As Israel’s president, Isaac Herzog, is set to arrive in the UK today for a three-day visit, Britain finds itself shamefully out of step — not only with its own values, but even with a growing number of European governments.

While some EU states have begun to restrict their ties with Israel, Britain is preparing to roll out the red carpet for the man whose words gave political cover to mass killing and starvation in Gaza.

Herzog is not a neutral guest. In October 2023, as the bombs began to fall, he declared that “an entire nation” of Palestinians was responsible for October 7. In that single statement, he framed every Palestinian man, woman, and child as culpable — an entire population recast as legitimate targets.

Since then, tens of thousands of civilians have been killed, hundreds of thousands displaced, and Gaza deliberately starved. Herzog may not issue military orders — the Prime Minister and war cabinet wield that power – but as president, his rhetoric carries symbolic and moral weight both domestically and abroad.

His words have served as a shield of legitimacy for a campaign of collective punishment that leading jurists and UN experts now describe as genocide.

Europe edges towards accountability

Across Europe, there has been hesitation, half-measures, and plenty of silence. But two countries — Spain and Slovenia — have gone further than others, showing at least a willingness to translate outrage into action.

Spain has imposed a total arms embargo, alongside port and airspace bans on Israeli ships and aircraft. Slovenia has implemented a full ban on the arms trade with Israel and blocked the entry of Israeli ministers who incite violence.

Neither of these measures is revolutionary; both fall far short of what international law requires. But they demonstrate that governments can choose accountability over complicity — if they want to.

Most others have inched forward. Courts in the Netherlands halted exports of F-35 parts; France and Germany have reduced their weapons transfers; Italy suspended new export licences. These are partial steps, often hedged with caveats. Yet even these gestures stand in stark contrast to the UK, which has offered little more than rhetoric while maintaining its military and diplomatic embrace of Israel.

The UK’s stance was underscored just days before Herzog’s arrival. David Lammy, the Foreign Secretary at the time, declared that while the destruction in Gaza is “utterly appalling,” the government does not consider it genocide. In a letter dated September 1, Lammy wrote that “the crime of genocide occurs only where there is specific ‘intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnic, racial or religious group.’”

But this is precisely what Israel is doing, both through its actions and through the rhetoric of its leaders. Crucially, in January 2024 the International Court of Justice found there is a plausible risk of genocide in Gaza, a finding Britain continues to ignore.

When Herzog himself said that “an entire nation” of Palestinians was responsible for October 7, he stripped 2.3 million people of their civilian protections and laid the groundwork for collective punishment. When Israeli ministers have spoken of erasing Gaza, of starving its people, of making it “uninhabitable,” they revealed intent not only in deeds, but in words.

That Britain cannot see this — or rather, chooses not to see it — while hosting the very man who legitimised it, exposes the hollowness of its position.

The government wants to split hairs about legal thresholds while Palestinians are being starved and bombed. It refuses to apply the precautionary principle embedded in international law: to prevent genocide where there is a serious risk, not wait for a court judgment after the fact.

Hosting Herzog while Gaza starves

Some will argue that Herzog’s role is largely ceremonial. But symbolism matters. His words carried weight when they gave moral justification to collective punishment. His silence in the face of mass killing has been deafening. His presence in London is not neutral; it is a calculated signal.

When British ministers shake his hand, they shake the hand of the man who defended starving children, bombing homes, and destroying universities under the banner of national self-defence.

And symbolism matters in Britain too. The government has not hesitated to wield symbolic gestures in other contexts: after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, the UK imposed sanctions on oligarchs, barred cultural figures, and stripped sporting teams of legitimacy. Yet when it comes to Gaza, the same government chooses to smile and shake hands with the man who legitimised devastation.

Hosting Herzog while other governments — however reluctantly — are putting restrictions in place is not just a diplomatic choice; it is complicity broadcast on the international stage. Britain cannot continue to insist that it upholds international law in Ukraine while disregarding it in Gaza. To do so is to hollow out its own principles and reveal them as selective.

Europe is not doing enough. Even Spain and Slovenia’s measures are modest when measured against the scale of atrocities in Gaza. But Britain’s failure stands out in the opposite direction: where others apply even limited accountability, the UK opts for hospitality. Where others say “enough,” Britain says “welcome.”

The moral bankruptcy of this approach is plain to see. It signals that Palestinian lives are treated as expendable, secondary to political convenience. It shows that Britain is willing to smile and shake hands with the man who legitimised the devastation of Gaza, even as entire families are wiped out and a population is pushed to the brink of survival.

Herzog’s visit should have been an opportunity for Britain to join its European partners in saying that accountability matters. Instead, it is a reminder that when it comes to Palestine, Britain too often chooses betrayal over principle. 

The UK insists it does not see genocide in Gaza. But if it cannot see it when children are starved, when families are bombed in their homes, when entire neighbourhoods are reduced to rubble, then one must ask: what would genocide have to look like for Britain to recognise it?

Herzog’s presence in London is therefore not just about him. It is about Britain’s choices. Does it want to be remembered as a country that spoke out against atrocities, or as one that offered polite welcomes while Gaza was destroyed? Does it want to stand with those few European states edging, however imperfectly, toward accountability — or with those who believe alliances are worth more than human lives?

Britain’s leaders cannot escape this reckoning. Hosting Herzog while Gaza suffers will not be seen as diplomacy. It will be remembered as complicity.