Americans routinely criticize allied nations without fear that the criticism itself will be treated as illegitimate or morally suspect. But conversations about Israel often carry a different moral and emotional gravity, shaped understandably by the Holocaust — not merely an episode of persecution, but a systematic attempt to eliminate an entire people from Europe.
That history matters. It should matter. It explains why many people approach Israel with a level of moral caution not always applied to other states.
But as an African American, I come from a tradition shaped by slavery, segregation, exclusion, and violence — harms carried out not by an external enemy, but within the very democracy that promised liberty. And we are often told that history must be remembered without allowing it to suspend civic standards or democratic accountability in the present.
That principle, if it is truly a principle, must apply consistently.
History should deepen our understanding of nations and peoples. It should cultivate humility, empathy, and caution. But democracies ultimately survive through consistent standards — through law, proportionality, institutional restraint, and the willingness to examine even those causes and allies we sympathize with most deeply.
Otherwise, historical suffering risks becoming not context for judgment, but permanent exemption from it.
Democracies ultimately survive not by avoiding scrutiny, but by remaining capable of it.