Beyond Perpetual Victimhood: Palestinians, Responsibility, and the Narrative of Destiny
"The Palestinian Exception to Responsibility Must End."
In the discourse surrounding the Israeli–Palestinian conflict, a prevailing narrative in the West portrays Palestinians as perpetual victims of history rather than agents of their own fate. This narrative often absolves Palestinian leaders and society of responsibility for political decisions and violent actions, instead casting them as powerless casualties of colonialism and Israeli aggression. Such an approach, however well-intentioned, raises a troubling double standard: it suggests that the Palestinian people should be treated as an exception to the principle of national responsibility. No nation or people can chart a path to statehood and peace by denying their own agency. This essay argues that Palestinians, like any other people, are ultimately responsible for their own destiny. The tendency to exempt them from this responsibility has not only undermined honest reckoning with historical choices, but also fueled extremist ideologies and antisemitic incidents in the West. A careful examination of Palestinian leadership decisions, from missed peace opportunities to alliances with violent factions, illustrates that perpetual victimhood is a narrative fiction – one that, when embraced uncritically by Western activists, can have dangerous real-world consequences. The Palestinian people should not be viewed as an exception to the rules of history and accountability. Instead, recognizing their agency is a necessary step toward a more truthful understanding of the conflict and a more constructive path forward.
The Principle of National Responsibility
Throughout modern history, nations and peoples have been held accountable for the decisions of their leaders and the outcomes of their collective choices. The principle of national responsibility suggests that while external forces and injustices may shape a people’s circumstances, ultimately their fate is also determined by their own actions, strategies, and leadership. Palestinians should be no exception to this rule. To insist otherwise is to apply a paternalistic double standard that implicitly diminishes Palestinian agency. It is indeed paradoxical – even patronizing – to champion Palestinian rights to self-determination on one hand, yet on the other hand to deny that their leaders’ decisions and popular choices play any role in their destiny. As one scholar observed, the prevalent attitude among some Western intellectuals amounts to a “soft bigotry of low expectations” that “absolves Palestinians, Palestinian leaders, [and] Palestinian organizations of all agency”insidehighered.com. In other words, by expecting nothing of Palestinians – not even basic prudence or condemnation of violence – this mindset inadvertently treats them as incapable of moral or political responsibility. Such a view is not a form of respect or solidarity; it is a form of condescension masquerading as empathy. True respect for the Palestinian people means acknowledging their capacity to make choices – including grave mistakes – and holding their national movement to the same standards of accountability that would apply to any other people. This does not mean ignoring the profound power imbalances at play, nor excusing external injustices they have endured. It means rejecting the notion that Palestinians are uniquely passive in their own story. Only by recognizing Palestinians as agents of their own fate – not perpetual children of circumstance – can we have an honest conversation about their past and future.
Lost Opportunities: A History of Rejected Offers and Self-Defeating Choices
History provides stark examples in which Palestinian leaders, pursuing maximalist goals or short-term passions, rejected viable opportunities for statehood and peace – often to the lasting detriment of their people. These moments illustrate that Palestinian destiny has been shaped not only by external actors but also by the choices of Palestinian leadership.
1947 – The UN Partition Plan: In November 1947, the United Nations proposed a partition of British-ruled Palestine into two independent states, one Jewish and one Arab. The Jewish leadership accepted the plan despite its compromises, effectively agreeing to the establishment of a Palestinian Arab state alongside Israel. The Palestinian Arab leadership, however, flatly refused. The Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, Hajj Amin al-Husseini – then the foremost Palestinian political figure – rejected the UN partition plan outright, foreclosing the two-state solution at its inception (besacenter.org). This fateful “no” led directly to war. When the State of Israel declared independence in 1948, Arab armies and Palestinian irregulars launched a catastrophic conflict that resulted in Israel’s survival and the disintegration of Palestinian society. Hundreds of thousands of Palestinians became refugees in what they call the Nakba (catastrophe). One can only speculate how different history might have been had the Palestinian leadership accepted the partition in 1947. What is clear is that a Palestinian state could have existed alongside Israel from the very beginning – encompassing a territory far larger than any subsequently offered – but this opportunity was squandered by the Palestinian leadership’s decision to reject compromise (besacenter.org). That choice, made in the name of absolute justice (or absolute victory), proved calamitous for ordinary Palestinians. It was an early instance of a pattern: “never missing an opportunity to miss an opportunity,” as one observer famously put it (besacenter.org).
Camp David 2000 – Arafat’s Rejection: Fast-forward half a century to another pivotal juncture. After decades of conflict, the Oslo Accords of the 1990s raised hopes for a two-state solution. By July 2000, U.S. President Bill Clinton convened Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak and Palestinian leader Yasser Arafat at Camp David to negotiate final-status peace. The talks produced what Clinton and Barak described as an unprecedented offer: a Palestinian state in Gaza and the vast majority of the West Bank, a capital in East Jerusalem, and a land-link between Gaza and the West Bank – with Israel withdrawing from settlements and territory to make it possible. The proposal fell short of 100% of the Palestinian demands (notably on the “right of return” of refugees and full sovereignty over Jerusalem’s Old City), yet it far exceeded any prior Israeli position. Arafat, however, summarily rejected these far-reaching concessions and never offered a counterproposal (besacenter.org). Clinton later recounted that Arafat seemed unwilling to accept “yes” for an answer. In the aftermath, rather than continuing negotiations, the Palestinian side – dominated by Arafat’s Fatah faction – resorted to violence. Within months of the failed summit, the Second Intifada erupted. This uprising – which Arafat himself called the al-Aqsa Intifada – was marked by suicide bombings and terror attacks that killed over 1,000 Israelis (mostly civilians) and thousands of Palestinians, devastating the very infrastructure of Palestinian society (besacenter.org). By the time the bloodshed subsided, the Palestinian economy and governance were in ruins, Israeli politics had shifted rightward, and the prospects of peace had dimmed. It is hard to imagine a more tragic example of self-defeating leadership: the chance for a negotiated state was lost, and Palestinians paid a grave price in lives and livelihoods. Arafat’s refusal at Camp David – like the Mufti’s in 1947 – reinforced a narrative of Palestinian rejectionism that has haunted the peace process ever since.
2005–2007 – Gaza: Withdrawal and Civil War: Another key moment came in 2005, though it was not a formal peace offer but a unilateral opportunity. That year, Israel withdrew all its forces and settlements from the Gaza Strip in a policy known as “disengagement.” The move, led by Prime Minister Ariel Sharon, was controversial within Israel; its aim was to reduce conflict and perhaps create conditions for renewed diplomacy. To Palestinians in Gaza, it presented a sudden test of governance: for the first time, they could govern a territory free of any Israeli civilian presence. The world watched to see if Gaza’s rulers would use this opening to build a peaceful model of statehood – investing in schools, infrastructure, and economic development – or if Gaza would become, instead, a launching pad for continued war. Unfortunately, the latter outcome prevailed. Almost immediately after Israel’s pullout, Palestinian militant groups (chiefly Hamas) intensified rocket and mortar attacks against Israeli towns across the border (besacenter.org). The militant factions vied with the Palestinian Authority for control, and by June 2007, the rivalry exploded into a brief civil war in Gaza. Hamas – an Islamist movement refusing to recognize Israel – violently ousted the Fatah-led Palestinian Authority and seized power in the Gaza Strip. From that point on, Hamas made Gaza a forward base for armed struggle: Iran-backed militias amassed weapons and fired thousands of rockets into Israel (over tens of thousands of rockets and mortars since 2007). Israel, in turn, imposed a blockade on Gaza and waged repeated military campaigns to suppress the rocket fire. The people of Gaza have since endured severe hardship under blockade, periodic wars, and repressive Hamas rule. Yet all of this was not inevitable. It originated in a series of Palestinian choices: the choice by militants to answer Israel’s withdrawal with violence rather than diplomacy, and the choice by Gazan voters in 2006 to elect Hamas (which won a surprise victory in that year’s legislative elections), followed by Hamas’s decision to stage a coup rather than share power. One cannot blame ordinary Gazans for yearning to be free of occupation – indeed, Israel did remove its occupation in Gaza – but holding power entails responsibility. The tragic fate of Gaza since 2005 illustrates how Palestinians’ own political decisions (in this case, embracing an extremist faction) directly molded their destiny, for worse. As Israel’s President Isaac Herzog bluntly remarked years later, after yet another Hamas onslaught: “It’s an entire nation out there that is responsible… They could’ve risen up, they could have fought against that evil regime” (washingtonpost.com). Herzog’s words were controversial, but they underscore a hard truth: the empowerment of Hamas was a decision from within Palestinian society, and its consequences have been borne by that society in spades.
2008 – Abbas Walks Away from Peace (Again): Despite the bloody setbacks of the early 2000s, another window for peace opened before the decade closed. In 2008, Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Olmert privately presented Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas with a comprehensive peace proposal. By many accounts, Olmert’s offer was even more generous than the Clinton Parameters of 2000: reports indicate it included nearly 95% of the West Bank plus land swaps for the remainder, all of Gaza, a shared arrangement for Jerusalem, and an international mechanism for refugees. It was, in Olmert’s words, a “painful” concession package for Israel – perhaps the most far-reaching offer ever put to a Palestinian leader. President Abbas, however, could not bring himself to sign. He hesitated and ultimately declined the offer, saying “the gaps were too wide.” Years later, Abbas candidly admitted what had long been reported: “I did not agree… I rejected it out of hand,” he said of Olmert’s 2008 mapcfr.org. In a 2015 television interview, Abbas confirmed that he walked away without even making a counterproposal – a decision strikingly reminiscent of Arafat’s stance in 2000 (cfr.org). Abbas’s defenders argue that Olmert was a lame-duck Prime Minister facing corruption charges, so the timing was ill-starred. Yet by refusing to formally accept or negotiate the plan, the Palestinian leadership once again missed a historic chance to secure statehood. Within months, Olmert was out of office, a hardline Israeli government took over, and the diplomatic horizon dimmed for over a decade. The pattern repeated: the Palestinian side shrank from compromise, and the window closed. Ordinary Palestinians in the West Bank, much like their brethren in Gaza, continued to live under a status quo of occupation and political stagnation – a status quo that their own leaders, by rejecting possible agreements, helped perpetuate.
“A Thousand No’s” – Ongoing Rejectionism: The above are just a few key examples in a long history of decisions that have negatively impacted the Palestinian people. One could add others: the Arab League’s infamous “Three No’s” at Khartoum after 1967 (no peace, no negotiation, no recognition of Israel), which the Palestinian leadership endorsed; the support Yasser Arafat gave to Saddam Hussein in 1990–91 (alienating Gulf Arab states and leading to the expulsion of hundreds of thousands of Palestinian workers from Kuwait); the consistent rejection by Hamas and some in the PLO of any normalization steps, even those that might improve Palestinian economic conditions. As recently as 2020, when the United States unveiled a new peace initiative (nicknamed the “Deal of the Century”), the Palestinian Authority rejected it sight unseen. President Abbas declared “a thousand times no, no, no to the Deal of the Century,” boycotting negotiations entirely (besacenter.org). It was a symbolic reprise of past attitudes, even if the plan itself was flawed and one-sided in Palestinian eyes. The cumulative effect of these choices has been to prolong the conflict and deepen Palestinian suffering. To acknowledge this is not to deny Israel’s role in the conflict or the many grievances Palestinians have. Rather, it is to state an uncomfortable but necessary fact: time and again, Palestinian leaders have made fateful choices that squandered opportunities for peace and statehood. Each such choice has contributed to a cycle of violence and loss that continues to this day.
Holding Palestinians responsible for these decisions is not “victim-blaming”; it is recognizing them as actors in history, not just passive subjects. Indeed, many voices within the Palestinian community and the broader Arab world have lamented these mistakes. Arab states like Egypt, Jordan, and the Gulf countries, which once toed a hardline in lockstep with the Palestinian leadership, have increasingly pursued their own peace or normalization with Israel in recent years – a sign of growing disillusionment with perpetual rejectionism. As one analysis noted, even traditional benefactors have tired of underwriting intransigence: Arab state donors have curtailed funding to the Palestinian Authority, frustrated that Palestinian leaders seem unwilling to take the hard steps for peace while continuing to depend on foreign aidbesacenter.org. All this suggests that the exemption of Palestinians from expectations of pragmatism is wearing thin. History’s verdict is harsh but clear: refusing responsibility for one’s choices does not make problems go away – it often makes them worse.
Western Narratives of Perpetual Victimhood
Despite this track record, a significant strand of Western opinion – particularly in activist and academic circles – has coalesced around a narrative that casts Palestinians solely as victims, with little or no agency in determining their plight. In this view, Palestinians are seen almost as objects of history, buffeted by colonialism, orientalism, Zionism, and imperial machinations, but never as subjects who make consequential choices of their own. All responsibility for the conflict is placed on Israel (or sometimes broadly on “the West”), while Palestinian actions are explained away as an inevitable reaction to oppression. This narrative has become dominant in many progressive activist movements and university campuses across the United States and Europe, to the point that it is often treated as orthodoxy in those spaces.
The contours of this worldview are familiar: it frames the conflict in a simple oppressor–oppressed binary. Israel is depicted as a foreign colonizer with overwhelming power, and Palestinians as indigenous, brown-skinned victims with essentially no power. Within such a moral framework, holding Palestinians accountable can seem heretical – almost akin to blaming a victim of abuse for their suffering. Thus, no matter what actions Palestinian factions take – be it launching rockets at civilians or walking away from negotiation tables – the reflex in these circles is to contextualize or excuse it as “resistance” or the understandable desperation of the powerless. Any scrutiny of Palestinian decision-making is quickly deflected with, “But what about Israel’s actions…?” or accusations that raising such points is parroting pro-Israel talking points. Over time, this has led to what some analysts call the “Palestine exception” in political discourse: the normal standards of critique applied to other movements or governments are suspended when it comes to Palestinians, out of a misplaced notion that expecting accountability from them is unfair (insidehighered.com).
Concrete examples of this narrative abound. Perhaps most striking was the reaction of some Western activist groups and student organizations to the Hamas terrorist attacks of October 7, 2023, in which Hamas massacred some 1,200 Israelis (mostly civilians) in southern Israel. While the world recoiled in horror at the brutality of the massacre – comparable in scale (relative to Israel’s population) to the 9/11 attacks in the United States – a number of pro-Palestinian voices in the West pointedly refused to condemn Hamas. Instead, they justified or rationalized the atrocity as the product of Israeli policies. On American college campuses, rallies and statements often pivoted immediately to the suffering of Palestinians in Gaza (who indeed would soon face a harsh Israeli military response), making no allowance for the sheer inhumanity of what Hamas had done. At Harvard University, for instance, a coalition of 34 student organizations infamously released an open letter as the attacks were unfolding, declaring that they “hold the Israeli regime entirely responsible for all unfolding violence” (reuters.com). The letter went so far as to say “the apartheid regime is the only one to blame” for the carnage, effectively absolving Hamas gunmen of any agency or guilt (reuters.com). This statement – asserting that Israel was solely to blame for its own civilians being slaughtered – encapsulates the most extreme form of the perpetual victimhood narrative. In the uproar that followed, many observers pointed out how morally skewed and dehumanizing such a stance was: it denied Palestinians even the dignity of moral choice, implying they are but reflexive instruments of historical forces. Prominent Harvard alumni and even the university’s leadership distanced themselves from the student letter, illustrating that this narrative, while loud, does not go unchallenged (reuters.com). Nonetheless, the fact that dozens of elite university groups and many activist circles found this reasoning acceptable speaks volumes about the intellectual climate.
Similarly, some activist organizations openly celebrated or excused Hamas’s actions under the banner of “resistance.” National Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP) – one of the largest pro-Palestinian student networks in the U.S. – lauded the October 7 attacks as “a historic win for Palestinian resistance,” framing the mass murder of civilians as a military victory to be cheered (adl.org). The same statement from SJP called for “armed confrontation with the oppressors” going forward (adl.org). These are not the words of fringe extremists; they represent a network present on countless campuses, influencing thousands of students. Such rhetoric demonstrates how the narrative of victimhood can mutate into explicit glorification of violence, so long as that violence is perpetrated by Palestinians. In this moral inversion, terror is tolerable when it’s the weapon of the ostensibly oppressed, and outrage is reserved not for the dead innocents but for the “context” that drove the perpetrators. Western activists who accept this framework have in some cases literally parroted Hamas propaganda points, describing atrocities as “legitimate resistance” or comparing them to anti-colonial uprisings of the past.
It is crucial to note that this narrative is not universally accepted in the West – far from it. It thrives in specific milieus: segments of academia, far-left activist movements, certain media and cultural circles. There is also a mirror-image narrative on the far-right that entirely demonizes Palestinians; that, however, is a different phenomenon, and it is not the dominant one among those who identify as pro-Palestinian advocates. The focus here is on how well-meaning progressive spaces have often slid into a form of patronizing one-sidedness. Even respected human rights organizations and scholars, in their earnest desire to highlight Israeli violations, sometimes omit or minimize any discussion of Palestinian militancy or political failures, as if mentioning these would weaken the case against Israel. The result is a profoundly skewed history and discourse. As Miriam Elman, a professor and director of an academic network against campus antisemitism, observed about many faculty statements on the conflict: “Where is the responsibility of Hamas? …There’s no mention of the unjustifiable and indiscriminate rocket attacks – how about one line to refer to that?” (insidehighered.com). The refusal to include even a token acknowledgment of Palestinian wrongdoing, she argues, treats Palestinians as if they have no moral agency – as if violence is simply expected of them and thus not worth commenting on (insidehighered.com). This, indeed, is the “soft bigotry of low expectations.”
The danger of the perpetual-victim narrative is not only that it falsifies history, but also that it can embolden the most extreme elements on the Palestinian side while undermining moderates. If Western activists signal that no matter what Palestinian hardliners do – even commit egregious atrocities – they will still be seen as blameless victims, it removes any incentive for introspection or change. Why should a Hamas leader feel pressure to moderate when student groups at Harvard or advocates in London will rationalize their most barbaric deeds as “necessary resistance”? Why should the Palestinian Authority reform corruption or hold elections when the international chorus will blame all Palestinian woes on Israel regardless? By denying Palestinians accountability, the West does not help them – it infantilizes them and gives cover to their worst leaders. It also tars legitimate Palestinian aspirations with the stain of extremism, making it easier for opponents of Palestinian statehood to claim that “the Palestinians never miss an opportunity to reject peace,” and that they are unwilling to live alongside Jews. In short, the narrative of perpetual victimhood has been a rhetorical boon for both the uncompromising militants on one side and the cynical hardliners on the other – while ordinary Palestinians and Israelis alike remain caught in a conflict without end.
When Narratives Fuel Violence: Antisemitism and Extremism in the West
Ideas have consequences. The portrayal of Palestinians as having no responsibility for their actions – as pure victims who must be avenged or defended at all costs – has increasingly migrated from campuses and Twitter feeds into the real world, sometimes with violent results. In recent years, Western countries have witnessed a disturbing spike in antisemitic incidents and attacks explicitly tied to anger over the Israel–Palestine conflict. Many of these incidents are fueled by individuals who have imbibed the narrative that Palestinians are under genocidal assault and that any measures taken “in solidarity” with them are justified. When people come to believe that Palestinians are not merely a wronged people but the ultimate righteous victims, they may also come to believe that their perceived oppressors (usually meaning Jews and Israelis, or those who support Israel) are ultimate villains deserving of punishment. The result is a frightening convergence of ideological fanaticism and age-old antisemitism, cloaked in the language of political activism.
Several recent events in the United States illustrate this dynamic with chilling clarity. In Boulder, Colorado, on June 1, 2025, a man launched a firebomb attack on a group of Jewish and pro-Israel demonstrators who were gathering to call for the release of Israeli hostages held by Hamas. According to authorities, the assailant – a 45-year-old named Mohamed Soliman – showed up at the peaceful rally armed with a makeshift flamethrower (a commercial weed sprayer filled with gasoline) and Molotov cocktail incendiaries (abcnews.go.com). He proceeded to douse the area in flames, shouting “Free Palestine!” as he tried to set people on fire (abcnews.go.com). Twelve people were injured in this horrific attack, which could easily have turned into a mass-casualty bombing. Law enforcement later revealed that Soliman had entered the U.S. from the Middle East and was motivated by extreme anti-Zionist views; he allegedly told investigators he “wanted to kill all Zionist people and wished they were all dead.” While he claimed he was targeting “Zionists, not the Jewish community,” the distinction is meaningless to the victims lying in the hospital. The Boulder flamethrower attack was widely condemned as an act of domestic terrorism. It did not occur in a vacuum: as ABC News reported, this was just one of many incidents amid a “dramatic increase in antisemitic and Islamophobic hate crimes across the nation” coinciding with the Israel-Hamas war’s spillover effects. In fact, less than two weeks prior, in Washington D.C., a gunman had opened fire outside a Jewish site while also yelling “Free Palestine,” killing two people in an episode that likewise appeared motivated by anti-Jewish hatred linked to Middle East events (abcnews.go.com). These attacks show how the fervor of the “Palestine” cause, when coupled with an absolutist victim-oppressor narrative, can tip over into lethal antisemitism. The attackers convinced themselves that violent retribution against random Jews or Israel-supporters in America was a justifiable – even noble – act in defense of Palestinians.
Another startling example took place in Pennsylvania in April 2025, when the official residence of Governor Josh Shapiro was firebombed. Governor Shapiro, notably, is Jewish and had been outspoken in condemning antisemitism and supporting Israel’s right to defend itself. In the early hours of April 10, a man later identified as 38-year-old Cody Balmer breached the security perimeter of the governor’s mansion in Harrisburg. He hurled Molotov cocktails into the residence, breaking windows and igniting a fire in the dining room and other areas (penncapital-star.com). Shapiro and his family, who had been asleep after celebrating the Passover Seder that evening, narrowly escaped after security officers evacuated them as the fire spread (penncapital-star.com). After his arrest, Balmer’s motives became shockingly clear. In a 911 call he made shortly after the arson, Balmer ranted that Governor Shapiro “needed to know” that Balmer “will not take part in [Shapiro’s] plans for what he wants to do to the Palestinian people.” He accused Shapiro of having his “friends” killed and said “our people have been put through too much by that monster,” referring to the governor. In other words, Balmer had apparently absorbed a conspiratorial belief that the Jewish governor was somehow orchestrating harm against Palestinians – a belief likely nurtured by extreme propaganda and narratives painting any Jewish leader supporting Israel as a genocidal enemy. Investigators later confirmed that Balmer’s attack was politically and antisemitically motivated: he was charged with terrorism and attempted murder, and evidence showed he had been consuming content about Palestine and saw Shapiro as a legitimate target due to the governor’s pro-Israel stance. Local Muslim organizations immediately condemned the arson (rightly noting that violence is not an acceptable form of protest), but they also expressed concern that Balmer’s twisted justification – tying a local Jewish official to the far-away conflict – could stoke Islamophobic backlash (penncapital-star.compenncapital-star.com). Governor Shapiro himself was careful in his public comments, but he did acknowledge the attack as part of a rising tide of hate tied to the conflict. The fire at Shapiro’s mansion thus stands as another grim testament to how the narrative of Palestinian victimhood, taken to an irrational extreme, can literalize into anti-Jewish violence on American soil. Balmer acted as if he were a combatant in the Middle East, striking a blow against an enemy of “his people,” when in reality he was nearly murdering an American family in their home because of a delusional narrative.
Beyond these headline-grabbing cases, the environment on many university campuses in the West has deteriorated, with pro-Palestinian activism at times crossing the line into outright antisemitic harassment. In theory, campus activism for Palestinian rights is focused on criticizing Israeli policies, which is legitimate in itself. In practice, however, the perpetual victim narrative and the intense emotions around the Gaza conflict have led to situations where Jewish students and those even perceived as pro-Israel have been intimidated, excluded, or even threatened under the guise of “anti-Zionism.” A dramatic incident occurred at Cooper Union, a college in New York City, in October 2023. During a tense protest following the start of the Israel–Hamas war, a group of Jewish students had to barricade themselves inside the school library for their own safety as an angry pro-Palestinian rally swirled around them. According to a lawsuit later filed, demonstrators stormed past security, pounding on the library’s doors and windows, chanting hateful slogans and waving signs with antisemitic messages (reuters.com). The trapped Jewish students feared for their lives as the mob outside shouted and beat on the glass for about 20 minutes. Shockingly, campus administrators allegedly did nothing to intervene during this ordeal, and even instructed police who arrived not to confront the protesters, effectively leaving the students unprotected (reuters.com). Video of the incident, which circulated widely, showed scenes eerily reminiscent of anti-Jewish pogroms of earlier eras – an impression not lost on a federal judge who later heard the case. “These events took place in 2023 – not 1943,” Judge John Cronan wrote, admonishing the college for failing its duty. In allowing a physically threatening mob action specifically targeting Jewish students, the judge noted, Cooper Union had arguably violated civil rights law by fostering a hostile environment. The Cooper Union incident is not isolated. According to reports, numerous U.S. campuses saw an uptick in antisemitic incidents after October 2023 – swastikas painted in dorms, Jewish students excluded from student government votes on Israel-related resolutions, verbal harassment and even assaults. The Anti-Defamation League documented hundreds of antisemitic incidents on college campuses in the months that followed. In some cases, rallies ostensibly for Palestinian human rights have featured chants like “Intifada, Intifada!” (invoking uprising) or slogans such as “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free!” – a call that pointedly implies the elimination of Israel. Many Jewish students hear these as calls for violence against Jews or the destruction of the world’s only Jewish state, and thus as fundamentally antisemitic. Pro-Palestinian activists often counter that they only oppose Zionism, not Jews, but the events at places like Cooper Union show how thin that line can become when passions run high. The narrative that Palestinians are complete victims and Israelis (or “Zionists”) are complete villains can easily morph into seeing all Jews as complicit in Palestinian suffering, thereby making any Jew a potential target for anger. This is textbook antisemitism, repackaged in political terms.
It is important to stress that not all supporters of the Palestinian cause condone such harassment or violence. Some pro-Palestinian groups in the West have explicitly condemned antisemitism and drawn lines against targeting Jewish people or glorifying terror. However, the broader climate created by absolving Palestinians of responsibility has undeniably emboldened those who are not only willing to act out violently, but who are actively looking for any excuse to do so. When activists chant “by any means necessary” in support of Palestine, there are always a few who will take it literally. And when moral guardians in media and academia fail to clearly denounce the murder of civilians or the harassment of Jewish neighbors – preferring instead to speak only of colonialism and resistance – it creates a permissive atmosphere for extremism. Each of the incidents above – from Colorado to Pennsylvania to New York – was fueled by the belief that attacking Jews or “Zionists” in the diaspora is somehow a righteous extension of the Palestinian struggle. This twisted idea does not emerge in a vacuum; it feeds on the rhetoric and narratives circulating in our society. As much as advocates of the perpetual-victim paradigm may deplore antisemitic violence, they must reckon with how their one-sided storytelling can serve as an accelerant for such hate. When you tell people day after day that Palestinians are facing genocide and that Israel (sometimes broadened to “the Jews”) is a monstrous, singular evil, eventually some people will feel justified to take drastic action against that perceived evil. In this sense, the narrative of Palestinian non-responsibility isn’t just an abstract intellectual position – it has real and dangerous fallout in pluralistic societies far from the Middle East.
Conclusion: Restoring Agency, Embracing Accountability
The central argument of this essay has been that Palestinians should not be regarded as an exception to the principle of national responsibility. They are not uniquely incapable of shaping their destiny, nor exempt from the cause-and-effect of political choices. Insisting otherwise – however sympathetic the intention – has proven harmful both to Palestinians themselves and to the broader global discourse surrounding their cause. It has encouraged Palestinian leaders to evade accountability, nurtured false hope that absolving one side entirely will bring justice, and fueled extremist currents that express solidarity through hatred. Reversing this dynamic requires a fundamental shift: a willingness by all parties, including Palestinians and their supporters, to reclaim Palestinian agency in both past and future.
What would a shift toward responsibility look like in practice? First and foremost, it would mean telling a more honest story of the Israeli–Palestinian conflict – one that acknowledges tragedy and injustice without erasing the moral agency of Palestinians. This entails educating about the missed opportunities and self-sabotaging decisions discussed earlier, not to assign blame for its own sake, but to learn lessons and avoid repeating them. For Palestinian society, embracing responsibility might involve openly grappling with questions like: Why have we not achieved statehood yet? Could different choices have led to a better outcome? How can we empower leaders who prioritize our children’s future over absolutist slogans? These are hard questions that have often been drowned out by the simpler chorus of victimhood. A new narrative would invite Palestinians to see themselves as protagonists with the power to change course, rather than as permanent pawns of others’ actions.
Within the Palestinian territories, a shift in responsibility could manifest as a push for better governance and reconciliation. It would mean holding leaders accountable for corruption and authoritarianism in the Palestinian Authority and Hamas-controlled Gaza. It might involve renewing democratic processes (stalled for far too long – the last Palestinian elections were in 2006) so that a new generation of leadership can emerge with a mandate to pursue diplomatic solutions and internal reforms. It could also mean a frank internal dialogue about the tactics of resistance: questioning whether armed struggle and maximalist rhetoric have yielded anything except devastation, and whether nonviolent strategies and compromise might better serve the cause of statehood in the long run. Crucially, embracing agency does not require renouncing the pursuit of Palestinian national aspirations – on the contrary, it means pursuing them more effectively, by making wiser choices. It means realizing that saying “no” to every proposal, or expecting the world to deliver one’s demands on a silver platter, has not worked and will not work. A people that owns its mistakes is a people that can also own its future.
For Israel and supporters of Israel, encouraging Palestinian responsibility would likewise be a positive step. It would involve tempering triumphalist narratives and recognizing that a sustainable peace necessitates a empowered Palestinian partner who can deliver on commitments. It means not undermining moderate Palestinian voices or foreclosing horizons through endless settlement expansion. It also means crediting the Palestinian public with the ability to make pragmatic choices if given a real chance. In the long run, Israel’s interest lies in a stable, self-governing Palestinian neighbor – and that can only emerge if Palestinians have the freedom and incentive to take responsibility for building their own state rather than perpetually deflecting blame. International actors, too, should recalibrate their approach: aid and diplomatic support can be tied to benchmarks in governance and peacemaking, rather than treated as entitlements regardless of action. Western activists and media can contribute by adopting a more nuanced narrative – one that centers Palestinian dignity not by infantalizing them, but by treating them as fully human actors, capable of both good and bad, wisdom and error. Respect for Palestinians means expecting from them what we would expect from any people: a commitment to strive for peace, a willingness to compromise for the sake of their children’s future, and a rejection of ideologies that glorify endless war.
In Western public life, a shift in narrative would also help reduce the kind of polarization and radicalism that has recently spilled into violence. If activists and opinion leaders presented a more balanced picture – acknowledging Palestinian suffering and the agency Palestinian leaders have in addressing it – it would undercut the absolutist worldview that fuels antisemitic rage. It is possible to fervently support Palestinian rights while also condemning Palestinian terror; to advocate for an end to occupation while also demanding that Palestinian factions choose diplomacy over violence. Indeed, such a principled, two-sided stance is not only possible but necessary if advocacy is to lead to solutions rather than endless strife. We have seen how one-sided solidarity that ignores one group’s flaws does not actually produce peace or justice; it produces backlash, entrenchment, and sometimes innocent people getting hurt in far-off places (whether a Jewish student in New York or a Jewish governor in Pennsylvania). A more responsible dialogue, by contrast, could open space for healing and mutual recognition – the very ingredients that have been missing for so long.
In reaffirming the central argument, we return to a simple truth: Palestinians are a people like any other, and thus neither angels nor demons, but humans with agency. They are capable of making choices that affect their collective fate. They have done so throughout history – for good or ill – and will continue to do so. Treating them as perpetual victims does not liberate them; it chains them to a narrative of helplessness. Moreover, it distorts the moral logic by which we judge all human conduct, breeding cynicism and extremism. Conversely, holding Palestinians to normal standards of responsibility is not an act of hostility – it is an act of respect. It affirms that they have the power to shape their destiny, and thus the power to change it for the better. As the old saying (often attributed to Abba Eban) goes, the Palestinians “never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity.” Perhaps the time has come for them to seize an opportunity – an opportunity to reclaim ownership of their cause and write a new chapter in their history. That will require courage, self-reflection, and yes, a willingness to accept less than the perfect justice they were promised by past ideologues. But other nations have done this and found that imperfect peace was better than endless perfect war. Palestinians are no different in their capacity for such bravery.
The world, especially the West, can help by no longer indulging the narrative that they are different – that they bear no responsibility for what befalls them. Instead, the world should encourage and empower Palestinians to take the difficult, but ultimately rewarding, path of accountability and compromise. Only by doing so can the cycle of victimhood be broken. Only by embracing responsibility can the Palestinian people become true masters of their own fate, rather than pawns in a story written by others. The road ahead, as always, will be hard. But a future of dignity and statehood will be forged by agents, not victims. The Palestinian people deserve to be seen – and to see themselves – as authors of their destiny, no longer exceptions to history’s lessons, but full participants in history’s making.