In recent days, much attention has been drawn to Omer Bartov’s powerful essay in The New York Times, where he—one of the most respected Holocaust historians of our time—declares, “I know a genocide when I see one.” The public response of his statement may seem like a sudden shift, but for those of us who have followed this conversation for years, it is not new. The debate around Israel’s actions in Gaza has long been active—among scholars, human rights lawyers, and people like myself, who care deeply about international justice, human equality, and historical accountability.
This blog is a reflection—both personal and political—on why the question of genocide in Gaza, while legally and symbolically important, can also risk distracting us from the devastating and ongoing violence against civilians, and why our collective gaze must widen beyond selective outrage. This should not divert attention from the fact that hostages are still held in Gaza, with their families desperately seeking their return; that the suffering of survivors of the October 7th attack continues; and that the trauma rooted in historic injustices against Jews remains very much alive. It should also not detract from the reality that antisemitism is on the rise. While these are deeply important issues, this blog does not focus on them directly, but rather on the broader legal and humanitarian dimensions of the conflict.
Why Naming Matters—and Why It’s Not Everything
The question of whether Israel’s actions in Gaza amount to genocide is now being asked more publicly, especially in Central Europe, where the discourse was for too long shaped by silence, caution, or outright deflection. Importantly, people like Omer Bartov (the Guardian), or Amos Goldberg (Jacobin) came to their conclusion already a year ago and while their articles were published in western newspapers already back then it is only now that the suffering seems to become so publicly unbearable that even the most pro-Israel governments can no longer turn a blind eye.
Acknowledging and respecting the communal trauma rooted in the Holocaust—and centuries of discrimination before it—as part of the foundation of Israel’s existence and of an Israeli Jewish identity free from the fear of persecution, has also been deeply important for many post-war Austrians, myself included. Not because we share this trauma, but because we inherit responsibility for it. Born in the 1980s, I grew up in a country where the Holocaust was no longer taught as something that happened elsewhere, but as a crime committed by our own predecessors. I read Primo Levi, Anne Frank, Viktor Frankl, Elie Wiesel—authors whose stories confronted us not only with unimaginable suffering, but with our national complicity. For many in my generation, this education shaped our understanding of what “never again” must mean: a commitment to human equality, to international justice, and to historical accountability. But it is precisely because of this legacy that it becomes so difficult to speak up today. Faced with the suffering unfolding in Gaza, many hesitate—out of fear of being seen as antisemitic, or as betraying this inherited duty to remember. And yet: how are we to make 'never again' a reality, if we remain silent in the face of injustice? The memory of the Holocaust should sharpen our sensitivity to atrocity—not paralyze it.
Recently, though, the term genocide has been completely politicized by the majority of advocates and opponents alike when it comes to Gaza. By centering the debate on whether or not what is happening constitutes genocide, we risk overlooking what matters most: putting an end—long overdue—to the suffering, killing, and destruction of life and environment in Gaza and the West Bank. Regardless of terminology.
Of course, this does not mean that scholars, international lawyers, courts, or witnesses should refrain from examining whether genocide, as defined by the 1948 Genocide Convention, is occurring. That legal and historical work remains vital—especially given the convention’s roots in the unimaginable crime of the Holocaust. But for politicians and activists, the priority must be the protection of life and the security of both Palestinians and Israeli Jews.
Sure, special diligence is needed when entering this highly contested field of criticizing the Israeli government or the IDF on how this war is conducted. The word antisemitism is always looming and self-censorship is the logical conclusion. The impossibility of reconciling the moral imperative of humanity with the horrors unfolding in Gaza and the West Bank, while also supporting Israeli security and combating antisemitism, is leaving many in a state of paralysis and silence. It creates polarization where cooperation is needed. And it distracts from the necessity of real political actions and the quest for a political solution in the long term.
Outside the traditional Western power centers—though it's important to differentiate, as countries like Spain and Ireland have long been vocal—the humanitarian situation in Gaza received serious attention early on. Their calls for justice, and their accusations of Western double standards, have been widely echoed and even contributed to South Africa's genocide case against Israel at the ICJ. In response, Western governments often dismiss these allegations by accusing those same countries of applying double standards themselves. While such accusations are not entirely unfounded, they are ultimately deflective and lead nowhere. I believe we must resist framing history as a sequence of atrocities that only "count" when they reach Western consciousness.
Between Srebrenica and Gaza, we have witnessed plausible cases of genocide in Myanmar against the Rohingya, and in Ethiopia, particularly in Tigray, where thousands of women were subjected to systematic sexual violence for the purpose of ethnic destruction (Genocide Convention Art II (b) Causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group; (c) Deliberately inflicting on the group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part; (d) Imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group).
The case in Myanmar is also open before the International Court of Justice for alleged genocide. There is no such case against Ethiopia because the ICJ only hears cases between states, and no state has brought a genocide case against Ethiopia related to Tigray. However, both remain largely ignored by global powers. The uncomfortable truth is that many states only speak up when the victims resemble them politically or culturally. That is not justice. That is (geo-)politics.
The Genocide Convention: A Tool of Law, Shaped by Power
When we invoke the 1948 Genocide Convention, we must also reckon with its limitations. The Convention was born in the aftermath of the Holocaust, but it was shaped—deliberately—by state interests. Cultural genocide was excluded, largely because the United States feared being accused of genocide against Indigenous peoples. Many states feared that a precise definition could be used against their own domestic or colonial policies. The legal threshold of intent to destroy, in whole or in part was made deliberately vague, and difficult to prove. And so we now find ourselves in the strange position of debating whether massive civilian suffering "qualifies" for a category, rather than acting to stop it.
From a legal standpoint, as of today, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) has ruled there is a plausible risk that Israel is committing genocide. This does not mean a definitive judgment has been reached—but under international law, all states are now obligated to take active steps to prevent such crimes. Those steps have not been taken. Meanwhile, the International Criminal Court (ICC) has issued arrest warrants for Prime Minister Netanyahu and former Defense Minister Gallant—not for genocide, but for war crimes and crimes against humanity. These are not symbolic acts. They represent the painstaking legal work of prosecutors who believe there is sufficient evidence to pursue accountability. These are also not convictions, only courts and independent judges in a fair trial could come to a conclusion. If we want to have any accountability for these most serious crimes, we must support these courts in their endeavor and refrain from political statements which are beyond the traditional understanding of power-sharing.
The Cost of Moral Exceptionalism
What troubles me deeply is not only the horror unfolding in Gaza, but the way Holocaust memory is being weaponized by Israeli leadership to justify its actions. As Avraham Burg recently wrote, “In Israel, history is not the background—it’s a weapon.” The destruction of Gaza is rationalized through an endless chain of national traumas. But trauma cannot excuse impunity. The atrocities of October 7th—brutal and inexcusable—do not justify the erasure of international law, nor the collective punishment of over two million people, many of them children. I recently read in a column of Hans Rauscher in derStandard that all recent genocides against Bosnians, Tutsi, Armenians, Jews or Roma and Sinti happened unprovoked. That there was no attack of Jews against Germans or Armenians against the Osmans. While this is obviously true, the argumentation also left me puzzled. Does this mean that a genocide or crimes against humanity can be provoked – in this case by a horrendous attack of a terror group like Hamas? What about the genocide against the Harare in Namibia which was executed after a rebellion of the Harare in 1904 against their colonizers?
Holocaust memory must be preserved in a way that safeguards the future and security of Jews, by honoring the unique trauma and the deeply rooted fear of repetition—feelings that many Jews experienced acutely after October 7th. Using it as a weapon to justify the occurrence of war crimes and crimes against humanity dishonors this memory.
Some argue that Jews and Israel must be treated as exceptional due to the past. I don`t follow that argument. Equality before the law is the very foundation of justice. To exempt Israel from scrutiny because of the Holocaust is to hollow out the very meaning of “never again.” Moreover, ignoring Israel’s actions today may do more to fuel antisemitism than honest, principled critique ever could.
A “Textbook Case” Few Want to Name
What is happening in Gaza most likely meets the Genocide Convention’s definition, if we assume that intent can be proven generally. The intent can be found not just in outcomes, but in words: repeated declarations by Israeli officials about the “total annihilation” of Gaza, and the dehumanization of Palestinians as “human animals.” These statements, when paired with actions—mass displacement, targeted killings, the destruction of infrastructure needed for survival—are not random. They are systematic and they are intentional.
And yet, the public and political conversation remains fixated on whether it’s “genocide or self-defense,” as if the two are mutually exclusive. This binary obscures more than it reveals. The insistence on a single term—genocide—can distract from the broader truth: that civilians are being bombed indiscriminately and disproportionally, repeatedly displaced and ultimately starved. That no state has the right to do this, no matter its history.
Whose Voices Are Missing?
One of the most glaring absences in this debate is the near-total erasure of Palestinian voices—both from those enduring the violence on the ground and from those with the knowledge and expertise to name it. We rarely hear from people living through the bombs, the displacement, and the grief. And we rarely hear from Palestinian scholars, historians, and legal experts, whose contributions are crucial to understanding the broader historical and legal dimensions of what is unfolding. At least in this part of the world.
These voices are not missing because they are silent—they are excluded, and in many cases, intimidated into silence. Especially in Israel, and increasingly in Western academic and policy spaces, Palestinians face a deeply hostile climate: speaking out can mean professional consequences, social ostracism, surveillance, or even legal repercussions.
The erasure of Palestinian voices—whether through censorship or self-censorship, institutional marginalization, or fear—is not accidental, but profoundly political. If we are to move toward any meaningful form of justice, Palestinian testimony and expertise must be centered—not as a gesture of “balance,” but as a matter of truth, accountability, and dignity.
Not a Conclusion
What is unfolding in Gaza forces us—not for the first time, but perhaps with more urgency than ever—to confront the limits of our legal, moral, and historical frameworks. We lean on definitions like “genocide” not only for precision but for moral clarity. And yet, the longer we argue over labels, the more the death toll continues to rise.
This is not to say that naming doesn’t matter. Legal categories can open paths toward accountability. But what matters more is whether our language leads to action—or paralysis. Whether it serves the dignity of the victims—or becomes a shield for the powerful. And an acknowledgement that Israelis and Palestinians are both victims.
We must reckon with the fact that the Genocide Convention itself, like so many instruments of international law, was shaped not only by memory and justice, but also by power, fear, and strategic compromise. We must reckon with the fact that Holocaust memory—so vital, so sacred, so crucial—can be used not just to remember, but to rationalize violence against others. And we must reckon with our own silences—when we fail to hear Palestinians speak, or fail to create the space for them to do so.
There is no moral clarity without moral courage. And courage means resisting the comfort of familiar narratives—whether they are about eternal innocence or eternal guilt. It means refusing to weaponize memory, even our most painful ones. It means insisting that no people—no matter their past suffering—are above the law.
Between Srebrenica and Gaza, between Tigray and Myanmar we find ourselves at a crossroads. Not of terminology, but of will to act in line with humanity.
It is a crisis of empathy, of attention, and of moral responsibility. And it raises important questions—not only about Israel or Palestine, but about all of us who say we believe in human equality, in justice, and in the basic principle that every life—Palestinian, Israeli, Jewish, Arab—holds equal value.
Further Reading:
Omer Bartov, “I Know a Genocide When I See One” (NYT, July 2025)
Amos Goldberg, “This is What Genocide Looks Like” (Jacobin, Nov. 2024)
Noura Erakat ,“The Gaza Genocide Denial” (Published in The Nation, 2024)
Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (UN 1948)
Hans Rauscher, „Der Völkermord-Vorwurf gegen Israel” (derStandard, July 2025
Mag. Stephanie Fenkart MA is Director of the International Institute for Peace (IIP) since 2016. She has an MA in Development Studies from the University of Vienna and an MA in Human Rights from the Danube University, Krems. She is furthermore a member of the Advisory Committee for Strategy and Security Policy of the Scientific Commission at the Austrian Armed Forces (BMLV). She is also a board member of the NGO Committee for Peace, Vienna.