Why do institutions remain silent about Gaza?
Power needs to preserve untouchable narratives to justify itself.
We have reached a level of horror – inhuman crimes, suffering inflicted with open sadism – that would demand a clear stance from institutions, at least on a humanitarian level. And yet, silence. Why?
The answer, however bitter, is simple: silence serves to consolidate a mechanism. A mechanism that justifies violence when it comes from an ally, and that turns injustice into norm when it fits the dominant narrative. Thus, the idea that Israel’s response to the massacre committed by Hamas is automatically legitimate becomes institutionalized. It becomes institutionalized that Israel – and by extension, Judaism – always acts for the greater good, and must therefore be defended unconditionally. But this schema serves not only Israel: it benefits all powers seeking to justify themselves, even when acting against their own constitutions and peoples.
In this way, a precedent is set. A world that becomes accustomed to systematic violence against a population will eventually be unable to protest when it too becomes the target of abuse. If today it is acceptable to say “Russia is evil” and therefore “it’s right to strike it deeply,” then tomorrow it will be easy to convince the public that any action against a “designated enemy” is justified — even if that enemy did nothing of what is claimed.
Ultimately, the massacre of the Palestinian people is convenient to many: to governments that lie, to powers operating outside the rule of law, to those who need to cover up covert operations and uncomfortable truths. It has happened before: in Syria, where the public narrative often reversed the facts on the ground, and in countless other scenarios where the reality shown was the exact opposite of what was truly happening. It also happened during the pandemic, when — under the pretext of an emergency — restrictions were imposed that violated people’s dignity and fundamental rights, turning public health management into a tool for profit and unprecedented social control.
And this is precisely the point: what was made acceptable in that context paved the way for everything that followed. Once it becomes acceptable to violate freedom in the name of a so-called greater good imposed from above, the same pattern can be replicated in every future crisis — real or fabricated.
This is why neither the European Union, nor Trump, nor other leaders have any interest in openly condemning Israel: if that narrative were to collapse, if it were unmasked for what it is, the entire house of lies propping up many other “official truths” would come crashing down as well.
And if today it is accepted that a slaughter like the one happening in Gaza can be called a legitimate military operation, then tomorrow it will be accepted that any Western government may act with the same brutality, met with general silence. Just as happened — and still hasn’t been acknowledged — with certain policies adopted during the pandemic.
This is why I mistrust the protests that are multiplying today. Not because Gaza doesn’t deserve attention, but because many of these demonstrations are political, opportunistic. They protest Gaza, but not other similar tragedies. They fail to see the thread that connects all these events: the contempt for human freedom — never defended for what it is truly worth. Never pursued as an absolute good.
And above all, one essential point is not understood: for power — even that which appears “good,” alternating just actions with questionable ones — it is crucial that there are “sacred,” untouchable areas. Spheres where judgment is pre-packaged, where there is no room for complexity. Whether it’s the Manifesto of Ventotene, antifascism, the Jewish people under Hamas attacks, or the aggressor-victim framework in the Russia-Ukraine war, it must always be clear who is right and who is wrong — even when reality says otherwise.
This mechanism is protected by those in power — even when, in private, they see its flaws — because it safeguards a principle: deference to an untouchable narrative. And once that principle is secured, anything becomes justifiable: through laws, resolutions, human rights courts — even in the name of democracy and justice.
It is a new form of faith: not in God or in truth, but in power itself, which absolves and celebrates itself.