We are living through a time of profound political distortion—one in which the once unthinkable has become not only imaginable, but increasingly normalised. Among the most disturbing developments is the growing convergence between right-wing Zionism and the global far-right, including movements that openly embrace fascist, racist, and supremacist ideologies.

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This convergence is not accidental. It is the outcome of a deep crisis of legitimacy—moral, legal, and humanitarian—on the part of those defending the ongoing occupation of Palestine, the siege of Gaza, and the systemic dispossession of Palestinians. When a political project can no longer be defended through ethics or law, it defaults to power, fear, and dominance. In this zone, ideological foundations no longer matter. All that matters is control.

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This is how we arrive at the uncomfortable reality that Zionist institutions and narratives are increasingly aligning with far-right forces, both globally and in Australia. The recent exposure of a violent group known as The Lions of Zion, operating out of Melbourne, makes this convergence visible in the starkest terms. This group reportedly includes IDF veterans, neo-Nazis, and ultra-nationalist agitators. They idolise figures like Meir Kahane—a Jewish supremacist whose organisation has been outlawed even in Israel and the United States for inciting violence and racism. The group has ambitions to spread to Sydney, and their language is a chilling blend of ethno-nationalism, militarism, and theological extremism.

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This is not an isolated incident. It reflects a broader ideological mutation happening within sections of the pro-Israel movement. As Israel’s military actions in Gaza intensify—with tens of thousands of Palestinians killed, including children, journalists, doctors, and aid workers—those who wish to defend such violence increasingly find themselves aligned with the far-right. No progressive framework can justify the destruction of entire neighbourhoods, hospitals, and schools. As Hannah Arendt warned in her writings on totalitarianism, the breakdown of the moral order enables systems to move from rationalisation to the sheer application of force (Arendt, 1951).

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Yes, we have seen this before, and the parallels should terrify us. In the 20th century, history showed how ideological enemies can align when they share a common interest in suppressing dissent and maintaining power. The Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact between Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union is perhaps the most famous example. Franco’s Spain found kinship with Mussolini and Hitler despite key ideological differences. Apartheid South Africa received ideological support and economic defence from Western powers, including conservative Zionist institutions. In all these cases, the result was predictable: state-sanctioned violence, repression of the opposition, erosion of civil liberties, and mass suffering. As political theorist Wendy Brown has written, the collapse of boundaries between democracy and authoritarianism allows regimes to mobilise nationalist sentiment while hollowing out the ethical core of governance (Brown, 2015).

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What we are witnessing now is the evolution of a global authoritarian alliance, with Zionist nationalism as one of its key pillars. In Israel, Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu governs alongside extremists like Bezalel Smotrich and Itamar Ben-Gvir, men who openly call for the ethnic cleansing of Palestinians and incite settler violence. In the United States, pro-Israel lobbyists aligned themselves with the Trump administration, even as it mainstreamed white nationalism and antisemitic conspiracy theories. In India, the Hindu nationalist BJP under Narendra Modi aligns itself with Israel both strategically and ideologically, promoting Islamophobic narratives and adopting surveillance state tactics.

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These alliances are not built on ideological coherence, but on shared methods: militarised borders, religious nationalism, surveillance of minorities, and the suppression of dissent. They are bound not by a shared vision but by fear and a desire to preserve dominance. Giorgio Agamben’s theory of the “state of exception” is particularly useful here: regimes in crisis extend emergency powers and suspend law under the guise of security, creating spaces where violence becomes normalised and unaccountable (Agamben, 2005).

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In Australia, institutions like the Executive Council of Australian Jewry and the Zionist Federation of Australia have banned Greens politicians from forums, blacklisted Palestinian voices, and labelled virtually all criticism of Israel as antisemitic. The Australian Jewish Association has openly supported far-right figures such as Pauline Hanson. Despite this, these organisations continue to enjoy legitimacy, consulted by mainstream media and political actors, and even granted official government appointments such as the special envoy on antisemitism. Judith Butler reminds us that power sustains itself through repetition and recognition—when institutions are treated as legitimate, their ideologies become part of the normative political fabric (Butler, 1997).

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Globally, the reaction has been deeply inadequate. While human rights organisations, progressive Jewish voices, and Palestinian advocacy groups are sounding the alarm, most mainstream institutions continue to treat Zionist organisations as moral equals. The media engages in a false balance, equating genocide and resistance, occupation and protest, state violence and individual outrage. Calling this out is necessary, but not enough. As Michel Foucault noted, power is not merely held but exercised through discourses that produce knowledge and truth (Foucault, 1977). Calling out injustice without disrupting the structures that sustain it leaves the machinery intact.

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We cannot wait for the Netanyahu government to fall or for Trump to lose another election. Authoritarianism does not pause for elections. The longer it consolidates, the harder it becomes to dislodge. The Nakba was not a moment but a process. What is happening now in Gaza is part of that continuum. The left must respond with urgency and strategy.

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Legitimacy must be withdrawn from institutions and platforms that endorse apartheid, ethnic cleansing, or far-right violence. This means refusing to share stages, forums, and coalitions with organisations complicit in these acts. It also means disrupting the dominant narratives. This is not a conflict. It is not complicated. It is not self-defence. These euphemisms dilute the moral clarity needed to act. Political institutions—universities, councils, parliaments—must be pressured relentlessly to divest from companies, governments, and militaries complicit in this violence.

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Solidarity must also be intersectional. The struggle for Palestinian liberation is not isolated. It intersects with First Nations justice, climate justice, migrant rights, and the broader fight against global fascism. bell hooks emphasised that systems of domination are interlocking. Liberation in one area is impossible without recognising the shared mechanisms of oppression across others (hooks, 1984).

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Finally, our movements must be spaces of care as well as resistance. Activists, communities, and organisers are grieving, traumatised, exhausted. Solidarity without support burns out the very people needed to sustain the struggle. Building resilience means building community.

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If we fail to act, the cost will not only be the lives lost in Gaza or the West Bank. The cost will be a world increasingly governed by fear, fragmentation, and fascism. Authoritarianism expands when those who oppose it believe that resistance is futile or too costly. But history also shows us that collective action—when rooted in truth, courage, and solidarity—can dismantle even the most entrenched regimes.

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When defending the indefensible, systems of power will do anything—including embracing the unthinkable. It is up to us—not just as activists, but as educators, citizens, people of faith, and communities of conscience—to resist. We cannot wait for a better moment. The time is now.

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