هذا التقرير متاح أيضًا بـ العربية
After 7 October, Israeli authorities tightened restrictions on political activity among Palestinians in Israel (the 1948 territories). Security crackdowns and new legislation accompanied restrictions on political and humanitarian expression, protests and public events. As the war continued, fear deepened within the community, and expressing certain views became grounds for accusations and prosecution.
Decisions to bar Arab lists and candidates from the forthcoming Israeli elections have also revived debate over the limits of Palestinian political participation in Israel, and whether the restrictions introduced after 7 October are tied to wartime conditions or reflect a broader shift in the treatment of Arab political activity.
How has political activity among Palestinians in Israel changed since 7 October, and what are they now permitted to say and do?
“The far right … excluding Arabs and restricting freedom of expression”
Sawsan Zaher, a human rights lawyer from Haifa, says political persecution and institutionalised racial discrimination against Palestinians in Israel are nothing new. Speaking to NoonPost, Zaher, a former deputy director of Adalah who represented Arab parties and candidates in disqualification cases during her time there, says that despite their Israeli citizenship, Palestinians faced a sharper crackdown after 7 October on “the entire content of Palestinians’ expression of opinion inside Israel.”
She links this intensified persecution to the nature of the constitutional and legal system in “Israel,” which she says treats Palestinian citizens as part of the Palestinian people and therefore as an “enemy.” In her view, this leaves them vulnerable to persecution whenever they try to “step outside the prevailing Israeli line,” whether by adopting a political position or expressing an opinion.
The persecution surrounding political participation and Knesset representation is “nothing new,” she says. Arab lists and parties have faced disqualification petitions in every election cycle since 1999. The Elections Committee would approve those petitions, she explains, but the Supreme Court would subsequently overturn its decisions.
After 7 October, Zaher says, the authorities took a harder line on political expression, particularly positions on, or analysis of, that day’s events. Analysing what happened, discussing the siege of Gaza or trying to explain the reasons for resistance has, in many cases, been interpreted as “identification with Hamas and support for armed struggle.”
The crackdown also affected Palestinians expressing their views on social media, she says. Young men and women were arrested for posting analysis, images or news, and some were indicted. Employees, both men and women, were dismissed from jobs in the public and private sectors, while male and female students were expelled from universities over their posts or other expressions of opinion.
The distinction between political expression and grounds for prosecution is “not always about what the expression actually is,” Zaher says, and cannot always be clearly defined. In the immediate aftermath of 7 October, Palestinians expressed opposition to the war and the killing of innocent people in Gaza. Those views were interpreted as “support for Hamas,” even though they expressed “opposition to the killing of innocents.”
“Disqualification … from political decision to judicial process”
Zaher sees electoral disqualification as part of this crackdown. She says “the disqualification file has to be seen as a continuation of an additional extremist vision in the legal interpretation of expression.”
Explaining the latest case, she says disqualification petitions are first submitted to the Central Elections Committee, where Knesset members vote on them. At this stage, the decision “is made according to political criteria.”
She links this process to the current political climate: “today’s political conditions are very right-wing and extreme, and they call for excluding Arabs from political participation in general — not only from representation in the Knesset, but in several other spheres as well.”
The committee reaches its decision “based on political ideologies in the Knesset,” Zaher says. Its far-right majority made a vote for disqualification predictable. But the committee’s decision is not final: it can be appealed or referred to the Supreme Court for approval.
Disqualification petitions rely on three main criteria under Article 7A of Basic Law: The Knesset, which has constitutional status, she explains.
The first concerns a candidate or list that “calls for abolishing or destroying the State of Israel, or revoking Israel’s definition as a Jewish and democratic state.” Zaher adds that “a list that calls only for equality can be disqualified, because that contradicts the Jewish state.”
The second concerns anyone who “advocates or incites racism,” while the third applies to a candidate or list that “supports armed struggle by a terrorist organization or by states defined under Israeli law as enemy states.”
These are “the three criteria under Israeli law,” she stresses. They formed the basis of the committee’s discussions and its vote to disqualify Arab parties and candidates.
Turning to the Supreme Court proceedings, Zaher says hearings at the beginning of this month considered petitions to disqualify the United Arab List, the Joint List and Ofer Cassif, a Joint List Knesset member. They also considered the case against Sami Abu Shehadeh, head of the National Democratic Assembly party.
Sami Abu Shehadeh’s withdrawal
In Abu Shehadeh’s case, Zaher says the legal arguments centred on an article he published on the Arab 48 website on 8 October 2023. The petitioners, whom she describes as “far-right extremists”, and several judges interpreted the article as supporting Hamas’ armed struggle and calling for the destruction of the State of “Israel,” armed resistance and armed struggle against it.
Zaher stresses that this reading of the article “was not written by Sami Abu Shehadeh”. It was an interpretation advanced by those seeking his disqualification and, judging by their questions during the hearing, by several judges.
She says this was also apparent during the Supreme Court hearing in his case, as it reviewed petitions to bar Arab parties and some candidates from the forthcoming elections. The judges expressed displeasure that he had not published an article or statement setting out his position on the events of 7 October, she says. In her account, their questioning was intended to pressure him to withdraw his candidacy.
They asked whether he considered Hamas a terrorist organisation. According to Zaher, they expected him to speak “in their language” and use “their terminology.” Abu Shehadeh refused, she says, and tried to explain that he wrote and expressed his position differently: “there is a difference in the way he writes and the way he expresses himself.”
Zaher notes that Abu Shehadeh had been politically active for about 30 years and had served in the Knesset. She adds that “politically active people like him are supposed to offer analyses.” Yet the analysis he published on 8 October 2023 “was therefore interpreted as support for terrorism.”
After questioning Abu Shehadeh and his Adalah lawyers, the court gave him the option of withdrawing his candidacy rather than issuing a detailed disqualification ruling, Zaher says. Such a ruling could have “actually affected other candidates and parties in the future.”
Balad’s central committee then met, with the rest of the Joint List participating, and decided that Abu Shehadeh would withdraw in line with the court’s remarks, before a detailed ruling was issued.
His case cannot be “taken separately from the targeting and political persecution” Palestinians in Israel have faced since 7 October, Zaher says. Abu Shehadeh “was targeted simply because he tried to express his opinion.”
“Harder, harsher, and more racist”
Dr Mtanes Shehadeh, director of the Israel Studies Program at Mada al-Carmel in Haifa and a former Knesset member, says Israeli security policies, practices and legislation have imposed sweeping restrictions on Palestinian political activity in Israel since 7 October.
Speaking to NoonPost, he says these measures have restricted political and moral expression, demonstrations and public events, while spreading persecution and fear more widely through Palestinian society.
Shehadeh identifies intensified repression and restrictions on expression as central to these changes. There is no longer room even for moral and humanitarian positions opposing killing, destruction, war and genocide, he says. Palestinians in Israel had long made a point of rejecting killing, violence and destruction by all sides, yet the Israeli establishment began restricting that position itself after 7 October.
He describes a police and security campaign reminiscent of military rule. Some university students who expressed humanitarian opposition to killing and war were interrogated; in some cases, this escalated to arrest and prosecution. Political and moral opposition to the war also drew attacks in public and in the media.
The persecution extended beyond students and activists to Palestinian political leaders in Israel, he says, with a return to the use of administrative detention against political figures. Security measures against Palestinian political activity became more visible after 7 October, in his view.
Political activity has consequently become more difficult. The already narrow scope for democratic participation has faced attempts to eliminate it, Shehadeh says. He links this to the militarisation of Israeli society increasingly shaping the treatment of Palestinians within Israel, alongside growing racism and repression.
In the Knesset, amendments to laws and policies have placed further restrictions on political activity, he says. Legislation relating to 7 October now restricts expression, including provisions under which anyone who denies that the events occurred can face prosecution and imprisonment.
Shehadeh believes support for these restrictions extends beyond the government. In his assessment, they have gained broad backing across Israeli politics, including from opposition parties that supported changes to laws, repression and security persecution. He links this to the tendency for political consensus to widen around measures taken in response to emergencies and security concerns.
The war did not create restrictions on Arab political activity, he argues. It reinforced them, gave them broader legitimacy and extended them to different forms of political activity. Organising demonstrations and protest vigils became difficult, for example, as police often refused the necessary permits.
He cites an anti-war demonstration in Nazareth in the first weeks after 7 October that ended with the arrest of several Arab leaders, including Mohammad Barakeh, Sami Abu Shehadeh, Haneen Zoabi and Shehadeh himself. The High Follow-Up Committee petitioned the Supreme Court against the ban on vigils and demonstrations, but the court rejected its petitions.
Other political activities, including seminars and public events, were also restricted. Early in the war, police refused to permit political seminars, including a joint Arab-Jewish event planned by the High Follow-Up Committee, he says.
In Shehadeh’s assessment, the post-7 October restrictions take two overlapping forms: changes to policy and practice, and changes to legislation. The rules governing political activity before the war have become “harder, harsher, and more racist.”
“The Israelized figure who accepts the ceiling of the Zionist project”
Shehadeh says trust has declined in Israeli institutions, rather than in Arab parties specifically, because of Israeli practices and policies towards Arab society. The central problem, he argues, lies with those institutions and their policies.
He also acknowledges problems within Arab parties, including shortcomings and a failure to reassess the political situation. But he places the main responsibility for frustration among Palestinians in Israel on the practices of the government and the Israeli establishment.
That frustration will not necessarily lead people to turn away from elections, he says. Turnout may rise at the next election, in his assessment, because voting remains one of the few political tools Palestinians in Israel can use to express their positions. It has not yet been subjected to the restrictions imposed on other forms of political activity.
Voting could become a response to current conditions and a way to express a position towards Israeli institutions and parties, while supporting Arab parties and increasing turnout within Arab society, he says. But he cautions that this opportunity may not remain available.
Shehadeh describes widespread fear of security persecution, restrictions, retaliation and surveillance among Palestinians in Israel. It was more pronounced during the first months and first year of the war, he says, before easing somewhat. Palestinians nevertheless continued to feel subject to persecution, security measures, surveillance and restrictions.
Fear of threats, persecution and retaliation by the security authorities has affected more than activists and politicians. Doctors in hospitals, artists, athletes and politicians have all faced persecution and surveillance, he says. In his account, these practices have placed much of Arab society under security scrutiny, affecting people’s willingness to express themselves and participate in politics.
Even so, Shehadeh says it is too early to conclude that individuals or parties are changing their political methods in response. The next elections may reveal new trends in the behaviour of Palestinian society and its parties, including greater emphasis on parliamentary work or a stronger presence for Arab parties as a political response to current conditions.
For now, he sees no clear reassessment or fundamental change in the established forms of political activity. The outcome of the forthcoming elections will make the direction of the next phase clearer, he believes.
Shehadeh believes the decisions to disqualify the Joint List and the United Arab List reflect a shift in the boundary between security and politics. The two have increasingly overlapped, with security arguments used as a tool of political persecution after 7 October, he says.
On 23 September 2026, the Central Elections Committee voted to disqualify the Joint List and the United Arab List, along with Sami Abu Shehadeh and Ofer Cassif. The decisions went to the Supreme Court, which on 1 October 2026 overturned the disqualification of both lists and Cassif. Abu Shehadeh withdrew after the court informed him that a majority of judges were inclined to uphold his disqualification.
For Shehadeh, these developments raise questions about the limits of Palestinian political representation in Israel that extend beyond the lists and candidates involved. He sees a tendency among Israeli parties and the governing coalition to restrict Arab parliamentary representation and political activity as much as possible.
Political participation becomes acceptable when it stays within prescribed political limits, he argues. In his words, “the Israelized figure who accepts the ceiling of the Zionist project” can participate in politics and elections, while positions that go beyond those limits become unacceptable.
He warns that these developments may signal further restrictions if the political establishment amends laws or changes the criteria applied to Arab parties and candidates. The issue therefore extends beyond the current disqualification decisions to the debate they may open about the future limits of Arab political representation.
Shehadeh says the contrast between decisions to disqualify Arab lists and candidates and the rejection of petitions against Jewish parties and candidates reveals different standards for political activity. He attributes this to the political composition of the Central Elections Committee, whose members represent parties in the Knesset. Its decisions, he argues, do not follow moral or humanitarian standards, or even apply Israeli laws consistently.
He cites the rejection of petitions against figures and parties on the Israeli right, including Itamar Ben-Gvir and Bezalel Smotrich. Their political project is “racist” and “fascist”, he argues, and runs counter to democratic principles, threatening democracy within Israeli society itself. Petitions against Arab lists and candidates, by contrast, were assessed according to different standards, he says.
In his view, the dispute concerns who defines the terms of political participation and who has the right to set those standards. The Israeli right is seeking to impose different conditions on Arab parties from those applied to Israeli Jewish parties, he argues.
He links this to what he describes as the “fascist,” “racist,” and “exclusionary” atmosphere in Israeli politics, and to efforts to minimise Arab parliamentary representation. Some Israeli opposition parties supported these positions, he adds. The dispute therefore goes beyond individual Elections Committee decisions to the standards governing political participation and Arab representation in Israel’s political system.
Since 7 October, Palestinian political activity in Israel has faced restrictions on several fronts: expression and protest, security persecution, fear within society and the continuing struggle over representation. The Supreme Court overturned the disqualification of the Joint List, the United Arab List and Ofer Cassif, while Sami Abu Shehadeh withdrew. But the limits of political participation, and the questions these cases raised about the future of Arab representation, remain unresolved.
As Palestinians in Israel seek to preserve their political presence, they must contend with fear of persecution and the costs of speaking out and participating. The future of that activity depends on whether wartime restrictions recede as circumstances change or persist, shaping the political conditions that define the limits of participation, expression and representation in the next phase.
