The human tragedy in Gaza has reached a scale that defies easy description. Entire neighbourhoods lie in ruins, thousands have been killed – many of them women and children – and essential resources such as water, electricity and medicine are critically scarce. The images and testimonies emerging daily have reignited a pressing question: Is Gaza experiencing genocide?
For some, the answer is obvious; for others, it is premature or legally unproven. To engage with this question, we must first understand what ‘genocide’ means under the 1948 United Nations Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide. The convention defines genocide as certain acts – killing members of a group, causing serious harm, imposing life-destroying conditions, preventing births or forcibly transferring children – when carried out with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnic, racial or religious group. The key element is intent.
Large-scale killing alone does not automatically qualify; courts seek proof that violence is directed at eliminating the group’s existence, not merely defeating its armed forces. This is where the Gaza debate intensifies. Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch point to the immense civilian death toll, destruction of homes and infrastructure, and inflammatory statements by Israeli officials as indicators of genocidal acts or intent. The US and Israel reject these claims, insisting the military campaign targets Hamas, not Palestinians, and that civilian casualties are an unavoidable consequence of urban warfare in a densely populated area.
Those like this columnist, who see Gaza as a genocide, highlight disturbing parallels with past atrocities: overwhelming civilian casualties; bombing of homes, schools, and vital infrastructure; and the blockade of food, fuel and medicine – echoing the “conditions of life calculated to bring about physical destruction” described in the Genocide Convention. Statements dehumanising Palestinians or suggesting their removal mirror the propaganda that preceded other genocides. Mass forced evacuations under impossible conditions recall death marches and population transfers seen in Bosnia, Cambodia, Rwanda and the Holocaust. In each case, a group was cast as an existential threat, collectively punished, and subjected to state-led destruction of its means of survival.
The International Court of Justice is currently hearing South Africa’s case accusing Israel of violating the Genocide Convention. While the ICJ has issued provisional measures ordering Israel to prevent genocidal acts, it has not yet delivered a final judgment. History offers grim lessons. Major 20th-century genocides – from Bosnia and the Holocaust to Cambodia and Rwanda – shared common warning signs: dehumanising rhetoric, deprivation of resources, systematic displacement and the targeting of civilians. Given these patterns, many wonder why Arab and Muslim states – some wealthy and militarily capable – do not intervene directly to stop the carnage in Gaza.
The reasons are complex. Israel possesses one of the most advanced militaries in the world, enjoys strong US backing and has nuclear capabilities. Any direct confrontation could plunge the region into chaos. The Arab world is politically divided, with several states having peace treaties or normalised relations with Israel. Economic dependence on Western markets, arms and investment also discourages confrontation.
Authoritarian regimes fear that large-scale mobilisation over Palestine could spill into domestic unrest. Consequently, most Arab and Muslim governments limit themselves to diplomacy through the UN, Arab League or the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation – approaches that have yielded little beyond symbolic resolutions.
For Palestinians living under bombardment, displacement and deprivation, the legal distinctions between ‘war crimes’, ‘crimes against humanity’, and ‘genocide’ can feel academic. Survival under siege is the daily reality. History warns that by the time the world agrees on the terminology, the killing is often over. Any discussion of Gaza’s suffering today is incomplete without considering Israel’s deepening global partnerships – particularly with India, which has emerged as one of its closest strategic allies over the past three decades. India formally established diplomatic ties with Israel in 1992, but security cooperation began earlier.
Today, Israel is among India’s top arms suppliers, providing advanced weaponry, drones, missile defence systems and cyber-surveillance tools. The two countries frame their security doctrines in similar terms: democracies facing cross-border terrorism and hostile neighbours, justifying militarised control over contested territories.
For India, this translates into heavy militarisation of Jammu and Kashmir; for Israel, it means the blockade and repeated military assaults on Gaza. In both cases, the actions are presented as counterterrorism rather than as occupation or systemic repression. Since the late 1990s, India has actively sought Israeli expertise in counterinsurgency.
Israeli firms supply rifles, surveillance drones and sophisticated fencing systems deployed along the Line of Control in Kashmir. Crowd-control tactics in Kashmir often echo those used in the West Bank and Gaza, including the controversial use of pellet guns – first deployed by Israeli forces against Palestinians – which have blinded and injured thousands of protesters. Israeli cyber tools, such as the Pegasus spyware, have been linked to surveillance of Kashmiri activists, journalists and political figures. Politically, India’s stance on Palestine has shifted from staunch cold war–era solidarity to a ‘balanced’ position that increasingly tilts towards Israel.
While India still votes for some pro-Palestinian resolutions at the UN, it now frequently equates Palestinian armed resistance with terrorism and calls for “restraint on both sides”. This shift was starkly symbolised in 2017, when Prime Minister Narendra Modi became the first Indian leader to visit Israel, skipping a stop in Ramallah altogether. In moments of intense Israeli military action, such as the current Gaza war, India refrains from condemnation and affirms Israel’s “right to defend itself”. I see this as complicity in human rights abuses; others argue it reflects a pragmatic alignment against common security threats.
Though Gaza and Kashmir differ in history, demographics, and geopolitical context, the India-Israel nexus unites them through common approaches: framing contested territories as counterterrorism problems; using advanced surveillance and crowd suppression; and dismissing international criticism as biased. Both governments rely on narratives portraying themselves as democracies under siege, seeking to justify military measures that restrict political freedoms and intensify civilian suffering.
The consequences for the people of these regions are stark: heightened militarisation, pervasive surveillance, restricted movement and narrowing space for peaceful political engagement. In Gaza, this reality is compounded by a total blockade and periodic military offensives. In Kashmir, it manifests through curfews, communication blackouts and mass detentions.
Israel’s battlefield-tested technologies, refined in Palestinian territories, find new applications in Kashmir. Conversely, India’s diplomatic support bolsters Israel’s position in forums where it faces criticism for its Gaza policies. This synergy strengthens both states’ capacities to maintain control over disputed territories and also deepens the suffering of those living under their rule.
The tragedy in Gaza – whether or not it ultimately meets the legal definition of genocide – reflects a wider global pattern in which states normalise extreme measures against populations they deem security threats. International alliances, like the one between India and Israel, can serve to reinforce such measures, providing each side with political cover, technology and mutual validation.
For Palestinians in Gaza and civilians in Kashmir, the strategic logic binding New Delhi and Tel Aviv offers little comfort. Both live under the shadow of policies that prioritise security narratives over human rights, military control over dialogue and short-term tactical gains over long-term peace.
History’s warning is clear: when the international community hesitates to name and confront atrocities, political calculations take precedence over human lives. And when powerful states align around shared methods of control, the cost is borne most heavily by those with the least power to resist.
The writer holds a PhD from the University of Birmingham, UK. He tweets/posts @NaazirMahmood and can be reached at: mnazir1964@yahoo.co.uk
