“Whoever among you sees an evil, let him change it with his hand; and if he is not able to do so, then with his tongue; and if he is not able to do so, then with his heart—and that is the weakest of faith.”— Prophet Muhammad
Today, forecasting geopolitical events can feel like predicting the weather, as trade restrictions, sanctions, military coups, and government collapses have become almost daily occurrences.
In one of his talks, Simon Sinek reflects on Christoph Waltz’s portrayal of a Nazi SS officer in Inglourious Basterds (2009). What makes the character so chilling, Sinek argues, isn’t overt cruelty—but his calm intelligence, articulate reasoning, and even charm. During a talk show, when asked how he portrayed “evil” so convincingly, Waltz replied simply: “He wasn’t evil.”
This reveals a profound truth: no one sees themselves as the villain. Perpetrators of atrocity act from a place of conviction, believing their cause to be just. This lens helps us understand figures like Benjamin Netanyahu. To many critics, the Israeli prime minister is one of the most evil individuals ever to walk the earth—a destructive force responsible for immense suffering in the Middle East and beyond. Yet to his supporters—and likely to himself—he is seen as a defender, even a savior, of Israel.
In his 2001 book Fighting Terrorism: How Democracies Can Defeat Domestic and International Terrorists—originally published in Hebrew in 1985 and reissued with a new introduction after 9/11—Benjamin Netanyahu lays out a vision rooted in Revisionist Zionism: one that advocates unchallenged Israeli strategic dominance in the Middle East. He frames Iran, Iraq, Sudan, the Taliban, and the Palestine Liberation Organisation (PLO) as interconnected nodes in a global terrorist network, deliberately equating them with Soviet communism as an “evil empire.” In doing so, he repurposes Cold War rhetoric for a post-9/11 world and positions himself as a key architect in dismantling any power that resists Revisionist Zionist geopolitical ambitions.
As early as a 1982 interview, Netanyahu identified the Soviet Union, the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), Czechoslovakia, East Germany, and Cuba as principal threats to the “civilized world.” Remarkably, most of these entities have since been dissolved, destabilized, or overthrown: the USSR and Czechoslovakia collapsed, East Germany was absorbed into a reunified Germany, Saddam Hussein’s regime fell in a U.S.-led invasion, and Muammar Gaddafi was toppled in a NATO-backed uprising. Today, only Iran remains—a cohesive, though heavily sanctioned, state under intense internal strain and external pressure.
This pattern aligns with what retired U.S. General Wesley Clark disclosed in 2007: that shortly after 9/11, a senior Pentagon official told him the Bush administration had already drafted plans to effect regime change in seven countries over five years—Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, and ultimately Iran.
According to Dr. David Miller—a British sociologist whose research focuses on Islamophobia and propaganda—Zionism is a transnational political movement dating to the late 19th century. The so-called “Israeli lobby” in American politics represents only a fraction of this broader ecosystem: specifically, organizations dedicated to influencing government policy. In the U.S., these include AIPAC and the Anti-Defamation League; in the U.K., BICOM and the Community Security Trust play similar roles. Miller notes that Netanyahu played a pivotal role in popularizing the term “Islamic terrorism.” At a 1984 Washington, D.C. conference he organized, the idea took root that Muslims are uniquely prone to terrorism—a narrative that replaced Cold War blame directed at the Soviet Union. This framing, Miller argues, serves long-term geopolitical agendas.
Netanyahu’s historical distortions are well-documented. In 2015, he claimed Hitler initially sought only to expel Jews and that Jerusalem’s Grand Mufti inspired the Holocaust—a statement widely condemned as a falsification of history used to vilify Palestinians. This reflects a recurring pattern of anti-Arab rhetoric deployed to consolidate domestic support.
Revisionist Zionism has long pursued a deliberate “divide and rule” strategy, often under a façade of transparency. Its actions align with a broader objective: regional hegemony informed by visions of a “Greater Israel” stretching “from the Brook of Egypt to the Euphrates.” While this biblical notion is not official Israeli policy, it continues to influence hardline religious and political factions.
Though Theodor Herzl invoked expansive territorial ideas in early Zionist discourse, the modern concept of “Greater Israel” stems primarily from Ze’ev Jabotinsky and his ideological heirs. Netanyahu, as a leader of the Revisionist-Likud tradition, embodies this hawkish lineage. His opposition to the Oslo Accords—and the climate of incitement that followed—helped create the conditions for the assassination of Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin.
Israel’s dominance stems not only from its military prowess but also from the absence of a unified Arab or Islamic counter-strategy. The region remains fractured by tribal loyalties, Sunni–Shia divisions, and ethnic cleavages—fault lines that external powers have exploited for decades. Nowhere is this more evident than in the growing rift between Saudi Arabia and the UAE. Though nominal allies, they are increasingly rivals. Riyadh sees itself as the natural leader of the Arab world and views Abu Dhabi’s assertive posture as a direct challenge. In Yemen, Saudi Arabia seeks a unified state to secure its border, while the UAE backs southern separatists—fueling fears in Riyadh of fragmentation on its doorstep. The UAE’s control of strategic Red Sea ports and its deepening security ties with Israel are perceived by Saudi leadership as encirclement.
Palestinian politics also mirrors this disunity. Power is split between the Fatah-dominated Palestinian Authority (PA) in the West Bank and Hamas in Gaza. Despite repeated reconciliation efforts—including a China-brokered agreement in 2024—no durable unity has emerged. Smaller actors like Palestinian Islamic Jihad and reformist movements such as Mustafa Barghouti’s Palestinian National Initiative remain marginal. The result is strategic paralysis.
This fragmentation is not accidental. In a 2019 Likud party meeting—captured on video—Netanyahu admitted that Israel allowed Qatari funds to flow into Gaza to strengthen Hamas and weaken the PLO, deliberately preventing the emergence of a unified Palestinian state. This policy engineered “controlled chaos”: a militarized Gaza and a politically fragmented West Bank.
When Hamas attacked Israel on October 7, 2023—despite prior intelligence warnings—Israel launched a devastating military campaign. By January 6, 2026, over 73,600 Palestinians, mostly civilians, had been killed; entire cities lay in ruins; and humanitarian aid was systematically obstructed. Leading legal scholars, human rights organizations, and United Nations experts have described the assault as bearing the hallmarks of genocide—a 21st-century moral catastrophe.
The global response has compounded this tragedy. Most Arab leaders, after watching in silence, rushed to sign gas deals and normalization agreements with the very power carrying out what legal scholars term genocide against their own people. Western hypocrisy has been equally stark: governments deliver human rights lectures while supplying the weapons for the assault. Only a few nations—Ireland, Spain, Belgium, and South Africa—have demonstrated consistent moral courage. For the rest, their silence is complicity.
In contrast to Arab disunity, the World Zionist Congress has demonstrated enduring cohesion. First convened in 1897 in Basel by Theodor Herzl, it served as the legislative body of the World Zionist Organization, uniting Jewish leaders worldwide to coordinate efforts toward establishing a homeland in Palestine. It played a pivotal role in mobilizing the political, financial, and diplomatic support that culminated in the founding of Israel in 1948. Even after independence, the Congress continued—evolving into a platform for shaping policy across Zionist institutions and strengthening ties between Israel and the Jewish diaspora. Now held every five years, it has convened 39 times as of 2026, most recently in Jerusalem from October 28 to 30, 2025.
But what does this Congress actually do today?
The U.S. campaign to indict and capture President Nicolás Maduro, the secession of South Sudan, the push for Somaliland’s international recognition, support for separatist movements in Yemen, and the entanglement of Russia in a protracted war with Ukraine, designed to weaken Europe’s strategic autonomy—are all manifestations of a recurring geopolitical playbook: fragmentation as a tool of influence.
The case of Venezuela is particularly revealing. It was Hugo Chávez, Venezuela’s former president, who severed diplomatic ties with Israel in 2009. His successor, Nicolás Maduro, has continued and intensified this stance, employing strident anti-Zionist rhetoric—calling Netanyahu the “Hitler of the 21st century” and accusing Israel of committing genocide in Gaza. Maduro blames “Zionist plots” for Venezuela’s economic crises and portrays his nation as a Christian bulwark under siege, even referring to Jesus as a “Palestinian martyr.”
Yet Venezuela is only one node in a broader geopolitical pattern. Israel, for its part, has pursued a consistent strategy of cultivating alliances with non-Arab actors on the periphery of the Middle East. Since the 1960s, it supported southern rebels in Sudan, viewing an independent, non-Arab South Sudan as a vital counterweight to hostile Arab states like Egypt and Sudan. This approach aligned with Israel’s historic “periphery doctrine”—a strategy of forging partnerships with non-Arab minorities to offset regional isolation. After South Sudan’s independence in 2011, Israel became one of its earliest diplomatic partners and a key arms supplier.
Similarly, Israel’s interest in recognizing Somaliland stems from its strategic location on the southern Red Sea. A formal partnership would grant Israel maritime access, intelligence-gathering capabilities, and a forward position to counter Iranian-backed Houthi operations—thereby securing vital global shipping lanes.
In Yemen, Israel is not a formal belligerent, but it has increasingly aligned with the UAE-backed Southern Transitional Council (STC). This tacit support for southern separatism serves Israel’s broader goal of containing Iranian influence and neutralizing Houthi threats to Red Sea shipping.
Meanwhile, repeated attempts to cripple Iran—through sanctions, cyberattacks, and covert operations—have failed to achieve regime change. And the war in Ukraine, among other consequences, has deepened Europe’s dependence on U.S. energy and security frameworks.
These are not random events. They reflect patterns of strategic coordination that transcend individual leaders or administrations. Benjamin Netanyahu is not the architect of this system—he is a visible functionary within a much larger, enduring structure of power.
Religion amplifies these dynamics. U.S. evangelicals support Israeli expansionism, believing Jewish control of Jerusalem will hasten Christ’s Second Coming—even though their theology ultimately demands the conversion or destruction of Jews who reject Jesus.
The Middle East now sits on a ticking bomb. Yet influencers and content creators hail Gulf “miracles”—glass towers and villa compounds rising from the desert—mistaking spectacle for substance. These economies, as Nassim Nicholas Taleb might argue, are fragile, not antifragile: outwardly prosperous but structurally vulnerable, lacking the social cohesion, institutional depth, and narrative sovereignty that define truly resilient nations.
Saudi Arabia, sensing encirclement—from the UAE-Israel normalization, Israeli entrenchment in Syria, and moves toward recognizing Somaliland—views any formal pact with Israel as increasingly perilous. As custodian of Islam’s holiest sites, Riyadh risks triggering widespread backlash across the Muslim world if it proceeds with normalization while abandoning the Palestinians. Its recent security agreement with nuclear-armed Pakistan signals growing anxiety. Meanwhile, the UAE’s assertive foreign policy—accused by Sudan’s government of complicity in atrocities and criticized by Riyadh for fueling Yemen’s fragmentation—reveals the perils of overreach.
Zionism prevails not because its cause is just, but because its adversaries remain fragmented, reactive, and short-sighted. While Zionist institutions have operated with century-long vision, coordination, and continuity, the Arab and Muslim world cycles through internal rivalries and opportunism. There is no equivalent to the World Zionist Congress. No regional alliance with shared intelligence, economic resilience, or diplomatic unity. No sustained investment in narrative sovereignty or soft power. In place of strategy, spectacle; in place of solidarity, suspicion.
Until this changes—until the region builds a durable, collective front rooted in shared interests rather than sectarian divisions—the imbalance will persist. Zionism’s victories are not preordained; they arise from disciplined organization confronting profound disarray. And as long as that asymmetry endures, so too will the suffering it enables.
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