Do you support Palestine when it fights, or only when it bleeds?

Since the onset of the genocide, ethnic cleansing, and collective punishment in Gaza, the popular movement across Europe has evolved far beyond a fleeting trend. It has become a sweeping grassroots revolution. Millions have raised the Palestinian flag, not just in symbolic solidarity, but through meaningful actions and clear political demands for justice and liberation.

This public mobilisation stands as a living testament that genuine support for Palestine is not limited to mourning its dead. It is reflected in siding with its right to resist oppression and occupation.

In contrast to this strong public sentiment, some European governments have begun to show bolder political signals, hinting at sanctions, recalling ambassadors, and issuing firm condemnations of the aggression. While these developments are not without significance, they remain largely symbolic. Arms shipments to Tel Aviv continue, and political and military support remains firmly in place.

This raises a critical question:

Do we truly support Palestine when it fights for its existence, or only when it bleeds and is beaten to within an inch of its life?

READ: Gaza will not be defeated as long as there are people who refuse to stay silent

To explore this tension between public solidarity and governmental double standards, we look to a striking example from Latin America, where political discourse often intertwines with grassroots awareness: the voice of renowned Brazilian journalist Fabio José Bosco.

At a recent seminar organised by the Palestine Forum for Media and Communication, the elderly journalist stood, despite his age, to offer a passionate reflection on what solidarity truly means:

“I am an elderly journalist. My name is Fabio Bosco. I’ve spent my life in journalism in Brazil and witnessed countless political transformations. But what is happening in Palestine now surpasses them all; It is an open wound in the world’s conscience.”

Bosco praised President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva’s bold description of the aggression on Gaza as “genocide,” noting how such a statement shifted public awareness in Brazil. Indeed, polls reflected a notable rise in solidarity with the Palestinian cause.

Yet, true to his principles, Bosco did not stop there. He drew attention to the contradiction in Lula’s stance, condemning Israeli crimes while simultaneously describing Palestinian resistance operations as “terrorist attacks.”

This led to Bosco’s central question:

Is the Palestinian only accepted when unarmed and defenceless? Are they condemned the moment they take up arms to defend their land and protect their families from massacre?

He reminded his audience:

“Without resistance, there would be no Palestine. Solidarity that denies the Palestinian right to self-defence is meaningless.”

Bosco went on to recount a recent incident in which a Palestinian family was denied entry to Brazil, despite holding official visas, because their names appeared on an American blacklist alleging ties to Hamas. Brazilian authorities did not intervene, despite their declared humanitarian stance.

This wasn’t an isolated administrative error. It was a stark example of the gulf between rhetoric and policy; between sympathising with the victim and punishing them when they resist.

The issue extends beyond national leadership. The city of São Paulo, Brazil’s largest metropolis, recently banned public events in solidarity with Palestine under the pretext of preventing “hate speech” and maintaining “neutrality.” Yet amid the daily massacres in Gaza, neutrality becomes complicity.

This ban came as public support for Gaza was on the rise, and it laid bare a fundamental dilemma:

You are allowed to sympathise with Palestine, but only so long as that sympathy doesn’t become a political stance or a call for justice.

READ: How do we write our history in support of Gaza?

What makes Bosco’s voice all the more remarkable is that it emerges not from a traditional Western power centre, but from a distinct cultural and political space, highlighting the global moral crisis, even among governments that outwardly support Palestine.

These “half-hearted” positions resemble much of what we see in the West: expressions of humanitarian concern, tightly bounded by red lines that forbid supporting resistance or holding the occupation to account.

In fact, the role of major Western powers often goes beyond silence, it becomes complicity. Their support for Israel is not only diplomatic or rhetorical; it is material and strategic.

Recent Western responses to the famine in Gaza offer a revealing illustration. Yes, aid is being sent and condemnations of the starvation are issued. But the same governments that deliver sacks of flour are also fueling the conflict with bombs and political cover.

One British activist summarised this grotesque contradiction with biting irony:

“Let the Palestinians eat a little food… then kill them.”

This phrase encapsulates the crisis: a little compassion, a lot of bullets.

An aid convoy here. A missile shipment there.

A diplomatic smile for the cameras. Silence behind closed doors.

In this context, voices like Fabio Bosco’s are not for mere pleasure, they are moral necessities. The struggle today is not only about territory, but about truth and meaning.

Can you stand with the victim while denying their right to defend themselves?

Can you condemn starvation without confronting those who impose the blockade?

Can you support Palestine as a humanitarian cause, yet abandon it as a liberation struggle?

In an era where principles often wither under political convenience, Bosco’s voice reminds us of the original compass:

Those who truly support Palestine cannot do so only when it bleeds; they must also support it when it fights. That is a right guaranteed by international law and by the basic norms of human dignity for any people under occupation.

The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Monitor.