Simply calling it genocide—a word that accurately describes the mass violence and systemic destruction—seems to break some unspoken rule, making people recoil. Amid this alienation, as friendships have faded and close relationships dissolved, I’ve started questioning what it truly means to be "radical" or "extreme" in today’s world.
Recently, I came across an article in Flamman where Karin Rågsjö (V) noted that members of Sweden’s most prominent left-wing party had become “extremely radicalized” in their rhetoric about Palestine. To me, this accusation highlights the growing importance of international humanitarian issues for a movement struggling to define its opposition to Sweden’s current far-right regime. The indecision and passivity of this so-called opposition have created a vacuum—a space now filled by those genuinely willing to resist. The label of "radicalization" is the establishment's way of dismissing those who prioritize issues it deems unimportant or threatening to its narrow vision of politics. Even a party born from anti-establishment ideals can grow complacent, clinging to the marginal power it wields. Such complacency leads to the absurdity of branding calls for basic human decency and international solidarity as "extremely radicalized."
What Karin Rågsjö and her party (which I left earlier this year after being a member since 2020) specifically oppose is the internal tension surrounding the discourse on Palestine. She highlights the growing fear within the party of openly discussing the issue or taking a stance that might be seen as too conservative or insufficiently critical of Israel’s actions. This fear of being labeled or harassed—sometimes even called a "pro-Zionist"—has created a stifling atmosphere, she argues. Rågsjö calls for unity in the party during such divisive times and urges members to refocus on their shared ideology. Many prominent thinkers on the Swedish left have echoed these concerns, lamenting the fractures caused by this issue.
So what is the alternative? For me, there isn’t one. Ignoring or deprioritizing this atrocity would mean going against my entire moral core. There is also a significant danger when the left, as Rågsjö rightly points out, rests on the claim that they hold the “best attitudes towards Palestine and the genocide out of all parties.” If their strategy is merely to not be as bad as Sweden’s increasingly right-wing, racist, and self-serving capitalist political factions, then they have already failed. This complacency—believing that being marginally better than the worst is enough—means the left forfeits its claim to represent those of us seeking an alternative to the moral decay of the current regime. If the left cannot move beyond passive opposition and take a firm, unapologetic stand for justice, then it does not deserve to speak for those of us who refuse to accept the status quo. To treat Palestine as anything less than central to the fight for global justice is to betray the very values that should define a movement for humanity and progress.
---
This state of affairs is both disheartening and a damning reflection of our era’s morality. How can it be “extreme” to draw attention to the dozens to hundreds of lives lost daily in Palestine? We see undeniable evidence—videos, testimonies, and reports from the UN, the International Court of Justice, Save the Children, Amnesty International, Doctors Without Borders, the Red Cross, and the World Health Organization—all warning of the ongoing humanitarian catastrophe. Starvation, relentless bombings, and indiscriminate violence are not abstract concepts; they are daily realities for thousands.
Is it truly radical to find this horror unacceptable? Is it radical to insist on a world where we can live peacefully with those we love without fearing they’ll be torn apart by war? Is it radical to reject a world where parents must search for the remains of their children to bury them? To me, the real extremism lies in scrolling past these atrocities on our phones, numbing ourselves to the suffering of others, and pretending it will disappear if we ignore it.
And on the topic of blame. Many acquaintances have told me that the truly "radical" part of my stance isn’t my opinions or feelings about the genocide in Palestine but the way I reflect those feelings onto others—specifically, the rhetoric of holding the silent masses morally accountable for their inaction. Fair enough. Let’s address that. I believe there is blame—on all of us. We share responsibility for what happens to each other as humans. In the West, our privilege, access to knowledge, and relative influence amplify this responsibility. We can make a difference, however small: we can donate, protest, join movements, pressure political representatives, amplify voices by sharing articles and reports, or boycott products funding the genocide. At the very least, we can support those who speak out, even if all it means is liking, sharing, or endorsing their message.
So when friends tell me I shouldn’t blame others for doing nothing, they miss the point. I’m not singling out everyone else for blame—I’m blaming all of us, myself included. Whatever I’ve done, said, or written so far—or whatever I will do in the future—will never absolve me of the blood I feel on my hands simply for being part of a system that perpetuates or condones the murder of children. That’s my perspective. If people find it offensive, unfair, or even naïve, that’s their choice. But I stand firm in this belief: their position on complacency or inaction—of expecting silence and passivity from themselves and those around them—is to me far more radical than my refusal to stay quiet. If I hurt feelings in this process - too bad. You will recover; the thousands killed will not.
It’s the silence of the so-called "good" majority that enables such profound evil to flourish unchecked. This silence gives power to those committing the greatest atrocities of our time, allowing them to act without fear of collective accountability. That is the horror I experience daily, the weight I carry every moment. And if I struggle to contain my contempt for the passivity I see around me, know that this contempt burns no brighter than the disdain I hold for myself. Every minute of every day, I am haunted by the awareness that I, too, am part of the system responsible for this atrocity. That awareness drives me forward—but it also fuels the anguish that I will never be able to do enough.
When people call us radical or extreme, I think what they truly mean is that we refuse to compromise on compassion. We reject the "rational" arguments that justify inaction, the apathy that enables violence, and the dehumanization that excuses it. The true radicalism lies in the inhumanity of ignoring, minimizing, or outright denying the urgency of ending the senseless violence in Palestine.
---
If you and your family were trapped beneath the rubble of what was once your home, or if you had lost everyone you loved—watched your child say goodbye to their dead sibling, laying their small hands on the mangled bodies of those you brought into this world and saw take their first steps—if you had spent countless nights awake, holding your hands over your children’s ears so they might find a moment of peace to rest, then come back and tell me my stance is radical and morally absolutist. Until you’ve lived that reality, keep those words in reserve.
---
I’m well aware that taking a moral stance can sometimes come across as self-aggrandizing or as though I consider myself morally superior to others. I don't. I understand that people have their own lives, worries, and reasons for choosing not to speak out. That is their prerogative, and I cannot, nor would I want to, force anyone to act otherwise. For those who join their voice to mine, who march with me in the streets, you are welcome. For those who remain silent, I bear you no ill will. My attention is not focused on you but on those who actively perpetuate or enable this evil. If you take umbrage with my words, sit down and think what makes these words hurt.
I also recognize the immense privilege I have in being able to speak out as I do, from the position I do, without fearing serious repercussions. That privilege is not lost on me, and it is precisely because of it that I feel compelled to act, knowing that others may not have the same freedom or safety to do so.
To anyone who wishes to speak up, my message is simple: it is never too late. The fight for justice is always open to new allies, and every voice matters. Whether today, tomorrow, or years from now, you are welcome to join in this struggle. And if you do, I will not call you "extreme" or "radical" for standing by my side—I will call you human.