Being Pro-Israel Is No Longer Politically Beneficial
Ken Martin’s remark signals the end of the era when being pro-Israel was a prerequisite for political success. AIPAC has lost its supremacy and the rules have changed. Forever.
There weren’t many things American politicians could agree on. Baseball. Motherhood, apple pie. Honestly, I’m not even sure about motherhood. But support for the Jewish state was a rare point of agreement between Democrats and Republicans. The rules were clear. The boundaries were enforced, mostly by groups like AIPAC. They operated with the quiet confidence of people who knew the game was rigged in their favor. But it wasn’t just politics. It was also values. Americans fully believed in Israel. It felt like a part of them and reminded them of the Bible too.
As one Democratic operative told The New Yorker, “Most politicians see Israel-Palestine as a no-win issue. The people who care most about the issue are hardliners on either side. It’s easier to keep quiet than to risk your career.” But the old rules are crumbling, sometimes in plain sight. The latest proof came in New York City, where Zohran Mamdani, a Democratic mayoral candidate, refused—three times, on national television—to condemn the slogan “globalize the intifada.” The phrase has become a rallying cry for pro-Palestinian activists, and for many, a red line: a direct challenge to Israel’s legitimacy and, for some, a veiled threat of violence. In the past, a moment like this would have triggered a swift, unified response. Party leaders would have closed ranks, denounced Mamdani, and reaffirmed their commitment to Israel. End of story.
Not this time. Ken Martin, chair of the Democratic National Committee, didn’t just refuse to censure Mamdani—he explained, almost matter-of-factly, that building a winning coalition means embracing disagreement, even on issues once thought non-negotiable. “We are a big tent party,” Martin said, “and you win through addition.” It was a message less about Israel than about the future of the party itself: the era of enforced consensus is over.
There’s a blunt political reality here: party leaders know they cannot afford to alienate demonstrators and anti-Israel activists who now make up a significant share of the Democratic base, especially in cities like New York. These aren’t just outsiders holding up signs on the sidewalk—they’re volunteers, donors, and, increasingly, candidates themselves. To confront them directly is to risk suppressing turnout, fracturing the coalition, or sparking a rebellion that could cost elections. The party’s survival now depends on managing this tension, not resolving it.
Young American Jews are caught in the middle of this shift. As one young Jewish activist told The Guardian, “We’re not sure where we fit anymore. Some of us want to support Israel, but we can’t ignore what’s happening in Gaza. It’s painful and complicated.” Another described a growing generational divide, saying, “The older generation sees support for Israel as a given; for younger Jews, it’s a question with no easy answers.” Of course, this didn’t happen overnight. The consensus around Israel has been cracking for years—a slow, uneasy shift driven by changing demographics, generational divides, and a steady drumbeat of headlines out of Gaza and the West Bank. You could feel it in campus protests, in online debates, in the way younger Jewish Americans talk about Israel. But what happened with Mamdani wasn’t just another incremental step. It was a break—a moment when the old guard let the rope slip from their hands, and made peace, however reluctantly, with a new political reality.
For those who have watched American politics long enough, this moment feels jarring. The ground has shifted. The old center cannot hold, and what replaces it is still up for grabs.
How the Old Consensus Worked
To understand why this rupture matters, you have to look back at how airtight the consensus once was. For decades, support for Israel wasn’t just another plank in the party platform—it was a litmus test, a marker of seriousness and mainstream legitimacy in American politics. Presidents from both parties made pilgrimages to AIPAC’s annual conference. Congressional resolutions supporting Israel passed with near-unanimity, year after year. Dissent, when it surfaced, was quickly isolated and neutralized.
AIPAC was the architect and enforcer of this consensus. Their influence operated on multiple levels: campaign donations, access to decision-makers, rapid-response messaging, and a network of loyalists inside both parties. If you wanted to rise in the ranks, you learned how to talk about Israel, and, maybe more importantly, what not to say. Even mild criticism of Israeli policy could get you labeled “anti-Israel”—a stain that was often political poison.
This wasn’t just a matter of perception. In 2006, political scientists John Mearsheimer and Stephen Walt published a bombshell essay arguing that AIPAC and the broader “Israel lobby” exercised outsized influence over American foreign policy. Their thesis was explosive: that U.S. support for Israel wasn’t simply the product of shared values or strategic interests, but the result of relentless pressure from a well-funded, tightly organized lobby. Politicians who crossed AIPAC found themselves targeted and often defeated, while those who played along enjoyed political protection and campaign support.
The consensus wasn’t just about foreign policy. It was woven into the broader story America told about itself: a democracy standing with another democracy, both surrounded by enemies, both defined by their commitment to Western values. The moral clarity of this narrative made it easy for politicians to sign on—even those who knew little about the region’s history or the realities on the ground.
But beneath the surface, the coalition was always more fragile than it looked. Some Black and progressive Democrats, quietly at first, questioned why support for Israel was so absolute. Palestinian rights activists, long dismissed as fringe, started to build national networks. Younger Jewish Americans began to express discomfort with occupation and settlements—sometimes publicly, sometimes just in private conversations with friends. The machinery of consensus kept whirring, but the foundation was starting to erode.
As one Democratic staffer put it, “The old consensus felt like a wall that no one dared to climb over. Now, cracks are everywhere.” For years, though, the cracks didn’t show. Leaders managed the divide by sticking to familiar scripts and sidelining dissenters. The trick worked—until it didn’t. The Mamdani moment, and the party’s reaction to it, is less a sudden collapse than the inevitable outcome of years of quiet, accumulating pressure. The center, so carefully maintained for so long, finally gave way.
The Democratic Left: Breaking the Taboo
The shift didn’t happen all at once. For years, the Democratic coalition managed its internal disagreements on Israel by keeping them out of the spotlight. But the past decade has seen those private murmurs turn into public ruptures—driven by generational change, the rise of social media, and a growing sense among progressives that Palestine is not just a foreign policy issue, but a litmus test of moral clarity.
The 2024 election was a turning point. Establishment Democrats, already struggling to inspire an increasingly restless base, suffered a massive blow as they lost the White House to Donald Trump. For many, the defeat confirmed what younger and more radical activists had been saying for years: the old guard was out of touch, weighed down by ties to corporations and special interests, and unable to deliver the kind of transformative politics the moment demanded.
Young activists and organizers—many veterans of movements like Black Lives Matter or climate justice—brought new energy to the Palestinian cause. One progressive organizer said, “Palestine is the civil rights issue of our time. It’s about justice, dignity, and standing up to oppression wherever it happens.”
“Intersectionality” became the watchword, and the narrative of Palestinian oppression was woven into the language of racial justice, decolonization, and human rights. Slogans like “From Ferguson to Palestine” and “No justice, no peace” moved seamlessly from one protest to another, carried by the same voices, sometimes even the same faces.
Social media only accelerated the shift. Graphic images and firsthand accounts from Gaza and the West Bank bypassed traditional media filters, reaching millions in real time. For many younger Democrats, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict was no longer a distant, abstract debate—it was something they could see, share, and respond to instantly. The moral lines that had seemed so clear to previous generations were now up for debate.
This new energy translated into electoral politics. Candidates like Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Ilhan Omar, and Rashida Tlaib pushed the conversation further than it had ever gone in Congress, criticizing not just Israeli policy, but the very premise of unquestioned U.S. support. A few years ago, even a hint of such rhetoric would have spelled doom for a political career. Now, it’s a source of grassroots fundraising and viral support.
People are losing interest in politics that cater to corporations and special interests—the kind of politics that moderate Democrats have come to represent for many voters. The appetite now is for authenticity, for leaders who don’t hedge their moral commitments to stay on the right side of donors or lobbyists. The Mamdani episode wasn’t just a local controversy; it was proof that the old taboos had lost their power. The Democratic Party’s future will be shaped by activists and voters who see Palestine as inseparable from the broader struggle for justice—and who are no longer content to keep quiet about it.
The Republican Right: Support Frays on the Edges
The unraveling of America’s pro-Israel consensus isn’t just a Democratic story. While the left’s break has been more visible, cracks are quietly widening on the right as well. For years, Republican support for Israel was nearly automatic—rooted in Cold War geopolitics, evangelical theology, and the party’s self-image as a defender of Western civilization. But the party’s populist turn has changed the equation.
Trump’s rise didn’t just scramble the GOP’s rhetoric; it also shifted its center of gravity. An “America First” ethos now dominates, putting skepticism of foreign entanglements—including Israel—at the heart of the party’s identity. Some of the loudest voices in conservative media, from Tucker Carlson to a new generation of right-wing influencers, openly question why the U.S. sends billions in aid to any country, even longtime allies.
Candace Owens, for example, has criticized U.S. support for Israel as “not in America’s interest,” while Tucker Carlson has repeatedly questioned the wisdom of American military aid to Israel on his broadcasts. Joe Rogan has hosted discussions critical of Israeli policy that would have been far outside the mainstream on conservative platforms just a few years ago. This shift is reflected in the online spaces where many Trump supporters get their news and opinions. As The Hill reported, “Anti-Israel sentiment has become mainstream in some corners of the right-wing media ecosystem, particularly on podcasts, YouTube channels, and X (formerly Twitter).”
Among Trump supporters online, hashtags and viral clips call out “Israeli influence” in Washington and demand an end to foreign aid. What was once fringe rhetoric is now part of daily right-wing media chatter, shaping the base’s views from the ground up.
The shift isn’t absolute—evangelical support remains strong, and pro-Israel PACs still wield real power in Republican primaries. But the ground is moving. GOP politicians now face a base that’s less reliably hawkish, more isolationist, and increasingly impatient with the idea that supporting Israel is a non-negotiable part of being a conservative.
As one Republican strategist acknowledged, “The party is split. On one hand, you have the evangelicals who see Israel as a biblical ally. On the other, a growing populist base questions all foreign aid, including Israel.” This quiet break from unconditional support is reshaping the GOP’s relationship with Israel.
The Gaza Effect: How Atrocity Changes the Argument
If the old pro-Israel consensus was already under strain, the war in Gaza tore it wide open. Israeli military operations had previously sparked outcries but rarely shifted the overall narrative. This time, the scale and immediacy changed everything. Images of destroyed apartment buildings, hospitals in ruins, and children pulled from rubble flooded social media platforms like TikTok, Instagram, and X within minutes, often accompanied by raw, personal testimonies bypassing traditional media filters.
For many Americans—especially younger ones—Gaza isn’t just a place on a map; it’s an unending live feed of suffering beamed straight into their pockets. The emotional charge is different now. The old moral framing—Israel as a beleaguered democracy defending itself against terror—rings hollow to a generation raised on viral footage of civilian casualties and humanitarian crises.
One young Jewish American told The Guardian, “The images coming out of Gaza have changed everything for me. It’s no longer abstract politics—it’s about human lives, and that makes it impossible to ignore.” Another said, “The old narratives don’t explain what we see anymore. Younger Jews are demanding a new conversation, one that includes Palestinian rights.”
This shift isn’t limited to the left. The ubiquity and intensity of Gaza coverage have rattled even some centrists and older supporters of Israel, forcing tough conversations in synagogues, churches, and living rooms across the country. Among younger Jewish Americans, there’s a sense of moral exhaustion with the old talking points.
Establishment voices who might once have calmed the waters now find themselves outflanked by activists demanding more than thoughts and prayers. Calls for a ceasefire, conditioning aid, and ending military support altogether echo not just on campuses but in city councils, union halls, and Congress. The political cost of ignoring Gaza has soared; the cost of defending Israel, no matter what, is higher than it’s ever been.
New Money, New Influence: Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the Globalization of the Debate
As America’s old Israel consensus fractures, the battle to fill the vacuum has gone global. Where AIPAC once stood almost alone as the heavyweight in foreign influence, today it faces deep-pocketed challengers with their own agendas and strategies. The Gulf monarchies—Qatar and Saudi Arabia above all—have spent the past decade quietly building their presence in Washington, New York, and beyond.
Qatar, in particular, has mastered soft power. It has poured hundreds of millions into elite American universities like Georgetown and Northwestern, funded think tanks such as Brookings, and built media outlets like Al Jazeera that shape perceptions of Gaza and the conflict in ways distinct from traditional U.S. narratives.
Qatar’s influence crosses political lines. One notable example was when Qatar provided a private plane for Donald Trump and his delegation after he left office, signaling access and goodwill at the highest GOP levels. Lobbyists hired by Doha are active on K Street, pushing Qatari interests quietly but effectively.
Saudi Arabia, flush with oil wealth and eager to remake its global image, has ramped up lobbying efforts as well, sometimes in tension with Israel, other times in uneasy alignment. The Abraham Accords and Saudi-Israeli normalization talks add layers of complexity to the debate. Gulf states can shift from criticizing Israeli actions in Gaza to quietly encouraging rapprochement, depending on their strategic interests.
This isn’t just about campaign donations. Gulf money supports scholarships, interfaith dialogues, ad campaigns, and grassroots organizing. The result is a new generation of American activists and experts fluent in human rights and social justice language, often with resources rivaling AIPAC’s.
What’s clear is that America’s Middle East policy debate is no longer just domestic. Foreign money fuels arguments on both sides, shifting the center of gravity away from the old consensus. The fight over U.S. policy toward Israel is a global tug-of-war, and the outcome is more uncertain—and contested—than ever before.
The Big Tent Dilemma: What Happens Next?
All of this leaves American political leaders in uncharted territory. The “big tent” approach—welcoming voices from across the spectrum, even those who challenge the old rules—may be the only way to win elections in a fractured, fast-changing country. But it comes with risks that are becoming harder to ignore.
For the Democratic Party, holding together a coalition that includes both staunch Israel supporters and activists who see Palestine as a defining moral cause is a high-wire act. Every attempt at compromise threatens to alienate one side or the other. As one Democratic staffer told The New Yorker, “The party is trying to hold together a coalition that’s fundamentally divided on Israel. The old formulas don’t work anymore.” The old scripts—condemn violence “on both sides,” reaffirm Israel’s right to exist, nod to Palestinian suffering—now satisfy almost no one.
There’s a similar dilemma on the right. Republicans, once united by near-unconditional support for Israel, are being pulled in new directions by the populist, anti-interventionist energy of the Trump era. Evangelical voters and older conservatives still see Israel as a biblical ally, but the loudest voices online are skeptical, even hostile, to the old consensus. As a GOP strategist explained, “It’s no longer clear who speaks for the base—or what ‘pro-Israel’ even means to the next generation of conservative leaders.”
This shifting ground has left some communities, especially American Jews, feeling more vulnerable than at any point in recent memory. The old guarantees—that the party, or even the country, would have their back—feel shakier. Antisemitism, already on the rise, flourishes in moments of polarization and uncertainty. One Jewish activist shared, “The rise in antisemitic incidents is terrifying. It feels like the ground is shifting beneath our feet politically and socially.”
Coalition politics has always been about addition—finding room for dissent and difference. But as the issues cut deeper, and the stakes get higher, the cracks in the coalition don’t just threaten party unity—they threaten to redraw the boundaries of American political identity itself.
What This Means for Israel: A Future with Fewer Friends
The unraveling of America’s once-solid support for Israel signals a tough road ahead for the Jewish state. No longer can Israel count on unwavering political backing from either party. With Democrats divided and Republicans shifting, Israel faces a landscape where its traditional allies in Washington are far less certain.
This uncertainty puts American aid to Israel under increasing pressure. Lawmakers who once approved billions in military and economic assistance with little debate are now confronting vocal constituents demanding accountability, transparency, and, in some cases, cuts or conditions on that aid. The political cost of ignoring these demands is rising sharply.
Moreover, as more younger American Jews question or even reject the old narratives of unconditional support, Israel’s base of domestic sympathy is shrinking. This generational shift could reshape how Israel is viewed within one of its most important diaspora communities, influencing policy and public opinion in ways that haven’t been seen for decades.
In short, Israel may find itself more isolated on the world stage, reliant on fewer and more fractured allies. It will need to navigate this new reality carefully—balancing its security needs with the growing moral and political challenges posed by shifting American attitudes. The old days of automatic support are fading, and Israel’s future in America depends on building new relationships and confronting tough questions it once avoided.