You have studied antisemitism in our society in depth. Why has it also become a problem in parts of queer and progressive circles?
Antisemitism is a long-standing current running beneath the surface of society—very old, highly adaptable, and constantly finding new expressions. In Germany, openly antisemitic talk after the Holocaust was considered unbecoming; people spoke in euphemisms or through indirect language.
And how has it shown itself?
It wasn’t about “the Jews” as a group, but rather more abstract phrasing, or simply substituting Israel. Simplified worldviews that search for the evil in a complex world tend toward antisemitic stereotypes. The close ties between right-wing ideologies and antisemitic conspiracy patterns are well known.
To what extent is the political Left affected by this?
There is indeed a long tradition of fighting antisemitism on the Left. But there has always been a romantic critique of capitalism that relied on good-versus-evil binaries. Extreme language sometimes speaks of dark powers behind the conditions—an approach that can slip into antisemitic interpretations. Some forms of anti-capitalism cultivate such personified attributions unconsciously.
Why was this so long overlooked?
Because many assumed they stood on the right side of history and thus believed themselves immune to antisemitism. I’m from the East, and the history of real-socialist regimes compelled me to study the history of socialist thinking more intensively after 1989/90. Even within party communism, antisemitism was instrumentalized, externally as well as internally, in purges or in alliances with the Global South. In recent times, this has decreased, but the dynamics lingered.
What was it like for you back then?
In the 1990s I tended to see many things in stark, Manichean terms. That period also involved a personal reckoning, a struggle to recognize where I myself was not free from these patterns of thought.
Was there a turning point?
Not in a singular moment. For me the hinge was around 1989/1990—the break that compelled me to engage more deeply with the history of socialist thinking. In East Germany, this was quasi-religious. In the PDS (the party that emerged from the East), there were intense debates about antisemitism, including what was often labeled anti-Zionism. That reckoning has quieted a great deal in recent years.
How did that shift come about?
It’s been a while. As the Left grew more empowered, the urge to declare allegiance to the “right side” became stronger. It’s psychologically comforting to reduce the world’s complexity to clear images of friends and enemies. The misery of the world can feel easier to bear that way.
What political effect does this mode of activism have?
It changes nothing substantive; it stabilizes the prevailing order. The bitter irony is that it can lead you to ally with people who have little to do with Left values—Islamist or nationalist groups, where the hard-won human rights or queer emancipation aren’t valued highly.
In the queer community, many are unsettled by how the group “Queers for Palestine” marches alongside people or forces that are hostile to queerness or even tied to terrorist organizations. How do you explain such alliances?
These alliances aren’t primarily about changing the world; they are about identity claims—being on what is seen as the “right side.” They hinge on a sense of redemption tied to a piece of land in the eastern Mediterranean, where supposedly all the world’s core problems converge. That’s why slogans like “Palestine will set us free” can feel so persuasive.
…the idea behind it is that the liberation of one oppressed people will contribute to the liberation of all other oppressed groups—including one’s own queerness. An activist once argued: “Because human rights are universal, I march for the rights of people who reject my sexuality.” How would you respond?
Yes, human rights are universal, and it is legitimate to empathize with people in humanitarian distress even when you do not share their position. But marching beside Islamists and nationalists does not defend their human rights; it supports an ideology aimed at erasing them. If you stand with those who want to suppress your own rights, you aren’t defending universal human rights—you’re endorsing a worldview that seeks your elimination.
How can a meaningful exchange about this be conducted?
Not through polemic and repression, because that only hardens people in their dogmatic shells. The only viable route is a substantive, patient debate over the issues, which is arduous and slow. Unfortunately, within the Left today, the tendency often leans away from such careful dialogue.
Do you still find value in anti-colonial and queer-feminist theories?
Absolutely. They remain integral to left critical thinking: acknowledging how economic dependencies rooted in colonial times persist, or recognizing the fluidity of gender identities, for instance.
When does the danger of veering into antisemitism arise?
When the critical, self-critical pursuit of knowledge is displaced by a need for affective mobilization. That is a hallmark of today’s digital capitalism, which fuels polarized positions. Nuance struggles to survive. It becomes less about self-reflection and more about mobilizing for quasi-religious purposes.
Then the problem isn’t the theories themselves but what is made of political activism?
Yes, though it’s fair to note that some advocates of these currents are willing to set aside insights in the interest of activism.
Does Judith Butler, the author of Gender Trouble, belong in this discussion, who described Hamas’s October 7 attack as a form of armed resistance while insisting she did not support Hamas or justify their actions?
Very likely yes.
So she is an example of how some postcolonial or queer-feminist thought can become stuck?
Exactly. It can get stuck. If you downplay Islamist terrorism as resistance and justify it, you create a vision of a world where the West is blamed for everything negative—while in the Global South the revolutionary potential that could free the world remains untapped.
What is overlooked when one adopts such a Western-facing view?
That binary worldview ignores the many complex entanglements and ambivalent developments in the Global South. It isn’t all gold in the South, nor all oppression in the North. Not everything in the Global North is a story of domination, and not everything in the Global South is a golden horizon of liberation.
Do the freedoms fought for in the West vanish when you ask how they were won?
Human rights, press freedom, and the rights to protest and assemble were not gifts that capital granted to obscure its rule—they were earned. Saying they happened only in the West or are mere Western ideology is itself a false binary: Haiti’s 1791 revolution reminds us that liberty can be contested and won elsewhere too. The hard-wought rights of queer people over the past decades are a testament to that; they were not handed to us, but earned through struggle. Undervaluing human rights as a shield for the capitalist order misses their existential importance to those deprived of them around the world.
And what does that imply for a queer movement that sees itself as internationalist?
It means recognizing that queer rights are trampled under Islamist regimes and that this is not a sign of a global power imbalance or Western malevolence alone, but a symptom of ideologies that dehumanize people. Those who fail to name such ideologies as the threat they are contribute to giving them space to grow. Progressive queers should stand with those fighting for equal human and social rights for all, never alongside those who glorify violence and undermine basic rights.
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How big is the problem in your view—and what does it mean for Jewish members of the queer community here?
I know many Jewish queers who feel pressured to repeatedly stake out a position in a conflict they have nothing to do with. Simply because they’re Jewish, they endure an ongoing expectation in some Left contexts to publicly take sides in the Israel-Palestine dispute. To me, that’s antisemitic.
What happens if they resist that pressure to pledge?
Then they face disassociation, a lack of empathy, and even threats. It can be violence, though often it appears as subtle exclusion. Many Jewish queer friends describe their double bind: in Jewish spaces they must assert themselves as queer; in queer spaces they’re pressured because they’re Jewish.
And how widespread is this within the Left?
Current studies show antisemitism—also Israel-related antisemitism—exists more on the right and in the political center than among people who identify as left. But the Left is far from immune. In my impression, such attitudes tend to rise in dogmatic and authoritarian-left circles.
What consequences does this have for left-wing politics?
It narrows the horizon of real political action. It’s often paired with a contempt for people who pursue political work in legislatures, councils, or elsewhere. For those engaged in such work, dogmatic Left circles often come with disdain.
What must change within the queer community?
We must back Jewish queers, create spaces where they feel safe and supported, and seriously address the root causes of the resentment within the Left. We need more understanding of how these mindsets form. It’s not helpful to belittle people who hold such patterns, and state repression—though it may help in places—is only limitedly effective, as it tends to fortify isolation rather than spark reflection.
How ready is the queer community for self-critique right now?
Some interpretive and worldview patterns are no longer questioned at all, and are treated as part of the cultural luggage of left thought. The willingness to reflect that antisemitism isn’t limited to any single political current seems quite low at the moment. As queers, we are used to questioning binary concepts of gender and identity; we should also muster the courage to question binary worldviews in general.
