Pride or Pinkwashing: Does Israel use the LGBTQ+ event to present itself as better than it is?

Israel presents itself as a gay-friendly tourist destination and invited foreign journalists to attend Pride in Tel Aviv. I accepted the invitation but with some doubts.

25th of October 2022

Drag queens, bare chests, rainbow flags, and banners. But also: Israeli flags and heavily armed soldiers on the side of the road. I am standing among thousands of other LGBTQ+ individuals, dancing in the blazing sun at Tel Aviv Pride, as a journalist advocating for LGBTQ+ rights in the Netherlands and beyond – and I am here with many questions and doubts.

I write for international media outlets like Vice and Them by Condé Nast, often addressing the challenges faced by sexual minorities in the Middle East; for example, the risks to the LGBTQ+ community posed by the internet, which authoritarian regimes use for surveillance and censorship. I also frequently lead panel discussions on topics such as human rights and inequality of opportunity. Through my work, I am surrounded by people who fight for justice, and I am involved with emancipatory communities.

I received an invitation from the Israeli Ministry of Tourism to attend a special Pride program in Tel Aviv this summer as a journalist. Everything would be taken care of and paid for, and it was up to me whether and what I would write about it. They mentioned that they were aware of my articles on the LGBTQ+ community and repeatedly assured me that they would appreciate it if I wrote something about Tel Aviv Pride, but it was not a requirement.

However, I hesitate to go. Because of the shadow that the Israel-Palestine issue inevitably casts over all events there, because of the ongoing (war) threat, the occupation of Palestinian territories, and human rights violations. Can I, as a gay man, be a neutral observer (or even a part) of an LGBTQ+ emancipation event there? Would it not seem like I am ignoring the plight of the Palestinians? Moreover, Israel also has a reputation for "pinkwashing," using LGBTQ+ emancipation to present itself in a better light than it actually is. Should I not let myself be exploited for that as a journalist? I weigh the pros and cons and ultimately decide: the best way to find out is to go see for myself. I accept the invitation.

Tel Aviv Pride has been surrounded by controversy since its first edition. Every year, activists call for a boycott, which then leads to division. In the eyes of opponents, the freedoms in Israel, including those of the LGBTQ+ community, are achieved at the expense of Palestinians.

Any mention of Israel is sure to be met with a storm of criticism. I feel that from my surroundings: from multiple sides, I am advised not to post anything about my trip on social media. LGBTQ+ activists and advocates for the Palestinian cause might see me as a propaganda tool, helping the country divert attention from human rights abuses and the Arab-Israeli conflict. Indeed, as soon as I post on Instagram that I am in Tel Aviv and why, I receive angry messages and lose dozens of followers who primarily follow me because of my journalistic work. But there are also people who wish me success.

For Israel, Pride is an opportunity to present itself as liberal, progressive, and Western – as the antithesis of conservative Palestine. And it is remarkable: a grand LGBTQ+ parade in a region where homosexuality is punishable in most countries, sometimes even carrying the death penalty. Even in countries where homosexuality is not illegal, the climate is hostile, such as in Turkey, where the Istanbul Pride Parade was suppressed at the end of June. In Egypt, hundreds of homosexual men have been tracked down in recent years using online dating apps like Grindr. The Egyptian police set up traps, posing as interested boys, after which they were arrested and convicted for "immoral acts" and "debauchery." The situation is even more dire in Iran: in February, two gay men were executed there after spending six years on death row for committing "sodomy." Just last month, two women advocating for LGBTQ+ rights were sentenced to death.

As a gay man with Coptic-Egyptian roots and a minor in Middle Eastern Studies, I know that there is little room in the Arab world to openly express my identity. When I visited my family in Egypt two years ago, close relatives insisted, for my own safety, that I hide my homosexuality, and I took off my earrings so as not to stand out. In the past decade, many of my family members have left Egypt, where Copts, the indigenous Christians, have long been discriminated against.

Gay marketing
During Pride Week in Tel Aviv, I feel right at home. The city has all the appearances of a gay haven; rainbow flags are hanging everywhere, and I feel free to openly be myself. "Tell all your followers how LGBTQ+-friendly Tel Aviv is," the CEO of the city's marketing machine, Tel Aviv Global, calls out to me at a reception with representatives from the Ministry of Tourism, the deputy mayor, and the many influencers and journalists invited from around the world. I spend the whole week deeply immersed in the LGBTQ+ bubble. My fellow journalists and I are well taken care of, and we quickly form a bond. We go to beach parties together and stay in a luxury hotel. Once back in our hotel rooms, rainbow packages await us on our beds, filled with gifts like sunscreen and foldable fans, sponsored by brands like Nivea. And on top of that, we are accompanied by a guide who jokes with us and is highly engaged. He gets us on the guest list for parties and follows up with answers to all the questions he couldn't initially provide. Differences in political opinions fade away, and the Israeli-Arab conflict seems distant. And amid all the homotouristic amusement, Israel's bad reputation disappears like snow in the sun.

Is this pinkwashing? Is Israel presenting itself as LGBTQ+-friendly to reap political and economic benefits? It is certainly true that Israel struggles with an image problem as a country of violence and human rights abuses and that it underwent a rebranding in the early 2000s with Brand Israel, a marketing campaign promoting the country as an LGBTQ+ holiday destination. This is partly true, although the image of a gay paradise is more nuanced than the marketing suggests. While homosexuality was decriminalized in Israel in the late 1980s with the repeal of an old British colonial law, during a tour of important LGBTQ+ places in Tel Aviv, one of the guides emphasizes that not every LGBTQ+ person in Israel leads an unfettered life. "The situation in the rest of the country is far from perfect, and many things are legally not in order. As a gay person, I cannot get married here, and due to the lack of options, my daughter was conceived through commercial surrogacy in India."

To pray or to play According to the independent American research firm Pew Research, 45 percent of Israelis have a negative view of homosexuality. Therefore, the LGBTQ+ community in Israel frequently experiences violence. In 2009, an attack was carried out on an LGBTQ+ youth center in Tel Aviv, and in 2015, during Jerusalem Pride, someone was stabbed by an ultra-Orthodox Jew. An Israeli visitor to the gay bar Shpagat tells me that the "real war" in Israel is between progressive secularists and conservative religious groups. He would rather be surrounded by Palestinians than ultra-Orthodox Jews. "In Tel Aviv, we try to live and let live – I am glad this city and this bubble exist." Around a quarter of Tel Aviv's population identifies as part of the LGBTQ+ community. Compared to the rest of the country, the city is exceptionally progressive and secular. An Israeli saying goes, "In Jerusalem, wepray, in Tel Aviv, we play."

In the rainbow utopia in which I have been immersed for days, cracks start to appear when we visit Jerusalem. As we drive past the miles-long separation wall and the guide pulls out a map indicating Palestinian territory as Israeli, a heated discussion ensues. "I find it difficult to have fun here while knowing that people on the other side are living in dire conditions," says a journalist next to me. I share her discomfort. An old man from whom I later buy flatbread with za'atar on the street whispers, "This is my land," when he realizes I speak Arabic. As I read the pain in his eyes, I catch myself feeling relieved that we will return to Tel Aviv in a few hours, where the tension is less palpable. Even I, after being enveloped in a pink bubble for a week, am susceptible to rainbow propaganda.

There are other moments when I see that Israel is not equally welcoming to everyone. Upon arrival at the airport, the customs officer asks for the names of my grandfather (Danial) and great-grandfather (Michael). "So, you're not Muslim, right?" When I answer that I have a Coptic background, he welcomes me with a nod. Others often assume from my appearance that I have a Muslim background, which leads to ethnic profiling and a sense of mistrust.

Experiences like these give a bitter taste to Israel's explicit presentation as a liberal, progressive LGBTQ+ haven. "Israel is the beacon of stability in a region where women are stoned, gays are hanged, and Christians are persecuted," said Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu in 2011. He thus painted the contrast between a civilized Israel and barbaric neighboring countries. The acceptance of gays, ethnic minorities, and women serves as a measure of democracy and freedom.

Fighting for LGBTQ+ rights LGBTQ+ individuals are often used as a means to demonstrate how a country or organization wants to position itself. This happens across the entire spectrum, including the far right. For example, the Russian Orthodox Church links gay parades to the invasion of Ukraine. According to the church, there is a struggle between the East and the West, with the West imposing its corruption through the "sin" of homosexuality.

In early October, Russian President Putin referred to the "decadent West" in a speech about LGBTQ+ rights. He called the West "Satanic" and mentioned slave trading and homosexuals raising children as threats to virtuous Russia.

In the Netherlands as well, the LGBTQ+ community is not immune to extreme rhetoric. For instance, Wilders claims that gays are no longer safe due to the "Islamization" of Europe, using gay rights as a weapon against Muslim immigrants.

However, just because Pride is used to promote Israel as a tourist destination does not mean that it is not a genuine tool of emancipation in Israel. Yorai Lahav-Hertzano, a member of the Yesh Atid party, emphasized: "It is local organizations that fight for LGBTQ+ rights and organize the Pride, with financial support from the Tel Aviv municipality."

My regular guide, Nachshon Gal, emphasizes that not all Israelis and Palestinians are at odds with each other: "Israeli LGBTQ+ organizations also work for the fate of the Arab population in Israel and for Palestinians seeking refuge here. In Arab culture, homosexuality is often seen as a disgrace to the family."

The gruesome murder of a Palestinian gay man on the West Bank confirms the challenging reality for LGBTQ+ individuals in Palestine. Ahmed Abu Markhiya, a 25-year-old, was killed and beheaded with a sharp object in Hebron in early October. A video of the murder, presumably uploaded by the perpetrator on social media, caused outrage and disgust. According to Israeli media, the victim had been threatened for years due to his homosexuality. He had also spent the past few years in various Israeli shelters and hoped to seek asylum in Canada. Reports from the Palestinian advocacy organization Al Qaws ("The Rainbow") indicate that there have been multiple cases of mistreatment of homosexual individuals by the Palestinian police in recent years. It is estimated that around one hundred homosexual Palestinians are staying in Israeli shelters.

Whataboutism
Perhaps the issue is further complicated by the fact that LGBTQ+ emancipation is increasingly intertwined with other topics. In the past decade, emancipation movements have begun to collaborate more intensively under the framework of intersectionality: the idea that different forms of discrimination are interconnected. For example, a black lesbian woman is discriminated against based on both her race and her sexuality. So it's not either-or, but both-and.

This intersectional approach influences the approach to various forms of discrimination and exclusion. As a result, it is possible to see, for example, a Palestinian flag appearing at a demonstration for abortion or Black Lives Matter. Or during Pride, demonstrations against the oppression of the Uyghurs. No one is free until everyone is free. It is a noble pursuit, but it can complicate matters unnecessarily because the starting points of different groups can also conflict with each other.

LGBTQ+ individuals advocating for religious minorities should not expect those same minorities to fight for LGBTQ+ rights if their religious practices are predominantly homophobic. These differences make it difficult to work together.

Nowhere is there more whataboutism, a fallacy in which someone refers to another problem to downplay criticism, than on social media. With each passing day in Israel, more critical questions and indignant messages follow from LGBTQ+ activists and people advocating for the Palestinian cause, from both people I know and strangers.

I also feel the intersectional dilemma, partly due to the pressure from various activist voices in my surroundings. It is challenging for me to speak out online about this topic. On the one hand, messages on social media quickly take on a life of their own, and on the other hand, there are already enough preconceptions about someone like me – of Egyptian parents who, as Christians, left the country, gay, and a person of color – floating around. But by saying nothing and sticking to LGBTQ+ rights, some suddenly see me as an opponent of the Palestinian cause.

In Tel Aviv, nothing is black and white. At a party in an underground club, I strike up a conversation with a Palestinian lesbian couple. They tell me they feel freer than ever in Tel Aviv, even though they experience discrimination based on their ethnicity: "As gay Palestinians in Israel, we fall between two stools. We feel that we have to hide our Palestinian identity. Recently, we realized that we hardly speak Arabic anymore. But life as a gay person here is pleasant." At the same party, I also meet a French woman who no longer felt at home due to increasing anti-Semitism in Paris. Two years ago, she decided to emigrate to Tel Aviv for a job in the tech sector. "As a lesbian and a Jew, I have everything my heart desires here."

Colorful images
During the press trip, the places in Israel that tell a different story were partially hidden from view. For example, the guide strictly forbade us from going up the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, as it was deemed unsafe. Since I have only been able to immerse myself in progressive Tel Aviv, I have not been able to form a balanced view of Israel as a liberal country. But the fact that I can be myself as a gay man in Tel Aviv is not a fairy tale.

Have I, as a journalist advocating for LGBTQ+ rights, contributed to spreading Israel's coveted image as a liberal haven? On Instagram, I made it clear that I am well aware of where I am, and I also shared images of the miles-long separation walls and patrolling soldiers on the way to Jerusalem. Although those images pale in comparison to the colorful ones I posted.

The criticism I receive from various emancipation movements contains a grain of truth. But it is more nuanced. Thinking in terms of oppositions would not have given me insight into the lives of both Israeli and Palestinian LGBTQ+ individuals. Furthermore, I don't think it's useful to measure each other in that way. I would never blame others for speaking up for a good cause while not mentioning the oppression of the Copts, even though I belong to that ethnic group myself.

I also believe that we are only truly free when everyone is free. But freedom means something different for each individual and each emancipation movement. The uncomfortable truth is that it will take some time before we are all free. So, I understand why people feel the need to retreat into their own bubble and choose their own battles.