The term “state terrorism” is a deeply contentious one, often sparking fierce debate in political and academic circles. It describes the use of terror by a state, not against a rival state, but against a population, often one under its control. This essay will explore the concept of state terrorism by drawing a historical comparison between the Netherlands’ colonial past and Israel’s actions in Gaza. This comparison may help illuminate why the term is so seldom used in mainstream Western discourse, particularly within the Dutch academic community, when discussing the Israeli-Palestinian conflict.

State terrorism can be characterized by the disproportionate application of force by a state against a population that is largely defenceless and besieged. A key feature is the deliberate targeting of civilian infrastructure, such as hospitals and schools, leading to devastating casualties. This is distinct from a conflict between two evenly matched sides. It is this framework, a state employing systematic violence against a population under its effective control, that serves as the basis for this analysis.

The Netherlands’ own history offers a case study in such state-led violence. The Dutch colonial empire, especially in the Indonesian archipelago, was established and sustained through systematic state violence. In the late 1940s, the Dutch state conducted what it termed “police actions”. In reality, these were brutal colonial wars intended to suppress a legitimate independence movement. They were characterized by practices such as massacres and torture. For a long time, this violent history was marginalized in the Dutch national narrative, which instead prioritized an image of trade, tolerance, and international justice. This selective historical focus has created what might be described as a form of “cognitive dissonance” when the nation is faced with contemporary examples of state-led violence elsewhere.

The situation in Gaza, particularly since the events of 7 October 2023, presents elements that align with the framework of state terrorism. For 17 years prior, Gaza has been under a blockade that numerous human rights organizations have called an “open-air prison”. Following the attacks, the Israeli response has led to the near-complete destruction of Gaza, the displacement of over two million people, and an estimated death toll exceeding 54,000, with over 130,000 seriously injured. The military offensives have involved pounding civilian populations and infrastructure. These actions, described as the disproportionate application of force by a nuclear-armed state against a largely defenceless and besieged population, fit the characteristics of state terrorism previously outlined.

Further complicating the narrative, leading human rights bodies like Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch have stated that Israel’s systemic policies of oppression and domination against Palestinians amount to apartheid under international law. This system includes segregated roads, discriminatory resource access, and home demolitions, which remain largely invisible to a Western public often focused on the actions of Hamas militants.

Within Dutch academia, there appears to be a particular difficulty in critically discussing the concept of state terrorism in relation to Israel. To do so would require a direct reckoning with the Netherlands’ own history of colonial violence. If academics were to label Israel’s actions as state terrorism, it could be seen as a reflection of their own nation’s unresolved past. This unspoken reluctance is compounded by the fear of being labelled antisemitic for criticizing Israeli policy, a tactic frequently used to silence dissent. Consequently, Dutch academics who advocate for Palestinian rights often face significant pressure from both outside lobby groups and their own institutions.

In exploring the uncomfortable parallels between the Dutch colonial past and the present-day reality in Gaza, a more honest conversation can emerge. This analysis suggests that the hesitation to use terms like “state terrorism” is not merely a matter of political caution. It is also deeply intertwined with historical echoes and an unspoken reluctance to confront a pattern of violence that feels uncomfortably familiar. Acknowledging this historical dimension is a necessary step toward a more critical and informed academic discourse on the conflict.