SELECTIVE OUTRAGE OR SELECTIVE DEFLECTION? Why Attempts to Redirect Criticism Away from Gaza Miss the Point

 

SELECTIVE OUTRAGE OR SELECTIVE DEFLECTION?
Why Attempts to Redirect Criticism Away from Gaza Miss the Point

By Kieran Beville

The argument we keep hearing

Over the past several months a particular argument has become increasingly common in Irish public discourse. Whenever discussion turns to Gaza and the immense suffering that has unfolded there, somebody invariably shifts the focus. The conversation ceases to be about Gaza itself and instead becomes a discussion about those who are expressing concern.

    We are told that Ireland suffers from "selective outrage". We are asked why there are demonstrations about Gaza but not equivalent demonstrations about Iran. We are asked why Qatar's treatment of migrant workers does not attract the same level of public anger. We are asked about Saudi Arabia, China, Sudan and a long list of other states with troubling human rights records.

    The implication is obvious. If Irish people are not protesting every injustice with equal intensity, then perhaps their concern about Gaza should be treated with suspicion. At first glance, the argument appears sensible. Nobody would dispute that human rights should be universal. Nobody would argue that abuses become acceptable simply because they occur in a country that attracts less media attention. Consistency matters. It should matter. Yet I find myself increasingly unconvinced by the way this argument is deployed. Not because the question itself is illegitimate but because of when it is asked and how it is used. What strikes me is that these concerns about Iran, Qatar and other states often seem to emerge precisely when criticism of Israel becomes difficult to ignore. The concern appears less about drawing attention to neglected victims and more about redirecting attention away from Gaza. That distinction matters.

The strange demand for moral perfection

    Ordinary people are not foreign policy departments. They are not international organisations. They are not expected to maintain perfectly calibrated responses to every crisis occurring across the globe. Human beings react to events that affect them emotionally. They respond to stories they encounter, images that disturb them and injustices that capture their attention. That has always been the case.

When millions marched against apartheid in South Africa, nobody seriously argued that their concerns were invalid because they were not simultaneously organising campaigns against every dictatorship in existence. When people protested the invasion of Iraq, they were not required to submit a comprehensive inventory of every war they had opposed throughout their lives. When citizens across Europe rallied in support of Ukraine, critics did not generally dismiss them because they had failed to demonstrate equivalent concern about every other territorial conflict on earth. The reason is obvious. Such a standard would be impossible. No individual possesses the time, knowledge or emotional capacity to engage equally with every injustice.

The selective outrage argument often creates a test that nobody can pass. If one speaks about Gaza, one is challenged about Sudan. If one speaks about Sudan, one is challenged about Yemen. If one speaks about Yemen, another neglected crisis is produced. The process continues indefinitely until discussion of the original issue disappears altogether. At that point the conversation is no longer about human rights. It is about silencing criticism through impossible demands.

What actually motivates public concern?

    One of the more curious assumptions behind the selective outrage thesis is the belief that public attention should function according to a strict moral formula. Reality does not work that way. People respond to what they can see. For almost two years images from Gaza have appeared daily across television screens, newspapers and social media feeds. People have watched residential neighbourhoods reduced to rubble. They have seen grieving parents carrying children. They have witnessed scenes of displacement on a scale that would shock any conscience.

    Whether one agrees with every political interpretation of the conflict is almost beside the point. People are reacting because they are witnessing suffering. That should not require elaborate explanation. History shows repeatedly that visibility changes public behaviour. Images from Vietnam altered public opinion. Television coverage of famine in Ethiopia mobilised international aid. Photographs from Bosnia influenced perceptions of the Balkan wars. Human beings are visual creatures. We respond emotionally to what we witness directly. This is not evidence of hypocrisy. It is evidence of humanity. Some critics seem to imagine that concern must arise through detached intellectual calculation. In reality most moral engagement begins with empathy. People see suffering and respond. There is nothing irrational about that.

A convenient change of subject

    I have no difficulty criticising Iran's government. Its treatment of political dissenters deserves scrutiny. Its repression of women deserves scrutiny. Its record on freedom of expression deserves scrutiny. Likewise Qatar's treatment of migrant workers deserves scrutiny. Saudi Arabia deserves scrutiny. China deserves scrutiny. None of these facts are controversial. The question is why these examples are repeatedly introduced at the precise moment when criticism of Israel is being discussed. If somebody wishes to write a column about Iranian repression, they should do so. If somebody wishes to campaign on behalf of migrant workers in the Gulf states, they should do so. Those causes deserve support. What often happens instead is that these issues are mentioned briefly, almost in passing, before attention returns to the supposed failings of those who are criticising Israel.

    The result is that the original issue becomes obscured. A discussion about civilian deaths becomes a discussion about protesters. A discussion about humanitarian conditions becomes a discussion about Irish attitudes. A discussion about state conduct becomes a discussion about the motivations of critics.

    This is not a new rhetorical technique. It has existed for generations. The Soviet Union became famous for responding to criticism with "What about...?" arguments. Rather than addressing an accusation directly, attention was redirected elsewhere. The practice became known as whataboutery. Its purpose was not to illuminate but to evade.

Ireland's particular perspective

    Some commentators seem puzzled by the strength of Irish sympathy for Palestinians. I am not. Ireland's historical experience has long shaped how many people view questions of dispossession, occupation and self-determination. Whether one agrees with those comparisons or not, they help explain why Gaza resonates so strongly with many Irish people. The reaction did not emerge from nowhere. It reflects a particular historical lens through which many people interpret events abroad.

The problem with demanding neutrality

    There is another expectation embedded within much of this criticism. People are often expected to discuss Gaza in a tone of almost clinical neutrality. Strong emotions are viewed with suspicion. Moral language is viewed with suspicion. Expressions of outrage are viewed with suspicion. Yet outrage is often the beginning of political engagement. The abolitionists who opposed slavery were outraged. The activists who challenged apartheid were outraged. The campaigners who confronted institutional abuses in Ireland were outraged. Outrage by itself is not enough. It can become simplistic or misdirected. But neither should it be dismissed as evidence of irrationality. There are moments when outrage is an entirely reasonable response. Indeed there are moments when the absence of outrage would be more troubling.

A question worth asking

    Perhaps the most revealing question is this. Why are some commentators more interested in examining the emotions of those who criticise Israel than in examining the events that gave rise to those emotions? Why does the conversation so often return to the alleged inconsistencies of protesters rather than the realities that motivated them?

    I do not claim to know the answer in every case. Some critics are undoubtedly sincere. Some genuinely believe they are defending universal standards. Others may simply be weary of what they perceive as one-sided public discourse. But the pattern remains striking. Again and again the spotlight shifts away from Gaza and towards those who are speaking about Gaza. That shift deserves scrutiny.

More humanity, not less

    The world is overflowing with suffering. There are wars that receive little attention. There are forgotten conflicts that rarely make headlines. There are victims whose stories remain largely untold. We should care about them. We should learn more about them. We should broaden our moral horizons wherever possible. Yet the existence of neglected injustices does not invalidate concern for visible ones. The people of Gaza do not cease to matter because dissidents are imprisoned in Iran. Iranian dissidents do not cease to matter because civilians suffer in Gaza. Migrant workers in Qatar do not cease to matter because another crisis dominates the news. Compassion is not a finite resource. It does not become depleted through use.

    The proper response to selective concern is not less concern. It is more. If commentators genuinely wish to encourage greater awareness of human rights abuses elsewhere, they should make those arguments directly and persuasively. They should write about forgotten victims. They should draw attention to neglected crises. They should persuade the public to widen its focus. What they should not do is suggest that concern for one tragedy becomes somehow illegitimate because other tragedies also exist. That argument does not expand our humanity. It diminishes it. And at a moment when humanity appears in short supply, that seems a particularly dangerous path to take...

©Kieran Beville