The circus of academic complicity A tragicomic spectacle of evasion on the world stage of genocide

With a dramatic flourish the ringmaster swings open the curtains. He clears his throat, tips his hat, and reveals the first act, directing the crowd’s gaze high to the performers ready to walk the tightrope. Dressed in academic gowns, they ready themselves to reach the distant platform to the other side where they claim ‘objective truth’, free of bias and prejudice, lies. 

Each clutches a long balancing pole of neutrality as they tread the delicate line between the push of empirical facts and the pull of moral standards. "The pursuit of knowledge," they unwaveringly cry out, "must remain pure… unswayed by the entanglement of morality and ideology in our judgement! Universities are apolitical—We don't take sides!" The balancing pole, tightly gripped by each of the performers, will shield them from the destabilising forces of subjectivity as they inch across the divide.

But it doesn’t take long before their balancing act begins to waver, the pole proving inadequate under the weight of reality. After all, universities are of course never truly impartial in selecting research projects, choosing collaborators, or allocating funding. Every decision is steeped in values—from championing “diversity and inclusion” and “decolonisation”, to subtly advancing the interests of multinational corporations. These choices are anything but neutral. 

Keeping the illusion intact, one thread at a time

The crowd grows uneasy as they begin to see how the performers also sidestep uncomfortable structural injustices—racism, exploitation, patriarchy, corporatisation—each shifting their weight on the rope, making their precarious act even more unstable. The tension mounts as the audience wonders how much longer the performers can maintain this fragile imbalance. 

Curious audience members sneak a peek behind the curtain, eager to uncover the secret that is keeping such an unstable act in motion. They find a bustling backstage scene: administrators, legal teams, committees... all busily pulling at the strings of the performance, weaving together a complex network of connections that prevent it from collapsing. Some threads are thick and visible—funding agreements, public statements, collaborative research; while others are delicate spiderwebs, formed by unspoken agreements and historical entanglements. Among the critical threads holding this performance together are collaborations with Israeli institutions: research projects, teaching partnerships, and affiliations embedded deeply in the university’s operations.

The crowd gasps as they discover how the balancing pole of neutrality, ostentatiously held aloft by the performers, was never more than a prop—a distraction from the real forces at play. The moment of exposure sends shockwaves through the act. The performers sway precariously, their balance slipping into disarray. 

Freedom for Me, not for Thee

The ringmaster quickly reappears, and in a desperate move to salvage the spectacle, he hurls the shield of academic freedom onto the performers. It lands in their grasp only to momentarily steady their stance. “Cutting ties would endanger academic freedom, the freedom to collaborate with whomever we choose!” they insist. 

But as the audience leans in, they see the details in the shield’s cast. In the performers’ hands this very shield isn’t a tool for defending the silenced in repressive spaces or for upholding justice. Rather, it is a mirror carefully polished to deflect inconvenient questions and truths, dazzling enough to momentarily blind the curious. 

The audience is left questioning whose freedom is truly at stake, doubting the performers’ impassioned declarations about their inalienable rights in contrast to the grim realities beyond the circus tent. For decades Israeli policies have systematically obstructed Palestinian access to education, erecting discriminatory barriers that extend from the classroom to the international arena. Palestinian universities face relentless impediments to collaboration, their efforts curtailed by military controls and bureaucratic restrictions. The destruction of educational institutions—culminating in the systematic bombing of all 12 universities in Gaza over the past year—marks an escalation to the most extreme levels imaginable in the ongoing campaign to obliterate knowledge. 

Even within Israel, the suppression of dissent extends to its own academic community. Scholars critical of government policies—regardless of whether Israeli, Palestinian or others—face escalating repression. Within Israel itself, research on politically sensitive topics like the 1948 Nakba is silenced and erased from academic discourse and curricula under the weight of Zionist control over education. 

It is against the backdrop of these realities that the shield of academic freedom melts into the air, laying bare the performers’ weaponisation of a concept only to justify the continuation of their own collaborations.

Balancing integrity and complicity

As the shield of academic freedom falters, the performers’ footing fumbles, their act teetering on collapse, as they desperately cling onto another prop—the banner of institutional integrity, flying in the tent’s canopy. In a final attempt they hoist the banner high and shout: “The Israeli government may oppress Palestinians, but at Israeli universities the situation is more nuanced!” For a brief moment, the performers steady themselves upright. 

But as the audience peers closer, the illusion quickly unravels: Israeli universities are deeply intertwined within the very systems of oppression the performers disregard. Palestinian, Israeli, and other scholars, alongside human rights organisations, have long exposed how Israeli universities fuel settler colonialism, apartheid, and military occupation. 

Take Tel Aviv University, for example. Not only did it develop the “Dahiya Doctrine,” a brutal military strategy targeting civilian infrastructure in Gaza, but it proudly supports ongoing military operations that implement this strategy. Engineering students at the university have boasted about creating technologies like "dog cameras" for army units, directly used in the attacks on Gaza. Meanwhile, the Technion Institute supplies weaponised bulldozers for demolishing Palestinian homes and surveillance technologies for the illegal separation wall. Hebrew University’s Talpiot program, which links military research with academic work, reveals how these institutions are complicit in oppressing Palestinians. Hebrew University, like many others, built parts of its campus on land internationally recognised as illegally occupied. Even in the face of relentless atrocities in Gaza, most Israeli university presidents have openly endorsed military aggression while refusing to speak out against war crimes and its government’s violations of international law. 

As the weight of truth unfolds, the banner of institutional integrity tears in the hands of the tightrope walkers. The sharp sting of the crowd’s scrutiny unbalances the performers from the rope. The intricate web of partnerships that were previously hidden behind the scenes are swiftly launched across the room, breaking the performers’ fall just in time. In their scramble to regain composure, they remain oblivious to how deeply they have fallen—entangled in the very systems of oppression they once pretended to challenge. “But we don’t endorse the entire institution!” they protest, “We focus only on apolitical projects like cancer research in these universities! What can be wrong with that?” 

Yet even these seemingly innocuous collaborations are essential threads holding the web together, visible to all and inseparable from the larger context of decades-long human rights violations that these institutions uphold. As Hannah Arendt noted decades ago, responsibility is not merely a matter of individual intent but of our participation in institutional systems that perpetuate oppression, regardless of whether we directly control them. Scholars working within these oppressive frameworks—whether engaging in military-linked research or seemingly “neutral” projects—serve to legitimise and support institutions that sustain exclusion and violence. Every partnership, grant, and exchange further entangles our universities in this web that reinforces apartheid structures under the guise of neutrality, either directly or indirectly fuelling Israel’s occupation of Palestine. 

Progressive voices, unmoving institutions

The performers, stubborn and unwilling to abandon their self-serving rationalisations, reach for one final escape: “We can’t sever ties with Israeli institutions or we’ll silence the progressive voices within them!” The claim falls flat, the spotlight exposing its glaring flaws. Progressive Israeli academics, they insist, will help dismantle apartheid from within but only if we continue propping up the very institutions that uphold it. 

But the audience now sees through the charade. Thirty years ago, in this very tent—or one much like it—other actors made the same plea. Back then it was South African apartheid being shielded under the guise of protecting dissident voices. Here and now, the outcome is no different. Decades of this excuse has neither dismantled Israeli apartheid nor occupation, and violence continues to escalate to unimaginable extremes with mass atrocities unfolding before our eyes. The few dissident scholars that exist have either been driven out or are marginalised within these very institutions, yet insist on calling for boycott and divestment—the very actions our universities doggedly resist. 

If history has taught us anything, it is that meaningful change does not come from within institutions designed to uphold oppression, but from the pressure imposed upon them.

Boycotts are considered as non-violent tools of resistance with a proven history: from the abolition of slavery and the Civil Rights movement, to the fight against South African apartheid. As civil rights leader Stokely Carmichael once said, “A boycott is the most passive political act anyone can engage in.” It does not reject academic freedom; it is a strategy to pressure states and institutions to fulfil their responsibilities under international law while still offering support to all individuals who challenge apartheid and occupation. 

By refusing complicity, boycotts amplify the voices of those silenced by systemic oppression, challenging entrenched injustice rather than clinging to the unlikely hope that a small, increasingly marginalised group can single-handedly reform a colonial system designed to resist change. Just as boycotts were integral to dismantling South African apartheid, they remain a crucial, peaceful strategy to confront Israeli apartheid and occupation.

Selective outrage

The murmurs in the tent swell into full-blown interruptions as the ringmaster, sensing the tension, attempts to regain control. With a theatrical sweep of his cane, he steps forward and announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, what an unforgettable spectacle we have witnessed! But alas, the time has come to wrap up this act. After all, the show must go on!" His smile falters as his voice struggles to cut through the rising discontent. "Let’s not dwell on boycotts now," he suggests with a wink, eager to avoid the unavoidable topic. 

Before he can continue, a sharp voice cuts through: “But didn’t we boycott Russian institutions after the invasion of Ukraine?” A ripple of recognition sweeps through the crowd, scepticism rising even further. The ringmaster stutters, “Well, that was different. The war was closer to home. The Russian attack on Ukraine was a serious violation of the international order. Our countries were directly involved as NATO partners, and the humanitarian crisis felt personal. Besides, we were just following orders from above—our governments mandated it.” 

His words fall flat, the justification thinning under the audience’s growing scrutiny.

The safety net now tightens under the weight of exposed contradictions and double standards. "Perhaps we acted too hastily with Russia," one performer still offers in a final fragile attempt. But it is too late. One of the audience members, no longer able to contain her frustration, hurls her shoe towards the stage, landing squarely in the middle of the net. The shoe, on top of  all the contradictions, proves too much. The net snaps under the pressure, and the performers crash face-first onto the circus floor. 

The spotlight dims, leaving the props scattered and the act in ruins. Slowly, the performers rise, their faces marked with confusion and defeat, collecting their broken props before retreating into the wings.

A murmur ripples through the crowd: will the next act manage to hold the spectacle together, or will the cracks only grow more visible?

The spotlight shifts back to the centre of the ring where a mime troupe emerges, their faces painted white, their mouths sealed with invisible zippers. The crowd, still emerging from the chaotic collapse of the previous act, is suddenly taken by the unsettling silence. The ringmaster straightens his jacket and steps forward, his voice resonating with theatrical flourish. “Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves for the quietest act of all—so silent, it speaks louder than words!”

The audience exchanges curious glances as the mime artists begin their act, moving flawlessly in synchronised motion. Their white-gloved hands gesture intricate negotiations, crafting invisible solutions out of thin air. Their faces contort in exaggerated expressions of anguish and resolve, each move a display of "hard work," all without uttering a single word. Every gesture is rehearsed, a performance of effort designed to obscure the absence of any tangible outcome.

“Look!” the ringmaster proudly declares. “Even in silence the university continues to work tirelessly for peace!”

The art of loud silence

The audience leans forward, watching closely as the mime artists shuffle awkwardly across the stage, their performance a masterclass of evasion. Wild gestures point to an imaginary horizon, where they simulate peace, dialogue, and mutual understanding. Invisible pens sign unseen agreements that call for peace, ghostly telephones ring with phantom conversations, empty gestures suggest that bridges are being built where none exist. The implication is clear—or so it seems: universities are diligently working behind the scenes to foster peace, unaffected by the noises of violence and politics.

“This,” the ringmaster assures the crowd, “is what true diplomacy looks like!”

But soon, things begin to look awkward. For all their feverish activity, the mime artists’ gestures lack substance. Movements are bereft of context, hands shaping hollow symbols of doves, olive branches, abstract notions of coexistence, though disconnected from the harsh realities of occupation endured by Palestinians. Not a single mime acknowledges the decades of systemic oppression, the humiliating checkpoints, the bombed schools, or the children buried beneath the rubble. Instead the act spins an illusion of a futile pantomime of diplomacy that feels detached from the reality outside the circus tent.

Silence may speak volumes, but what it reveals is deafening.

Between moral balance and moral evasion

Noticing the puzzled expressions in the crowd, the ringmaster steps forward, whispering instructions into the mime artists’ ears, they nod, and from under their gowns they pull out a number of impressive-looking scrolls: Statements of Concern! The scrolls are slowly rolled out: “We condemn violence on all sides,” one of them reads. Another one reads: “The loss of all lives is tragic.” A third raises his scroll even higher, its message equally vague: “We call for peaceful dialogue and mutual understanding.”

The crowd groans: these proclamations are really hitting home, landing as they do with all the weight of a falling feather. Draped in the veneer of moral equality, these statements give way to a far more unsettling silence—one that transcends the deliberate quiet of the mime artists. It is the silence of omission, an absence that speaks louder than words about what is being deliberately left unsaid. 

No naming of an aggressor, no acknowledgment of the decades-long systemic violence suffocating Palestinian lives. Not even the most timid call for the bare minimum, a ceasefire, despite desperate appeals from Palestinian universities, which have warned that this very silence has enabled their destruction. No mention of the apartheid wall carving through communities, the illegal settlements spreading unchecked across the West Bank, the thousands of Palestinian political prisoners, many held in “administrative detention” without trial or charges, or the relentless blockade that has turned Gaza into both an open-air prison and a killing field. 

Instead, the mime artists perform their act of almost farcical symmetry, equating the Palestinian rock with the Israeli tank, the occupied with the occupier, the colonised with the coloniser.

The crowd's impatience grows with each gesture. Someone finally breaks the orchestrated silence and shouts, "Why don't you just say things as they are?" 

The ringmaster desperately trying to regain control, steps forward, his voice strained. "Ah, but you see," gesturing toward the mime artists’ deliberate silence, "this is where true power lies! Behind the scenes, we are tirelessly working to bring people together, crafting a peace that transcends politics!"

Before the ringmaster can finish his sentence, one of the mime artists accidentally trips into the curtain making visible a reprehensible sight: figures cloaked in the robes of a rector revealed as "souffleurs" [prompters] orchestrating the show in whispers, some even bearing a subtle badge of the Israeli flag. Oblivious to their exposure, they continue guiding the mime artists’ every motion. 

The illusion of peaceful negotiation dissolves, exposing the true choreography: what is happening behind the scenes are delegations quietly strengthening academic ties, ensuring these relationships persist, while the mime artists serve to distract from the real work happening offstage.

Silence: the loudest endorsement

The silence, once presented as neutrality and later as a veil of diplomatic peacebuilding behind the scenes, is yet again fully exposed for what it is: a deliberate strategy—an evasion of accountability for continued collaboration with institutions complicit in apartheid and occupation. 

What at first glance was presented as dialogue and understanding is nothing more than a spectacle of complicity, allowing the distraction and destruction to continue unabated. It reveals that the silence of our universities has always shielded one side while deflecting attention from Palestinians’ suffering as their institutions are reduced to rubble. 

The truth is undeniable: the universities’ invocation of silent diplomacy does not act as a bridge to peace, but as a barricade to justice.

The mime artists creep back into the shadows, their retreat hastened by the audience’s growing chorus of boos—belated noise filling the void they left with their silence. Yet, even as the jeers fade, what truly lingers is not the sound, but the weight of their refusal to act. The audience is left with the raw aftermath, forced to confront the reality that while the mime artists retreat, the inflicted damage of inaction remains.

The tent dims eerily into a red light that casts long shadows across the ring. The ringmaster strides to its centre and cracks a smile as he sweeps his cane toward a magician waiting in the wings. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces after taking a breath, “prepare yourselves for an act beyond comprehension—no, beyond reality itself. We are about to witness what defies all reason: the instant transformation of conflict into consensus. Behold, the master of vanishing—no, of unification—The Great Harmonizer!” 

With a flourish, he steps aside, ushering the magician into the ring. 

The magician steps forward, his cape shimmering with symbols of scholarly authority and his academic mortarboard projecting both wisdom and certainty. With a dramatic arm gesture he commands silence. 

“Tonight,” he begins, his voice smooth and deliberate, “I will perform a revolutionary feat. A feat that will dissolve all divisions, all hatred, all confusion. I shall take something divisive, something that has caused deep rifts, and make it disappear… just like that!” He snaps his fingers dramatically, setting the stage.

He gestures toward a gleaming steel box in the ring’s centre, faint smoke curling from its base. “This device,” he continues, “simplifies the complexities of the world. It strips away irreconcilable divisions, leaving behind only seamless unity.” The audience leans forward, intrigued. “But in order to succeed, I have one request, and that is your willingness to believe!”

The ringmaster calls for volunteers, but before anyone steps forward, two spotlights suddenly lock onto two individuals in the audience, as if the decision had already been made. The first is an academic known for his outspoken denunciation of Israel’s Zionist policies, often voicing his concerns about the treatment of Palestinians in public forums. The second is a steadfast defender of Israel’s policies, someone who argues that any criticism of the state’s action is a veiled attack on Jewish identity itself. 

The magician greets them warmly, guiding them into the box. 

“Now,” he declares, “watch as I transform division into unity—criticism and compliance, opposition and loyalty, dissent and support. Instantly transformed into one and the same!”

Dissent rebranded; compliance rewarded

The box comes to life, humming and glowing softly. The magician manipulates its levers, his hands moving with practiced precision. A hiss and a click later, the box creaks open, revealing a grotesque fusion—half is the critic’s lower body seamlessly melded with the upper half of a pro-Israeli advocate.

A thick cloud of smoke swirls about the stage, obscuring the mechanics of the trick, adding an air of mystique. The audience is confronted with the strange sight of two bodies intertwined yet subtly disjointed: the critic’s legs fixed in place, while the face and torso of the advocate dominate the scene, drawing in the full attention of the audience.

“Behold!” the magician exclaims triumphantly. “What was distinct is now one and indivisible! Critique and compliance, protest and support—fused into one seamless reality!” 

The crowd watches, captivated by the illusion, as the two figures speak as one, their movements mirrored, but the slight dissonance between their blended body lingers in the air—one voice speaks with confidence, while the other is left silently trapped in the illusion’s structure.

With practiced sleight of hand, the magician performs the classic trick—what appears to be the merging of two distinct realities, though the true effect lies in their subtle interweaving. One is the deeply rooted reality of anti-Semitism, a deep and enduring form of hatred that has haunted Jewish communities for centuries and continues to manifest itself in insidious and overt ways today. The other is a legitimate critique of Israel’s Zionist state policies, grounded in concerns for justice and human rights. 

Yet, what the audience witnesses is a toxic amalgam, a clever deception that blurs these distinct realities, making it nearly impossible to address the latter without invoking the former. This calculated conflation erases crucial distinctions, silencing dissent and stifling meaningful debate. With a single stroke, criticism is reframed as bigotry, casting uncomfortable truths beyond the realm of acceptable discourse.

The audience stirs uneasily, the illusion dazzling but deeply unsettling. 

As the fused figure continues to stand there, it becomes increasingly clear: only the upper body is permitted to speak, engaging with the magician in conversation while the critic’s lower half remains fixated in a paralysed position, unable to respond or break free from the silence, as the face and voice are absent. 

A few discerning spectators begin to understand the trick: this isn’t about unity or reconciliation, it is about weaponizing anti-Semitism to silence criticism of Israel. By conflating the two, the magician wields the language of harm not to protect but to deflect—to turn the urgent fight against anti-Semitism into a smokescreen for Zionist policies. 

Anti-Zionism is not born of hate, it is rooted in a principled rejection of a colonial and supremacist ideology that has led to the dispossession and oppression of Palestinians. It calls for justice, equity, and the dismantling of apartheid structures, grounded in anti-colonial and anti-oppressive values that demand Palestinian rights and sovereignty. Defending anti-Zionism is a stand against the normalisation of racial and ethnic hierarchies, a call for solidarity with those resisting an ideology that privileges one group over another, and a demand for the recognition of the rights and dignity of all peoples.

Manufactured concern, enduring bigotry

The illusion becomes even more insidious as universities, eager to appear progressive yet fearful of a backlash, adopt the false narrative subtly propagated by Israeli lobby groups. Cloaked in the guise of anti-discrimination, they conflate dissent with hate, transforming legitimate critique into a criminal act. 

By internalising the magician’s flawed logic, these institutions not only abandon their proclaimed commitment to intellectual freedom and critical rigour but actively become complicit in perpetuating the illusion as a tool of control. Over the past 18 months (and long before), solidarity protests have been stifled, critical voices marginalised, and student activists silenced—all in the service of shielding institutions from accountability. At the same time, calls for a boycott are dismissed as “divisive,” even as universities maintain partnerships with institutions complicit in apartheid and war crimes. 

Yet beyond the stage, where the spectacle is carefully managed, a quieter yet equally insidious force operates in the shadows. The disciplining of dissent is not always loud or theatrical, often, it takes the form of administrative roadblocks, veiled threats, and professional repercussions. Researchers find their funding precariously dependent on staying within acceptable bounds, academics who speak out face stalled careers or exclusion from key networks, and students are met with institutionalised intimidation, from sudden policy changes restricting activism to informal warnings that their futures may be at risk. The machinery of academia, built to uphold critical inquiry, is instead repurposed to enforce silence.

In an even more troubling development, universities in the US and Canada have gone as far as contracting private security firms with direct links to Israel, employing former IDF soldiers who served in Gaza to suppress student protests. The tactics of repression, once confined to the state, seamlessly infiltrate academic spaces, ensuring that critique is not only discredited but physically contained.

Meanwhile, anti-Zionist Jewish movements across the globe stand in solidarity with university protests against repression and complicity, also participating in student-led encampments that have become powerful symbols of resistance. Even international bodies like the United Nations have condemned the suppression of dissent within universities. 

Yet the magician’s spell endures. The illusion persists, partly upheld by an audience conditioned to conflate criticism of Israel with anti-Semitism, shielding the brutal realities of occupation and resistance behind a façade of false equivalence. 

Yet the trick does more than stifle dissent—it distracts and disorients, allowing deeper prejudices to fester unchecked. Islamophobia and anti-Palestinian racism spreads across campuses, leaving Palestinian and Arab students more vulnerable than ever before. By classifying Palestinians as a sub-group unworthy of serious consideration—except, perhaps, as recipients of occasional charity—academia entrenches the notion that their lives, aspirations, and rights are less valuable. This is not just complicity, it is active participation in a framework that denies Palestinians their humanity. 

Ironically, as universities absorb and legitimize these narratives within their spaces—parroting the equation of Israeli state policy with Jewish identity—they risk perpetuating the very anti-Semitism they claim to combat. The vibrant diversity of Jewish voices—particularly those who challenge the Israeli state’s actions, resist its occupation, and denounce its war crimes—is erased in the process. 

This one-sided approach fails everyone: Palestinian and Jewish students and academics, and all others committed to justice. By stifling of open dialogue and limiting spaces for protest, universities further betray their core values of intellectual freedom and democratic engagement, abandoning their role as arenas for free inquiry and critical thought, and increasingly becoming instruments of state control.

A shattered illusion, a lasting deception

By now, the audience is visibly restless, the tension mounting as the illusion continues to falter. Sensing the unease, the ringmaster quickly orders more smoke, thickening the air to obscure the mounting tension. 

But then—sudden defiance. An angry audience member, unable to stomach the charade any longer, seizes a tomato and hurls it with force at the stage. It smashes against the mirrors inside the box with a sharp crack, scattering shards of illusion like broken glass across the stage. As the smoke clears, the truth is revealed: the bodies inside remain distinct and separate, the fusion undone. The illusion splinters.

The magician retreats in haste, his cloak swirling in the lingering smoke. His act was never about unity or transformation, it was about erasing the boundaries of critical thought, distracting from urgent realities, cloaking deception in a veil of sophistication.

As he flees, the audience is once again left with an uncomfortable reality: the trick has failed, but its damage lingers, corrupting discourse for years to come. 

As the ringmaster hurriedly wheels the optical box away, he cannot mask a phrase etched on its back from the audience’s attention: “PERCEPTION IS TRUTH.” 

Yet even this revelation feels almost redundant—for the illusion’s true power never lay in deception alone, but in its capacity to shape reality itself, and, above all, to stall and obstruct meaningful action. Whether the trick is unmasked is irrelevant, just as it was never about whether people truly believed it in the first place. 

And once again the stage lights dim. The air remains thick with a tension that even the clearing smoke cannot dissipate. The ringmaster steps forward, his movements slower now, more deliberate, as if each step risks revealing the fragility of the ground beneath him. He forces a smile, though it wavers under the weight of the crowd’s growing discontent.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, his voice striving for confidence, “the rules are clear, the framework is sound, and this next act will show how we play the game to perfection—by the book, as it should be! Prepare yourselves for a breathtaking display of precision and ingenuity—a performance where ideals and realities converge in unmatched harmony!”

With an expansive hand gesture he points to the ring, his tone growing more fervent as he continues.

“Watch as our legal acrobats unveil the delicate choreography between institutional integrity and the relentless stranglehold of legal constraints! This is the moment where lofty ideals meet the hard realities of governance and law. Watch closely, for this is where justice takes centre stage!”

The ringmaster’s announcement lingers in the charged air, the audience leaning forward despite their scepticism. Into the spotlight step the performers, not mere entertainers but university administrators, legal experts, and senior academics, the architects of institutional policy. Their movements are poised, each gesture carefully calibrated to project authority and assurance.                

The juggler’s dilemma: when principles collide

At the forefront is a juggler. His deliberate movements command attention, his hands cradle shimmering balls inscribed with lofty ideals: “Transparency,” “Ethical Stewardship,” “Democratic Leadership”—principles meant to guide the university through the treacherous labyrinth of principle and obligation. One by one, he tosses them into the air, they arc seamlessly and hypnotically, each spin suggesting perfect balance.

The audience’s gaze is drawn upward, captivated. For a fleeting moment, it feels as though this act might restore faith in the spectacle—could this be the redemption the circus has been waiting for?

“Transparency” arcs higher than the rest, catching the light in a way that momentarily dazzles the audience. Eyes follow its trajectory, their cynicism briefly softened by the allure of perfection. But as it reaches its peak, something goes awry. The juggler stretches to catch it, and a faint hiss escapes as the ball crumbles in his grasp. He fumbles, attempting to conceal the sagging sphere, but it is too late. 

The audience, briefly entranced, now watches with a sharpened clarity. Transparency, it seems, is little more than an inflated balloon, kept aloft by lofty rhetoric but punctured the moment it meets any form of pressure. 

The crowd begins to recall: only after relentless student protests, petitions, and freedom-of-information requests did universities release piecemeal data on their ties to Israeli institutions and endowments in Israeli companies. Even then, the disclosures were cloaked in bureaucratic opacity, buried deep in reports. Worse still, these revelations came wrapped in excuses—“confidentiality concerns”, “political sensitivities” and “feelings of unrest and insecurity”—that shielded financial investments and collaborations from full scrutiny.

The juggler hastily tosses “Ethical Stewardship” high into the air, quickly followed by “Democratic Leadership”. Desperation fuels his motions as he struggles to juggle both ideals, drawing a collective breath from the crowd. For a fleeting moment, these words rise gracefully, their arcs promising a return to order. But as they reach their zeniths, the balls collide violently mid-air, sending shards of shattered ideals cascading throughout the ring.

The crowd gasps as the fragments fall, each piece a sharp reminder of promises broken and principles betrayed. Ethical stewardship and democratic leadership, so proudly upheld as harmonious pillars of university governance, now lie in ruins, exposed as fundamentally incompatible under the strain of real accountability. 

When scrutiny grew too sharp, universities didn’t act decisively; instead, they hastily convened ethical committees—ostensibly impartial guardians of integrity, meant to reassure the public of democratic decision-making. Yet it quickly became clear that these committees were instrumentalized as tools of delay and deflection, their months of closed-door deliberations producing diluted recommendations designed to shield institutions from the urgency of moral and legal responsibility.

On the occasions these committees did reach unequivocal conclusions—condemning partnerships with institutions complicit in war crimes and apartheid—they came face-to-face with the reality of "democratic" leadership in university administrations. The façade of collective governance gave way to an autocratic core, where inconvenient advice was summarily dismissed. Recommendations to sever ties were unilaterally overruled, stripping decisions of impartiality and silencing the voices of committee members, students, and staff. Binding ethical conclusions were brushed aside under the guise of “neutrality” or the need to “avoid political controversy.” 

The absurdity reached its peak when Israeli rectors—representatives of institutions entrenched in systemic violence—were invoked as ultimate arbiters of legitimacy. This grotesque inversion of justice handed the accused the authority to absolve themselves, reducing ethical oversight to a farcical performance where self-exoneration trumped the lived realities of the oppressed.

In the background, the ringmaster watches nervously, his practiced confidence cracking as the audience’s murmurs grow louder, their patience wearing thin. Though still seated, their restlessness is palpable, the hope for redemption dissipating, replaced by the acrid stench of broken promises. Desperation clouds his face as he claps his hands, forcing a strained smile. “Nothing to worry about! Onward we go!” he cries, as he gestures to the centre of the ring, where a new act is underway.

Towering rhetoric, crumbling foundations

In the centre of the arena, a group of acrobats assembles a human pyramid. Clad in magistrate’s gowns, they climb atop one another’s shoulders, their bodies trembling under the weight of their positions. Every shift and twist reveals the strain, their movements a tortured choreography that seems to echo the groaning of the law itself. 

“Observe!” conjures the ringmaster, his voice brimming with false enthusiasm. “A towering edifice of law, each layer a step closer to the apex of justice. A delicate balance of principles and pragmatism.”

As the pyramid rises, its peak drifts ever further from its foundation. The acrobats at the top are mesmerized by the shimmering allure of diplomatic gestures and whispered promises from unseen hands—Israeli lobbyists, influential administrators, and international allies. 

The faint glint of academic partnerships and diplomatic courtesies casts a spell, drawing their focus upward while severing their connection to the ground beneath. In their eagerness to comply with external demands, they lose sight of the base that sustains them—the universal principles of international law.

Each new layer added to the pyramid causes fresh cracks to appear in its fragile structure. With every acrobat, the foundation quivers, and the tower teeters, a reflection of deeper betrayal. Beneath the strain lies a rejection of fundamental legal principles: the Genocide Convention, the Geneva Conventions, and the core tenets of International Humanitarian Law. These frameworks, designed to prevent atrocities and hold perpetrators accountable, demand decisive action to dismantle systems of oppression—action that leaves no room for compromise or delay.

Even as the pyramid teeters, the acrobats twist and contort. Instead of reinforcing the base, they throw counterweights into the air, hoping to stave off collapse. They plead for “orders from above,” pointing to the swift action they took in severing ties with Russian universities after its invasion of Ukraine, framing their inaction now as a necessity in the absence of similar directives. 

Yet this excuse rings hollow: it exposes the glaring contradictions and double standards used by Western institutions, and operates as a denial of agency and a betrayal of the academic freedom universities claim to champion. But most importantly, it is a testament of a deliberate choice to ignore the highest directives already issued. In two separate cases, the International Court of Justice (ICJ), the world’s foremost judicial authority, has ruled calling for both an end to complicity in Israel’s apartheid regime in what it considers the occupied Palestinian territories, and a halt to violence potentially culminating to a genocide. The International Criminal Court (ICC) has issued arrest warrants, underscoring the gravity of these crimes. These obligations—some of them reinforced by the United Nations General Assembly—extend to all public institutions, including universities, urging them to sever ties with any entities perpetuating occupation and human rights violations.

The cracks in the performance are undeniable. International law, historically failing the Palestinian cause, is now clearer than ever. Yet rather than embracing these mandates, the acrobats double down on legal gymnastics. Each counterweight tossed aside is a deflection from the imminent collapse of their fragile structure. Deep down they know that no amount of rationalisation can restore balance without confronting the rotting core of their ethical foundation. They hide behind bureaucratic defences—neutrality, academic freedom, procedural hurdles—obscuring the legal reality that they must cease aiding and abetting crimes under international law. 

The cracks, once subtle, are now gaping, threatening to expose the charade for what it is: a fragile spectacle built on denial and feigned ignorance, complicit in abandoning the very principles it claims to uphold.

A shield for power, a sword for dissent

The audience begins to stir, murmurs of discontent swell into sharp cries of dissent. “Obey the law!” a voice demands, sharp and unyielding. Another follows, louder, angrier: “You twist principles to evade responsibility!” 

The ringmaster stumbles back onto the stage, attempting to reassert control drowned out by the crowd’s growing defiance. A tomato sails through the air, bursting against the stage floor with a splatter of red. Then another, this time striking the podium, leaving a smeared stain across its polished surface. He slams his stick once more on the ground, his voice rising in frustration. “Silence! For the show to continue, we must have law and order!”

The irony hangs heavy in the air, as sharp and precarious as the sword of Damocles. The same laws the ringmaster invokes to stifle dissent expose his failure to uphold justice. 

Security personnel sweep through the crowd, lifting loud dissenters onto their feet under the guise of maintaining the peace. Yet the expulsions only fan the flames unearthing the suppressed voices reverberating louder in their absence. 

Institutions that profess to champion truth and equity instead wield their tools against those who demanded accountability! Protests are criminalised, solidarity rebranded as hate speech. Students who stand with the oppressed are forcibly removed, their presence deemed too disruptive for the sanitised halls of the academic tent. Staff who speak out face veiled threats, their careers tethered to institutional loyalty disguised as “professionalism.”

The crowd’s outrage grows, rising like a tide of defiance that builds into an unstoppable crescendo. The tent reverberates with their collective fury, shaking the very foundations of the performance. 

The human pyramid topples in a spectacular collapse. Once-graceful figures lie scattered across the ring, a farcical image of chaos and failure. The glittering façade has crumbled, revealing the hollowness of the show—a fragile structure built on denial. 

The spotlight dims, the ring falls silent, and the circus stands exposed once again, time after time unmasked by an increasingly attentive audience, their eyes no longer deceived, seeing through the farce with sharpened clarity.

Lines begin to form towards the tent exits as audience members begin to leave in support for their colleagues that were forcibly removed for protesting the complicity of the circus administration. 

In an attempt to maintain control over the show, the ringmaster hastily emerges and convinces the crowd to stay by promising to bring their fellow crowd members back – if only the security guards can remain in the tent “to keep the peace”. 

A strained silence follows as the stage resets, the dim lighting casting long shadows over the wreckage of the previous acts. The crowd restlessly sits as the weight of disillusionment presses heavily in the air. This time, there is no thrill of anticipation—only a chilled stillness and eerie feeling of being monitored. 

The ringmaster steps forward, his once-confident stride now uncertain, the weight of the show’s collapse chipping away at his every movement. He scans the faces before him, fully aware that this is his last opportunity to salvage whatever is left of the performance. The voices of protest from the last act ring loudly in his ears. This is no longer just a performance. This has become a stage for his own redemption. In an attempt for composure, he takes a deep breath and with a slam of his cane, he commandingly announces the final act. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the ringmaster begins, “we have reached the grand finale of this extraordinary academic circus!” His words, though intended to inspire, carry the weight of desperation. “You have spoken, and we have heard. It’s time for dialogue, for debate, for intellectual engagement to take centre stage! A closer look at the pressing social realities of our world through open and rigorous discussion!”

He straightens his top hat, his tone growing bolder, “After all, isn’t this what defines us? Our universities—beacons of knowledge and virtue—stand as paragons of ‘social outreach’, ‘global engagement’, and even ‘decolonization’. These are not mere slogans but the very foundation of our academic mission, the ideals we proudly champion in our pursuit of a better world.”

Though the crowd’s scepticism is etched in every gaze, a flicker of curiosity anchors them in place. The murmurs of dissent are quieter now, replaced by a tense silence as they wait to see what comes next. The ringmaster, sensing this fragile attention, seizes his chance. His gestures grow grander, his voice swelling with a forced bravado as he signals with his cane for the curtain to rise one last time.

As the curtains lift, the stage reveals a grand carousel, gleaming in ornate splendour. A rotating platform of painted animals—majestic horses, regal lions, wise owls, and even a mythical unicorn, each seemingly poised for a ride. They wait beneath gilded mirrors that scatter the spotlight in dazzling fragments, as if on the verge of action.

Multiple perspectives, zero discomforts

“Behold the Carousel of Multiple Perspectives!” the ringmaster announces, his voice swelling with self-importance. “A marvel of intellectual exchange, quite literally a ‘revolutionary’ innovation in the art of debate. Once it starts spinning it will illuminate every angle and ensure no viewpoint goes unexamined. Through its graceful and endless rotation of ideas, we propel ourselves forward in our quest to confront the world’s greatest challenges!”

He steps back, letting the carousel command the stage. “The carousel symbolises our commitment to dynamic dialogue—a mesmerizing performance where the dilemmas of the world orbit endlessly, always in motion. But before we begin our journey, we must decide: what pressing topic shall we explore in this grand display of intellectual engagement?”

A voice nervously rings out from the back, conscious of the securitised ambiance: “This circus had promised us intellectual honesty, yet all it's done so far is spin in circles. Let’s finally confront how our universities justify ongoing collaborations with institutions tied to a state accused of genocide, war crimes, apartheid, and widespread human rights abuses.”

The ringmaster falters, momentarily off balance. “Ah, well, you see, some topics are... delicate, layered with complexity,” he stammers, adjusting his tie with a forced smile. “We must ensure that what we present remains constructive and avoids anything that could disrupt the harmony of our space. After all, we intend this to be a safe space for civilized dialogue, a sanctuary where discomfort or confrontation is avoided by steering clear of topics that are too ‘polarising’.” The carousel gleams behind him, its mirrors scattering light like a thousand distractions. 

Countless struggles, yet none for now

“Besides,” the ringmaster adds, raising a finger as if to make a profound point, “the world is vast, my friends—an endless sea of injustices. Why fixate on a single wave when so many others ripple across the horizon?” He sweeps his cane toward the carousel’s mirrors, each reflecting images of suffering: Uyghurs in China, atrocities in Sudan, violence in East Congo. “Surely, these deserve our attention too. To fixate on one issue would be—how shall I put it—narrow-minded.” 

The crowd murmurs, exchanging sceptical glances. They’ve heard this line of whataboutism too many times whenever social justice issues demand attention: shifting the focus to broader injustices somehow absolves the institution of its immediate responsibilities. 

The underlying message is unmistakable: “If we can’t fix everything, we shouldn’t fix anything.” Yet, for those who have heard this excuse before as a measure to stall action in the face of injustice, it rings hollow—an all-too-transparent attempt to evade the uncomfortable demands for justice. 

Yes, other injustices matter—deeply so. But those who invoke the suffering of one group to deflect from another's rarely engage meaningfully with any of these injustices. This argument is a cynical and insidious attempt at evading responsibility. Worse, it obscures the shared roots of these struggles: colonialism, systemic racism, and the legacies of land theft and genocide. It erases the lesson history has taught us—that solidarity means linking struggles, not ranking them. Black-Palestinian solidarity is a testament to this, rooted in the shared fight against colonialism and oppression, from the Black Panthers’ support for Palestinian liberation to today’s calls for justice that recognise how interconnected struggles for liberation are across the globe.

And yet, time and again, it falls to students to teach our ‘enlightened’ universities the lessons they claim to embody. For decades, students have been at the forefront of justice movements, from South African anti-apartheid boycotts to Vietnam War protests. These were not distractions or overreaches—they were acts of profound clarity, recognising that injustices, no matter how geographically distant, are deeply interconnected. As Nelson Mandela famously stated, “Our freedom is incomplete without the freedom of the Palestinians,” emphasizing that true liberation cannot be achieved without addressing the ongoing oppression of others. 

Today, student-led protests over Palestine carry forward the same spirit, linking Gaza to East Congo, where the global demand for minerals and enduring colonial legacies drive violent conflict and exploitation; to Kashmir, where military occupation mirrors settler-colonial tactics; and to Ethiopia and Sudan where conflicts over land and resources persist under the shadow of colonial histories perpetuated by extractive economies and the global arms trade. These movements do not dismiss broader solidarities—they embody them, exposing how institutions profit from and perpetuate these systems, and refusing to let academia hide behind the façade of performative neutrality.

Violent realities built on shaky foundations

And here lies the deeper discomfort for the ringmaster and his circus. To confront Israel is not merely to acknowledge over 75 years of dispossession, apartheid, and violent occupation; it is to challenge the myths that have long sustained its existence. These myths—of Israel as a bastion of democracy, a refuge for the oppressed, and an innocent actor in a hostile world—serve to mask the reality of its settler-colonial project. At the core of these myths are Zionist policies of land appropriation, ethnic cleansing, and the systematic erasure of Indigenous peoples, all disguised under the rhetoric of security and self-defence. To challenge this narrative is to shatter the carefully constructed façade and turn the spotlight squarely on the perpetrators—the very forces that keep this carousel spinning.

Criticising Israel paralyses Western academia—not just because of Europe’s Holocaust guilt, though that historical shadow looms large. Israel is not an anomaly, but a mirror, reflecting the same systems of conquest, exploitation, and erasure that built and continues to sustain Western dominance. To name this truth would force academia to confront its roots and its ongoing complicity in systems of apartheid, imperialism, and genocide. It would also unravel the myths that underpin Western identity—myths of innocence and moral superiority that were built to keep the whole circus running. The discomfort is not just in exposing Israel’s actions, but in unravelling the broader narrative that allows the West to remain untouchable while profiting from systems of oppression. Why disrupt this system when the carousel can just keep turning?

Chronicling past fires, silent on the present burn

Cornered by the rapid escalation of uncomfortable truths, the ringmaster scans the room, feigning a thoughtful pause, before forcing a strained smile. “Very well,” he announces, his voice striving for authority. “In the spirit of academic freedom, we shall now entertain a debate on the Israel-Palestine conflict!” His hands gesture expansively, as though bestowing a grand concession. “But let us tread carefully—these matters are complex, sensitive, divisive”. He pauses, nodding to himself. “Only the most qualified individuals shall take a ride.”

His eyes sweep across the audience, landing on a group of prominent scholars in the front row—luminaries who have built careers analysing international conflicts and peace processes, documenting past genocides, championing Western feminism, and studying development processes in the Global South. More recently, some of them also hopped on the decolonisation bandwagon. These are the voices we often find in newspapers, academic journals, and opinion blogs, eager to weigh in on the latest fashionable topics. Yet, over the past year, they have remained conspicuously silent on Israel’s atrocities.   

As the ringmaster’s gaze settles on them, they shift uneasily, their expertise seemingly confined to the ivory tower while the world outside burns. He eagerly attempts to make eye contact, searching for any sign that one might step forward, take a ride on the carousel, and offer some clarity. But there is only silence. They sit frozen, eyes fixated ahead, as if this moment does not belong to them. When it comes to speaking out about Israel, their confident voices—so assured when recounting the past or offering abstract references to decolonisation—are nowhere to be found. They can untangle history from the safety of their desks, but when the present demands action, they fade into the background, perhaps hoping time will erase the memory of their silence so they can return unscathed to pen yet another paper on how genocide was allowed to unfold while in the moment they stood back and did nothing.

The ringmaster, sensing the moment slipping away, quickly adjusts his posture, giving a slight nod as if acknowledging the tension in the air. "Ah, of course," he murmurs, his tone a touch dismissive. "Perhaps it’s not their time yet. But fear not! There are always others eager to step up." With that, he turns toward the backstage, calling the stand-in performers.

Organizing from the margins, dismissed at the centre

Before he can retreat behind the scenes, however, several audience members in the back rise from their seats, hands raised in tentative defiance. Students and precariously employed university workers—PhD candidates, postdocs, untenured lecturers, part-time administrative staff—stand, fully aware of the fragility of their positions. "We’ll go," one of them says, stepping past the security guards with quiet resolve. "We’ve been engaging with this issue for years—writing, organising debates, seminars, film screenings, teach-ins. We’ve invited Palestinian academics, Israeli scholars who have mapped apartheid policies, and human rights experts." Their words hang heavy in the air. "When the university wouldn’t create space, we did. And yet those who repeatedly shielded their inaction      behind the excuse that the issue was ‘too complicated’ never showed up to any of the events, so we’re more than happy to take this opportunity and..."

The ringmaster waves his cane dismissively, cutting them off mid-sentence. "No, no," he declares, his voice smooth but laced with condescension. "We need fresh, neutral perspectives—free of... emotional entanglements." His words hang in the air, polished and rehearsed, but the sting is undeniable. The students and staff exchange glances, their resolve tightening: they know this script by heart. Their efforts were always dismissed before they even began, the university never intended to take their work seriously. It left the heavy lifting—the writing, organising, educating—to those at the margins, only to quietly discourage any meaningful engagement. When those grassroots efforts began to gain traction, the institution would watch from a safe distance, careful to avoid any association, all the while subtly curbing them to preserve the illusion of control.

“We appreciate your enthusiasm,” the ringmaster continues, his tone now fully patronising. “But for this kind of stage we require a balanced conversation, free of bias or agendas.” With practiced elegance, he beckons behind the curtain. "And now," he announces, "since no one else has stepped forward, and we find ourselves lacking the necessary expertise in-house, allow me to present the invited participants to our debate."

Endless spinning, stuck in place

The tent’s backdoor swings open, and the stand-ins emerge—retired diplomats, seasoned in the art of Western foreign policy, political scientists and historians affiliated with Israeli institutions, conflict resolution experts who skilfully sidestep the complexities of colonial histories. 

"Ah, here they are!" the ringmaster proudly announces, "The perfect riders for our Carousel of Multiple Perspectives!"

The panellists mount their painted animals, each ride reflecting their curated, polished stances. As the carousel begins to slowly turn, their rehearsed words flow smoothly into a lively exchange. The audience watches, some nodding along in mild approval, others visibly restless, their scepticism etched across their faces. Around and around the carousel goes, with polished arguments sounding through geopolitics, historical complexities, and vague calls for peace. The tone is always polite, the rhythm steady, but always steering clear of sharp edges, their arguments abstracted high above the weight of lived realities.

From the crowd, a woman’s voice pierces the monotony: “What about the occupation, illegal settlements, human rights violations?” The carousel falters, its steady rhythm disrupted. The riders hesitate, exchanging fleeting glances of discomfort, before one recovers with a practiced smile. He deflects with the well-worn refrain: “Do you condemn Hamas?”—a predictable manoeuvre, casting the inquiry as conditional and shifting the focus. Another rider nods gravely, intoning, “Remember, suffering exists on both sides,” a hollow attempt at balance that does nothing to engage with the question.

The audience murmurs. Some nod reflexively, lulled by the semblance of civility, but others remain still, their eyes sharp and unwavering, the woman’s question still hanging in the air like an indictment. The carousel resumes its rotation, but the cadence is no longer smooth; the weight of unspoken truths begins to grind its gears.

The uninvited guest no one will acknowledge

As the carousel picks up speed, its relentless rotation blurs the scene. At first, the spinning obscures a disquieting anomaly at its centre. But as the rotation intensifies, the truth becomes impossible to ignore. There, standing motionless in the middle, is an elephant. Massive, unadorned, and immovable, its presence commands attention. A faint, sardonic smile curves across its face, as though mocking the riders in denial and those in the audience who have long pretended not to feel his presence looming in the tent all along. The elephant had always been there—a colossal truth deliberately ignored, an indictment too inconvenient to confront.

The riders avert their gazes, their polished arguments growing more frantic as they cling to their crumbling narratives. The carousel spins faster, the painted animals shedding their elegance as their riders’ speech—once practiced and composed—descends into a cacophony of panicked deflections. Lofty abstractions, once held as shields of intellectual rigour, now spin into circles, evading the truths the elephant embodies: apartheid’s brutal realities, the suffocating chokehold of occupation, systemic oppression, the mass incarceration of children, and the genocidal annihilation of entire communities. Each evasion is an act of complicity; each deflection, a tacit agreement that Palestinian lives remain secondary, reduced to a rhetorical inconvenience.

The audience begins to stir, no longer lulled by the performance’s hollow cadence. Murmurs of discontent swell into a wave of dissent. One by one, spectators rise, pointing at the elephant, their voices breaking through the din: “Enough with the distractions! Confront the truth!”

From elephant tusk to tower’s fall

The ringmaster’s composure shatters. His once commanding voice trembles as he pleads, “Ladies and gentlemen, let us not forsake nuance! Witness the balance! The intellectual rigour!” But his words continue to ring hollow, their emptiness stark against the rising defiance. The pretence of dialogue shatters, and the circus careens into chaos. He tries to mobilise the security guards once again but the crowd’s hold on the truth cannot be broken.

The carousel spins wildly now: its motions erratic, its mechanisms groaning under the weight of contradictions. Painted animals lurch violently, riders clinging in desperation as their polished facades crumble. The audience’s cries swell into a united crescendo: “Expose the hypocrisy! Dismantle the complicity!”

Then, the inevitable unfolds. The relentless spinning, the ceaseless chatter, the pretence of intellectual objectivity, and the inescapable weight of the elephant—it is all too much. A loud screech is heard as the carousel buckles and caves-in under its own contradictions. Riders are flung into the dirt, their curated chatter crumble beyond repair.

The impact sends shockwaves through the circus tent: poles crack and splinter, their once-proud banners fluttering helplessly to the ground; the fabric tears under the strain, sagging as the central structure falters. Spotlights flicker, casting frantic shadows across the chaos. Dust rises in choking clouds as the grand edifice folds in until it is nothing more than a heap of debris. The collapse is total, leaving nothing but a ruin of broken mechanisms and tattered ideals, exposed to the unforgiving light of day.

When the dust settles, the wreckage only lays bare what has always been there: the unacknowledged elephant, toppled at the centre, one of its massive tusks piercing upward through the fallen circus tent. The shard of ivory gleams starkly against the devastation around it. Once a symbol of aloof imperiousness, the tusk now stands as the last remnant of the ivory tower brought low, its gleaming whiteness an unforgiving reminder of a selective gaze, of ideals shattered and truths buried beneath the weight of silence and denial. 

The crowd gathers in heavy silence, their eyes drawn to the tusk—a stark echo of the tower it once upheld. Stripped of its illusions and authority, it commands no reverence, only reproach. Its gleam, no longer a testament to intellectual scrupulousness, now reflects the hollow artifice of a system that cloaked inaction and that called avoidance intellectual balance.

The performance has ended. The circus is over.

The collapse of the circus is not a tragedy. It was inevitable—a spectacle of contradictions that could not sustain itself. For too long, academia has hidden behind a façade of neutrality, using lofty rhetoric to mask its complicity in global systems of domination. No longer can we accept institutions that speak of decolonisation while maintaining colonial infrastructures, or that celebrate academic freedom while silencing dissent. The fall of the tent exposes not only the hollowness of performative solidarity but the deeper reckoning ahead: what kind of university do we build in its place?

(Re)claiming the university is not merely about severing ties with institutions complicit in apartheid but confronting its function as a colonial apparatus that has long operated in service of power and elite interests. This struggle is not new. Radical movements have long grappled with the question of whether these spaces can be reclaimed and transformed from within or whether true liberation requires breaking away from their entrenched structures. From the Black radical tradition to student uprisings across the world, this tension—between being of the university and being in it—remains at the heart of insurgent politics. What is clear, however, is that solidarity with Palestine is not an isolated act. It is part of a broader, interconnected struggle against colonialism, racial capitalism, and systemic violence. These struggles do not unfold in parallel, they inform, shape, and nourish each other.

The stakes have never been clearer. For Palestinians, this is a fight for survival against relentless destruction. For the rest of us, silence is complicity, and inaction is an abdication of the very principles we claim to uphold. Academic entanglement in apartheid, occupation, and genocide does not just fail Palestine—it fails humanity. 

And yet, amid the wreckage, defiance and hope remain. In Gaza, students and educators rebuild, insisting on their right to learn and teach, refusing to cede education to the machinery of erasure. Their resistance is a reminder that education is not merely survival—it is an act of rebellion. It is an unyielding declaration of dignity in the face of dehumanisation.

The tent has fallen, but the stage remains. The university is not separate from the struggles that unfold around it—it is already implicated. It is a site where power is either reinforced or contested. The question is not whether we play a role, but how we choose to engage with it. We can allow it to remain a monument to power, or we can use it as a platform where knowledge serves the movements demanding justice and liberation.

This is not a distant future task. It is a struggle that calls for action today. As students, workers, educators, and community organisers, we have a responsibility to continuously challenge complicity and direct our intellectual resources where they are most urgently needed. What began as murmurs in the wings has already swelled into defiant chants in the streets and on campuses. Now, we must push further, turning our voices into an unrelenting thunder that shakes the very foundations of complicity. 

The stage is set. The script is unfinished. What happens next is up to us.