Telling the Truth About Gaza, with Norman Finkelstein

1. Naming the Reality: Why Gaza Cannot Be Understood as a War

One of the most important arguments advanced by Professor Norman Finkelstein in his interview with Tribune in Conversation is also one of the most fundamental: to understand what has happened in Gaza, we must first refuse to accept the language that has been used to describe it. For Finkelstein, calling the destruction of Gaza a war is not simply an imprecise choice of words. It is a distortion that fundamentally changes how the events are understood, which victims are recognized, and which responsibilities are acknowledged.

Throughout the interview, Finkelstein returns to a distinction that lies at the heart of his analysis. A war, in its conventional understanding, seeks to defeat an opposing military force. A genocide, by contrast, targets a civilian population for destruction. When the central reality is the systematic devastation of civilian life, the destruction of homes and hospitals, the collapse of essential infrastructure, and the deliberate deprivation of food, describing the situation primarily as a military confrontation conceals more than it reveals.

Finkelstein argues that Israel won a substantial part of the propaganda battle by ensuring that the events in Gaza were widely understood through the framework of war. Once that description becomes accepted, the public begins asking whether military operations are proportionate, whether particular attacks comply with the laws of armed conflict, and how many combatants have been killed. These questions can matter, but they can also obscure a more fundamental issue: what is being done to the civilian population, and what is the ultimate purpose of that destruction?

His argument is not that the presence of armed groups is irrelevant. Rather, it is that their presence cannot automatically transform every act of destruction into a legitimate military operation. If the civilian population is subjected to overwhelming and indiscriminate violence, the existence of combatants does not adequately explain or justify the devastation.

This distinction is essential to Finkelstein's broader criticism of the political and institutional language surrounding Gaza. Words do not merely describe reality; they organize public perception of it. A population facing systematic destruction can be presented as one side in a conflict, its suffering reduced to the unfortunate consequences of warfare, while the political objectives underlying that suffering remain obscured.

For Finkelstein, telling the truth begins with rejecting this distortion. The first obligation is to identify the reality being confronted, rather than allowing familiar political terminology to dictate what can and cannot be seen.

2. The Destruction of Gaza and the Denial of a Future

Finkelstein's description of conditions in Gaza extends beyond the immediate horror of death and physical destruction. His central concern is that the devastation has attacked the very foundations of Palestinian social existence, leaving a population not only struggling to survive but also confronting the systematic elimination of the conditions necessary for a future.

In the interview, he describes a situation in which Palestinians are kept at what is called a humanitarian minimum level of assistance. He interprets this policy as a form of calculated deprivation: enough aid to prevent the population from dying in numbers that would become politically intolerable, but insufficient relief to restore anything resembling a dignified and sustainable existence.

Finkelstein emphasizes that the continued deprivation of Gaza's population cannot simply be explained by a lack of available resources. According to his account, trucks carrying humanitarian assistance are available, and the United Nations Relief and Works Agency, UNRWA, possesses the established network needed to distribute aid. He argues that preventing this assistance from reaching Palestinians is therefore a political decision, not an unavoidable consequence of logistical difficulties.

His criticism becomes especially forceful when he turns to reconstruction. After the destruction of homes, schools, hospitals, universities, and other essential institutions, reconstruction should be an indispensable element of any serious commitment to ending the humanitarian catastrophe. Yet Finkelstein rejects the assumption that the end of the most intense phase of violence will automatically lead to rebuilding.

His reasoning is straightforward. A territory that has been systematically demolished cannot be restored through declarations of peace alone. If the mechanisms required for reconstruction remain absent, if humanitarian assistance remains restricted, and if the population continues to live without adequate shelter and essential services, then the conditions producing Palestinian suffering have not fundamentally changed.

The destruction of Gaza's educational institutions is particularly significant in his analysis. Finkelstein notes that Gaza had achieved an exceptionally high level of literacy. The destruction of schools therefore represents more than the loss of buildings. It strikes at a society's capacity to educate its children, preserve its intellectual life, and reproduce the social institutions on which its future depends.

The same logic applies to the destruction of homes and hospitals. A home is not merely a physical structure; it is the foundation of family life. A hospital is not simply a building; it is a necessary institution for preserving life. A university is not just a collection of classrooms; it is a place where a society develops knowledge and prepares future generations.

When these institutions are destroyed on such a vast scale, the consequences extend far beyond the immediate moment of violence.

Finkelstein's conclusion is stark: Gaza cannot be understood solely through the number of people killed or the buildings demolished. The deeper question is whether Palestinians are being left with the material conditions necessary to remain in their homeland and rebuild their lives. He interprets the continuation of deprivation, alongside the absence of meaningful reconstruction, as evidence that the underlying objective of removing Palestinians from Gaza has not disappeared.

In this reading, humanitarian assistance is not a secondary issue. It is inseparable from the fundamental question of whether Palestinians will be permitted to have a future in Gaza at all.

3. Beyond the Government: Society, Responsibility, and the Normalization of Violence

One of the most disturbing aspects of Finkelstein's interview is his refusal to treat the destruction of Gaza as the responsibility of political leaders alone. He challenges the familiar distinction between a government and its population when that distinction is used to shield an entire society from confronting its relationship to state violence.

Finkelstein does not argue that every Israeli bears identical responsibility or that every individual shares the same beliefs. Instead, he examines the relationship between public attitudes, military institutions, and the normalization of violence against Palestinians.

His discussion of public opinion polls is central to this argument. He points to polling that, as he describes it, showed overwhelming support among Israeli Jews for the level of force used in Gaza, with only a small minority considering it excessive. He also emphasizes that Israel has a citizen army, one that reflects broad sections of Israeli society rather than an isolated military caste detached from the population.

For Finkelstein, these facts complicate the claim that the problem can be reduced to a particular government or a handful of political extremists. When an army is drawn from society, when soldiers publicly celebrate the destruction of civilian infrastructure, and when such conduct does not appear to produce widespread social ostracism, the relationship between military violence and social attitudes demands serious examination.

His argument is particularly forceful because he situates the Israeli case within a broader understanding of historical barbarism. He recalls the public character of lynchings in the American South, where racial violence was not always hidden from respectable society but could become a public spectacle attended by ordinary people and families. He also points to the historical expulsion and destruction of Native Americans, noting that even prominent figures associated with abolitionism could express contempt toward Indigenous peoples.

These comparisons serve a specific purpose. Finkelstein is not claiming that every society or historical atrocity is identical. He is warning against the comforting assumption that a society's educational achievements, cultural sophistication, or self-image as democratic automatically protect it from participating in extreme cruelty.

A society can produce intellectuals, artists, and distinguished scholars while simultaneously tolerating or supporting the oppression of another population. The existence of admirable institutions does not eliminate the possibility of collective moral failure.

This is also why Finkelstein's personal reflections as a Jewish scholar are so significant. He describes growing up in a Jewish environment in which intellectual achievement, cultural creativity, and cerebral pursuits were central to his understanding of Jewish identity. Against that background, he expresses profound difficulty comprehending the spectacle of Israeli soldiers targeting Palestinian children and the apparent normalization of such violence.

His reaction is not presented as a simple declaration of shame. It is an expression of moral bewilderment: how can a society associated in his own experience with intellectual and cultural achievement accommodate such cruelty?

Finkelstein's answer is that historical identity offers no immunity from barbarism. No community can rely on its past suffering, cultural accomplishments, or moral self-conception as a substitute for examining what it does to others.

This is a difficult argument precisely because it refuses easy explanations. It demands that responsibility be considered not only at the level of government policy but also in the public attitudes and social conditions that allow that policy to continue.

4. International Law, the United Nations, and the Corruption of Accountability

If Finkelstein's analysis of Gaza is uncompromising, his criticism of the international institutions that have responded to it is equally severe. His book, Gaza's Gravediggers, examines what he sees as the role of influential individuals and institutions in obscuring the reality of the destruction and weakening the significance of efforts to hold those responsible accountable.

The central paradox of his argument is that international law remains indispensable even when the institutions responsible for upholding it repeatedly fail to meet their obligations.

Finkelstein does not believe that the Palestine solidarity movement should simply abandon international institutions as irredeemable. On the contrary, he argues that legal findings, official reports, and institutional decisions can provide important tools for political mobilization. The problem arises when those findings are distorted, minimized, or stripped of their practical implications.

His discussion of the International Court of Justice's 2024 advisory opinion on Israel's occupation illustrates this point. Finkelstein argues that the opinion has consequences that go far beyond another call for negotiations. As he interprets it, the court's conclusions undermine the assumption that the status of the occupied Palestinian territories can continue to be treated as an open-ended bargaining exercise.

He emphasizes the implications for settlements, East Jerusalem, and the territorial basis of Palestinian statehood. In his view, the legal conclusions establish obligations that cannot simply be postponed indefinitely through diplomatic processes.

This is where Finkelstein identifies a fundamental contradiction in British political rhetoric. He welcomes statements by British political figures that place international law at the center of foreign policy, but he insists that such commitments must have practical consequences. If a government acknowledges the illegality of settlements and recognizes the significance of international judicial findings, it cannot credibly invoke those principles while refusing to act on their implications.

For Finkelstein, the problem is not a lack of legal language. It is the persistent separation of legal recognition from political enforcement.

He therefore advances a simple political demand: enforce the law.

This slogan captures the relationship between his legal analysis and his understanding of political struggle. International law cannot stop at declarations, advisory opinions, or official condemnations. If governments invoke it selectively, the task of a solidarity movement is to insist that they honor their stated commitments and confront the consequences of their own legal positions.

Finkelstein's treatment of the United Nations is more pessimistic. He explains that his assessment evolved as he examined the conduct of particular officials and institutions during the destruction of Gaza. He initially approached the problem as one of identifiable pockets of corruption, arguing that specific individuals should be removed from office, publicly censured, or held accountable. By the end of his investigation, he had reached a much broader conclusion about the institutional system itself, describing it as a “rotting corpse.”

That judgment is not an argument that international law has become meaningless. Rather, it expresses his anger at the distance between the principles proclaimed by international institutions and their conduct when those principles are most urgently needed.

Finkelstein discusses, among other issues, the representation of the International Court of Justice's proceedings and allegations of sexual violence associated with the events of October 7. He accuses particular officials of misrepresenting the legal record or perpetuating claims that he believes were inadequately substantiated. His criticism rests on the broader conviction that public officials must not be allowed to rewrite institutional findings for political convenience or personal advancement.

For him, such distortions are not minor bureaucratic errors. They can undermine hard-won legal advances, confuse public understanding, and provide governments with opportunities to evade accountability.

Yet his position is not one of resignation. The interview reveals a distinction between distrust of institutions and abandonment of the struggle to make them answerable to their own standards. Finkelstein continues to see legal findings as potential instruments of political pressure, provided that movements understand them, defend them, and refuse to let governments evade their implications.

5. The Power of Truth and the Possibility of Political Victory

The deepest theme of Finkelstein's interview is his understanding of truth as both an intellectual discipline and a form of political resistance.

He describes his work as an attempt to dissect fraud. His method is painstaking: examine the documents, compare official statements with the underlying record, identify contradictions, and demonstrate where the argument fails. The process can be tedious, requiring the careful examination of reports, legal proceedings, and institutional decisions. But for Finkelstein, that is precisely where the power of rigorous scholarship lies.

As he explains, truth has a decisive advantage over a lie: truth holds together. Its different elements reinforce one another because they are connected to reality. A lie, by contrast, must repeatedly be patched up, qualified, and defended against the contradictions that emerge under scrutiny.

This conviction explains why Finkelstein places such importance on documentary evidence and detailed institutional analysis. He does not believe that exposing wrongdoing always requires a dramatic revelation or a single decisive piece of evidence. Sometimes, the strongest demonstration of deception comes from reconstructing the record carefully enough that the contradictions become impossible to ignore.

His account of writing Gaza's Gravediggers also reveals the emotional dimension of this work. He openly acknowledges his anger when confronted with what he considers deliberate falsification, especially when such distortions concern a population that has already endured enormous suffering. Writing becomes a form of therapy, a way to confront lies that he finds morally intolerable and to turn outrage into a sustained intellectual effort.

But Finkelstein also insists that intellectual victory must be connected to political purpose. He does not want merely to expose contradictions or win arguments in public. He wants those arguments to contribute to material change.

This is why his response to British political statements is particularly revealing. Despite his profound reservations, he identifies an opportunity when a political leader publicly commits to international law. Rather than dismissing the statement as meaningless from the outset, Finkelstein argues that the solidarity movement should take the commitment seriously and demand that it be implemented.

His reasoning is pragmatic without being conciliatory. Political leaders can be influenced by public discontent. Even when a government changes its language because of electoral pressure rather than moral conviction, that shift demonstrates that organized public opinion can affect policy.

For Finkelstein, this is an important lesson for anyone committed to Palestinian solidarity. Outrage alone is insufficient. It must be transformed into pressure, organization, and demands that governments cannot easily evade.

He therefore calls on the anti-war movement to concentrate on a clear objective: enforcing international law. This means refusing to allow political leaders to invoke legal principles when convenient and abandon them when their practical implications become uncomfortable. It means understanding the legal record well enough to challenge evasions and insist on consistency.

It also means recognizing that political progress rarely arrives simply because an argument is morally compelling. It requires sustained work to turn the argument into a demand, the demand into public pressure, and public pressure into a change in policy.

Finkelstein's approach is demanding because it rejects two forms of defeatism. The first is the belief that powerful governments can never be influenced by public opinion. The second is the belief that exposing injustice is sufficient, regardless of whether the exposure contributes to changing the conditions that sustain it.

Against both, he offers a combination of intellectual rigor and political determination.

Conclusion: Refusing to Let Gaza Disappear

Norman Finkelstein's intervention in this interview is ultimately an argument against the normalization of Palestinian suffering. He challenges the language that disguises the destruction of Gaza, the political narratives that separate violence from its social foundations, and the institutional practices that weaken the force of international law.

His insistence that Gaza cannot simply be understood as a war is central to this challenge. It demands that the destruction of civilian life be examined on its own terms, rather than subordinated to a framework that treats Palestinian suffering as an inevitable by-product of military confrontation.

His analysis of reconstruction extends that demand into the future. A ceasefire, by itself, cannot restore a society whose homes, schools, hospitals, and universities have been devastated. Humanitarian assistance without meaningful reconstruction cannot create the conditions for a dignified existence. And the continued absence of those conditions raises fundamental questions about whether Palestinians are being allowed to rebuild their lives in their own homeland.

His criticism of international institutions adds another dimension to the argument. Legal declarations matter, but they lose much of their practical significance when governments and officials are permitted to evade their consequences. For Finkelstein, the answer is neither blind faith in international institutions nor complete abandonment of them. It is to understand their findings, expose their distortions, and mobilize around the obligations they establish.

Above all, his work demonstrates the political importance of refusing to surrender the truth to those with the greatest institutional power. When official narratives contradict the documentary record, the task is to examine that record. When public officials misrepresent legal findings, the task is to expose the misrepresentation. When governments proclaim their commitment to international law, the task is to demand that they act accordingly.

Finkelstein does not offer the comforting illusion that rigorous scholarship alone can end injustice. He offers something more demanding: the conviction that careful analysis can expose the weaknesses of powerful lies, that organized public pressure can influence political decisions, and that intellectual honesty can become part of a broader struggle for accountability.

The significance of his argument lies not only in what it says about Gaza, but also in what it demands of those who refuse to accept the destruction of Palestinian life as an ordinary feature of international politics.

To tell the truth about Gaza is to refuse euphemisms, confront institutional failures, and insist that legal principles have consequences. It is to understand that the struggle over the meaning of events is inseparable from the struggle over what happens next.

For Finkelstein, the task is clear: preserve the record, expose the lies, hold those responsible to account, and refuse to allow declarations of principle to become substitutes for action.

The truth must not merely be spoken. It must be defended, organized around, and turned into political pressure.

That is the enduring force of Norman Finkelstein's argument: the refusal to let the destruction of Gaza be concealed by the language of war, the authority of institutions, or the passage of time.