Why Is the Humanity of Jews So Easily Denied?

It is an appalling and inescapable fact that in our so-called enlightened age, Jews remain the perennial exception to the rule of universal compassion. In an era where the banners of tolerance, diversity, and human rights are flown with righteous pride, how is it that the humanity of Jews is still so casually and routinely denied? Why is it that those who preach inclusivity, who rail against bigotry with such fervour, so often find themselves unwilling or unable to extend the same decency to Jews?

Let us be clear: this is not a matter of mere oversight or benign neglect. It is a deliberate and pernicious double standard that has been cultivated, nurtured, and rationalised over centuries. The intellectuals who implore us to recognise the humanity of every person, to see beyond the superficialities of race, religion, or creed, somehow stumble when it comes to the Jew. The activists who demand justice for every oppressed group, who call out the horrors of racism and xenophobia in all their forms, too often fall silent, or worse, become complicit, when the victims are Jews.

One must ask, and ask with some urgency: why? What is it about the Jew that makes him the eternal outsider, the perpetual target of hatred, the convenient scapegoat for all the world’s ills? Why does the figure of the Jew provoke such unease, such discomfort, that even the most ardent advocates of human rights can turn a blind eye to his suffering?

The hypocrisy is staggering, and it is high time we confronted it. How can those who so diligently stand against racism, who ask of others to exercise compassion and to see in others the common humanity that unites us all, so easily deny Jews their own? How can they, with one breath, proclaim the sanctity of every human life, and with the next, question the right of Jews to live free from fear and persecution?

The denial of Jewish humanity is not a new phenomenon. It is an old and ugly tradition, one that has adapted and survived through the ages. Today, it often masquerades as political critique, particularly in the form of anti-Zionism. But make no mistake: when the legitimacy of the Jewish state is singled out for unique and relentless attack, when the very right of Jews to self-determination is questioned, we are not dealing with mere political disagreement. We are witnessing a modern iteration of a very ancient hatred.

And yet, those who should know better—those who have dedicated their lives to fighting prejudice—remain blind to this reality. They invoke the language of human rights, of solidarity with the oppressed, but they refuse to see the Jew as a victim. They speak of the horrors of racism, but they hesitate, they equivocate, when antisemitism rears its head. They are quick to condemn injustice in all its forms, except when it comes to Jews. Why?

Is it fear? Fear of being associated with a cause that has become controversial, fear of being labelled a Zionist, fear of stepping outside the comfortable consensus? Or is it something deeper, something more insidious—a lingering, subconscious belief that Jews, alone among the peoples of the earth, do not deserve the same sympathy, the same compassion, the same recognition of their humanity?

These are uncomfortable questions, but they must be asked. And they must be asked of those who claim to be the guardians of tolerance and human rights. If you are willing to stand against racism, if you are committed to the cause of equality and justice, then you cannot, you must not, turn a blind eye to antisemitism. You cannot allow the humanity of Jews to be denied, not in your name, not on your watch.

To those who have remained silent, or who have hesitated to speak out: what are you afraid of? Are you afraid of the backlash, the accusations of bias, the loss of credibility? Or are you afraid of confronting a truth that is as old as history itself—that antisemitism, or its new iteration, anti-Zionism, is not just another form of prejudice, but a unique and enduring hatred that has poisoned the well of human civilisation for millennia?

The time for equivocation is over. The time for silence is over. If we are to be true to our principles, if we are to genuinely stand for the humanity of all people, then we must confront antisemitism head-on, wherever it appears. We must recognise that the denial of Jewish humanity is not just a Jewish problem; it is a problem for all of us. It is a stain on our collective conscience, a betrayal of the very ideals we claim to uphold.

So I ask again: why is the humanity of Jews so easily denied? And more importantly, what are you going to do about it?

The answers to these questions will determine whether we are truly committed to the cause of human dignity, or whether our proclamations of tolerance are nothing more than empty rhetoric. The choice is yours. The choice is ours.