A people that oppresses another cannot itself be free — Friedrich Engels
ZIONISM is racism. I state this plainly, not to provoke, but as a conclusion drawn from history, lived reality, and the political structure that has emerged in what is now called Israel. I am not interested in diluting this claim to make it more comfortable, nor in softening its edges to invite polite debate. Some ideas demand clarity, not compromise.
Zionism presents itself as a movement for Jewish self-determination. In isolation, that principle sounds reasonable — all people should have the right to shape their political future. But no political project exists in isolation. Zionism did not emerge in an empty land, and it did not unfold without consequence. It took root in a place where other people already lived, and its realisation required their displacement, their fragmentation, and their continued subordination.
The events of 1948 are not a tragic misunderstanding or an unfortunate byproduct of state-building. They are central. Hundreds of thousands of Palestinians were expelled or made to flee their homes, entire villages were destroyed, and a society that had existed for generations was systematically dismantled. Palestinians remember this as the Nakba — “the catastrophe” — and that name is not rhetorical exaggeration. It is an accurate description of a foundational rupture that continues to shape every aspect of Palestinian life.
What followed was not a temporary injustice but the consolidation of a system. Land laws, citizenship structures, and state policies were crafted in ways that privileged Jewish identity while marginalising Palestinians, whether they remained within the borders of Israel or lived under military occupation in the West Bank and Gaza. This is not incidental. It is the logical outcome of a state built to maintain a demographic and political majority for one group over others.
Supporters of Zionism often argue that it is not racism but national liberation — a response to centuries of persecution culminating in the Holocaust. That history is undeniable and horrific. The genocide of European Jews stands as one of the greatest crimes in human history. But historical suffering does not grant moral exemption. It does not justify the dispossession of other people, nor does it transform inequality into justice. If anything, it should deepen the commitment to universal rights, not narrow them.
To point this out is not to deny Jewish history or identity. It is to reject the idea that safety for one people must be built on the exclusion or subjugation of another. A political ideology that enshrines ethnic or religious preference into law – especially in a land shared by multiple communities — cannot be reconciled with genuine equality. When rights are distributed based on identity, discrimination is not a flaw in the system; it is the system.
This reality is visible not only in historical events but in present-day structures. Palestinians in the occupied territories live under military rule, subject to restrictions on movement, access to resources, and basic civil liberties. Within Israel itself, Palestinian citizens face systemic inequalities in areas such as land allocation, housing, and political power. The fragmentation of Palestinian identity — into citizens, residents, refugees, and those under occupation — is not accidental. It is a method of control.
Language often obscures these realities. Terms like “security,” “conflict,” and “disputed territories” create the impression of symmetry, as though two equal sides are engaged in a balanced struggle. But the lived experience tells a different story: one of power and dispossession, of a state with overwhelming military and political dominance over a stateless people. Naming that imbalance matters because without it, injustice can be reframed as inevitability.
Some challenge this system from within. Voices like Miko Peled—an Israeli raised within the Zionist establishment—have come to reject the ideology precisely because they see its consequences. Their critiques are not born of ignorance or hostility but of proximity and reflection. They demonstrate that opposition to Zionism is not synonymous with hostility toward Jews; it is a political and ethical stance against a specific system of power.
Critics of this position often respond by labelling it extreme or unfair. They argue that Zionism has multiple interpretations, that it can be reformed, or that it simply expresses the desire of a people to live in safety. But the question is not what Zionism claims to be in theory. The question is what it has produced in practice. And in practice, it has created and maintained a reality in which one group’s rights and freedoms are structurally elevated above another’s.
If we apply the same moral standards we claim to uphold elsewhere — opposition to segregation, to ethno-national supremacy, to systems that privilege one group over another — then the conclusion becomes difficult to avoid. When a state defines itself in ways that systematically advantage one identity, disadvantaging others, it enters the realm of discrimination. When that discrimination is entrenched in law, policy, and daily life, it is not incidental. It is foundational.
This is why I say that Zionism is racism. Not as an insult, but as a description. It names a system in which identity determines rights, in which history is used to justify inequality, and in which the pursuit of one group’s security has come at the cost of another’s freedom.
There is a tendency to treat such statements as beyond the bounds of acceptable discourse, to insist that they are too harsh, too absolute, too divisive. But discomfort is not the same as inaccuracy. If anything, the resistance to naming the problem reflects how deeply normalised the system has become.
No system built on inequality can last without resistance, and no injustice has ever been resolved by refusing to name it. If we believe in dignity, equality, and freedom as universal principles, then they cannot stop at the borders of Palestine, nor be conditional on identity. The choice is not between politeness and truth — it is between maintaining a system of domination or confronting it honestly. I choose honesty. And honesty demands that we say it without hesitation, without dilution, and without apology: Zionism is racism.
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Ranjan Solomon is a writer, researcher and activist based in Goa. He has worked in social movements since he was 19 years of age. The views expressed here are the author’s own and Clarion India does not necessarily share or subscribe to them. He can be contacted at ranjan.solomon@gmail.com
