Greg Bouwer
IINZ
On the 2025 Emmy Awards red carpet, the cameras captured a striking tableau: actors draped in keffiyehs, flashing red pins from Artists4Ceasefire, and carrying bags emblazoned with the word “Ceasefire!” Speeches invoked “Free Palestine”, calls for boycotts of Israeli film institutions rang out, and social media lit up with images of celebrity activism. The symbolism was vivid, the gestures dramatic — but the reality behind the spectacle tells a far more complex story.
The pins, the scarves, the slogans all carry clear visual meaning: solidarity with Palestinians and condemnation of Israel. Yet symbolism without context can easily slip into ignorance, misrepresentation, and moral oversimplification.
Take the “red hand” imagery. In Palestinian propaganda, this symbol has been explicitly used to accuse Israel of “blood on its hands” and to encourage violent rhetoric. To wear red pins in solidarity with Gaza while publicly pledging to boycott Israeli institutions reflects a superficial understanding of the region’s complexity. The red hand does not exist in a vacuum: it has a history of incitement, as documented in extremist materials, and is associated with the very culture of violence these activists claim to oppose.
The disconnect is clear. The Emmys’ celebrities simultaneously adopt the language and iconography of Palestinian radical symbolism while pursuing cultural boycotts that target institutions, not individuals. They claim to stand for justice, yet their methods are imprecise: institutions, not governments or military actors, are penalized; symbolic gestures take center stage over informed advocacy. The result is a theater of activism — vivid on Instagram, thin on actionable understanding.
Moreover, these actions carry unintended consequences. Boycotting Israeli institutions risks isolating moderate Israeli artists and Palestinian collaborators alike, inadvertently silencing voices that oppose extremism from within. It also reduces complex geopolitical realities to black-and-white moral posturing. Meanwhile, the public spectacle of symbols (red pins, keffiyehs, dramatic speeches) becomes the story, drowning out sober discussion about Gaza’s governance, Hamas’s role in civilian harm, and the broader Israeli-Palestinian context.
The lesson is stark: symbolism without comprehension can mislead as much as it informs. Genuine advocacy requires understanding history, recognizing the actors responsible for violence, and evaluating the consequences of one’s actions. Calling for a ceasefire is noble; adopting imagery rooted in incitement while misdirecting boycotts is not. The Emmys red carpet, awash with red pins and performative gestures, illustrates a troubling trend of moral theater in place of moral clarity.
If celebrity activists truly seek justice for civilians in Gaza, they must move beyond slogans and symbols. They must interrogate the realities on the ground: Hamas’s control, the diversion of aid, and the weaponization of civilian spaces. They must differentiate between the political and the human, between ideology and innocent life. Only then can solidarity be both meaningful and responsible — not merely performative.
This article was originally published by the Israel Institute of New Zealand.
