A World of Rights, With One Exception

Editor’s Note:

For this month's article, we interviewed Dr. Lior Sternfeld, a professor and board member of Academics for Peace, who offered insight into the historical roots of Zionism and the repeated failures of peace efforts in the region. We also want to thank Stella Rose, a former AJC Diplomatic Goldman Fellow, for sharing her insights on whether any common ground exists between Israeli Zionist movements and Palestinian Islamic Jihad, for helping us examine how radicalization at both ends of the political and ideological spectrum continues to hinder prospects for peace, and for emphasizing the importance of nuclear disarmament and the protection of civilians.

To Be Noted 

This piece was produced by a student-led team. We are HS and pre-university students who have a keen interest in global affairs. While we are not professional analysts, our work is grounded in careful research, critical questioning, and collective insight. We don’t claim to have all the answers, but we aim to ask necessary questions and invite our peers across different backgrounds into deeper thinking. We welcome constructive feedback via email!

Contributing Researchers and Writers: Ava st. June, Georgie Pringle, Lydia Sheppard, Tisha Rathod 

          Editor: Kenza Bannah 

If the modern world was built on the promise of universal dignity and the rule of law, why does the Palestinian reality remain an anomaly to that promise?

Image by Zaur Ibrahimov (Unsplash)

The belief that every person, simply by being human, possesses inherent rights is relatively new in human history. However, the roots of this idea can be traced back to older traditions and documents found across many cultures. It was the catastrophic violence of World War II, with its industrialized killing on an unprecedented scale, that ultimately propelled human rights into global consciousness and onto the world stage. For most of history, most individuals gained rights and responsibilities through their membership in a group, such as a family, tribe, religion, class, community, or state, rather than through their humanity alone.

In fact, many societies developed moral principles resembling the “Golden Rule”: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Across oral and written traditions, cultures created systems addressing duties, justice, and social order, along with mechanisms intended to protect the welfare of their members. Yet despite these moral frameworks, reality often failed to reflect the values they proclaimed. Throughout history, human dignity was frequently violated even in societies that professed justice and fairness. Similarly, long before laws sought to protect all people equally, individuals dominated others, stripped them of freedom, and exercised power over the vulnerable. Systems such as slavery in various regions were justified through economic interests, social hierarchies, or by distorted religious interpretations. Other forms of cruelty were driven by pride or the desire for control. The gap between moral ideals and human behavior was vast, and such acts were often normalized rather than recognized as moral failures.

Shortly after World War II, much of the world began redefining what should be considered intolerable. Actions once defended by governments in the name of security or stability came under scrutiny, exposing how states had justified harm as necessary for survival or order. Genocide – the systematic destruction of a group through killing, severe harm, or forced displacement – and collective punishment therefore became foundational to modern human rights standards, helping shape international laws and norms about what states are not allowed to do. As Stella Rose noted in our interview, nuclear deterrence has also shaped how states approach civilian protection. Yet the application of this moral consciousness of civilian protection in Palestine has been inconsistent. Since the establishment of Israel in 1948, Palestinians have experienced repeated displacement, bombardment and cycles of conflict that have produced severe humanitarian crises. Recent hostilities in Gaza have displaced approximately 90% of residents, while severe restrictions on food, medicine, and essential supplies have worsened civilian conditions. As a result, principles defining what is internationally unacceptable, such as collective punishment, forced displacement, and unequal systems of control, often exist more clearly in theory than in practice. In this context, peace proposals have repeatedly emerged over the decades, yet many have struggled to turn international principles into lasting political solutions.

In truth, it would be overly simplistic, almost to the point of distortion, to dismiss every peace initiative as inherently flawed. The historical record shows that proposals for peace have been plentiful. From UN Resolutions 242 and 194 to the Oslo Accords and the Abraham Accords, numerous initiatives have attempted to resolve or stabilize the conflict. Yet many preserved asymmetries of power, lacked enforceable mechanisms, or postponed core issues such as sovereignty, settlements, and refugee rights. As a result, negotiations often managed the conflict rather than resolving its structural causes. During the Oslo years, for example, settlement expansion in the West Bank continued even as negotiations moved forward. Palestinians were granted limited administrative authority in fragmented territories (Areas A and B) but not sovereignty. Control over borders, security, and resources remained under Israel. While the Abraham Accords normalized relations between Israel and several Arab states, they largely bypassed the Palestinian question rather than resolving it.

Earlier UN resolutions were no different. Resolution 194 addressed the question of refugee return. Resolution 242 called for withdrawal from territories occupied in 1967. Yet both lacked enforceability and clarity. Resolution 242, for instance, did not specify the full extent of withdrawal required, leaving room for prolonged interpretation and delay. Continued reliance on the partition logic embedded in United Nations General Assembly Resolution 181 likewise failed to confront the structural inequalities that would persist beyond drawn borders. Within all proposals, according to Dr. Sternfeld and many experts alike, international mediations have frequently favored Israel, partly because influential negotiators have close alliances with the country. The United States, for example, has often presented itself as a mediator while simultaneously serving as Israel’s principal military and diplomatic ally. Such mediation dynamics reflect broader patterns in international relations, where strategic alliances and military capabilities (including potential nuclear deterrence) shape how global powers approach conflict resolution. Then perhaps, the disregard for international law may ultimately stem from calculations and political optics that shape how humanitarian crises are weighed within international diplomacy. For instance, Israel’s longstanding policy of nuclear ambiguity has also shaped regional power dynamics. Hence, scholars of international relations often note that the fear of nuclear consequence can influence how far external actors are willing to challenge the status quo. This dynamic is visible when Israel crosses perceived “red lines” or when allies publicly express that they are “unhappy,” yet significant consequences rarely follow. 

As a result, the neutrality expected from mediators is often called into question. Above all, peace cannot simply mean the temporary reduction of violence signed on paper or shaped by favoritism. It must involve building conditions that prevent violence from recurring. Thus, as also highlighted by Dr. Sternfeld, genuine progress also requires international actors who are committed to protecting Palestinian interests by advancing proposals rooted in justice and the lessons of past failures. Nevertheless, each new initiative often proceeds as though the shortcomings of earlier proposals had not already been exposed.

This is evident in how the conflict’s resolution is frequently framed as beginning in 1967, with Israel’s occupation of the West Bank, East Jerusalem, and Gaza following the Six-Day War, or more recently as though the events of October 7th, 2023, constitute the origin point of the crisis. These framings compress history in ways that narrow responsibility later when peace proposals are made. The mass displacement of Palestinians did not begin in Gaza nor on October 7th. It began seventy-seven years ago during what is known as the Nakba. The word, Arabic for “catastrophe” or “disaster,” refers to the 1948 displacement of Palestinians during the Arab-Israeli War, when approximately 750,000 Palestinians were forced from their homes and hundreds of villages were depopulated or destroyed.

Even discussions of the one-state and two-state solutions increasingly appear detached from the political realities on the ground, as Palestine (comprising the West Bank and Gaza) is both politically and geographically fragmented. In the West Bank, the Palestinian Authority faces persistent criticism over its legitimacy, governance, and allegations of corruption. Meanwhile, in Gaza, Hamas is widely regarded as an extremist actor that advances its own political and ideological agenda. As a result of the lack of unified Palestinian representation, peace frameworks are often shaped more by political elites and external actors than by cohesive Palestinian leadership.  

Despite these divisions, international diplomacy has long centered on the idea of a two-state settlement. The two-state solution envisions an independent Palestinian state alongside Israel, usually based on pre-1967 borders. It remains widely supported internationally as a path toward mutual self-determination. Yet ongoing settlement expansion, territorial fragmentation, and restrictions on sovereignty raise serious doubts about whether a viable Palestinian state remains possible in practice. A state in name alone for Palestine would be an empty gesture; without control over its borders, airspace, natural resources, or security, it would merely formalize dependency on external powers rather than represent genuine liberation. Evidence from the region also raises questions about whether sovereignty alone guarantees safety. Israel has carried out military operations beyond its borders, including in Syria, Lebanon and more recently in Qatar, demonstrating that the formal sovereignty of neighboring states does not necessarily prevent external intervention. For this reason, even if a Palestinian state were established, sovereignty by itself might not ensure protection from future conflict or military pressure.

The one-state solution, by contrast, proposes a single political entity in which Israelis and Palestinians share equal citizenship and legal rights. On paper, it aligns with democratic equality and universal human rights. Advocates argue that equal law under one government is the only framework that fully aligns with modern principles of dignity. Critics in Israel and the West argue that fears of the Israel state dissolution or its citizen displacement make a one-state transformation politically improbable. The one-state solution is often described as utopian despite its egalitarian premise. Yet the two-state model, given present realities, is increasingly described in the same way.  

But in all honesty, these different proposals cannot be fully understood without examining the history of Zionism as a political project rather than as a monolithic identity. In contemporary political discourse, debates surrounding Zionism, criticism of Zionism (often described as anti-Zionism), and antisemitism have become increasingly intertwined, as moral conflict has emerged between different modes of thought over how antisemitism should be defined. In principle, antisemitism describes discrimination, prejudice, or hostility directed toward Jews as a religious or ethnic group. Anti-Zionism, by contrast, generally refers to criticism of the current policies of the Israeli state toward Palestinians. Antisemitism remains a persistent form of hatred that must be unequivocally opposed. Distinguishing antisemitic prejudice from criticism of state policy is therefore essential for protecting Jewish communities while preserving space for legitimate political debate.

In particular, tensions can arise when Jews and the State of Israel are treated as interchangeable. In such situations, debates about antisemitism and anti-Zionism can become intertwined, especially as the Israeli government has a political interest in defining anti-Zionism as a form of bigotry. As a result, this interplay is important to separate because many people sincerely believe that antisemitism and anti-Zionism describe the same phenomenon without recognizing the possibility that these concepts can be used in ways that blur important distinctions in public debate. Examining Zionism historically is therefore imperative. Although it emerged initially as an ideological movement, it later developed into a political project seeking Jewish national self-determination in response to widespread antisemitism and exclusion. Early Zionist thought contained diverse ideological currents, including visions of binational or shared political arrangements in Palestine. However, the dominant strands of the movement ultimately prioritized Jewish sovereignty and statehood. In practice, debates often centered less on whether the existing Palestinian population would be incorporated as political equals and more on how territorial control could be secured. Contemporary settlement expansion in the occupied territories reflects the continuation of these structural priorities within Zionism. As emphasized by Dr. Sternfeld, what ultimately matters is not how Zionists describe themselves, but how Palestinians experience the movement through state-sponsored violence, land appropriation, and restrictions on freedom.

For instance, following the Six-Day War in 1967, Israel expanded its control over the West Bank, East Jerusalem, and the Gaza Strip, exercising varying degrees of authority over millions of Palestinians who were not granted full political rights within the state that governed significant aspects of their lives. Israeli officials reject characterizations that describe this system as apartheid, while several international human rights organizations have used that term to describe aspects of the current situation. Hence, without clearly distinguishing antisemitism from anti-Zionism, debates about nationalism, occupation, and human rights risk becoming constrained by definitional disputes rather than engaging with the underlying historical and political realities affecting the lives of millions of people.

All this brings us back to the central question: if the modern international order presents itself as grounded in universal dignity, human rights, and the rule of law, why does the Palestinians' reality remain an exception? International law prohibits prolonged occupation, collective punishment, and the deliberate starvation of civilians. Yet the reality imposed upon the Palestinians by Israel is widely disregarded as the ‘norm’. Part of the explanation may lie  in the political dynamics surrounding criticism of Israel. In some contexts, criticism of Israel or Zionism has been linked to antisemitism under certain definitions, which has created pressure on institutions, policymakers, and public figures. As a result, some actors may hesitate to openly challenge Israel out of concern that their criticism could be interpreted as antisemitic.

Strategic considerations may also play a role. Israel's policy of nuclear ambiguity, neither confirming nor denying possession of nuclear weapons, has long been noted by scholars as a factor in regional power dynamics. The potential of nuclear deterrence can discourage confrontation and shape how far external actors are willing to intervene. At the same time, diplomatic caution alone cannot fully explain the continuity of the conflict that sustains it. While geopolitical calculations shape how the international community responds, they do not fully account for the internal political, historical, and ideological dynamics that influence policies on the ground.

As it stands, Israel’s definition of itself as a state grounded in Zionism, particularly in its contemporary state-centered form, prioritizes maintaining a permanent Jewish demographic majority. In this view, that priority has shaped policies affecting land allocation, citizenship, mobility, and political participation. When a state creates a hierarchy of rights in which one group is legally privileged over another,  the dignity of the marginalized group, in this case Palestinians,  is undermined, generating cycles of resentment. Violations of dignity through discrimination and repression often produce the very conflicts that later peace agreements attempt to manage.

It is true that inequality exists in many societies and nations, but the durability across different Palestinian territories has become normalized, with no foreseeable changes that would substantially improve the situation. Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip live without sovereign statehood, while Palestinian citizens of Israel experience a different legal and political status. Refugees displaced since the 1948 Arab-Israeli War largely remain without resolution, meaning many still lack a permanent political or legal solution to their status. These differing lived political conditions create a population that is neither sovereign citizens of their own independent state nor equal participants within the Israel state that exercises significant control over much of their territory.

Thus, it is not naive to argue for the concept of unity; however, it may be naive to argue that Zionism and full equality (meaning equal rights for Palestinians) can coexist within the current structure of the State of Israel. Similarly, Dr. Sternfeld, when discussing the conditions necessary for a successful resolution, emphasized that ‘it requires good faith on behalf of the leadership… [and] as long as the Israeli leadership remains the same… no solution is possible.’”

Nevertheless, time from the past shows that unfair systems can change when people continue to work and apply pressure against structures built on racial or ethnic hierarchy. For instance, the dismantling of apartheid in South Africa did not result from internal moral awakening alone. It followed years of coordinated international sanctions, cultural boycotts, divestment campaigns, and legal accountability measures. In 1977, the United Nations Security Council imposed a mandatory arms embargo, while corporations, universities, and artists cut ties with the regime. Some argue that similar mechanisms under the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court, could be applied today. Critics, however, warn that such measures might intensify polarization. But hesitation also begs the question of whether the international legal order applies its standards consistently or selectively. If a government carries out actions openly with little to no repercussions, citizens and observers begin to question whether the system meant to hold it accountable is actually working.

What is noteworthy is that members of the Government of Israel have signaled resistance to reforms that would fundamentally alter the Zionist state’s current structure.  As it presently stands, the system prioritizes one national group while marginalizing other inhabitants living in the region. In many contexts, civic nationalism, which is grounded in shared political institutions and territorial belonging rather than ethnic heritage, has proven more inclusive and stable. For instance, history demonstrates that racial hierarchies and systems of ethnic segregation within political structures are not immutable. If Palestine remains an exception to that pattern of change, it is because the international legal order has not been willing to apply its standards grounded in universal dignity consistently.

But above all, actions often carry more weight than condemnation, infographics, or symbolic calls for ceasefires and resolutions from global leaders. That said, ceasefires are essential; they save lives. But ceasefires alone cannot dismantle structural inequality. Nor would structural reform necessarily mean erasing Israel or denying Jewish collective rights and safety. South Africa did not cease to exist when apartheid ended; its white population was not expelled. Political transformation did not require national disappearance. Similarly, redefining political legitimacy around equal rights would not necessitate the erasure of Jewish or Palestinian identity. 

Ultimately, if the international system is truly committed to universal human rights, any lasting resolution must prioritize equality and dignity for both Israelis and Palestinians. Without dismantling structures that institutionalize hierarchy, peace agreements risk becoming temporary pauses in a recurring cycle of conflict. As Dr. Sternfeld similarly points out, peace built on unequal structures is inherently unstable; therefore, meaningful structural reforms must prioritize dignity and self-determination for all parties. Whether through one state, two states, or another constitutional arrangement, any sustainable resolution will require equal civil and political rights. Anything less would expose the limits of the global commitment to universal dignity and the rule of law.