If they come for them in the morning… Why Palestine is an everything issue

Introduction

The ongoing genocide in Gaza has renewed global focus on Zionism and the oppression of Palestinians by the state of Israel. While Western public opinion is overall shifting in support of Palestine (Smith, 2024; Doha Institute, 2025; Silver, 2025), many Western governments still express support for Israel. This continuous endorsement is partially sustained by Israel’s self-styled image as the only liberal, progressive, and democratic country in the region.

This essay focuses on the works of queer and feminist Palestinian activists both in their homeland and in the diaspora, examining how they and their global and Israeli allies use visibility as a tool to challenge Israeli state narratives and present a more nuanced, realistic portrayal of Palestinian society and the oppression Palestinians experience under Israeli rule. It explores themes of solidarity, pinkwashing, and Orientalism, affirming that Palestinian accounts matter and asking how international, especially white, outsiders can offer meaningful support during these troubled times and beyond.

Specifically, the essay first analyzes Israel’s co-optation of gender and sexual rights discourses to sustain its international legitimacy, then explores how Palestinian queer and feminist activists resist this framing by contextualizing their struggles within the broader realities of occupation and colonialism, and finally considers the responsibilities of global allies to avoid reproducing colonial logics and to support Palestinian agency.

The central argument is that standing for Palestine means standing up for many issues affecting oppressed peoples in today’s world order. It means unconditional support for racialized and queer people by exposing how Israel’s international legitimacy has long been sustained through its co-optation of gender and sexual rights discourses. Additionally, it means recognizing that Palestinians have actively been oppressed and their progress inhibited by forces of neoliberalism and the rise of right-wing powers, and that these forces affect peoples in post-colonial countries everywhere. For outside observers, understanding this activism and the complex social realities of the Middle East is essential to avoid reproducing colonial logics and to fulfill their potential as genuine allies. Misreading these dynamics risks reducing Palestinian activists to helpless victims in need of Western rescue, erasing their agency and political leadership.

How the oppression is justified: Orientalism, Homonationalism, and Neoliberalism

Orientalism

Israel has cultivated an image as the “only democracy in the Middle East” and a “gay haven,” embodying the ideal of a Western, liberal democracy that respects minority rights. This image builds on Orientalist constructions developed by European colonial powers long before Israel’s establishment. 

As Edward Said (1977) argued, the West has historically portrayed the Middle East as magical, animalistic, mystical, static, and primitive in antithesis to the rational, evolving, democratic, secular, and civilized West. Dominating historical and political discourse, Europe and the US have positioned Israel as “one of them,” while Palestine remains othered, depicted as backward and in need of civilization.

I argue that this image ultimately led to the 1948 Nakba (catastrophe) and the acceptance thereof by the West. The Nakba not only marks the beginning of Israel’s colonial rule over Palestinians, but the displacement of 700,000 Palestinians and the consequent division of Palestinian society. Palestinian societal structures were completely altered and previous efforts to organize against colonial rule or women’s activism were disrupted (Kuttab, 2012; Fleischmann, 2003). Recognizing the link between Orientalist ideas and their impact on colonized societies clarifies that Orientalism does not simply distort Western perceptions of the world, it actively shapes the material conditions under which (formerly) colonized people live and organize. In the urgent context of the Gaza genocide, it is critical to recognize how depicting Palestinians as “less civilized,” or even “bestial,” serves to justify the deaths of hundreds of thousands (Alqaisiya, 2024).

Postcolonial Feminism

The stereotype of the conservative, patriarchal, and overly religious (Muslim) Arab man exemplifies Orientalist tropes scrutinized by postcolonial feminist scholars. Thinkers such as Chandra Talpade Mohanty (2003) and Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak (1988) show how such narratives erase the complexities and agency of local people, reducing the “Third World woman” or queer individual to an oppressed victim in need of Western salvation. In this framing, Palestinian women and queer people are often imagined as passive recipients of Western/Israeli liberation rather than active agents shaping their own futures.

This framing of Arab women as defenseless is contradicted by Arab women themselves. Arab feminism dates back to the early 20th century and Palestinian women have been actively struggling against patriarchal oppression since the 1920s (Fleischman, 2003). 

Palestinian women’s active involvement even went so far as deciding to go to take up arms, thus directly contradicting Western perceptions of them and societal norms that did reserve violent struggles to men. 

In the 1970s and 1980s, Palestinian women’s committees emerged, linked women’s liberation and the anti-colonial struggle, and became actively involved, including in the organization of violent aspects of the struggle during the First Intifada (Kuttab, 2012). Rather than awaiting Western intervention, these women forged a praxis of liberation that was context-specific and collective. The 1970s and 1980s were also marked by global anti-colonial internationalism, when movements across Asia, Africa, and Latin America solidarized with Palestine, understanding their struggles originating from the same place (Tabar, 2017). 

Understanding this internationalist backdrop highlights that Palestinian feminist organizing was not isolated but part of a worldwide anti-colonial and anti-patriarchal project. This project died after the First Intifada and the fall of the Soviet Union, but teaches us valuable lessons on how to proceed today.

Homonationalism

Israel’s branding as a queer-friendly state is widely discussed through the concept of “pinkwashing,” a term coined after a Tel Aviv tourism campaign targeting Western gay men (Atshan, 2020). Pinkwashing is part of the broader phenomenon of homonationalism, described by Jasbir Puar (2018), which uses LGBTQI+ rights to justify racism, xenophobia, and militarism. Following the US invasion of Iraq, liberalization of LGBTQI+ rights in the West, and intensified US-led Orientalism, homonationalism aligned queer identities with nationalist agendas. It elevated queer rights as cultural symbols of a nation’s modernity while constructing those who reject them as backward and homophobic. This selective recognition came at the expense of people of color and marginalized groups.

While homonationalism is not synonymous with pinkwashing, it is a useful lens to explain how Israel positions itself as morally superior to Palestine and its neighbors. This narrative allows Western governments to tolerate or support Israel’s colonial oppression, recasting Palestinian suffering as cultural failings rather than political injustice.

The emergence of homonationalism and subsequently pinkwashing coincides with other developments in the Israel/Palestine conflict following the Oslo Accords (1993–1995). The Oslo Accords created the Palestinian Authority and are often seen as a net positive in terms of peace-making and providing Palestinians in the West Bank with a political structure they can turn to. At the same time, Oslo led to an ideological vacuum that depoliticized Palestinian activism, replacing grassroots organizing with donor-driven NGO projects (Kuttab, 2012). Donor conditionality frequently required silence on the occupation and discouraged radical, anti-colonial framing (Alqaisiya, 2018). 

I argue that this NGO-ization and depoliticization laid the groundwork for pinkwashing campaigns: queer rights became symbols of Israel’s modernity while Palestinian liberation was sidelined as too “radical.” If the conflict was increasingly perceived as a cultural/religious divide rather than colonial oppression, there was a growing perception of Israel as the more progressive, and therefore more worth protecting, culture and therefore its presence in the region was increasingly justified. Pinkwashing thus cannot be seen as mere PR; it is embedded in a neoliberal order that rewards moderation, discourages resistance, and normalizes occupation.

The Second Intifada (2000–2005) added another layer, as women were excluded from armed resistance following the resurgence of religiosity and conservative values in Palestine, but took on the majority of social and economic survival work (Kuttab, 2012). This gendered exclusion, combined with the pressures to politicize their struggle in order to please donors, pushed many women and queer activists into building alternative spaces for resistance, thus laying the groundwork for groups like AlQaws and Aswat that center intersectional liberation.

Israel’s legitimacy to white Western audiences relies on contrasting itself with Orientalist stereotypes of Arabs and Arab governments as barbaric, illiberal, and oppressive. Meanwhile, internal Israeli issues, like racism among Jewish ethnicities, sexism, a right-wing government, bureaucratic barriers to gender transition, and limits on gay adoption, are largely ignored. The narrative frames Israel as a Western (white) nation surrounded by non-white Muslim Arabs, erasing substantial Christian populations across Palestine, Jordan, pre-war Syria, and Lebanon.

Solidarity

Understanding Orientalism, Postcolonial Feminism, and Homonationalism helps us question our assumptions, better engage with Palestinians, and become more effective allies. These frameworks also show why solidarity today must reclaim the radical, internationalist tradition that characterized the 1960s–1980s rather than the donor-dependent NGO model that dominated post-Oslo. As a white, queer German woman, I write mindful of my government’s and media’s uncritical support of Israel, underscoring the urgent need to rethink meaningful solidarity. Like many, I once accepted Israeli propaganda until Palestinian and pro-Palestinian activists’ visibility work exposed its flaws.

Angela Davis on Solidarity

For me, solidarity with Palestine is a moral imperative. While standing with the oppressed is inherently right, it also highlights that social justice struggles are interconnected. Feminist movements have at times sided with Israel, but it’s crucial to recognize how the global rise of right-wing movements, restrictions on women’s reproductive rights, and the Gaza genocide are linked (Jabiri, 2025). Audre Lorde’s declaration that “there is no hierarchy of oppressions” (Lorde, 1983) echoes Angela Davis’s extensive work connecting struggles against sexism, racism, classism, state violence, and imperialism. Davis stresses solidarity between Black Americans and Palestinians, a bond made evident during the 2014 Ferguson protests, where Palestinians shared tactics for resisting militarized state violence (Davis, 2016). She challenges white activists to broaden their feminism beyond narrow, middle-class concerns (Davis, 1983). Her model frames solidarity as a reciprocal, accountable political project—not charity.

Jewish Queer Solidarity

An often overlooked form of solidarity comes from queer Jews (Saba, 2023). Queer solidarity is grounded in the indivisibility of human rights. Though homophobia exists in Palestinian society and governance, it does not justify Israel’s ongoing occupation and systemic violence. Palestinian queers suffer under Israeli bombs as much as straight Palestinians, and queer Israelis who support Palestine, such as trans activist Yona Roseman who is currently preparing to go to prison for refusing her draft, face state repression, including police violence and transphobic harassment (Roseman, 2025; Eisner, 2012). Roseman’s experience exposes that queer rights in Israel are conditional on political compliance. In her book on her work with the Boycott, Divest, Sanction (BDS) movement Sarah Schulman (2012) notes that queer Jewish activists often receive more attention in Western discourse than Palestinians themselves. Their solidarity challenges the Orientalist narratives underpinning pinkwashing. Good allyship requires knowing when to step back and when to amplify oppressed voices.

Pinkwashing’s fragility becomes clear through global queer solidarity. Many queer activists inside Israel and internationally resist being co-opted into Zionist narratives, recognizing links between capitalism, fascism, Zionism, and occupation. This has become even more urgent after October 7, 2023, when the subsequent and ongoing genocide in Gaza forced many activists to move away from NGO-speak and return to explicitly anti-colonial, radical frameworks for action.

Academic Solidarity

Solidarity also requires rejecting purity politics. Sa’ed Atshan critiques the left’s obsession with ideological purity and academia’s fixation on critique for its own sake in Queer Palestine and the Empire of Critique. Demands for a singular “pure” narrative fracture movements and undermine coalition-building. I share his view: liberation struggles require working through disagreements, not fracturing over them. Isolation is where oppression thrives. Western allies must listen carefully, amplify Palestinian voices, and counter Zionist narratives.

Agency 

Sustainable solidarity depends on recognizing and respecting Palestinian activists’ agency. Outsiders must confront their own racism and Orientalism and trust Palestinians to lead their own struggles. Palestinian queer and feminist organizers resist occupation, challenge internal patriarchy and queerphobia, and reject co-optation by Western NGOs. Movements that have been active in Palestine in recent years, like AlQaws, Aswat, and Ta’lat exemplify Kimberlé Crenshaw’s (1989) concept of intersectional praxis, recognizing multiple oppressions and crafting context-specific political strategies. Saba Mahmood’s (2001) critique of Western ideas of agency and free will urges readers to expand their understanding and trust that oppressed people are capable of making the best decisions for themselves.

Being a Good Ally

True allyship to Palestinian feminist and queer activists requires more than good intentions. Allies must listen deeply and center the leadership and perspectives of those directly impacted by occupation and oppression. This means respecting Palestinian activists’ definitions of their struggles, needs, and resistance methods, all without imposing outside frameworks. Allies should examine their own positionality, privileges, and political contexts, acknowledging any complicity in systems of oppression, including benefiting from or remaining silent about settler-colonial violence. Solidarity is a long-term commitment, not a symbolic gesture or momentary stance. Practically, allies can amplify Palestinian voices historically excluded, support Palestinian-led initiatives materially and politically, and challenge pinkwashing and propaganda wherever they appear. Ultimately, solidarity rests on relationships built on respect, reciprocity, and shared commitment to decolonization. Through this ethic of collaboration, allies can meaningfully contribute to Palestinians’ liberation and self-determination, including their queer and feminist communities.

Case Study analysis: the works of queer and feminist organizations 

The Triangle of Ideological Pressures: Colonialism, Nationalism, and Queer/Feminist Liberation

Through my analysis of the online presence of queer Palestinian activists, I examine how Palestinian feminist and LGBTQI+ activists navigate the intersecting pressures of colonialism, nationalism, and gendered liberation. I focus on the work of key Palestinian organizations and movements—including AlQaws, Aswat, and Ta’lat—to show how activists balance these forces and represent themselves both nationally and internationally. I chose these movements because they have been active in recent years and have gained some international and academic attention.

Palestinian women and LGBTQI+ activists occupy a uniquely difficult position, caught between three interconnected yet often conflicting ideologies: colonialism, nationalism, and feminism or queer liberation. As colonized peoples, they endure Israeli oppression in all its forms. Yet, more than their cis-hetero male counterparts, they also face gendered and queerphobic violence—from harassment at checkpoints to targeted policing (Ritchie, 2015; Alqaisiya, 2018; Cavazzoni, 2023). As Palestinians, they are bound to a national cause often led by men whose visions may exclude or contradict feminist and queer aspirations. Additionally, they must counter the stereotypes Orientalism and pinkwashing have created about their society, working to restore a complex image of Palestine in place of a monolithic “backward” narrative. At the same time, structural discrimination within Palestinian society persists (Atshan, 2020).

As I will elaborate below, all three organizations must constantly contextualize and historicize their work to avoid co-optation. I argue that this additional burden is unique to Palestinian activists.

Positioning Oneself in Line with the Palestinian Cause

Within Palestinian society, feminist and queer activists are often perceived as embracing foreign, Western norms. Queer activists, in particular, are sometimes viewed as betraying the Palestinian cause by adopting the “foreign” ideas of the colonial oppressors (Atshan, 2020). Even Israelis argue that queer Palestinians are no longer truly Palestinian (Schulman, 2012). While this may initially seem absurd, it logically follows Israel’s identity politics: if a “progressive” identity is equated with being Israeli, then a queer person cannot fully be Palestinian (Alqaisiya, 2024). As a result, queer and feminist activists must work harder to affirm their “Palestinianness” to themselves, their communities, and Israelis alike.

To demonstrate their commitment to Palestine, all three movements emphasize their ties to the national struggle. AlQaws, an LGBTQI+ organization founded in 2007, states on its website that it embraces “the diversity of [Palestinian] society while challenging the political forces that divide [Palestinians],” and that it is “challenging the regulation of sexualities and bodies whether patriarchal, capitalist, or colonial” (AlQaws, 2025). These statements reveal that AlQaws does not see itself as “simply” LGBTQI+; rather, it situates its work within the broader Palestinian context to avoid being misunderstood as promoting Western values or as detached from Palestine. 

Aswat, a Lesbian grassroots organization that started in the 1990s as a newsletter for Palestinians questioning their sexuality, also emphasized how the Western tendency to prioritize queer Palestinians over straight Palestinians is counterproductive as all suffer under Israeli oppression (Toesland, 2024). They openly reject the narrative of queer and female Palestinians in need of Western saving and stress that they can successfully do activist work without foreign intervention (Pafundi, 2023).

A similar dynamic is evident in the online presence of Ta’lat, a women’s movement active between 2019 and 2020 (Saba, 2023). Articles written by and about Ta’lat, as well as their social media, emphasize the connection between patriarchal violence and Israeli colonization, arguing that promoting women’s safety serves the interests of all Palestinians (Al-Sanah, 2020; Ta’lat, 2020). The movement links women’s freedom directly to national freedom.

The Choice to Remain Invisible: Positioning Against Israeli Narratives

One of the most contested arenas where these ideological pressures collide is the question of visibility. For Palestinian queer and feminist activists, decisions about whether and how to be “visible” are shaped not only by the need to assert their rightful place within Palestinian society but also by the imperative to resist being instrumentalized by Israel. This resistance includes distancing themselves from Israeli organizations that exploit queer Palestinians through pinkwashing.

Due to their ideological complexity and challenge to colonial narratives, mainstream Israeli queer organizations rarely acknowledge Palestinian queers except as victims of their own society in need of Israeli rescue (Ritchie, 2010). Here, Saba Mahmood’s work on agency (2001) invites us to question whether agency requires active resistance to patriarchal norms. Applying Mahmood’s insights to Palestinian LGBTQI+ individuals challenges the Western notion that “good” queer choices, such as “coming out of the closet,” are universally liberating. For many queer Palestinians, public visibility to Israeli or Western audiences, through NGOs or media, is not liberation but another form of oppression, rooted in neoliberal and colonial logics (Ritchie, 2010). Schulman (2012) observes that Western discourse frequently strips queer Palestinians of their Palestinian identity, denying them recognition as “real” Palestinians. In this sense, it is important for Western audiences to understand that “staying in the closet” or selectively outing oneself can be empowering choices and are not necessarily tied to victimhood or societal oppression.

Groups like AlQaws and Aswat counter this erasure by grounding their activism in Palestinian communities and prioritizing mutual visibility, safety, and growth over external recognition (Ritchie, 2010; Abboud, 2017). Their approach highlights the double-edged nature of “coming out”: while visibility can challenge dominant narratives, it can also reinforce Orientalist portrayals of Palestinian society as static and inherently oppressive. This tension also appears in Ta’lat’s critique of nationalism, where gender justice is often sidelined by cis-hetero male leadership.

In all cases, the struggle for liberation is inseparable from the struggle over how to be seen—and by whom.

Conclusion 

The interconnected struggles of Palestinian queer activists illustrate how resisting colonial oppression, homophobia, and pinkwashing requires solidarity that challenges both local and global systems of power.

The global spotlight on Israel’s strategic use of gender and sexual rights discourse reveals a worrying paradox: while Israel still markets itself as a beacon of liberal democracy and LGBTQ+ inclusion, this carefully crafted image as “civilizing” attempts to conceal ongoing settler-colonial violence and systemic oppression of Palestinians. Palestinian feminist and queer activists find themselves having to navigate a rough political terrain, the triangle of ideologies. They have to take on a lot of additional work and must simultaneously resist external occupation, internal patriarchal structures, and reductive Western narratives that seek to define their identities and struggles and label them as eternal victims.

For international observers and allies, understanding this layered reality is not only a matter of intellectual comprehension but a moral imperative. We must understand that standing with Palestine is not just a queer or feminist issue, it is an everything issue: Standing with Palestine means refusing to let governments selectively co-opt women’s and queer rights, it means standing up against militarized state violence, it means questioning and ending the persistent racial and orientalist narratives around the rest of the world. Finally, it is about understanding how neoliberalism and NGO-ization seemed like easy ways to equality when they were not, and going back to solidarity-based grassroots connections.  

Our solidarity must move beyond copying symbolic gestures or reproducing simplistic binaries and instead engage with and spread the lived experiences, agency, and leadership of Palestinian activists themselves. It requires asking those questions that help us dismantle those colonial frameworks that perpetuate victimhood and division. Instead of superficially engaging with Palestine, we need to start building coalitions grounded in mutual respect, accountability, and shared liberation.

If we fail to consider these complexities, we risk becoming complicit in reproducing the very systems of violence and erasure that Palestinian activists challenge every day. True solidarity demands sustained commitment, critical reflection, and an unwavering refusal to allow Israel’s “pinkwashed” narrative to overshadow the urgent need for justice, the end of the genocide, and, finally, decolonization. Only by listening deeply, amplifying marginalized voices, and confronting uncomfortable truths can global allies contribute meaningfully to the liberation of Palestine and the dismantling of oppressive systems everywhere.

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