The phrase “Israel has the right to defend itself” is one we frequently encounter in political discourse, especially in the context of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. This assertion is often voiced by governments, international organizations, and media outlets following instances of violence or military actions. The sentiment implies a natural and unquestionable right for a nation to protect its citizens and sovereignty, which, on the surface, is universally acceptable.
However, there’s a glaring omission in these conversations: we rarely hear similar proclamations about the right of Palestinians, Lebanese, Syrians, or Yemenis to defend themselves. This raises critical questions about whose rights are being recognized and why others are being disregarded. Are these people not worthy of the same acknowledgment?
The idea of “self-defense” in international relations is enshrined in Article 51 of the United Nations Charter, which allows countries to defend themselves if attacked. In theory, this right applies equally to all nations and peoples. Yet, when it comes to the Middle East, this principle often seems selective. Israel’s right to defend itself is almost universally affirmed, while the rights of other populations, particularly Palestinians, are often overshadowed, ignored, or dismissed.
In Gaza, for example, when Palestinians react to decades of occupation, military blockades, and recurrent airstrikes, their resistance is frequently framed as terrorism rather than legitimate self-defense. Similarly, in Lebanon, Hezbollah’s actions, despite arising in a context of resistance to Israeli incursions, are often condemned outright. Rarely does the international community consider whether these responses might also stem from a fundamental right to defend one’s home, land, and people.
The disparity in rhetoric points to an underlying issue of dehumanization. When we fail to recognize the right of Palestinians, Lebanese, Syrians, Yemenis, and others to defend themselves, we imply that their lives and well-being are somehow less valuable. The message becomes clear: certain populations are seen as deserving of protection, while others are not. This unequal treatment perpetuates cycles of violence, as it signals to oppressed groups that their suffering is not recognized, much less validated.
This dehumanization can also be seen in the media coverage of conflicts. The deaths of civilians in Gaza, Lebanon, or Yemen are often presented as unfortunate but inevitable outcomes of broader geopolitical struggles, rather than tragedies in their own right. In contrast, attacks on Israeli civilians often receive more immediate and emotionally resonant coverage, reinforcing the idea that some lives are more newsworthy, or even more grievable, than others.
The right to self-defense should be universal, applicable to all peoples regardless of their geopolitical standing or the power of their adversaries. Palestinians, Lebanese, Syrians, Yemenis, and others in conflict zones have the same human rights as anyone else. Acknowledging their right to defend themselves is not a justification for violence; it is a recognition of their humanity and their right to exist in safety and dignity.
The international community and media must reevaluate how they frame these conflicts, moving away from one-sided narratives that reinforce inequality. Justice and peace can only be achieved when all lives are valued equally, and when all people are afforded the same rights—including the right to defend themselves against aggression.
In the end, the question is not whether Israel has the right to defend itself—because it does—but whether we are willing to extend that same right to others. If we truly believe in human rights and international law, we must be consistent in our application of those principles. Otherwise, we risk perpetuating a dangerous double standard, one that continues to fuel resentment, violence, and instability.
