On Collective Action: Strike, Boycott and Solidarity in Times of Genocide

by Stellar Meris

“Imagine a strike not as an attempt to improve one’s salary alone but rather as a strike against the very raison d’être of these institutions. Imagine a strike not out of despair, but as a moment of grace in which a potential history is all of a sudden perceptible, a potential history of a shared world that is not organized by imperial and racial capitalist principles.”¹ — Ariella Aïsha Azoulay

Strike and boycott play an increasing role in the context of contemporary art, as various forms of solidarity emerge from
shared struggles for justice. The controversy around documenta²— one of Europe’s most prestigious art events—reveals the political tools that the German parliament has set up in recent years to censor and criminalize critical voices. Currently, two legally nonbinding resolutions function in Germany to silence dissent from people who stand up for Palestinians’ rights and to defund and outcast academics, artists and activists who embody a decolonial and anti-imperial perspective on the cause. The anti-BDS resolution³ delegitimizes the call for boycott, sanctions, and divestment of complicit companies and institutions while the IHRA resolution⁴ weaponizes antisemitism to conflate anti-Zionism and critique of the Israeli state with Jew-hatred. The overbroad application of both frameworks risks to undercut several articles of Germany’s federal constitution such as the freedom of expression, arts, information, science, and assembly, and negates basic democratic equality before the law.

The claims of these two repressive instruments to “resolutely protect Jewish life” are inscribed in the collective consciousness of the German people who have been brought up over at least three generations with the belief that supporting the Israeli regime is to repair their national socialist past.⁵ This belief has been challenged with documenta fifteen⁶, as many art collectives from the Global South decentered the German and European gaze on the liberation struggle of Palestine and other colonized contexts. Instead of redemption and reconciliation, the support for Israel manifests the German government’s continuous support for ongoing structures of colonialism, militarism, fascism, and exclusionary nationalism—at the expense of the Palestinian people and other communities affected by the transatlantic military industrial complex. The broader intersections of systemic violence have been exposed by countless contributions of art collectives chosen by ruangrupa, a socially engaged Indonesian collective and the curatorial team of documenta fifteen.

When a controversial banner by the Indonesian collective Taring Padi – originally created as a critique of state violence and military oppression – was displayed at documenta and later found to contain antisemitic and antiBlack caricatures, the German cultural establishment reacted with swift and one-sided outrage. Rather than allowing for dialogue about the work’s complex political history, this response produced harmful backlash for the artists, curators, and audiences who attempted to engage in a difficult, nuanced conversation.⁷ The state apparatus immediately seized upon the incident to foreground Zionist interests and control what can and cannot be said in the unfolding debate. Not one single politician has condemned the antiBlack depiction, while the antisemitic stereotype has sparked the instalment of a new state-led committee that will screen the coming documenta for antisemitism allegations guided by said anti-BDS and IHRA-resolutions.

“Accepting an advisory board will become a precedent and will create an environment of fear and self-censorship that
will make it impossible for curators and artists to engage openly in a safe environment with the public. Art is not only about aesthetics and comfort zones, art has a significant role in opening channels and dealing with our histories, let it be. This is what artistic freedom means.” — lumbung community

Instead of interrogating on a deeper level how racism and antisemitism intersect throughout colonial histories, a simple narrative has been carved out: Muslim and mostly Arab artists are deemed guilty of importing a “new form of antisemitism” to the “denazified Germany”. This racist perspective is now cemented through the new code of conduct⁹ and institutionalized censorship.

The anti-BDS and the IHRA resolution operate to limit the official discourse in cultural and educational sectors, while simultaneously also affecting asylum processes and leading to unlawful deportations of immigrants and refugees.¹⁰ This is why the implementation of these resolutions expose cultural workers with an insecure residency status not only to the rhetorical limits of the German discourse but also to harsh, life-threatening consequences: Without a German citizenship, speaking out for Palestine can lead to losing one’s work visa or asylum status. Therefore, what is at stake in public debates is never equal but bound to the positionalities and realities that the speakers have inherited precisely through these global and interconnected histories of colonialism that are up for debate.

The many curators, cultural institutions, and universities that adopted the anti-BDS and IHRA resolutions are complicit in eroding freedom of speech and are putting racialised cultural workers at risk. They act in accordance with the state’s interests to maintain discursive hegemony and a fictional moral supremacy. In this dynamic, documenta fifteen has become the focal point of a shift towards a right-wing cultural agenda in Germany—affecting not just present but also future debates. Instead of offering and holding space for critical dialogue on the intersections of various oppressive and violent systems and modes of resistance, documenta’s management contributed to a climate of fear, intimidation, and racist accusations—opening its doors for more politically motivated censorship.

To side with German Staatsräson, the declaration of Israel’s security as the German state’s main interest, is a decision against artistic freedom that’s impossible to overlook. Art is meant to unfold its power beyond purely aesthetic and performative expressions of political outcry. In these times of a massive militarisation campaign not seen since WWII coinciding with dramatic financial cuts of cultural and social projects, the German establishment is likely to abuse the next documenta to entertain a conversation that further distracts from its complicity in the exploitation and mass murder of Palestinians abroad and the increasing shift towards authoritarianism and fascism at home.

Those who profit from the discursive twist and victim-perpetrator reversal are the German weapons manufacturers like Rheinmetall and ThyssenKrupp who increased their margins ten-fold since October 2023.¹¹ International stakeholders welcome and profit from these developments, while 83% of German citizens oppose the weapons deliveries to Israel. The large majority of Germans who oppose the genocide in Gaza, unfortunately, have been starkly silent in the past two years. The Palestine solidarity movement is carried largely by Palestinians, Arabs, Muslims, Queer people, and immigrants; many at risk of losing their residency status, jobs, and apartments over wrongful allegations of antisemitism. Only in recent months is a broader media and political turn noticeable in Germany, condemning Israel’s actions in Gaza, and advocating for a halt of weapons exports—public opinion is slowly but visibly shifting too.

The protest “Alle zusammen für Gaza” (“All together for Gaza”) on 27 September 2025 in Berlin¹³ with over 100,000 participants is the largest protests in solidarity with Palestine that Germany ever witnessed. While its demands were not aligned with a decolonial and anti-imperial stance, as Israel’s “right to exist” was not explicitly put into question and the focus on peace rather than justice watered down the message for liberation, the call for a ceasefire was clear. The protest offered a chance to raise the bar in Germany, and raise awareness about the imperial and colonial structures that underlie the systemic oppression that persists until today. While some protesters organized their own anti-colonial protest in response¹⁴, many activists and political groups from the Palestine solidarity movement in Berlin called for unity rather than division. Among them was long-term political activist Ramsis Kilani, who had been expelled from the German party Die Linke for his outspoken support of Palestinian armed resistance. In a questionable maneuver that circumvented basic democratic principles, the party’s bureaucracy pushed him out to protect its parliamentary ambitions. Nevertheless, as a Marxist and socialist, Kilani and many other progressive forces urged participation and unity across political differences in the demonstration co-organized with “Die Linke.” Some protesters chose to boycott and hold a separate march, while others joined the main protest to intervene with a clear stance for the full liberation of Palestine — without diluting the cause to accommodate more liberal NGOs and other political actors. Kilani stands out as an inspiring and much-needed voice within Berlin’s antifascist movement, who links local struggles to broader imperial structures while fighting for Palestinian rights. This example reflects a recurring tension in approaches: whether to boycott events that don’t fully represent one’s politics, or to join and to transform them from within.

In this moment of history, similar questions arise in the field of contemporary art. How can artists and cultural workers interact with the political surroundings they find themselves in? Can they support the liberation struggle of Palestinians from within institutions, even if they are holding liberal positions? Is cultural boycott a viable way to move forwards or does it hinder critical debate? What to do with political structures—such as the anti-BDS and IHRA resolutions—that are implemented to exclude anti-colonial, anti-imperial voices from public debates? Can fruitful conversations be held in spaces that don’t resist these resolutions actively? When are strikes and boycotts able to create meaningful, material change? How can artists sustain their collective and coordinated resistance in times of repression—financially and mentally? How to overcome intimidation that often leads to self-censorship?

Artists and organizers who challenge the imperial war machine are widely defunded and deplatformed¹⁵, a phenomenon that will most likely increase in the near future. The Palestine solidarity movement needs to support those who speak out publicly and suffer financial backlash if it wants to sustain itself in the long run. Economic pressure and the social isolation that comes with cancellations often lead to distress; mental health issues, burnout and suicidal ideation has been reported by many cultural workers who experience harsh repressions. Peer-to-peer care networks are viable for emotional recovery. On a material level, collectively funded scholarships for artists from Gaza, such as the Hassala ini tiative¹⁶, as well as requests for mutual support through GoFundMe-campaigns¹⁷ show both the need and the willingness to build independent funding structures.

The Gaza Biennale¹⁸ and the Palinale¹⁹ offer examples of how to build inclusive structures for showcasing Palestinian art and movies within the current climate of censorship. These alternative events bring together cultural workers to think critically through the current funding structures that exclude many artists and perspectives, and how to offer mutual support in times of crisis. Over 400 Berlin-based artists, including well-known figures such as Adam Broomberg and Olafur Eliasson, donated more than 1100 works on paper to be sold during a two-day fundraising event for the Gaza Biennale Berlin. The artworks were presented anonymously on several tables and sold for 50 euros each. As works were sold, volunteers replenished the tables with new pieces, and buyers learned the names of the artists only at the checkout.

The turnout was remarkable, people queued for up to an hour just to enter the showroom, highlighting a shared understanding that art structures must change and adapt rapidly in the face of rising right-wing and fascist regimes across Europe. The atmosphere was one of comradeship rather thancompetition; people were engaging in conversations about art and politics as inseparable fields, as it should be. The Gaza Biennale Berlin that showcases artists from Gaza is still. on display until December 22 at Flutgraben, Agit, and Khan Aljanub, made possible through the donations of local artists and various supporters. At several locations, including Spore Initiative and around the streets of Berlin, an expanded program takes place, inviting the public to gather and cultivate a communal strength. The project sends a strong signal that art cannot be censored, and that people can resist and rise collectively against state censorship.

Cooperation with artists from Palestine can take on multiple formats. Many projects work as digital residencies and
online publications, making use of the reduced production costs involved in such formats when funding is scarce. How ever, safety protocols need to be in place when collaborating with surveilled artists to avoid exposing them to further danger. The Ramallah-based collective The Question of Funding concludes: “What we came to understand was that institutional practice within NGOs and organizations had become entirely focused on navigating crises, which are manifold and which inevitably transformed how we perceived our practice as producers and organizers, our work within our community but also cultural work itself.”²⁰ The Palestinian collective has been attacked and harassed by anonymous actors during documenta fifteen, and in the aftermath experienced a lack of institutional support and protection. The board members of documenta dismissed their need for physical and emotional safety, leaving them alone with the racist outburst that has followed the smear campaigns of German media—where they were accused of antisemitism. Instead, the shareholders of documenta built a “Committee for the academic supervision of documenta fifteen” to scan the entire exhibition for anti semitism, based on the IHRA definition.²¹

While documenta still frames itself as a progressive and inclusive hotspot for contemporary art, it has become an example par excellence for gaslighting, exclusion and double standards. Documenta officially upholds the IHRA resolution in its code of conduct²², erasing poignant and urgent critical voices that might address all these layers openly and contribute to a vivid and vulnerable engagement with the issues of our time. The anti-BDS resolution is not mentioned explicitly in the code of conduct, but as stated on e-flux in November 2023 “several well-known international curators who had al ready officially signed up for the Committee were suddenly removed, due to fears of BDS sympathies based solely on their ethnicity, or to their having expressed concern over the stifling consequences of the wholesale conflation of opposition to Israeli politics with anti-Semitism.²³” As a consequence of BDS-related antisemitism accusations Ranjit Hoskote, wellknown Mumbai-based author and curator, resigned from the Finding Committee for the upcoming documenta sixteen. It’s undeniable that both the IHRA- and the anti-BDS resolutions forge a climate of fear and censorship and hinder fruitful de bates, putting precarious voices at even higher risk instead of supporting and protecting them.

“Ultimately, the discourse surrounding documenta fifteen could have facilitated a multidirectional and critical consideration of intersecting colonial, ethnic and religious ideologies. But, instead, the growing tendency of anti-antisemitism in Germany reinforces the supposedly irreconcilable differences between antisemitism and racism and uses the notion of ‘competition of victims’ to pit Jewish, Muslim and migrant voices against each other.” – Lisa Deml²⁴

Art students, tutors, and cultural workers must ask how to continue and specify their creative and political work in times of genocide. After witnessing a tremendous amount of institutional violence, initiatives like the Art Not Genocide Alliance (ANGA)²⁵, and Strike Germany²⁶ call for strike and boycott as an active engagement with and against the status quo. Protests in front of the Israeli and the US pavillions at the opening of the Venice Biennale refused “to accept genocide, to normalize the ongoing decimation of an entire population, to deny human rights, to create a precedent for justifying totalitarianism.”²⁷ A petition for the exclusion of the Israeli Pavillion from the Venice Biennale gained over 24’000 signatures, calling out the state’s apartheid policies and genocidal violence against Palestinians. The statement underlines that “any official representation of Israel on the international cultural stage is an endorsement of its policies and of the genocide in Gaza.” We can learn from the successful boycott of the apartheid regime of South Africa, when it was excluded from participating in the Venice Biennale from 1968 to its abolishment in 1993, following protest campaigns similar to those we are now seeing for the liberation of Palestine.

We must understand our responsibility in the time and place we find ourselves in, as Kelly Oliver puts it, “as a responsibility to response-ability, to the ability to respond”—not to remain reactive and defensive in the face of genocide, but to engage in strong, coordinated and collective action. The BDS-movement, and particularly the PACBI-guidelines²⁸ that focus on the cultural boycott of institutions rather than individuals, offers viable guidance in how to tackle complicity and demand accountability. For this we must organize, unionize and stand together in firm solidarity with Palestine and other oppressed people, rejecting artwashing of genocide while embracing critical debate. We must be careful not to confuse identity with implication, coordinating our collective action based on PACBI principles. And we must build spaces within our communities for that very exchange to happen, where we can educate ourselves, and where emotionally charged conversations can take place. We need to strengthen our networks and offer support for those who are at the frontline. Care, transparency, and accountability must guide us through conflicts and mistakes; we must show up for each other in difficult times. Most importantly, our solidarity must reach out to the artists that are trapped in Gaza. Their stories and voices must be amplified. We must encourage artistic and scholarly practices that are rooted in collective thoughts and experiences, creating alternatives to the Western model of the stand-alone successful contemporary artist. We are together in this—and we are able to respond with courage, clarity, and no faulty compromise.

This article was written for the student-led Palestine Teach-Out #10 that took place on September 29, 2025, at the Dutch Art Institute, hosted by Olfa Arfaoui and Stellar Meris. A member of The Question of Funding, Kari Rosenfeld and Tobi Haslett, were invited to give short inputs on documenta 15, Strike Germany and Boycott Whitney Biennale, while welcoming questions and remarks from the audience. The Palestine Teach-Out and the Assembly on Palestine are two formats of the Dutch Art Institute that are part of an ongoing debate around artistic and cultural work, institutional failures, and collective attempts to pave a way towards a decolonized and inclusive future—with a free Palestine at its core.