Political Maturity in an Age of Binaries

How do “stupidity” and “vulgarity” turn into political action? This isn’t abstract. I still remember a moment in 2004, during a friendly football match between Iran and Germany to raise money for the Bam earthquake. Some Iranian fans, not knowing the history, made the Nazi salute toward the German players. The video didn’t go viral — there was no social media yet — but it sparked a heated debate in Iran about how little people knew about fascism, Nazism, and history. When ignorance moves from a private opinion to a public act, it start being harmless. It gives oxygen to symbolic violence, it normalizes what should be unthinkable, and it turns real suffering into a spectacle.

Living in Greece, I sometimes see the same kind of shallow politics: people who don’t really know the history, the ideologies, or the movements they claim to support or oppose. What scares me is how widespread it is. But there’s one big difference from that 2004 scene in the Iranian stadium. What is broadcast from “European” countries has much more weight in global media. Images that come from here shape narratives everywhere. That makes the same ignorance more dangerous, because it travels with an aura of authority.

Let’s be clear: many people who support Palestine do it sincerely. They honestly oppose mass killings. I respect that. The problem is that part of these crowds — often the loudest part — repeat a second-hand, comforting story about “resistance” that ends up defending a religious, authoritarian force. For many in the West, Hamas is simply “resistance.” For people who have lived under religious rule — who know the morality police, the repression of unions, the control over your body and your life — Hamas belongs to religious fascism. Fighting Israel and the West is only part of its program; the other part is turned inward, against its own society, and it works with the same hostility to women, to freedom, and to life that, if it appeared in Europe, would immediately be called fascism.

Hamas is part of the anti-colonial resistance fighting an occupying power and, at the same time, as a political organization, it reproduces a religious authoritarianism that progressive movements cannot support. That distinction matters. We support the right of Palestinians to resist occupation and mass killing; but we shouldn’t sanctify a clerical, misogynistic, anti-union project that would end up crushing the very freedoms we’re fighting for everywhere. Supporting the cause is not the same as supporting the actor that has captured it.

The laziest trap is the childish binary: “You’re with us or against us.” If you criticize the sanctification of Hamas, you get labeled islamophobic. If you condemn Israel’s state crimes, you get labeled antisemitic. This is exactly where political illiteracy does the most damage: it erases complexity in order to package real pain into pre-made images. An ethical politics has to hold two truths at the same time. We can and must oppose genocide, occupation, and blockade, and at the same time reject any religious, authoritarian force that denies human freedom and equality. Holding both positions is not a contradiction — it’s political maturity.

Where does the mistake start? In confusing “symbols” with “life.” When politics is reduced to flags and slogans, real people — women, workers, children, prisoners, journalists — disappear into the background. Then “representation” gets captured by forces that rule with the old master-and-servant logic. Historical ignorance gives this swap a theoretical excuse: people who don’t know the history of fascism build a romantic image of “resistance,” where strict discipline, sacred masculinity, and a cult of death are presented as virtues. That’s how we end up repeating scenes like the one in 2004: bodies imitating a symbol without understanding it — until the symbol becomes the meaning and pushes political action in the worst direction.

So what do we do? First, bring the measure back from the symbolic level to the level of life. If solidarity is the goal, judge it on life-based grounds: unconditional protection of civilians; end of blockade and occupation; stop to settlement building; release of prisoners and hostages; immediate opening of humanitarian corridors; guarantee of basic rights. These are concrete, measurable goals — not identity theater.

Second, draw a clear anti-fascist line: no sanctifying, no whitewashing, no romanticizing of religious, authoritarian, supremacist, or totalizing forces under the banner of “resistance”; and at the same time, zero tolerance for islamophobia, antisemitism, or racism. Both sides of that line matter.

Third, free the language of solidarity from paternalism. Defending people means giving back their capacity to act — not handing it over to armies, states, or sectarian militias. Solidarity should amplify the needs and voices of civilians, not turn them into extras for someone else’s power.

Fourth, move from posing to competence. Basic public education on the history of fascism, on how religious authoritarianism works, and on the difference between the appearance and the substance of “resistance” should be the starting point for any solidarity group. A clear, accurate, one-page leaflet to hand out at every demo or assembly quickly raises the level of debate and removes the excuse of “people are too ignorant.”

The Iranian experience teaches a crucial lesson: you can be against imperialism and colonial violence and at the same time oppose religious despotism at home and in the region. You can say “no to mass killing and occupation” and, in the same sentence, “no to clerical rule and control.” You can defend Palestinian suffering without becoming the spokesperson for a geopolitical bloc or a militia. This is exactly what part of Europe doesn’t understand — and when this misunderstanding turns into action, it shapes politics and culture everywhere, because positions taken here produce meaning, and meaning directs politics.

Going back to that 2004 image shows what’s at stake. What looked like “harmless ignorance” on a small scale becomes dangerous on a large scale — especially today, when slogans and signs travel around the world in seconds. Our responsibility is bigger now. If we hate atrocity, we also have to hate the roots of atrocity. If we want freedom, we have to draw a clear line and stand against every form of unfreedom — whether it carries the flag of a state or of a religious militia.

Building effective solidarity means moving from paranoia and posturing to practice and to the defense of basic demands: bread, water, healthcare, school, safety, and the unconditional right to life — on both sides of every border. Any reality that advances these goals is our ally. Any reality that erodes them — even with beautiful words — is an enemy of freedom.

This clarity isn’t “harshness”: it’s respect for life. If we abandon politics to spectacle, we’ll once again be swallowed by symbolic ignorance. If we bring politics back to a life-centered measure, we can oppose genocide and at the same time keep the threat of a future religious fascism away. These are not positions we have to choose between. The real choice is between spectacle and life. I choose life. And if you choose it too, then make it a simple, steady habit for every demo, meeting, or statement: no to killing, no to occupation, no to fascism — yes to freedom, yes to bread, water, care, and school for everyone.