It’s been a year since the International Court of Justice (ICJ) announced its provisional verdict in South Africa’s genocide case against Israel. During the ensuing period, Israel has pretty much followed none of the provisional measures decreed in the verdict, and now “Gaza is no more.” Even though a ceasefire deal has been recently reached, it remains to be seen how viable it will prove to be and how much more suffering will be imposed upon the people of Palestine as the various phases of the deal are implemented. 

Furthermore, the current ICJ President Nawaf Salem has been nominated as the PM of Lebanon. In his place, Julia Sebutinde of Uganda, the only judge apart from the Israeli judge to vote against South Africa’s position, shall be the new President of ICJ. Some believe the Zionists and their allies may have orchestrated her appointment. In any case, the outcome is a setback as the president of the ICJ oversees the institution’s administrative affairs and chairs its panels, wielding a decisive vote in cases of judicial deadlock.

This last year has been one of utter hopelessness. For someone who had always taken Chomsky’s “Mafia Principle of Foreign Policy” for granted, I still find myself in shock. Hadn’t I always known that Thrasymachus’ saying “The strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must” was patently true? 

Yet, like so many others all over the world, I find myself shell-shocked and numb at the brazenness with which naked power has asserted itself. The barbarity on display is one thing but the open challenge to the rest of the world really takes one’s breath away: “This is what we will do and there is nothing you can do about it,” announces the oppressor daily. 

I also find myself inflamed by the lies upon lies, the ugly propaganda, disseminated by Western media on a non-stop basis. I am shocked, yes, but despair is not an option. One must fight in whatever capacity one can. And fighting requires tools and weapons. For those of us who do not, or cannot, wield guns, this ICJ verdict is a weapon that we must deploy in our uphill battle for justice, and for the freedom of our Palestinian brothers and sisters. 

On the 26th of January, 2024, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) issued its historic verdict in South Africa’s genocide case against Israel. The ICJ prima facie accepted South Africa’s charge of genocide against Israel and imposed strict restrictions on Israel’s conduct. On the day of the verdict, the death toll from Israel’s unprecedented attack on the Gaza Strip had surpassed 26,000. The Gaza Health Ministry stated that Israel’s attacks had killed 26,083 people and more than 64,400 wounded since Oct. 7, 2023. 

These horrors perpetrated by Israel have unfolded before our eyes—the killing, starvation, forced displacement, and dispossession of millions of people. Given the massive scale of violence, death, and destruction, for many, including myself, this verdict is a ray of hope. Despite the ongoing massacres, it served as a brief moment of respite amid the unremitting torrent of tyranny, lies, barbarity, and brutality. 

On the day of this historic ruling, I was lucky to be in the visitor’s gallery at the Peace Palace, which houses the ICJ. This was my first time inside the Peace Palace. It would have been my second time only if I had been prescient enough to wake up early on the 11th of January, the day when the Republic of South Africa first laid out its charges against the State of Israel. 

This essay is a first-person account that recalls the events of the 11th, 12th, and 26th of January 2024. 

Day 1: South Africa Strikes with its Rainbow Team 

On the 11th of January, I showed up at the Peace Palace at 6:50 AM, confident that I would be one of the 14 members of the public allowed inside. The Peace Palace allows only 14 visitors. I was stunned to find around over 30 people already waiting at the visitor’s gate. A friend from Diem25 was talking to Jeremy Corbyn and Craig Murray. As most readers would know, Jeremy Corbyn is the former leader of the UK Labor Party and one of the most well-respected leftists on the global stage. 

Craig Murray is a former UK diplomat and a prominent human rights campaigner. It turned out that my friend had been acting as a stand-in for Jeremy Corbyn. Craig Murray took Corbyn to task for having “cheated” by using a stand-in, while Murray had spent the entire night at the Peace Palace to reserve his spot. Readers can peruse Craig Murray’s brilliant and humorous account on his blog here.

While I was disappointed at not having made the list, seeing Corbyn and Murray—people I had long admired, soothed some of my angst. Steadily, more people started pouring in. The pro-Palestine protestors easily outnumbered the pro-Israeli protestors by two to one, if not three to one. The police had created separate, physically distant spaces designated for the pro-Palestine and Zionist protestors. 

On the 11th of January, pro-Israeli protestors were assigned the “prime location”—that directly faced the reporters and press cameras. This “location” is the triangular area indicated by the red arrow in the figure below. Pro-Palestine protestors were assigned the area indicated by the blue arrow, while Google Maps pinpoints to the Peace Palace itself. 

As I stood before the Peace Palace, Sara, my wife, arrived with the Keffiyeh I had left home, suspecting it might jeopardize my entrance there. The visitor’s guidelines vaguely stated that visitors must be “appropriately dressed.” Given the imbalance of power in institutions of the West, I wasn’t sure if a Keffiyeh would be considered “appropriate.” 

I put the Keffiyeh on my shoulders, but my wife, the perfectionist, did not quite like how it was draped and started fixing it. Later, we discovered that this comical exercise was captured on the BBC. Our Keffiyehs kept appearing on the screen while the BBC reporter was trying to imply that pro-Palestine and pro-Israel supporters had shown up in equal strength. 

It was a frigid day that felt like -10 °C, and many complained of frozen feet. As I waited for Sara to return from her coffee run, in front of the press cameras, with my Keffiyeh visible from under my jacket, a pro-Israel protestor, perhaps a bit younger than myself, approached me with the following offer: 

“You might be pro-Palestine, but humanity is what matters. We want to show you the atrocities committed by Hamas. You should be willing to listen to the other side. Would you walk with me over to that table?” 

I looked at the table with the paraphernalia of tech gadgets on display—perhaps they were VR headsets. The first thought that crossed my mind was, “Man, the Zionists are loaded!” 

Instead, I told him, “No, thank you!” 

Now, I wish I had said something else, perhaps something more: “What do you hope to achieve by showing me these videos? Are you saying that this justifies Israel’s brutal acts? That this justifies cutting off food, water, and electricity to more than 2 million people? Are you saying …?”

Perhaps it is better that I didn’t say anything. Only a minute after my interaction, I saw another pro-Israel protestor needlessly approach a pro-Palestine supporter. That one ended in an ugly scuffle broken up by the police. At around the same time, an old Zionist woman determinedly approached us pro-Palestine protestors and accused us of going against God’s will. She then stood between a TRT World correspondent and his cameraman, not allowing them to film. She kept repeating, “Human courts don’t matter. It’s God’s word against yours!” 

A few moments later, a pro-Zionist man came and stood near our group of pro-Palestine protestors. He was proudly raising pro-Israel slogans and brandishing an Israeli flag. He was there to goad us, and one among us obliged: a pro-Palestine protestor rushed towards him and snatched his flag away. The Zionist man complained to the police. Then the police informed us that our time in front of the peace palace was up and we needed to go to our designated place. 

Thus, we started walking to this designated place, towards the Peace Palace’s rear right side. A big screen showed Al Jazeera’s live broadcast of the proceedings. As one lawyer from South Africa after another appeared, I was amazed not only by the moral clarity of their presentations but also by their sheer diversity: black, white, and brown men and women–the rainbow nation that had fought and dismantled a brutal apartheid regime, had assembled a remarkable team of lawyers to speak in defense of Palestine. 

Like many others, I found the most impressive presentations from the two women on the team: Blinne Ni Ghrálaigh and Adila Hassem. During Ms. Ghrálaigh’s speech, I distinctly remember the camera panning toward former ICJ President Joan E. Donoghue, who appeared to be visibly moved by the quietly forceful emotion of Ms. Ghrálaigh’s presentation. Perhaps the most memorable lines from her presentation were also the most gut-wrenching: 

“Despite the horror of the genocide against the Palestinian people being live streamed in Gaza to our mobile phones, computers, and television screens, the first genocide in history where its victims are broadcasting their destruction in real-time in the desperate, so far vain hope that the world might do something … the world should be ashamed.”

Everyone from Francis Boyle (who won Bosnia’s case against Serbia) to Norman Finkelstein believed that Judge Donoghue was a Clinton apparatchik and had, according to Craig Murray—“never formed an original idea in her life.” So I told myself if someone like her appeared to be moved, perhaps all was not lost; maybe we had some hope! 

I got to talking to some of the pro-Palestine protesters. An older Palestinian man from Gaza opined that our protests should have fought for the “prime location” for that first day of the hearings. Sure, we knew that we had been “granted” that location for the second day, i.e., when Israel would present its defense on the 12th of January, but according to him, “Today should have been our day.” 

I agreed vehemently. Both of us felt that we had been cheated. In retrospect, I realize now that it did not matter much. All our utterances and feelings, thoughts and emotions, in retrospect, appear to have been driven by the highly charged atmosphere and an acute awareness of the incredibly high stakes at play.

A Palestinian woman stood on the curbside at the protest site in an abaya. Despite the loud and bustling atmosphere, she stood stoically, clutching onto a “bloodied” toy baby corpse while more “bloodied” toy corpses of babies lay on the street in front of her. People photographed her with deference, one after another, acknowledging the grave reality she was portraying. She would look unflinchingly into the camera lens with an unchanging somber yet determined look.

In the meantime, we discovered that almost all the pro-Israeli protests had left midway during the proceedings. 

Rabbi David Feldman, a prominent anti-Zionist Rabbi and member of Jews United Against Zionism, was also there in support of Palestine. My wife Sara made a touching video of a beautiful Palestinian girl presenting him with a toy baby. 

When South Africa finished presenting their case, we headed home, moved and hopeful but fearful of how Israel might respond. 

Day 2: Israel Presents Its Rebuttal

On the 12th of January, the day Israel presented their case, the pro-Palestine supporters got the “prime location.” I was so emotionally drained from the previous day’s events that I didn’t try to secure a place in the visitor’s gallery. I was drained because of a whirlwind of reasons, both political and personal. It was gut-wrenching to hear the South African team describe all the horrors that we had been witnessing for the last three months in moving detail. 

From a personal point of view, I felt a lot of rage inside me, and a feeling of helplessness, not only at what had been happening in Gaza but also at the boorish attitude of the pro-Zionist supporters earlier in the day. I was also questioning myself: shouldn’t I have confronted them? Shouldn’t I have at least snatched one flag away? Shouldn’t I have shoved at least one genocide supporter? Had I shown a lack of “physical courage”? Was thinking “Ah, that would have led to no good” merely rationalization aimed at hiding my weakness? 

In retrospect, I know it’s for the best that I controlled myself but I was not so certain then.

In any case, we followed Al Jazeera’s live stream on the big screen outside. Israel’s lawyers who stood out were Malcolm Shaw and Galit Rajuan. Shaw was a clear piece of work—his British “stiff upper lip” and haughtiness were nauseating; his manner of speech seemed to suggest that he found the entire proceedings to be beneath him. 

Craig Mokhiber, the former UN rapporteur who resigned his post in protest against the UN’s inability to censure and stop Israel, described Shaw as the “lawyer from My Cousin Vinny but with a wig! The protestors booed throughout Shaw’s presentation; some even threw eggs at him on the screen. 

Galit Rajuan acted more like an Israeli government spokesperson than a lawyer presenting her case. She spewed lies and presented a barrage of fabricated and debunked evidence. In her theory of the case, Hamas members were omnipresent lurking everywhere. She declared they had “terrorist hubs” located everywhere including “homes, mosques, UN facilities, schools and perhaps most shockingly hospitals.” 

Rajuan, like most agents of the State of Israel, was self-righteous and secure in her knowledge that her lies were more valuable than the truth. People often assume that people like Rajuan or Alan Dershowitz lie for Israel. But I believe that’s missing the point. As far as Zionist logic goes, lies in service of a greater truth are not lies. And that ‘greater truth’ is that the Zionist project is “righteous” and that it must continue at all costs even though it necessarily entails the subjugation and annihilation of the Palestinian people. 

In contrast to the formidable case presented by the South Africans, the Israeli presentation fell flat. Apart from the shoddy substance of Israel’s rebuttal, the Israeli team appeared ill-prepared. For instance, Malcolm Shaw’s deck of papers appeared to be all out-of-order, and his reaction to the same (“someone has shuffled my papers”) provided an unforgettable viral moment. 

Similarly, Galit Rajuan’s presentation lacked composure, and Judge Donoghue explicitly asked her to slow down. This starkly contrasted with the South African presentation in which everyone spoke in a measured yet forceful manner. Despite all this, I was both disheartened and confused by the end of Israel’s case. I felt they had done enough to get a mealymouthed judgment that might accept the plausibility of genocide. Still, it would throw in enough caveats to recast Israel as the good guy and repeat the violent untruths that “Israel is merely trying to defend itself…”

However, there was nothing more to be done but to wait.

Day 3: Awaiting The Verdict 

On the 26th of January, the ICJ was to rule on South Africa’s case of genocide case against Israel.

Having learned my lesson on the 11th of January, I decided to arrive early on the morning of the 26th to grab one of the 14 visitor spots. First, I wanted to bear witness to what could be a historic verdict. The second reason, which I have not shared with anyone—in the event of an adverse judgment, perhaps a dismissal of the case altogether, I was scared that I might break down amidst other despondent protestors. I did not want to cry publicly. I felt that in the visitor’s gallery, my emotions would remain in check (how wrong I was!) 

I arrived at 4:15 am in front of the Peace Palace on the 26th of January. I was relieved to find only six people there, four sitting on benches while two were walking around, ostensibly trying to warm themselves up. There were five women and two men, including myself.

At 4:15 AM. Six people were already there. 

The two women who were walking approached me, and one of them asked me for my name. She said that they were making a list of people so that there would be transparency on who arrived and when to have a record of the first 14 arrivals. She said she had barely managed to get a spot on the 11th of January because even though she had arrived early, many people who had come much later had jumped the queue. 

These Hijab-clad women had come from Ireland. Their flight had landed late in the evening of the 25th, and after checking into their hotels, they made their way directly to the Peace Palace at around half past midnight. They worked for an international human rights organization.

Half an hour after my arrival, the infamous Dutch rain poured for the next two hours until around 6:30 AM, just when the gates finally opened. We were asked to enter in pairs of two and register ourselves. I was paired with a young Palestinian girl from Ramallah interning at the ICJ. I handed my driver’s license to the security guard, who kept turning it over and flipping it around, seemingly searching for something. I silently wished I had brought my passport instead, like the rest. What if he turns me away? 

Another security guard, probably a Desi or an Arab, who had been looking at me sympathetically, intervened. He showed his colleague how to check the hologram on my ID, “Turn it like this, see?” 

I was verified and registered as the eighth visitor. I received a registration document. I was pleasantly surprised that we could bring pens because Craig Murray had not been allowed a pen on the 11th of January. The proceedings were supposed to begin at 1 pm. We were told to “Be there at 12; otherwise, you would not be allowed in!” I checked the time – it was around 7 AM. I went back home and slept for a few hours.

After a quick nap, I left my house around 11:35. The Peace Palace is only 20 minutes away, and I assumed I was going early. To my dismay, I had not factored in the coastal winds of Hague. A storm had been brewing in the few hours I slept at home. Now, on my bike, strong gusts of wind pushed against my body; I found myself cycling, nay crawling slowly towards my destination, worried that I would be late and not allowed in. 

I kept pedaling along and arrived at the Peace Palace in the nick of time, at 11:59 AM (yes, I checked!). We were ushered inside the security room next to the gate and instructed to deposit all our belongings–phones, bags, etc in the lockers downstairs. Anyone who wanted to use the toilet had to go right then. 

After that, we all went through the security check and were led out into the lawns of the Peace Palace. As we waited, the woman from Ireland, who had stayed the entire night for her spot, was taken away by the security. After several minutes, a new guy, who it turns out was the head of security, appeared and announced that she would not be joining us because she was a “security threat.”

The security head, who turned out to be an Indian from Bangalore, spoke to us aggressively and told us that last time, as a visitor, she had chanted “Free Palestine ” on these [hallowed] lawns. This time, too, she had approached him with a glint in her eyes and was being very “boisterous.” 

When the women’s friends protested her removal, they were told, “You can all leave right now if you are going to misbehave.” The head of security warned them and started pointing his finger threateningly at all of us. A Tunisian-Dutch man waiting with us tried talking to him in Dutch to understand the situation and asked why he was rude.

It turns out our desi head of security did not speak Dutch. He asked if the Tunisian-Dutch man spoke English, which he didn’t. I broke the impasse and translated: “He is asking why you are being so rude, sir!” 

“I did not talk to you or you. Only to these women.”

“No, you were pointing at all of us; you were addressing us all,” I replied. 

He ignored me and gave the women an ultimatum. If they were insistent on being with their “security threat” of a friend, they too were welcome to leave. 

Of course, they weren’t going to waste their entire trip. They did ask him for his name (which he did not give) and threatened him with a complaint. Quite an inauspicious start, I thought to myself. 

Eventually, we were led down the lawns and entered the fairytale-like palace. Once inside, we climbed a flight of stairs and were told to wait in the corridor next to the visitor’s gallery. We were to be enlightened once again by our Desi head of security. 

He began his lecture: “I am a human being as well. We are all emotional. If you are getting emotional or about to make a problem, we will catch you. We know how to deal with troublemakers. But we are all human beings. I understand. So if you are getting emotional, ask our staff, they will take you outside. If you create trouble, we will deal with you. First step, outside, second step police, third step…” 

I tuned his security sermon out. His instructions went on for a while, during which we kept nodding, waiting for him to shut up and get lost. 

The Verdict 

After being sufficiently warned, we were allowed inside the visitor’s gallery, from where we could see the courtroom only five to six meters below us. The entire space was quite imposing, if not beautiful. Grand chandeliers hung from the stucco ceilings of the vault. This great chamber houses the courtroom and the small visitor’s gallery. There were large paintings on both sides of the vault. I sat on a seat third from the left and remembered what Craig Murray had said about these seats:

“The fitted theatre-style seats are a hundred years old and in a state of near collapse. Your arse is eight inches off the ground, and the seats now tilt so your thighs are four inches off the ground, and the whole contraption is throwing you forward and over the edge.”

Looking down, I saw Malcolm Shaw talking with another lawyer on his team. I looked at him, full of disdain and disgust. As luck would have it, right then, Shaw looked up at the visitor’s gallery and surveyed us all with his haughty gaze. Looking at all of us, he broke into what I thought was a smug chuckle. It was only later that I realized it was more of an embarrassed chuckle because he surely knew he would lose the case. 

Or was it perhaps a chuckle of victory: We might lose this case, but we will continue with the slaughter. So we win anyway. Who knows? 

A bald Israeli lawyer was busy writing something. Much to my chagrin, I noticed that despite being right-handed, he was writing with his hand curled over the pen, much in the awkward way we lefties write. How dare he write like that. I felt irritated.

The judges were announced, and we all rose from our seats. As the judges entered from the door to my left, one after another, I was embarrassed and slightly gobsmacked on seeing them in person. Let me explain. From my vantage point, from the top, looking at their backsides as they walked towards the dias, it looked like somebody had let crumbling fossils out for a walk. Most of them (not all) were barely able to walk. “Oh God! Our fate rests in the hands of these fossils,” I thought to myself rather unkindly. 

Judge Donaghue was about to begin her presentation. My heart started pounding. She began: “…the court begins by recalling the immediate context in which the present case came before it. On 7 October 2023, Hamas and other armed groups present in the Gaza strip attacked Israel, killing more than 1200 people, injuring thousands, and abducting some 240 people, many of whom continue to be held hostage.” 

My heart sank. I knew it. They will label it all as self-defense, and we are doomed. This was going to be yet another weapon in the hands of Israeli propagandists and their supporters. The ICJ will throw out the genocide case. I could imagine them celebrating. I recalled what Mouin Rabbani had said to Norman Finkelstein in one of their discussions: 

“A consensus was building among the people and genocide experts that what is happening in Gaza is genocide. By bringing the matter to this court, where such a high bar exists for even plausible genocide, we risk damaging our cause in case of a negative decision.”

To the above, Norman Finkelstein had replied: 

“Every tactic has a risk. John Duggard [who led South Africa’s legal team] surely calculated these risks. Every tactic has a risk. He calculated that it was worthwhile to take this risk.” 

Judge Donaghue’s initial sentences must have taken only a few seconds if that, but they signified the end for me. I foresaw only doom and gloom. My heart was rapidly sinking. Then I heard:

“Following this attack, Israel launched a large-scale military operation in Gaza, by land, air, and sea, which is causing massive civilian casualties, extensive destruction of civilian infrastructure, and the displacement of the overwhelming majority of the population in Gaza…”

My heart settled. There was no way this case was getting dismissed. Hamas and other stupid excuses might (wrongly) have worked for Israel on another day, but not today. Today, they were going down. There was no way Judge Donaghue would have mentioned massive civilian casualties, extensive destruction of civilian infrastructure, and displacement of the overwhelming majority of the population right at the beginning of an adverse judgment in the offing. 

And as she kept talking, my feeling of relief intensified. She began by dismissing Malcolm Shaw’s case that a legal dispute did not exist between the two parties. Similarly, she disposed of other technical points before coming to the heart of the matter. It was there when I lost control of my emotions. I found myself silently crying as Judge Donaghue affirmed all of South Africa’s points regarding intent and also the destruction caused by the genocidal Israeli state. 

As one quote after another from UNOCHA, UNRWA, WHO, and others was read out by Judge Donaghue, I kept looking at everyone around, at the lawyers, at the other visitors, at everyone. It was as if I wanted to confirm if everyone was listening. The long-suffering Palestinians were finally getting a just hearing. They were not being gaslighted, they were not being dismissed, they were being listened to, and they were being vindicated (albeit at an enormously tragic cost). 

I looked at John Dugard below, who intently looked at Judge Donaghue. I could not see Malcolm Shaw’s face as he was right below me, but he appeared to be staring into the space before him.

Finally, the provisional measures were announced. I was not disappointed because having listened to and read multiple serious analyses, I knew a ceasefire would not be called for. However, the measures that were announced and the fact that the state of Israel stood plausibly accused of genocide were enough for me. 

As anyone who knows anything about world politics knows, an order for a ceasefire would not be enforced anyway. What this ruling always signified was, in Noura Erakat’s words, a tool or, in Norman Finkelstein’s words, an arrow in the quiver of the Palestinian solidarity movement. It was now up to us to use this tool, this arrow, and continue the battle. 

When the judges left, I heard some murmurs of celebration below. I saw that the South African delegation was celebrating. They were hugging each other and smiling all around. Prof. John Dugard was restrained at first, but even he broke into a smile. I felt tears on my cheeks again. 

When I came out from the Peace Palace, Sara hugged me and asked me if I had been crying. My friend, who had been a stand-in for Jeremy Corbyn on the 11th of January, was distraught and sad that the court had not ordered a ceasefire, as were most others. Together with a tiny minority, we tried to explain to them that this was a victory, and that’s how we should consider it. “Are you kidding me? Israel is definitively on trial for genocide. This is a victory!” 

Yes, this verdict does not, to use Diana Buttu’s words, help the people currently in the inferno, but it is an invaluable tool for those of us who are outside this inferno and who want to put out the fire. 

Indeed it was. One cannot express enough gratitude to South Africa, to Ms. Naledi Pandor, Prof John Dugard, Blinne Ni Ghrálaigh, Adila Hassim, Tembeka Ngcukaitobi, Vaughan Lowe, Max Du Plessis, and to all the researchers, lawyers, politicians and bureaucrats involved in this momentous effort. 

Thank you, thank you, thank you! Viva Viva Palestina.