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A scholar sees a common root for antisemitism and racism: ‘Christian supremacy’
(JTA) — Magda Teter’s new book, “Christian Supremacy,” begins in Charlottesville, Virginia, on Aug. 11, 2017. Hundreds of white nationalist neo-Nazis who ostensibly gathered to protest the removal of a statue of Confederate general Robert E. Lee from a local park broke into a chant: “Jews will not replace us.”
Other writers and scholars would note how antisemitism shaped white nationalism. But Teter, professor of history and the Shvidler Chair of Judaic Studies at Fordham University, saw something else: how centuries of Christian thought and practice fed the twin evils of antisemitism and racism.
“The ideology espoused by white supremacists in the US and in Europe is rooted in Christian ideas of social and religious hierarchy,” she writes. “These ideas developed, gradually, first in the Mediterranean and Europe in respect to Jews and then in respect to people of color in European colonies and in the US, before returning transformed back to Europe.”
In the book, subtitled “Reckoning with the Roots of Antisemitism and Racism,” she traces this idea from the writings of the early church fathers like Paul the Apostle, though centuries of Catholic and Protestant debates over the status of Jews in Europe, to the hardening of racist attitudes with the rise of the trans-Atlantic slave trade.
Antisemitic laws and theology, she argues, developed within Christianity a “mental habit” of exclusion and dominance that would eventually be applied to people of color up to and including modern times.
Teter is careful to acknowledge the different forms antisemitism and racism have taken, distinguishing between the Jews’ experience of social and legal exclusion and near annihilation, and the enslavement, displacement and ongoing persecution of Black people. And yet, she writes, “that story began with Christianity’s theological relation with Jews and Judaism.”
Teter is previously the author of “Blood Libel: On The Trail of an Antisemitic Myth,” winner of the 2020 National Jewish Book Award. At Fordham, the Catholic university in the Bronx, she is helping assemble what may be the largest repository of artifacts and literature dedicated to the Jewish history of the borough.
We spoke Thursday about how groups like the Proud Boys embrace centuries-old notions of Christian superiority, how “whiteness” became a thing and how she, as a non-Jew raised in Poland, became a Jewish studies scholar.
Our conversation was edited for length and clarity.
Your book was conceived and written during the COVID lockdown. Where did the idea for the book come from?
It’s an accidental project. I’ve been teaching the history of antisemitism for years, and I live in Harlem so questions of race and racism are very stark in my daily life. And since I grew up in Poland, and American history was not something we were taught or studied, I’ve never been satisfied with the various explanations for the strength of antisemitism and history of racism. And as I mentioned in my prologue, I watched the Raoul Peck documentary, “I Am Not Your Negro,” which has a clip with James Baldwin saying that white people have to figure out why they invented the idea of the N-word and must “embrace this stranger that they have maligned so long.” You could also say that the European Christians created the idea of “the Jew” and that sort of caricature had absolutely nothing to do with flesh and blood Jews. I kept noticing these parallels, as an outsider, reading American and African-American history.
I was also thinking about this idea of servitude that was attached to Jews in Christian theology, and then in law.
You write in your book that “Over time, white European Christians branded both Jews and people of color with ‘badges of servitude’ and inferiority.” What do you mean by servitude in this context?
In Christian theology, from the earliest Christian texts, the idea of servitude and slavery is attached to the concept of Jews and Judaism. Paul does it in his Epistles. He uses this quote from the book of Genesis that “the elder shall serve the younger,” which becomes really embedded in Christian theology. It is the Jews, the elder people, who should serve the Christians, the younger people. Later on in medieval theology and canon law, Jews are in a servile position, consigned for their sin of rejecting Jesus to perpetual servitude. So even though Jews were free people and could live mostly where they wanted to live, marry whoever they wanted to marry — nobody was sold and some even had slaves — that idea of Jews as confined to perpetual servitude to Christians created a habit of thinking of Jews as having an inferior social status.
That language became secularized in modern times, and we see the development of the [antisemitic] trope of Jewish power: that they are in places where they shouldn’t be. I worked on fleshing out the parallels between the idea and then legal status of Jewish servitude and the conceptual perception of Black people in servile and inferior positions.
Magda Teter’s new book explores how “white European Christians branded both Jews and people of color with ‘badges of servitude’ and inferiority.” (Chuck Fishman)
What other kinds of parallels did you find between racism and antisemitism?
In the Christian theology, Black people, like Jews, will be seen as cursed by God. Jews were [portrayed as] lazy because they didn’t work physically — they made money and exploited Christians. Black people were [portrayed as] lazy because they were trying to avoid physical labor at the expense of white men. Both people were seen as carnal, both as sexually dangerous, and so on.
I was struck by the fact that the racist turn of Christian supremacy — justifying the enslavement of Black people on theological grounds — is a fairly late development, taking hold in the early modern period when Europeans established slaveholding empires.
That’s right. In the summer of 2020, the summer of George Floyd and Black Lives Matter, we were all thinking about these issues of race and racism and America. And as I was in the middle of writing the article that became the book, I felt that there was a deeper history that needed to be told, and that slavery is not bound by color until the enslavement of Black Africans by Europeans during the colonial expansion of Europe.
After the French Revolution, when Jews were offered “emancipation” in much of Europe, there were deep debates about whether they could be citizens and be entitled to the same rights and protections as Christian citizens of France and England and other countries. How was that debate informed by Christianity?
In pre-modern Europe, there was obviously both a religious and legal framework under which Jews existed. They had their place in a social hierarchy. After the French Revolution, people are creating a new political reality. The idea of equality obviously challenged the social hierarchies that existed, including the idea that Christians were the superior religion. And that begins to play a role on two levels. One is the level of, well, “how can you be equal and be our judges and make decisions about us?” It’s fear of power — political power and political equality. That challenges the habit of thinking that sees Jews as inferior, in servitude and otherwise insolent and arrogant.
The other level comes from Enlightenment scholars who begin to place Jews in the Middle East and in the Holy Land, in Palestine. Jews are no longer seen as European. They are seen as “Oriental,” and they are compared to the non-European religions and practices that these Enlightenment scholars have been studying. Their differences are now also racialized. “They are not like us, they can’t assimilate. They can never be Frenchmen, they can never be Germans.”
And I guess it’s a short step from that to regarding people with dark skin as inferior and subordinate.
That’s right. Enlightenment scholars are also trying to to understand why it is justified to enslave Black Africans and they do it through “scientific” and other means. They classify Africans as inferior intellectually and they create this idea of race.
I began to think about these European politicians and intellectuals in terms of creating their identities, and what I ended up arguing is what we saw in Charlottesville, what we’re seeing in Europe. It’s not necessarily just about hate, but it’s about exclusion and rejection of Jews and people of color from equality, from citizenship.
And the common thread here is that whiteness and Christianity become inseparable. You write that “freedom and liberty now came to be linked not only to Christianity, but to whiteness, and servitude and enslavement to blackness.”
That’s right. White Christian “liberty” becomes embedded and embodied in law.
Did you see any pitfalls in drawing parallels between the Black and Jewish experiences? I am thinking of those in either community who might say, “How dare you compare our suffering to theirs!”
Yes, I was tempered. I think what some call “comparative victimhood” has paralyzed conversations about this subject, and I kept it in my mind all the time. What I hope comes through is that there’s incredible value in a comparative approach. Coming from Jewish studies as my primary field, the comparison with the Black experience gave me clarity on the nature of antisemitism as well as on the nature of the Jewish experience, and vice versa: The Jewish experience can also give clarity to some of the aspects of anti-Black racism.
What’s an example?
So, for instance, questions like, “Are Jews white? Are they not white? When did they become white?” That’s a whole genre of scholarship. And when you look at it through the lens of law and ideology, you begin to see that from a legal perspective, Jews were considered white in the United States because they could immigrate and they could be naturalized according to law. They did not have to go to court to become American. Their rights to vote were not challenged. There was discrimination, they couldn’t stay in hotels and in some places they couldn’t find employment, but by law, they were considered citizens. The debate about the whiteness of Jews is creating a fog of misunderstanding.
Black Americans were targeted by specific legal statutes from the very beginning in the Constitution and then in naturalization law and so on. And then there was the backlash even after the Civil War to the 13th, 14th and 15th amendments [aimed at establishing political equality for Americans of all races].
Statues at the Strasbourg Cathedral depict Ecclesia and Synagoga, representing the triumph of the church, at left, and the servitude of Judaism, which is represented by a blindfolded figure, drooping and carrying a broken lance. (Edelseider/Wikimedia Commons)
How much do modern-day white supremacists, like the Oath Keepers or the Proud Boys, see themselves as Christian? Or is this a kind of white supremacy that doesn’t name itself Christian but doesn’t even realize how many of its ideas are based in theology?
I think they might not be conscious of this legacy, but neo-Nazis take from the legacy of the Nazis who themselves were not thinking of themselves as Christian necessarily. But what I argue in the book is that white Christian supremacy becomes white supremacy. It never discards the Christian sense of domination and superiority that emerges from its early relationship with Jews and Judaism.
In the United States, Black people serve as contrast figures to whiteness, in the law and in the culture. You cannot have whiteness without Blackness. For Christians, Jews serve as that contrast figure. Consciously or unconsciously, the Proud Boys are embracing that. They talk of “God-given” freedoms for white people. That is the Christian legacy.
You said that the Nazis didn’t necessarily see themselves as a Christian movement. But I must ask, even though it is not the scope of your book, was the Holocaust a culmination of white Christian supremacy? Because I think many Christian theologians would want to say that Nazism was godless, and a perversion of the true faith.
I’ll say that when exclusionary ideology is coupled with the power of the state, that’s where it can lead.
In the years since the Holocaust especially, there have been many efforts by Christian leaders to address the ideological failings of the past. You write about Nostra Aetate, the 1965 declaration by the Catholic Church absolving Jews of collective guilt in the death of Jesus and some Protestant documents of contrition. But I got the feeling you were disappointed that many denominations haven’t gone far enough in reckoning with the past.
There was a sort of a moral sense that something needs to be addressed after the Holocaust. But then it is not fully addressed. I don’t think anybody has addressed the issue of power — the roots of hate, yes, but not the dynamics of power. We’ll see where the book goes, but maybe theologians will begin to grapple with this legacy of superiority and domination, and the way hierarchical habits of thinking have been developed through theology and through religious culture.
What other impact do you hope the book may have?
White supremacy is very much in the air. We need to speak up against it, and make connections and allyships. I hope that maybe because the book deals with law and power, it may create bridges among people who care about “We the People” as a vision of people who are diverse, respectful and equal, and not the exclusionary vision offered by white and Christian supremacy.
A cross burns at a Ku Klux Klan rally on Aug. 8, 1925. (National Photo Company Collection)
I’d love to talk about your background. You’re not Jewish but you are chair of Jewish Studies at Fordham, a Catholic university. What drew you to the study of Judaism and the Jews?
I grew up in Poland with a father who from the time I was a little girl would point out to me that there had been Jews in Poland. We would drive through the countryside, and he’d say, “This used to be a Jewish town and there used to be a synagogue and there was the Jewish cemetery.” I grew up being very conscious of the past’s presence and this kind of stark absence of Jews in Poland, where in the 1970s when I grew up Jewish history was taboo.
As soon as Jewish books on Jewish subjects began to be published, including those that dealt with antisemitism, we would read it together. We would talk about it. He wouldn’t just shift the destruction and murder of Jews in Poland on to the Nazis.
There was no Jewish studies program in Poland when I was applying to universities, so I studied Hebrew in Israel, and then studied Yiddish in New York at YIVO. I came to Columbia University to get my PhD in Jewish history and my career went in the direction it did. I was a professor of history and director of the Jewish and Israel studies program at Wesleyan University. I came to Fordham eight years ago and created a program in Jewish studies.
Your previous book was about the blood libel, the historic canard that Jews murdered Christian children to use their blood. This one’s about antisemitism. I don’t want to presume, but is your interest in these subjects in any way an act of contrition?
I grew up in a very secular household. I did not grow up Catholic. But I think growing up in Poland made me very, very aware of antisemitism and the history of antisemitism. I got my PhD from Columbia University in Jewish history, which did not emphasize Jewish suffering, but Jewish life, and I have studied Jewish life and teach about Jewish life — not just about Jewish suffering.
However, in the last few years, antisemitism has certainly been on the minds of many of us. I also am committed to the idea of shared history, and therefore all my scholarship, as much as it is about Jews, it is also about the church and Poland and the law. Jews are an integral part of that history and culture. And, as such, I’m committed to that, to teaching about the vibrancy of Jewish life as much as the dynamics of what made that life difficult over the centuries.
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The post A scholar sees a common root for antisemitism and racism: ‘Christian supremacy’ appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Alex Soros commits $30 million to organizations fighting antisemitism — and its weaponization
The Open Society Foundations, founded by Jewish financier and philanthropist George Soros and now led by his son Alex, announced that it would give $30 million to organizations fighting antisemitism and Islamophobia.
“As the son of a Holocaust survivor and a Jew, I am acutely aware of the dangers of antisemitism,” Alex Soros said in a video announcing the campaign Wednesday.
The grants, which will be rolled out over the next three years, represent a major infusion of cash for organizations approaching antisemitism with a more progressive framework than establishment Jewish groups.
Many of those receiving funding — including Bend the Arc, the Nexus Project and New Jewish Narrative — have focused much of their efforts on countering what they see as efforts to restrict legitimate speech criticizing Israel under the guise of countering antisemitism. That work also involves attempts to recalibrate how incidents get counted.
Open Society said in a press release that it is committed to “distinguishing antisemitism from legitimate criticism of Israeli government policies that violate international human rights and humanitarian law.”
The Nexus Project, for example, was significantly expanded in 2024 after creating an alternative to the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance’s working definition of antisemitism, which classifies much criticism of Israel as antisemitic and continues to be promoted by the country’s largest Jewish groups.
Several of the organizations being funded as part of the new $30 million commitment had received one-off Open Society grants in the past, including Nexus and the Jewish Council for Public Affairs.
Kevin Rachlin, Washington director for Nexus, said its new funding from Soros will be directed toward the launch of an antisemitism research center, led by a former senior analyst from the Anti-Defamation League who has sought to show how the ADL’s “messaging doesn’t always match with what their data shows.”
While the ADL continues to produce the most detailed accounting of antisemitic incidents in the U.S., it has changed its methodology in recent years to count certain political expressions of anti-Zionism as forms of antisemitism. For example, Aryeh Tuchman, director of the Nexus research center, said in a recent interview that 20% of the 600 campus incidents tallied by the ADL in its count released earlier this month referred to students using slogans like “from the river to the sea.”
“When the audit puts contested incidents like that in the same report as a neo-Nazi putting a swastika on a synagogue and it’s just presented in a topline number — that number can perhaps distort our understanding of what is actually happening,” said Tuchman, who until recently helped oversee the ADL’s annual audit.
But even with the new dollars, organizations that contend anti-Zionism is a form of antisemitism, and that have accordingly sought to crack down on campus protests against Israel, retain a large funding advantage. Annual budgets for the ADL and the American Jewish Committee, for example, each exceed $100 million.
Soros grants come with ‘baggage’
The Soros grants also come with some controversy attached. Open Society has long funded Israeli and Palestinian human rights groups as well as pro-Palestinian organizations in the United States, including Al-Haq, B’Tselem and Breaking the Silence.
It has also supported Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor, a major source for the recent New York Times column that alleged Israeli prison guards have used dogs to rape Palestinian prisoners — a report condemend as a “blood libel” by the Israeli government.
George Soros and Open Society have also been the subject of many far-right conspiracy theories, some of which have relied on antisemitic claims — including that Soros was supposedly taking over the world on behalf of, variously, socialists, Jews or “globalists.” George Soros, a Holocaust survivor born in Hungary in 1930, invested heavily in projects promoting democracy behind the former Iron Curtain, making him a target for oligarchs as they consolidated power.
“Obviously, for any funding, there’s baggage,” said Rachlin. “There are those who are going to hate Soros.”
The decision to funnel the $30 million to not only combating antisemitism but also fighting anti-Muslim hate emphasized what the foundation sees as the need for Jewish and Muslim organizations to work together. “We’ve seen this alarming intensification of antisemitism over the past few years, and at the same time the explosion of anti-Muslim hate,” said Sean Savett, a spokesperson for Open Society. “It just feels like we’ve gone back 10 or 15 years in this country.”
Alex Soros is married to Huma Abdein, a longtime advisor to Hillary Clinton, who is Muslim, which he referenced in his announcement video. “Discrimination and hate aren’t abstract concepts to me or my family,” he said.
The Jewish Council for Public Affairs, another one of the grantees, helped organize a statement from the Leadership Conference on Civil and Human Rights, a major coalition of legacy civil rights groups, following the firebombing attack in Boulder, Colorado, last spring, and has partnered with the Muslim Public Affairs Council.
“Post-Oct. 7, we’re seeing extreme voices on both ends of the political spectrum exploit the conflict to pit our communities against each other,” said Amy Spitalnick, CEO of JCPA.
Open Society is also funding the Jewish Social Justice Roundtable, a coalition of nearly 70 mostly progressive Jewish organizations that executive director Abby Levine said had recently focused more specifically on addressing antisemitism.
The post Alex Soros commits $30 million to organizations fighting antisemitism — and its weaponization appeared first on The Forward.
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Here Are Some Positive Local Developments in Support of Israel You Haven’t Heard About
Tennessee State Capitol Building in Nashville. Photo: Andre Porter/Wikimedia Commons.
On April 27, 2026, Tennessee Governor Bill Lee (R) signed legislation requiring state agencies to use the geographic name “Judea and Samaria” instead of “West Bank” in official state materials. Known as the “Recognizing Judea and Samaria Act,” the law asserts that these terms are historically and Biblically accurate.
Just the week before, the members of the Arizona House passed a nonbinding resolution saying the same thing, after the Arizona Senate approved the legislation in February.
These pro-Israel bills earned little press in the Jewish community and even less in the general media outside of Tennessee and Arizona. Americans of all faiths who support Israel should applaud the lawmakers in both Arizona and Tennessee for their leadership and commitment to historical truth. At a time of increasing misinformation and the targeting of Israel, this bill sends a clear message about the significance of recognizing the Jewish people’s deep ties — dating back to Biblical times — to the Land of Israel.
The city of Hebron is in Judea and is the ancient resting place of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, and Jacob and Leah. There are so many other links and ties proving the deep and continuous Jewish presence in the land, and these bills acknowledge that.
What’s more, this is a defeat for anti-Israel radicals in Tennessee who fought against the bill. The New York Times reported about those efforts: “The day of lobbying this month in the State Capitol in Nashville, coordinated by the American Muslim Advisory Council, attracted more than 100 Muslim students and community leaders.”
One year ago, Arkansas state legislators passed their “Recognizing Judea and Samaria Act,” following a 2023 Arkansas General Assembly resolution urging the use of the term “Judea and Samaria” instead of “the West Bank” in official state language.
While it can be argued that Arkansas, Tennessee, and Arizona are right leaning states, they often have Democratic or moderate trends and representatives. For example, from December 2020 through the beginning of 2023 neither of Arizona’s two senators were Republican. While Arizona Republicans control the state legislature, the margin is far from wide with just a handful of seats separating the parties.
Given the unprecedented levels of anti-Israel activity in both parties and the fact that anti-Zionists radicals are winning the anti-Israel legislation fight in far too many parts of the country, the question of how these seemingly symbolic wins matter is a legitimate one to ask.
Tip O’Neill, the Speaker of the House from 1977 to 1987, is remembered for coining the saying that “all politics is local.” From Jimmy Carter to Barack Obama, how many politicians serve early in their careers in their state legislatures? What’s more, these efforts force anti-Israel activists to play defense and occupy their time with things other than BDS, as was the case in Tennessee.
These are the kinds of innovative, accessible, and positive initiatives that the pro-Israel community should pursue much more frequently. Our confidence has been shaken by the harsh criticism of Israel from far too many on Capitol Hill, and these local efforts have been missing from our playbook for much longer than may have been reasonable. If only a handful more states enact such legislation, it will still be well worth it. Correcting false narratives and fighting for a cause you believe in is always worth it.
Moshe Phillips is national chairman of Americans For A Safe Israel, AFSI, (www.AFSI.org), a leading pro-Israel advocacy and education organization.
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How the Media Erases the Voices of Millions of Iranians
Cars burn in a street during an anti-regime protest in Tehran, Iran, Jan. 8, 2026. Photo: Stringer/WANA (West Asia News Agency) via REUTERS
A recent CNN article by Iranian freelance photojournalist Maryam Rahmanian, in collaboration with Kyle Almond and Brett Roegiers, purports to feature pictures and interviews of “everyday Iranians” amidst the war.
In “‘Nothing feels normal anymore’: How everyday Iranians are coping with war,” CNN claims to depict the average Iranian, but it should raise eyebrows. Whether a result of biased or gullible journalism, the CNN article fails to accurately inform its audience.
While there are no reliable surveys, there is clearly a significant portion of Iranian society that supports the war out of desperation, hoping for regime change.
Just four months ago, the Islamic Republic responded to mass protests with extreme violence, killing up to 36,500 protesters.
More were executed in the aftermath despite President Donald Trump’s clear red line warning the regime against killing protesters. Many Iranians posted videos of themselves asking President Donald Trump to militarily intervene.
In the early days of the war, many Iranians also posted videos of themselves thanking President Donald Trump and dancing in public. Then came the mass celebrations that erupted on Iranian streets following the killing of Iranian Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei by Israeli forces.
Anti-regime sentiments have been noted elsewhere in the media, too. Left-wing, diaspora Iranian journalist Arash Azizi wrote for The Atlantic that he was surprised that even Iranian socialist activists, typically biased against war and especially against the United States, were sympathetic and supportive of a military intervention.
NPR interviewed Iranians who had fled the war to Iraq and Turkey and reported that “most people told us they supported the strikes.”
After two months of war, Iranian attitudes have undoubtedly shifted, but in which direction we cannot know, given the regime-enforced Internet blackout in Iran. But anecdotal evidence — including my own conversations with those in Iran — suggests that a large portion of the population continues to hope that the hostilities resume until the regime falls.
Euronews’ Persian service recently published interviews of Iranians showing a divide between those who want the war to resume to bring down the Islamic Republic and those who oppose it, including those who have changed their minds since the war began.
Honest journalism would have reflected the diversity of views. But Rahmanian’s report instead falsely depicted Iranian views as monolithic against US and Israeli strikes.
Her first subject told her, “When I stepped outside, the atmosphere felt very different,” adding, “The streets were extremely crowded. Mothers were crying. A route that usually takes me 40 minutes took nearly three hours.”
A second subject said, “Fear quickly settled in. I live next to a mosque, and that made everything more frightening. I kept thinking it might become a target.”
These are common reactions to war, and that is precisely the problem. Iran is not a normal society at war. When it comes to Iran, anti-war and patriotic sentiments common among war-torn nations tell only a partial story when another significant portion of society invited foreign militaries to liberate them.
The context of the previous conflict is informative. The Twelve-Day War created a perception that military action would be light, and many Iranians assumed this war would look the same. They were wrong, but that group of people did not have a representation hearing in the CNN article.
One comment stood out. A 35-year-old woman, Salemeh, told Rahmanian, “I jump at every noise, wondering if something has been hit again,” adding, “There is construction near our house, and even those constant sounds make me anxious.” This recalled a conversation I had with a woman in her 60s from Tehran two weeks before the war, who told me the same thing almost word for word.
“There is construction by our apartment,” she told me, “At every loud sound, everybody jumps, asking, ‘Did [America] finally hit?’”
There is a key difference: The woman I talked to was excited about the prospect of war, hoping that it would take down the Islamic Republic. She told me, “I heard a very loud noise one day while in the shower.” She went on, “Convinced that the war had started, I excitedly jumped out to celebrate, naked, only to be disappointed.”
Another woman I interviewed weeks into the war, with the pseudonym Golnaz, whose home had been destroyed in a strike, told me that the destruction had made her even more supportive of the war. She explained that, because the price the nation had paid was so high, she did not want the war to stop before the regime fell, for the destruction to have been all for nothing.
She told me, “Do not let the war stop until they surrender.”
None of Rahmanian’s subjects said that they had previously supported the war, but several were against it in the outset. One woman, Akram, 63, told her, “I believe Israel and the United States have manipulated the situation, and I am proud that we have stood against a superpower and defended ourselves. For me, it is an honor to stand firm and say we resisted.”
While opposition to Israel persists among the older generations of Iranians (but not among the youth), anti-Americanism has been out of the mainstream for decades. The average Iranian does not view the “resistance” favorably. A plurality blamed only the regime for the Twelve-Day War, with 69 percent saying that “the Islamic Republic should stop calling for the destruction of Israel.” In other words, while CNN and Rahmanian claim that they were representing the everyday Iranian, they had to reach for the fringe.
The network also failed to provide readers with important context, shaping the credibility of the sentiments expressed. The Islamic Republic has been persecuting, even executing, those who have supported the war. For Iranians to publicly support the US and Israeli strikes is to put their lives on the line. Rahmanian, Almond, and Roegiers did not disclose this important context. The authors also failed to mention the January protests, during which many more Iranians were killed over four days than during 39 days of bombardment.
The largest news organization in the world should know better. There are a plethora of images and social media posts that confirm that a large number of Iranians have supported the war throughout. Many have even recorded themselves on rooftops cheering for the American and Israeli F-35s flying over their heads.
CNN should also know, and have reported on, the threat Iranians face for speaking out against the regime. It is also obvious that no journalist in Iran would be safe reporting on these matters for an American outlet, an act the regime equates with treason. By selling this one-sided story as the mainstream view in Iran, CNN erased the millions of desperate Iranians suffering under the thumb of the Islamic Republic’s oppression.
Shay Khatiri is an immigrant from Iran and a media researcher at CAMERA, the Committee for Accuracy in Middle East Reporting and Analysis, where this article also appeared.