In recent years, three expressions have become almost automatic in the international conversation about Israel: genocide, apartheid, and settler colonialism. They appear in headlines, on university campuses, at demonstrations, across social media, and in campaigns calling for boycotts of Israel. At times, repetition itself seems to have replaced examination of facts and legal definitions. Yet grave legal terms are not political slogans. They require evidence, context, and clearly defined legal elements.
Against that background, a new study by Gunther Jikeli of Indiana University and Philippe Karpe of CIRAD deserves close attention. The authors examine separately the three principal accusations directed at Israel and conclude that the evidence does not establish apartheid or genocide, while settler colonialism does not provide an adequate overall framework for understanding Zionism and the State of Israel. Their paper is not a court judgment, and it does not erase legal or moral disagreements. Its importance lies in demanding a return to definitions, evidence, and the burden of proof.
There is also a basic fact that cannot be removed from the story. The war in Gaza did not begin in a vacuum. It followed the Hamas-led attack of 7 October 2023, in which about 1,200 people were killed and 251 people were abducted into Gaza. Civilians, families, and communities were attacked alongside military targets. Any serious discussion of the war must begin with that reality, even when the discussion then turns to the enormous civilian suffering and destruction in Gaza.
A state has both a right and a responsibility to protect its citizens against armed attack. Article 51 of the Charter of the United Nations recognises the inherent right of self-defense. That right does not cancel the laws of armed conflict, and it does not exempt military conduct from scrutiny. But there is a fundamental distinction between examining the legality of a particular military action and denying Israel the right to act against an organisation that carried out a mass attack, abducted civilians, and continued to hold hostages.
The word “genocide” also requires precision. The Genocide Convention does not define every brutal war or every high civilian death toll as genocide. The legal definition requires, among other elements, a specific intent to destroy a national, ethnic, racial, or religious group, in whole or in substantial part, as such. The new study argues that, despite the immense suffering and destruction in Gaza, the evidence it examines does not establish that specific intent. That is a legal distinction of enormous importance, not a semantic exercise.
The study also addresses the accusation of apartheid. Within Israel, Arab citizens vote in national elections, serve in the Knesset, petition the courts, study at universities, and participate in medicine, business, and the public service. Inequalities exist, discrimination occurs in some areas, and there are profound disputes regarding the West Bank. The authors nevertheless argue that the existence of inequality, national conflict, or different legal arrangements does not by itself establish the legal elements required for the crime of apartheid.
This leads to a broader question. Is every part of the campaign against Israel still focused on criticism of policy, or has some of it become a campaign against the legitimacy of the state itself? Jikeli and Karpe warn that when the terms “apartheid,” “genocide,” and “settler colonialism” are fused into a single narrative, they can cease to describe specific alleged wrongs and instead become tools for stigmatising and delegitimising Israel as such.
There is nothing illegitimate about criticising the Government of Israel, military decisions, or policies towards the Palestinians. Israelis themselves do so every day. The problem begins when criticism becomes collective accusation, when Jews and Israelis abroad are treated as collectively responsible, and when political campaigns cross into antisemitic rhetoric, justification of violence, or blanket demands to boycott individuals, institutions, and businesses simply because of their connection to Israel.
Some anti-Israel campaigns use the civilian suffering in Gaza to advance broad boycotts of Israel, its universities, companies, artists, and cultural institutions. A distinction must be maintained between legitimate political protest and activity that denies Israel any right to exist or directs hostility towards Jews and Israelis as such. Not every criticism of Israel is antisemitic, but neither is every message presented as criticism of Israel automatically free of antisemitism. The line must be judged by content, context, and conduct.
The financial and political environment surrounding parts of this activism also deserves scrutiny. Qatar has become one of the largest foreign sources of reportable gifts and contracts to universities in the United States. Separately, United States sanctions and counterterrorism authorities have documented Hamas-linked financiers and financial facilitators operating in Qatar and Türkiye, as well as fundraising networks and front organisations used to support Hamas. In Türkiye, authorities have also identified entities and individuals accused of transferring funds for Hamas.
Pakistan presents a different picture. It has long expressed strong diplomatic and political support for the Palestinian cause and has taken sharply critical positions towards Israel in international forums. But political support and diplomatic activism are not the same as proof that the Pakistani government directly finances specific boycott organisations. If one criticises others for using slogans without evidence, one must not fall into the same trap.
The important lesson from the new study is not that Israel should be immune from criticism. On the contrary, a democratic state can be criticised, investigated, and challenged. But it is equally entitled to demand that the criticism meet the same legal and evidentiary standards expected elsewhere. There is no reason for the meaning of genocide to change merely because Israel is the accused, and there is no reason for the term apartheid to be applied according to a standard different from the one used in other cases.
Readers in India have a particular sensitivity to words such as “colonialism,” “national independence,” and “sovereignty.” India itself emerged from a struggle against actual foreign colonial rule. That history makes India an especially important place in which to ask whether the same template should automatically be imposed on the Jewish national movement, a people with a historical, religious, and cultural attachment to the Land of Israel extending over thousands of years and whose modern return also included large numbers of refugees fleeing persecution and mass murder.
The debate over Israel and the Palestinians will remain difficult, emotional, and deeply polarised. That is not a reason to abandon precision. It is a reason to demand more of it. The more serious the accusation, the higher the burden of proof should be. Israel can be criticised. Its policies can be disputed. Investigations and changes can be demanded. But when terms such as genocide and apartheid are used, the facts must meet the legal definition rather than the definition being reshaped to fit a predetermined narrative.
The struggle over Israel today is also a struggle over the meaning of words. When words become political weapons, facts and precision are not luxuries. They are the first line of defence for serious public debate and for the credibility of international law.