The Politics of Applause

The announcement of the award given to the documentary NAZA made me reflect. But ultimately, perhaps it is not the award itself that raises the most questions. It is the twenty-five minutes of applause that followed the screening.

Twenty-five minutes.

At that point, are we still simply applauding a film? Or are we also applauding what it represents?

This question matters because the war in Gaza has increasingly become more than a military and political conflict. It has also become a moral dividing line, particularly in parts of the Western cultural world.

Let us be clear. One can criticize the way Israel has conducted the war in Gaza. One can question certain strikes, the very high number of civilian casualties or the rules of engagement of the Israeli army. One can demand investigations into particular decisions and, if violations or serious mistakes are established, ask that those responsible be held accountable.

All of this is legitimate.

But there is an important difference between saying that mistakes or violations may have been committed and claiming that an army deliberately organized the destruction of a population.

That difference is called proof.

NAZA relies in particular on testimonies from Israeli soldiers and intelligence personnel. These testimonies deserve to be heard and taken seriously. They may raise disturbing questions and justify further investigation.

But do they, by themselves, demonstrate the existence of a general policy decided by the Israeli army and deliberately aimed at civilians? That is a different question.

A documentary can reveal facts. It can expose testimonies. It can challenge an official narrative. It can trigger investigations and raise questions that governments or institutions would prefer to avoid.

But a documentary is not a court. Nor is it a judicial investigation or an independent military assessment.

That is why the twenty-five minutes of applause are so interesting.

Imagine the scene. An entire audience stands. Five minutes pass. Then ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

At what point does applause for a film become something else? At what point does it become a collective political statement?

There is also a very simple human dimension. When an entire room stands and shares the same emotion, it becomes difficult for one individual to sit down. Who wants to be the first to break the collective moment?

This does not mean that the people applauding were insincere. They may have been deeply affected by the images, the suffering and the testimonies presented on screen.

But individual emotion can gradually become collective emotion. And collective emotion can become political symbolism.

Does that mean that everyone who applauded for twenty-five minutes is anti-Zionist? Of course not. That would be far too simplistic.

One can support the Palestinian cause, be horrified by the suffering in Gaza and strongly criticize the Israeli government without rejecting Israel’s existence or becoming hostile to Israelis as a people.

But something nevertheless seems to have changed.

In part of the Western cultural and intellectual world, Israel appears to have lost what might be called the benefit of the doubt. Accusations that once would have required lengthy debate, verification and investigation can now sometimes be accepted almost immediately because they fit an existing moral narrative.

This is where the issue becomes broader than Israel itself.

I would therefore be cautious with expressions such as “anti-Israeli right-thinking.” I would rather speak of a form of moral conformism.

In certain circles, support for the Palestinian cause has become more than a political position. It can also become a way of demonstrating which moral side one belongs to.

The danger begins when asking for evidence becomes suspicious.

Saying “let us verify this” does not mean defending Israel. Asking for proof does not mean denying Palestinian suffering. And recognizing the immense suffering of Gaza’s civilians does not require accepting every accusation made against Israel without examination.

These positions are not contradictory.

Yet this is precisely the nuance that risks disappearing.

There is a difference between a terrible war, serious military mistakes, possible violations of international law, possible war crimes and the accusation that a state or an army has adopted a deliberate policy aimed at destroying a population.

Each of these accusations carries a different legal and political meaning. They therefore require different levels of evidence.

We cannot simply erase those distinctions because the images are unbearable or because public emotion is overwhelming.

This is ultimately what those twenty-five minutes of applause made me think about.

The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is no longer only a conflict to be studied through military operations, diplomacy, international law or regional strategy. In some Western circles, it has also become a conflict in which individuals are increasingly expected to demonstrate which side they are on.

And once belonging to the “right” moral camp becomes more important than examining the facts, serious debate becomes extremely difficult.

Emotion is legitimate. It is even necessary when civilians are suffering.

But however powerful that emotion may be, it should never replace something much simpler and much more demanding:

PROOF.