Israel. Italy, chairing the G7, took a more diplomatic line, calling for unity among global powers while subtly questioning the practicality of enforcing these warrants.

The United Kingdom, however, has found itself in a characteristically awkward position. Foreign Secretary David Lammy affirmed that Britain would comply with its obligations as a signatory to the Rome Statute. Yet, in a telling display of realpolitik, the UK recently hosted IDF Chief of Staff Herzi Halevi for high-level meetings—a tacit acknowledgment of the enduring strategic partnership between the two nations. It is the kind of diplomatic tightrope that Britain has mastered, but one wonders how long such balancing acts can be sustained.

Across the Atlantic, the United States has taken an entirely different tack. Under previous administrations, Washington has not hesitated to challenge the ICC, especially when its investigations threatened American interests or those of its allies. In 2020, sanctions were imposed on ICC Chief Prosecutor Fatou Bensouda in response to her inquiries into Afghanistan and Palestine. Now, reports suggest that further sanctions against current Chief Prosecutor Karim Khan KC are being considered, with the incoming U.S. administration poised to deliver what it calls a “strong response to the antisemitic bias of the ICC.”

The message from Washington is clear: the ICC’s overreach will not be tolerated. And herein lies a profound irony. The very court designed to transcend politics has become entangled in it, wielded as a weapon against nations that fall outside its ideological favour.

At the heart of this saga lies a fundamental question: what is the ICC’s purpose? Is it truly an impartial body dedicated to upholding justice, or has it become a tool for the politically motivated prosecution of certain states while ignoring the transgressions of others? The focus on Israel, a democracy operating in a hostile region, stands in stark contrast to the court’s silence on egregious abuses in autocratic regimes worldwide.

For Israel, the stakes are existential. The ICC’s actions are not merely legal provocations; they are attempts to delegitimise the Jewish state on the global stage. By framing self-defence as criminality and equating acts of war with war crimes, the court risks undermining the very principles it claims to uphold.

For Britain, the ICC warrants present a moral and diplomatic conundrum. As a nation committed to international law, the UK cannot simply dismiss its obligations under the Rome Statute. Yet as a steadfast ally of Israel, Britain must also recognise the dangerous precedent these warrants set—not just for Israel, but for any democracy forced to defend itself against terrorism.

The ICC’s actions reveal a troubling bias, one that conflates legality with morality and ignores the complex realities of international conflict. If Britain fails to challenge this bias, it risks enabling the erosion of the very principles it seeks to protect.

The ICC’s pursuit of Netanyahu and Gallant is not just a test of Israel’s resilience; it is a test of the international community’s resolve to stand against the politicisation of justice. For the United States, this resolve may come in the form of sanctions and diplomatic pushback. For Britain, it must involve a critical examination of the ICC’s role and a firm defence of its ally.

History has shown us that the weaponisation of international law is a dangerous game. Today it is Israel in the dock; tomorrow it could be any nation that dares to prioritise its security over the court’s abstractions. The ICC must decide whether it will be a force for impartial justice or a pawn in the game of geopolitics. And the world must decide whether it will allow this charade to continue.

Across Europe, the dark tide of antisemitism and anti-Zionism are rising once again, with whispers of history’s most shameful chapters echoing ominously. The United Kingdom, though spared the extremes seen in nations like France and the Netherlands, is not immune. For British Jews, the steady drip of hostility—whether in the guise of anti-Zionism or outright Jew-hatred—is no longer something that can be ignored. What’s more troubling than the hate itself is the institutional failure to confront it, and the pervasive apathy that allows it to fester.

Let us be clear: Britain’s Jewish community has been an integral part of this country’s cultural, intellectual, and economic life for centuries. Yet today, the very foundations of that belonging feel increasingly precarious. One need only look to the events of recent months for evidence. When Hamas unleashed its atrocities on October 7, many in Britain reacted not with outrage at the slaughter of innocents, but with rallies on our streets where cries of “From the river to the sea” thinly veiled genocidal intent. Not protests for peace, but parades of hate.

The response of the British establishment to this wave of antisemitic vitriol has been appalling in its inadequacy. Politicians have offered mealy-mouthed platitudes, desperate to balance condemnations of terrorism with vague nods to “both sides.” Universities have remained silent while Jewish students are vilified. And law enforcement, rather than protecting British Jews, has often been conspicuous by its absence when mobs gather in the streets.

Antisemitism in Britain today is insidious, taking two primary forms. First, there is the old hatred, dressed in new clothes. This includes the virulent strain of antisemitism that has taken root in certain migrant communities—a problem that our leaders seem too cowardly to even name, let alone address. The fear of appearing intolerant has paralysed action, allowing a dangerous narrative to grow unchecked.

Second, there is the intellectualised form of antisemitism, now endemic on the political left, masquerading as “anti-Zionism.” This thinly disguised bigotry seeks to delegitimise the world’s only Jewish state while holding Jews collectively responsible for its existence. No other people are told their self-determination is inherently racist. No other nation is subjected to such relentless scrutiny. And yet, in Britain’s cultural and academic spheres, this pernicious double standard thrives.

The events of November 7 in Amsterdam should serve as a cautionary tale. Bands of so-called “youths” embarked on a self-declared “Jew hunt,” assaulting Israelis and Jews in the streets of a country once celebrated for its tolerance. British Jews watched in horror—not only at the violence but at the recognition that the forces at play in the Netherlands are alive here as well.

Britain’s failure to address these forces is nothing short of a national disgrace. Antisemitism is not just a Jewish problem; it is a societal rot that, if left unchecked, corrodes the very values we claim to cherish. Yet, our institutions respond with paralysing inertia, distracted by the politics of appeasement or paralysed by their own moral cowardice.

The Jewish diaspora in Britain has never asked for special treatment, only the simple right to live without fear. Fear of sending their children to universities where they might be ostracised for their faith. Fear of walking home from synagogue under the wrong set of streetlights. Fear of an increasingly hostile world that seems to have learned nothing from history.

This is a moment of reckoning for Britain. Will we defend the values of fairness, freedom, and dignity for all, or will we allow this growing hatred to go unchallenged, dragging us into the mire of indifference and complicity?

Antisemitism and its enabler, anti-Zionism, are societal poisons. If Britain wishes to remain the tolerant and just society it claims to be, it must confront these twin scourges head-on. Not with half-measures or hollow condemnations, but with decisive action—legislative, educational, and cultural. Anything less is an abdication of our moral responsibility and a betrayal of what this nation ought to stand for.

The time for excuses is over. Britain must rise to the challenge, not just for its Jewish community, but for its own soul. For if we allow this hatred to thrive, it will not stop with the Jews. It never does.

Hezbollah’s condemnation of media outlets for participating in an Israeli military press tour in southern Lebanon is as revealing as it is predictable. The group has accused these journalists of “crossing red lines,” portraying their actions as a betrayal of Lebanon’s sovereignty. But beneath this bluster lies something far more calculated: a desperate attempt to control the narrative and shield Hezbollah’s operations from the scrutiny of independent eyes.

For decades, Hezbollah has meticulously cultivated its image as the guardian of Lebanon’s sovereignty and the noble “resistance” against Israeli aggression. It has framed itself as a force defending the dignity of the Lebanese people while casting Israel as the perpetual villain. Yet this narrative is a mirage, crafted with the precision of a propagandist. Southern Lebanon has not been safeguarded by Hezbollah but transformed into a militarised zone, where civilian infrastructure is cynically repurposed to serve its military ambitions.

Rocket launchers are concealed in residential areas, tunnels snake beneath neighbourhoods, and civilian populations are used as shields for Hezbollah’s provocations against Israel. These tactics, in clear violation of international law, are carefully obscured from public view. Hezbollah’s media apparatus, led by outlets like Al-Manar, has long ensured that its version of events dominates the headlines, presenting its agenda as righteous resistance while suppressing dissenting voices.

The presence of independent journalists, particularly those who might report from an Israeli perspective, represents an existential threat to this charade. Their accounts could expose the grim reality of Hezbollah’s exploitation of southern Lebanon—a reality in which ordinary Lebanese citizens are used as pawns in a broader regional conflict orchestrated by Tehran. For Hezbollah, the truth is not just inconvenient; it is dangerous.

This latest outcry over journalists also betrays Hezbollah’s growing insecurity. Domestically, Lebanon is teetering on the brink of collapse, its economy in ruins and its people burdened by widespread corruption and political paralysis. Hezbollah’s entanglement in this crisis is undeniable. Its deep ties to Iran and its involvement in regional conflicts, from Syria to Yemen, have contributed to Lebanon’s isolation and decline. For many Lebanese citizens, the group’s rhetoric of resistance rings increasingly hollow against the backdrop of empty bank accounts and crumbling infrastructure.

Internationally, Hezbollah’s activities as a terrorist organisation have drawn condemnation from nations worldwide. Yet, instead of reckoning with its role in Lebanon’s decline, Hezbollah doubles down on its tactics, relying on propaganda and intimidation to maintain its grip on power. Independent reporting threatens to expose not just the group’s violations but the broader consequences of its stranglehold over Lebanon.

The free press is vital in such contexts. Far from “crossing red lines,” journalists who report on the realities in southern Lebanon are fulfilling a critical duty. Their work shines a light on the exploitation of civilian areas, the militarisation of everyday life, and the human cost of Hezbollah’s actions. For the international community, this transparency is essential to understanding the true dynamics of the Israeli-Lebanese border. For the Lebanese people, it is a step towards reclaiming their sovereignty from a group that has long acted in the name of resistance while holding their country hostage.

Hezbollah’s outrage is not about protecting Lebanon’s dignity or sovereignty; it is about protecting itself. The group thrives in the shadows, where its carefully constructed narratives can go unchallenged, and its actions can proceed without accountability. The presence of independent journalists disrupts this balance, threatening to expose the truth about Hezbollah’s exploitation of Lebanon and its people.

As supporters of truth and justice, we must reject Hezbollah’s attempts to suppress independent reporting. The international community has a duty to ensure that journalists can work without fear of reprisal, particularly in regions where authoritarian control of the narrative is the norm. For Lebanon, the stakes could not be higher. The people of southern Lebanon deserve to know the truth about the risks imposed upon them by Hezbollah’s agenda. Exposing these realities is not just a journalistic endeavour; it is an act of solidarity with those who have suffered in silence for too long.

Transparency is Hezbollah’s greatest fear, and rightly so. It lays bare the group’s duplicity, challenges its propaganda, and empowers those who seek a Lebanon free from its grasp. By supporting independent journalism, we take a stand not only for truth but for the rights of the Lebanese people to live without fear of exploitation and manipulation.

In an age where prejudices of all kinds are rightly subjected to unrelenting scrutiny, anti-Zionism occupies an unsettling and peculiar space. While bigotry in most of its forms is publicly condemned and often career-ending, hostility toward Zionism—the Jewish aspiration for national self-determination—not only remains acceptable in many circles but is often celebrated as a hallmark of intellectual and moral virtue. This glaring double standard demands examination, not least because it reveals so much about the peculiar ease with which society continues to dismiss, marginalise, and vilify Jews and their history.

Unlike overt antisemitism, which is easily recognised and usually denounced, anti-Zionism wears a disguise. It masquerades as a political critique, a righteous opposition to the actions of a particular state. Advocates of anti-Zionism are quick to claim that their objections are to Israel’s policies—or even its existence as a state—not to Jews per se. This distinction allows anti-Zionism to slip under the radar of public scrutiny, shielding itself from accusations of bigotry while perpetuating ideas that, in many cases, are undeniably antisemitic.

Zionism, stripped of the distortions often imposed upon it, is nothing more or less than the Jewish people’s assertion of their right to self-determination. This is a right routinely recognised for other peoples, celebrated in movements from Irish republicanism to Indian independence. Yet, in the case of the Jews, it is framed as an aberration, as if the idea of a Jewish homeland were some sinister exception to an otherwise acceptable rule.

This sleight of hand—portraying Zionism as uniquely objectionable—has allowed anti-Zionists to present their prejudices as noble and their biases as virtuous. Cloaked in the language of human rights, anti-Zionism offers its adherents the moral satisfaction of condemning oppression while perpetuating one of history’s oldest hatreds.

One reason anti-Zionism enjoys its peculiar immunity from criticism is that it taps into long-standing prejudices against Jews. For centuries, Jews have been cast as the "other"—a people apart, held collectively responsible for societal grievances and historical ills. Anti-Zionism is simply the latest iteration of this narrative, in which Israel, as the Jewish state, is not seen as a country like any other but as a repository for the world’s frustrations, its sins, and its hatreds.

To its detractors, Israel is not merely a state with policies they find objectionable; it is a symbol of all that is wrong in the world. Zionism, by extension, becomes a shorthand for imperialism, colonialism, and oppression, allowing anti-Zionists to frame their hostility as a stand against injustice. Yet, this narrative relies on the grotesque dehumanisation of Jews, reducing them to caricatures of power and privilege even as their history—and often their present—tells a far darker story of vulnerability and survival.

Part of anti-Zionism’s appeal lies in its simplicity. In a world of complex moral dilemmas, it offers a straightforward binary: Israel as the oppressor, Palestinians as the oppressed. Never mind that the reality of the conflict is infinitely more complicated, or that Israel’s population includes refugees from Arab lands, Holocaust survivors, and Jews from Ethiopia and beyond. To the anti-Zionist, such nuances are inconvenient distractions.

The Palestinian cause, whatever its merits, has been adopted as a moral rallying cry by those eager to champion victimhood and resistance. Israel, in this framework, is cast as the ultimate villain—a role it plays not because of the facts of the conflict but because it fits neatly into the anti-colonial narrative beloved by many on the political left. This narrative requires no understanding of history, no grappling with competing claims to land, and no acknowledgment of the Jewish people’s right to self-determination. It demands only outrage, and anti-Zionism provides it in abundance.

Anti-Zionism thrives, in part, because it is championed by cultural elites. Academics, activists, and artists have elevated it to a position of social acceptability, presenting it as a legitimate critique of power and injustice. University campuses, in particular, have become breeding grounds for anti-Zionist sentiment, where Israel is singled out for condemnation while far greater abuses of human rights elsewhere are ignored.

This double standard is not a coincidence. It reflects a broader willingness to treat Jews and the Jewish state as uniquely problematic. No other country’s right to exist is questioned with the same fervour; no other people’s claim to self-determination is met with such relentless hostility. The fact that anti-Zionism often leads to the harassment of Jewish students or the targeting of Jewish institutions is treated as an unfortunate side effect rather than a predictable outcome.

The social acceptability of anti-Zionism has real consequences. It emboldens those who seek not just to criticise Israel but to delegitimise its very existence. It provides a respectable veneer for antisemitism, allowing hatred to flourish in spaces where it might otherwise be challenged. And it isolates Jewish communities, forcing them to defend their right to exist in a way that no other group is ever asked to do.

Moreover, anti-Zionism distorts the discourse around Israel and the Middle East, reducing it to a battle of slogans and accusations. It shuts down debate, entrenches divisions, and makes the pursuit of peace infinitely more difficult.

Anti-Zionism is not the harmless political critique it claims to be. It is a prejudice disguised as principle, a hostility that perpetuates ancient hatreds under the banner of progress. It is long past time to confront this hypocrisy and hold it to the same standards we apply to other forms of bigotry.

Criticism of Israel, like criticism of any state, is fair and necessary. But to single out the Jewish state for delegitimisation, to deny the Jewish people their right to self-determination, or to treat Zionism as uniquely sinister, is not justice. It is prejudice. And if society truly seeks to root out all forms of bigotry, it must begin by acknowledging this one for what it is.

Today, as the world observes the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, we are reminded of the solemn duty to confront violence and injustice wherever it occurs. Yet this year, the day is marred by a deafening and wilful silence—a refusal to acknowledge the horrors inflicted on Israeli women during the October 7 Hamas massacre. This silence, coupled with the broader global indifference to the suffering of women across the Shia Crescent, is not just a moral failure but a betrayal of the very principles this day seeks to uphold.

On that dark day, Israeli women were not merely caught in the crossfire of conflict; they were deliberately targeted by Hamas terrorists in acts of unspeakable brutality. Reports of sexual violence, abductions, and systematic dehumanisation emerged. These were not incidental atrocities but calculated acts designed to instil terror. And yet, the international response has been characterised by an almost eerie absence of outrage. Many who claim to champion women’s rights have chosen to look away, while some have gone so far as to justify or minimise these crimes in the name of political expediency.

This silence echoes the broader global apathy towards the plight of women living under regimes of terror across the Shia Crescent. In Iran, women are beaten, imprisoned, and murdered for daring to remove their hijabs or demand basic freedoms. In Afghanistan, under Taliban rule, women have been erased from public life altogether, barred from education and employment. Yazidi women suffered years of enslavement and unimaginable abuse at the hands of ISIS. In Gaza, women endure oppression under Hamas, whose brutality is masked by its self-proclaimed role as the "voice of Palestine."

And yet, the world turns a blind eye. The atrocities committed against these women are too often excused or ignored, as long as the perpetrators drape themselves in the cause of "resistance" or invoke the banner of anti-Zionism. This selective morality has created a grotesque double standard, where some victims are worthy of sympathy and others are sacrificed on the altar of political narratives.

The international community’s failure to condemn this violence is not only hypocritical but dangerous. It emboldens the perpetrators and reinforces the impunity with which they operate. Worse still, it signals to the victims that their suffering will remain invisible, their voices unheard, and their rights unworthy of defence.

On this International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women, we must ask: where is the global outrage for Israeli women raped and murdered by Hamas? Where is the solidarity for Iranian women risking their lives to defy tyranny? Where is the condemnation of regimes and terror organisations that use women as tools of oppression and violence?

The truth is stark: much of the world is willing to turn its back on these women as long as doing so serves a convenient political narrative. This moral abdication betrays the very essence of this day. Violence against women is not a partisan issue. It cannot be justified by ideology, nor can it be selectively ignored.

If we are to take the principles of this day seriously, we must demand justice for all women who suffer violence—whether they are Israeli mothers mourning their murdered children, Yazidi girls seeking freedom, or Iranian women defiantly removing their hijabs. We must reject the dangerous relativism that shields perpetrators and silences victims.

Let this day serve not as a hollow gesture but as a rallying cry for universal justice. Let it remind us that violence against women—wherever it occurs, whoever commits it—must be met with unyielding condemnation. Anything less is a betrayal, not only of the victims but of the values we claim to uphold.

The fight to eliminate violence against women must be unflinching and unapologetic. Only then can we truly honour the purpose of this day and ensure that no woman, no matter where she lives, is left to suffer in silence.

Art has always been a sanctuary—a space where human creativity transcends politics and prejudice. It is a realm where the stories of individuals, no matter their background or nationality, are given a stage to shine. Or at least, that is how it should be. Increasingly, however, Israeli voices are being systematically silenced, excluded, and erased from cultural spaces under the flimsiest of pretexts.

The recent treatment of Israeli choreographer Dor Eldar provides yet another chilling example of this trend. Eldar’s film, Rave, was accepted and scheduled to be shown at the Exeter International Dance Festival, a platform ostensibly dedicated to celebrating global artistic expression. Yet, at the last moment, Eldar was informed that his film would not be shown after all. The reason? Pressure from sponsors and other filmmakers who objected to the participation of an Israeli artist.

This was not a matter of merit or artistic value—far from it. It was a decision based purely on prejudice, a capitulation to the increasingly loud and aggressive voices that seek to vilify and delegitimise Israel and, by extension, all who bear its nationality. Eldar himself captured the gravity of the situation in his response: "I have always heard about anti-Semitism; now I know what it is and what it feels like to be excluded."

The arts have always served as a bridge, a means of fostering dialogue, understanding, and connection across divides. Yet, we are now witnessing a deeply disturbing trend: the weaponisation of the arts as a tool for enforcing political bias and exclusion.

What happened to Dor Eldar is not just an act of individual discrimination—it is part of a broader, more sinister movement. It represents the infiltration of ideological agendas into the cultural spaces that were once celebrated for their inclusivity and universality. Festivals like the Exeter International Dance Festival are meant to showcase the diversity of human creativity. Instead, they are being turned into platforms for censorship and exclusion.

The message being sent is clear: Israeli voices, regardless of their political affiliations or artistic intent, are unwelcome. This is not merely an attack on Israelis; it is an attack on the principles of artistic freedom and intellectual integrity.

This should serve as a wake-up call for anyone who believes in the values of free expression and open exchange. The silencing of Israeli voices is not just a problem for Israel or for the Jewish people—it is a problem for the entire cultural and intellectual world. If artists can be censored based on their nationality or the political pressures of a vocal minority, no creator is safe.

More broadly, it reflects the creeping cowardice of our cultural institutions. These are institutions that, when faced with the baying mob, too often choose appeasement over principle. By bowing to those who seek to exclude Israeli artists, the organisers of the Exeter International Dance Festival have abandoned the core tenets of artistic expression. They have shown that their commitment to inclusivity and freedom is nothing more than a hollow platitude, discarded the moment it becomes inconvenient.

Dor Eldar’s exclusion is not just his personal tragedy—it is a moral failure of those who claim to stand for artistic freedom. It is incumbent upon us to call out this hypocrisy for what it is: a betrayal of the very values the arts are supposed to uphold.

This is not simply a question of supporting one Israeli artist; it is about defending the principle that art should remain above the petty machinations of political bias. It is about ensuring that no artist, regardless of their nationality, religion, or politics, is excluded because their very existence offends the sensibilities of the ideologically intolerant.

We must not let this moment pass in silence. We must demand accountability from those who caved to prejudice and fear. We must make it clear that art, in its truest form, is a celebration of humanity in all its complexity—a space where differences are explored, not erased.

By standing with Dor Eldar, we stand for freedom, for courage, and for the unassailable right of every artist to have their voice heard. To do otherwise is to allow the darkness of censorship and bigotry to snuff out the light of creativity that art was meant to foster.

The lawsuit filed in a US federal court by the families of victims from Hamas's barbaric October 7 massacre against the Islamic Republic of Iran is a moment of profound significance. It represents not just a legal challenge but a moral reckoning—a demand for accountability from a regime that has long operated with impunity while sponsoring terrorism across the globe.

This case targets Iran’s central role in financing, arming, and enabling Hamas, a group whose name is now synonymous with the atrocities of October 7. On that day, over 1,400 Israelis were murdered, hundreds kidnapped, and entire families destroyed in acts of unspeakable brutality. The victims’ families, now plaintiffs, are determined to expose the machinery of terror that allowed such an event to unfold.

At the core of the lawsuit is the allegation—well-supported by decades of evidence—that Iran, primarily through its Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), is the lifeblood of Hamas. Tehran has not hidden its patronage, openly funneling money, weapons, and training to the group. What makes this case especially significant, however, is its potential to unseal classified Hamas documents. These papers could provide indisputable evidence of Iran's complicity in orchestrating the massacre, implicating not just the perpetrators on the ground but the architects behind them.

Iran’s role in sponsoring Hamas is no secret. It has long been the regime's strategy to act through proxies, allowing it to wage war against Israel without direct confrontation. The IRGC, often described as Iran’s paramilitary foreign policy arm, has been instrumental in turning Hamas into a well-armed, ideologically charged militant force. From funding its operations to training its fighters, Iran has ensured that its proxy in Gaza can function as an extension of its anti-Zionist, anti-Western ambitions.

Yet, this case is not without its challenges. While the United States has designated Iran as a state sponsor of terrorism, the legal and diplomatic complexities of holding a sovereign nation accountable remain formidable. Sovereign immunity laws often shield nations from the consequences of their actions, making enforcement of judgments against them an uphill battle. But even if this case encounters such barriers, its symbolic value cannot be understated. By pursuing justice through the courts, these families are forcing the world to confront Iran's role in the global architecture of terror.

There is a bitter irony in the fact that, while Hamas’s atrocities were broadcast to the world in horrifying clarity, Iran remains ensconced in a narrative that seeks to obscure its direct involvement. This lawsuit aims to pierce that veil, exposing the financial flows, logistical support, and ideological backing that Tehran has provided to Hamas. It is a reminder that terrorism is not a grassroots phenomenon; it is cultivated, funded, and directed by state actors with clear agendas.

For Israel, this case serves as a sobering reminder of the multifaceted nature of its security challenges. The IDF battles enemies at its borders, but those enemies draw strength from a much larger network of state sponsorship and ideological warfare. For the Jewish diaspora, particularly in Europe and the United States, this lawsuit is a stark call to action: to recognise that the threats faced by Israel are not confined to the Middle East but have global implications.

What is at stake here is not merely compensation for the victims’ families, though that is a just and noble cause. This lawsuit represents an attempt to strike at the heart of Iran’s operational networks, to challenge the impunity with which it has acted for decades. If successful, it could set a precedent for holding state sponsors of terrorism accountable, demonstrating that no regime, no matter how emboldened, is beyond the reach of justice.

The families pursuing this case are not just seeking redress for their personal tragedies; they are fighting for the principle that those who enable terror must answer for their crimes. It is a moral imperative that transcends borders and political alignments. The world must take notice, not only of the suffering these families have endured but of the systemic evil that allowed such atrocities to occur. Justice demands it, and history will not look kindly on those who fail to answer this call