Blurring opinion with international law fails survivors of sexual violence

When respected journalist Nicholas Kristof published a New York Times column alleging systemic sexual abuse of Palestinian detainees by Israeli soldiers, settlers, and prison guards, he drew necessary attention to a hidden and deeply troubling subject. Yet the column also ignited intense criticism from Israeli officials and pro‑Israel commentators, some calling it “one of the worst blood libels ever to appear in the modern press.”

As reports summarised, Kristof based his piece on conversations with 14 individuals who described mistreatment during detention. Even he conceded that “there is no evidence that Israeli leaders order rapes.”

The timing of the article, just before Israel released findings on Hamas’s sexual violence during the 7 attack, led some to suspect an effort to tarnish Israel ahead of the UN Secretary‑General’s annual ‘blacklist’, which names governments and armed groups credibly suspected of using sexual violence as a weapon of war.

That suspicion raises a critical question: What does it actually take to end up on that UN list? The so‑called ‘list of shame’ appears as an annex to the Secretary‑General’s annual report on conflict‑related sexual violence. The report draws on a system known as the Monitoring, Analysis and Reporting Arrangements (MARA), which gathers and verifies information through UN agencies, peacekeeping missions, and NGOs.

According to a 2024 analysis of UN procedures, four key criteria guide the listing and delisting process. The UN does not blacklist states or armed groups based on headlines, testimonies, or even disturbing but isolated reports. Instead, the process requires a systematic pattern of abuse; evidence that the sexual violence is linked directly to the conflict and involves rape, sexual slavery, or comparable acts; engagement by the accused party with the UN through concrete action plans to halt violations; sustained monitoring and verification –even after removal, ensuring the abuses have indeed ceased.

In short, inclusion on the list depends not on outrage or political pressure but on verified, organised, conflict‑related sexual violence under international scrutiny. Researchers note that each incident typically must be corroborated by at least three vetted sources – no easy task in conflict zones where survivors often fear reporting.

Kristof’s reporting matters because it amplifies detainees’ voices and allegations of mistreatment. But those accounts, while distressing, do not constitute evidence of a UN-recognised pattern of conflict‑related sexual violence. The alleged acts occurred within prisons and interrogations, not as tactics of war against civilians. They were spread over years, not tied to the current Israel-Hamas conflict. Fourteen testimonies, however serious, cannot by themselves establish the kind of methodical, verified pattern the UN requires.

Additionally, Kristof relies on anonymous accounts and advocacy group reports, some of which Israel accuses of Hamas ties. Israeli officials have categorically denied the allegations and pledged to investigate credible complaints. Until independent, multi‑source corroboration emerges, equating these accusations with the kind of systemic sexual violence that triggers UN sanctions is premature.

Having worked with survivors, I know how vital it is that their voices be heard-and how easily those voices are dismissed when accusations are politicised. That is why rigour, transparency, and process matter so much. If we blur the line between allegation and verified evidence, we risk eroding trust in all survivors’ stories.

Kristof’s column and the uproar it provoked highlight a broader, troubling tendency: sexual violence is being weaponised – not only by perpetrators but in the public discourse itself. Political camps on both sides of the Israel‑Palestine conflict have alternately amplified or minimised accusations depending on who stands accused, Hamas or Israel. Such polarisation serves power, not survivors.

Allegations of abuse by Israeli personnel must be investigated, and victims deserve justice. The UN’s threshold for listing does not excuse impunity until violence becomes widespread-it demands credible, verified evidence of a pattern. Israel should open detention facilities to independent observers, investigate all reports of sexual assault, and prosecute any perpetrators found responsible.

At the same time, sexual violence allegations must never be used as a political weapon. The UN’s listing process exists precisely to prevent that – so accountability rests on evidence, not outrage. Confusing journalism, advocacy, and international law corrodes confidence in all three.

Sexual violence, whether committed by Hamas, Israeli forces – or any actor – is an indefensible violation of human rights. It deserves compassion, attention, and unsparing pursuit of truth. But it also demands diligence.

If we seek justice for survivors, we must uphold the highest standards of evidence. Anything less risks turning the fight against sexual violence into just another front in a political war – and survivors deserve far better.

Ayelet Razin Bet Or is an Israeli women’s rights expert. She has led national efforts on gender equality in Israel and founded the ‘Dinah Project,’ advocating for global recognition of gender based war crimes committed by Hamas.