The Weaponisation of Antisemitism: Europe's Democratic Test

“He who does not remember the past is condemned to repeat it.”

Hatred has always been one of the most powerful instruments in politics. It has a unique ability to unite people, rally disparate groups around a common cause and, perhaps most importantly, provide a convenient explanation for failure. By identifying an enemy — real or imagined — political movements can redirect public anger, excuse their own shortcomings and give coherence to otherwise unrelated grievances. More often than not, the chosen target is not the true cause of the problem, but merely a vehicle through which entirely different political objectives can be pursued.

History offers a painful illustration of this phenomenon. During the Black Death of the fourteenth century, which devastated Europe over several years, Jewish communities were falsely accused of spreading the plague. Jews, a vulnerable and often isolated minority, became convenient scapegoats for a catastrophe that society could neither understand nor control. This pattern of persecution had deep roots. During the Great Famine of 1315–1317, Jewish communities were already subjected to suspicion and hostility. In subsequent centuries, antisemitism became deeply embedded in European political and religious life, with the Inquisition serving, in many places and at various times, as an instrument of religious persecution directed particularly against Jews.

One might have hoped that the Holocaust, the most devastating manifestation of antisemitism in history, would have forced the world to confront this recurring pathology once and for all. It did not.

When Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait in 1990, he publicly framed his campaign as a march towards Jerusalem, invoking the Palestinian cause to lend his aggression a broader ideological appeal. Following the September 11 attacks, antisemitic conspiracy theories once again emerged, with Jews accused of complicity in an attempt to explain — and deflect attention from — the intelligence and security failures that had enabled the deadliest terrorist attack in American history.

The lesson is both familiar and deeply troubling: when societies face uncertainty, crisis or institutional failure, antisemitism can once again become a convenient instrument of political mobilisation.

I would argue that Iran and Qatar have understood this dynamic and are pursuing an agenda that extends far beyond the conflict between Israel and the Palestinians.

Following the October 7 massacre, both countries anticipated that Israel would retaliate militarily and Qatar used its massive financial resources to “convert”  the resulting conflict into intense international scrutiny and criticism. The conditions were therefore ripe for a concerted effort to turn hostility towards Israel into hostility towards Jews more broadly. Antisemitism became a powerful rallying point, capable of bringing together political movements and ideological groups that might otherwise have little in common.

But this was only the beginning.

What we are witnessing across Europe is no longer simply a series of demonstrations against Israel or expressions of support for the Palestinian cause. The character and implications of these protests have evolved. Increasingly, the issue extends beyond the Middle East and raises fundamental questions about the resilience of European democracy itself.

Once disparate political and ideological groups had been mobilised around a common hostility towards Israel — and, increasingly, towards Jews — a broader political opportunity emerged. The same networks, narratives and mobilisation strategies could be directed towards challenging the institutions, principles and values underpinning Western democratic societies.

The failure of European governments and institutions to confront antisemitism consistently, and to challenge the spread of demonstrably distorted anti-Israel narratives, has created an environment in which this transition can take place with alarming ease. When democratic societies tolerate the normalisation of hatred under the guise of political activism, they risk opening the door to forces whose objectives extend far beyond the causes they publicly claim to champion.

It is worth considering another striking contrast. We do not see comparable demonstrations taking place in Russia or Turkey, two countries whose political systems are markedly different from those of liberal European democracies. This raises an important question: why has Europe become such fertile ground for this mobilisation?

The issue is not whether criticism of Israel is legitimate. In a democracy, it unquestionably is. Nor should peaceful support for Palestinian rights be confused with antisemitism. These are important distinctions. But they must not become an excuse for ignoring the deliberate exploitation of antisemitic sentiment, the intimidation of Jewish communities or the use of democratic freedoms to undermine the very principles that sustain them.

The concern is that Iran and Qatar, through their respective political, financial, ideological and media influence, are contributing to an environment in which antisemitism can be used as a unifying force against the West. The precise extent and nature of their involvement in particular demonstrations and movements cant be established through evidence rather than assumption. The broader strategic question deserves serious attention: to what extent are external actors exploiting Europe's internal divisions to weaken its democratic institutions?

The riots in Germany, the unrest in Italy and Spain, and the growing hostility towards Jewish communities in cities such as Paris, Manchester, London and more,  represent more than isolated expressions of anger. They are symptoms of a deeper crisis. If democratic governments cannot protect their citizens from intimidation, safeguard freedom of expression without permitting incitement, and distinguish legitimate political protest from the promotion of hatred, the consequences will extend far beyond the Jewish community.

I find it difficult to believe that the simultaneous emergence of similar patterns of mobilisation across multiple European countries should simply be dismissed as coincidence. That in itself might establish a coordinated campaign.  It should compel European leaders to investigate the networks, financing, messaging and external influences behind these movements rather than treating each incident as an isolated domestic disturbance.

Europe now faces a fundamental choice. It must decide whether it is prepared to defend the democratic values upon which its post-war identity was built, or whether it will allow those values to be eroded by forces that have learned to exploit the very freedoms democracy guarantees.

Antisemitism has always been more than a threat to the Jews. It is frequently an early warning sign of a much broader societal breakdown. History has shown us, repeatedly, how easily a minority can be turned into a scapegoat, how effectively hatred can unite otherwise incompatible movements, and how dangerous it is when democratic societies fail to recognise what is happening in front of them.

The Jews may once again be the immediate target. But they not the ultimate target.

Europe should remember that. Its democratic survival may depend on it.