With Tehran currently burning as the result of U.S. and Israeli airstrikes targeting fuel depots, apocalyptic images of the city are prompting familiar questions: What is the legal justification for this military action? What is “self-defense” according to international law? Can international law restrain warfare? Why are there so many civilian casualties? During war, these questions reappear in public debates, only to recede again when the bombs stop dropping. These public debates usually provide partial answers, without probing deeper dynamics. The following essay offers a macro-historical and critical exploration of these questions while engaging with other recent victims of U.S. and Israeli aggression: Palestinians in Gaza.
In February 2025, a Palestinian in Gaza posted an anecdote on X about a fellow survivor burning books for heat and observing, “Nothing fuels a fire faster than lies. If you find any more books on human rights, please bring them to me. My child is hungry, and I have no wood.” It’s not surprising that a Palestinian in Gaza today views human rights as lies. Having lived much of his life in a concentration camp that recently became an extermination camp, it’s understandable that he considers those books to be false. Why would he think otherwise? “Human rights” refers not only to a set of principles, but also to a general promise that human life is valuable and will be protected. The man burning books on human rights is also burning the false promise contained within them.
Did he ever believe in that false promise? Given that most Gazans are refugees from the forced displacement of 1948, his entire life has been shaped by systemic settler-colonial oppression—presumably, a violation of his human rights. Most likely, he directed his accusation of deception not only at the authors of the books, but also at the contemporary international legal system built around the promise of human rights. When the United Nations (UN) General Assembly adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) in December of 1948, Zionists (including some of the most powerful states in the UN) were in the process of establishing the Western settler-colony of Israel.[1] Western states simultaneously promoted human rights and supported Zionist settler militias massacring and forcibly displacing Palestinians, stealing their land and other possessions. In the very same month, the UN declared a Palestinian right to return and reparations in General Assembly Resolution 194. Yet Zionist crimes against Palestinians did not prevent the UN from admitting the settler-colonial state of Israel as a member in 1949. From their beginning—and from the book burner’s beginning—human rights were a false promise.
What is International Law?
Some might insist that the promise is not false, it is merely not yet fulfilled. They will claim that the words of the UDHR have not achieved their full potential because of misinterpretations and misapplications. They see an ostensible contradiction between the text of the UDHR and the reality in the world that corresponds to “law on the books” versus “law in action.” It may be tempting to view human rights as what is written in texts like the UDHR and violations of human rights as deviations from the presumed meanings of those texts. However, this conceptualization of law is fantasy. Law does not exist in legal sources, but in the interpretation and application of legal sources.
Viewing human rights as fiction or aspired-to-be fact reflects divergent understandings of law. Many people presume that law is whatever the government proclaims, such that international law would be what the international governance system (particularly the UN) declares it to be. Other people presume that law is whatever the state can compel, such that international law would be what the international governance system can enforce. In contrast, other people presume that law is what specialized jurists claim that it is. All these views of law—as institutional authority, enforcement power, or juristic authority—are top-down perspectives.
In contrast, a bottom-up perspective sees that the public generally consents to comply with rules, such that the public—not only state bureaucrats and jurists—defines law. For example, broad public refusal to abide by a state regulation makes it impracticable. States, whether through institutional authority or enforcement power, cannot always force large-scale compliance. (Think, for example, of highway speeding tickets, which are often not issued unless drivers are well over the prescribed limit.) Thus, state institutions and professional jurists do not have (or should not be endowed with) a complete monopoly on defining law. “The people” should also decide what the law is through their elected representatives and more direct involvement.
Law does not exist in legal sources, but in the interpretation and application of legal sources.
These four views of law (institutional authority, enforcement power, juristic authority, or popular authority) represent distinct ways of understanding the concept of “law.” They are not simply descriptions, but rather assertions about who should decide the law. Which perspective you espouse often reflects how you identify yourself or in whom you trust. Accordingly, if you identify with or feel represented by the state, you conceptualize law as institutional authority or enforcement power. If you identify with jurists, you conceptualize law as juristic authority. If you are distrustful of the state or identify with direct governance, you conceptualize law as popular authority. (These views of law do not map onto a political spectrum since they are held by people on the left and the right.) How you view law reflects how you think about power and authority.
There is some accuracy in each of these four views and even more accuracy in the intersection of all of them. All these views recognize (implicitly or explicitly) that law is the interpretation of legal sources. While interpreting legal sources is political, law is not equivalent to power or authority. Rather than being what the strongest figure declares it to be, law is a contest between multiple institutions and actors. More precisely, it is a contest over conflicting and varying interpretations of legal sources. Law is a simultaneous and interrelated struggle over who should interpret legal sources and what interpretations are authoritative.
International law is a struggle on a global scale. The relatively recent invention of international legal institutions (such as the UN) led to the creation of a new set of legal sources (such as the UDHR). Neither the new institutions nor the new texts resolve the contest over who will interpret law and what interpretations will be authoritative. Diverse readers of the UDHR will interpret it differently and will not form a consensus on how to apply it. They will find contradictions between the distinct legal principles in the document, as well as with laws external to the document. The meanings and implications of the UDHR are neither obvious nor constant. International institutions, individual states, international law specialists, and the public strive to persuade others that their interpretations of human rights are valid; they also strive to impose or enforce those interpretations.
Law is a simultaneous and interrelated struggle over who should interpret legal sources and what interpretations are authoritative.
Some veterans of this process (like Kenneth Roth) feel that it is productive and valuable, while other veterans (like Alfred de Zayas) feel that it is corrupted. What explains these divergent views of human rights from individuals who have been deeply involved for decades? Maybe Roth sees the cup half full and de Zayas sees it half empty. Or, possibly, Roth focuses on the text and de Zayas focuses on the context. Article 1 of the UDHR suggests that “all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights.” The human rights-based international legal system endeavors to coerce states and other actors to recognize and act based on this principle. Yet, the reality is that most human beings (particularly in the global South) are born oppressed, denied dignity and rights. The UDHR is a set of aspirations, but the international legal system does not generate the material conditions that are necessary for actualizing them.
The struggle to proclaim human rights is a polite debate for some and a bloody confrontation for others. In the battle to articulate international law, Palestinians (and others) are being slaughtered. This may be why a Palestinian man in Gaza burned books about human rights: those books are stained with Palestinian tears and blood.
Can Warfare be Limited by Laws of War?
Some might insist that even if law is a struggle, warfare is a state of exception from that struggle. In war, people do evil things. In the heat of battle, militaries may do whatever they want to do to “win” a war. And empirically, it’s not possible to determine if laws of war cause the conduct of warfare to be less violent. Maybe “laws of war” is a contradictory concept.
While they may be contradictory or idealistic, laws of war are not new.[2] Laws limiting warfare have a long history and may have played a role—even if minimal—in premodern warfare.[3] Many states and societies either restricted their conduct in war or claimed to do so. It was common to acknowledge certain norms about warfare, such as distinguishing between combatants and civilians and using proportionate force. Premodern laws of war were developed for reasons that we may categorize as social, strategic, and economic. Social considerations included belief in moral obligations and concern for reputation. Whether the basis is God, the gods, honor, or something else, many premodern societies articulated moral obligations to protect civilians. Moreover, societies and states sought to improve their reputations by claiming that their war practices were moral, or that they were within legal limits.
In addition, premodern states and societies limited warfare practices for strategic reasons. Many societies were concerned about reciprocity. If one army massacred civilians, then the opposing army would likely retaliate by massacring civilians. Distinguishing combatants from civilians and using proportionate force was a strategy of long-term self-defense. Moreover, there was an economic incentive not to commit mass murder, even though large-scale killings did occur in the premodern world. States limited the conduct of war to profit from taxing the conquered civilian population, as well as ransoming and enslaving prisoners of war. While it’s not possible to determine which of these enumerated considerations (social, strategic, or economic) was most influential, some combinations of them shaped premodern laws and practices of war.
Over time, war changed. Colonialism—a modern form of imperialism that began in the sixteenth century—was driven primarily by capitalist exploitation. Colonialism and industrialization gradually became intertwined. While land was colonized for valuable natural resources, people were colonized for free or inexpensive labor. As compared to earlier empires, colonial empires were more concerned with taking natural and human resources rather than simply collecting taxes. Colonizers benefitted from modern technologies that gave them significant advantages over colonized peoples who often lacked armies or sophisticated weaponry. In comparison to precolonial wars, colonial wars habitually caused more civilian deaths.
As industrialization shifted the objectives and technologies of warfare, laws of war also changed. Colonizers replaced ideas of moral warfare with the “civilizing mission,” alleging that colonized peoples are barbarians who need to be civilized. By dehumanizing colonized peoples, they presented colonial domination as an ethical obligation. Indeed, to enhance their reputations, colonizers claimed that they abided by laws of war and that “uncivilized” colonized peoples had lawless warfare practices—such as not differentiating between combatants and civilians. In reality, of course, colonizers did not differentiate between combatants and civilians because colonialism entailed the violent subjugation of colonized peoples—not only their resistance fighters or armies (if they had them).
In addition to changes in its social dimensions, colonial warfare usually involved distinct strategic considerations. Colonized peoples typically were unable to reciprocate the quantity or quality of colonial violence. Consequently, colonizers were effective at quashing resistance and generally unconcerned about reciprocity. While social and strategic considerations may have shifted with the onset of colonialism, some economic considerations continued to influence warfare. Since they exploited or enslaved colonized populations, colonial states had some economic incentive not to mass murder civilians.
To enhance their reputations, colonizers claimed that they abided by laws of war and that “uncivilized” colonized peoples had lawless warfare practices—such as not differentiating between combatants and civilians.
The colonial beginnings of contemporary international law and contemporary laws of war are well-known to researchers. In the nineteenth-century, international legal actors developed international law for application to their states and their armies—not to the colonized peoples who usually lacked both states and armies. Colonial states advocated laws of war that would limit the ability of colonized peoples to resist colonialism. Specifically, anticolonial resistance fighters were denied the status or protection of combatants. Colonizers designed laws of war to give colonial states advantages in contexts of asymmetrical warfare.
Contemporary international laws of war continue to advantage colonial states. For example, Article 18 of the Fourth Geneva Convention (1949) prohibits attacking civilian hospitals; however, Article 19 qualifies that hospitals lose immunity if they are used to commit “acts harmful to the enemy.” Who determines what acts are “harmful”? Colonial states slander the most mundane activities of colonized peoples as security threats. Moreover, in asymmetrical warfare, colonial states are much more likely to be able to attack hospitals—particularly through aerial bombardment—than anticolonial groups. In the grossly asymmetrical siege on Gaza, Zionist forces have attacked hospitals while falsely accusing Palestinians of using their hospitals for military purposes. (This latter allegation has been refuted repeatedly, including by local and international medical professionals working in targeted hospitals.) Since states and non-state actors have unequal capacities to protect civilians, Article 19 has a disparate impact on anticolonial actors (here, Palestinians) as compared to colonial states (here, Israel with military and espionage support from Zionist states like the United States [U.S.] and United Kingdom [UK]). The signatory states to the Geneva Conventions are responsible for proclaiming international law in this situation. Most signatories appear unwilling to pass judgement. In the absence of agreement or political will, Switzerland cancelled a planned meeting (March 2025) of signatory states to examine implementation of the Fourth Geneva Convention in Gaza.
The Geneva Convention’s procedure of assembling signatory states disadvantages colonized peoples, who are not represented by states and are less likely to have alliances with signatory states. More importantly, Article 19 effectively nullifies Article 18 by elevating the perspective of colonial states and their militaries. Would it not be more in line with the promise of human rights to focus on the perspective of civilians? In most cases, evacuating hospital patients entails serious health risks. Indeed, if those hospital patients cannot be evacuated to a safe place—as is the case in Gaza—then Article 19’s permission to attack hospitals is a death sentence. From the perspective of patients, the legality of targeting hospitals should not be based on a determination of fact (i.e., the military use of a hospital). A purported military goal should not override the health, safety, and livelihood of patients. Alas, the false promise of human rights is enmeshed in the text of the Geneva Conventions.
In Gaza, Israeli combatants have burned hospitals—as well as homes, schools, universities, mosques, churches, and warehouses filled with humanitarian aid. And they have burned Palestinian patients alive, as they lay injured in hospital beds, hooked up to IVs, while taking shelter in flimsy tents on hospital grounds. Despite the incontestable evidence that Israeli combatants committed mass murder of hospital patients (as well as medical professionals and rescue workers), many participants in the fight to formulate international law stay silent. From the viewpoint of Palestinians in Gaza—barely surviving a siege of epic proportions—the Geneva Conventions probably look like false promises. Since the U.S. and Israel are bombing hospitals in Iran, Iranians likely also view those Conventions as false promises. Perhaps a book about contemporary laws of war fueled that fire in Gaza, the one that burned lies. It may have felt cathartic to feel much-needed warmth from books filled with pretenses.
[1] Throughout this essay, I use “Zionist” to refer to any individual, institution, or state that supports the settler-colonization of Palestine. Currently, the United State is the main sponsor state of the Zionist settler-colony (Israel). ‘Zionist’ is not an identity category and it is not a synonym for Israeli.
[2] Premodern legal sources concerned with laws of war include the Code of Hammurabi (circa 1754 BCE), Laws of Manu (circa 2nd century BCE to 2nd century CE), Roman customary law (circa 2nd century BCE to 3rd century CE), the Code of Justinian (529–534 CE), and Islamic laws of war (beginning in the 7th century CE).
[3] For historians, numerous details are missing from the macro-narrative that I will provide. The brevity and abstraction are necessary to elucidate the argument.
