I have been called ¡°y*d¡± from a?passing car. I?have had stones and rubbish thrown at?me on?my way home from my?Jewish school. I?have seen my?identity debated, stretched, abased and projected by?powerful figures, including journalists, television commentators and politicians. Reading prejudiced depictions of?one¡¯s group on?social media and in?the news is?exhausting; it?feels like being constantly targeted.

Notably, the dehumanising reduction of?Jews to?pawns by?politicians is?entirely absent from the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance¡¯s definition of?antisemitism, which the UK?government formally adopted in?2016 and later pressured universities across the country to?adopt as?well.

The IHRA definition of antisemitism expands its meaning from abhorrent conspiracy theories about Jewish control of the media, finance and governments, blood libel accusations, Holocaust denial tirades and dehumanising caricatures of Jews to include any form of anti-Zionism, as well as harsh but legitimate criticism of Israel. This has not only failed to protect me as a?Jew but has also had a?detrimental impact on my life and career progression.

A British-based academic journal refused to publish an?article I?wrote on Jewish identity and antisemitism, explaining that the question of antisemitism is ¡°highly charged¡±. It?was hard not to understand this as a reference to the then ongoing debates about antisemitism and the adoption of the IHRA definition in the Labour Party. In the end, I?had to publish the article in a journal based in a different country, where the IHRA definition has not yet chilled public debate as it has in the UK.

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Another British-based journal accepted an article I?submitted for publication after three anonymous reviewers had written that it was a worthy contribution to knowledge and public debate. My happiness was short-lived, however, since the publisher¡¯s legal team vetoed the article because of the apparently ¡°litigious¡± behaviour of some of the article¡¯s (anonymised) subjects. Ironically, the article was about the antisemitism of non-Jewish people who proclaim to be fighting antisemitism on the behalf of Jewish people. Once again, it?was hard not to see this breach of my academic freedom as a result of the chilling effects of the IHRA.

Reading the first-ever report on the adverse impact of the IHRA definition on academic freedom following its adoption by 75?per cent of UK universities, it is clear that my experiences are not isolated. Nor have I?been subjected to the thick end of the wedge.

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The report¡¯s seemingly logical statements that ¡°No?institution has the right to limit or forbid lawful criticism of Israel or anti-Zionist views¡± and that ¡°the history and politics of Palestine, and the conditions of life of Palestinians, are also matters of institutional, national, and international public interest¡± run counter to what has been a creeping chilling of research and debate on university campuses in the?UK.

Indeed, what becomes clear from the report ¨C which provides an analysis of 40?cases between 2017 and 2022 in which university staff and students were accused of antisemitism based on the IHRA definition ¨C is that those wielding the IHRA definition aim to drag academics and students who carry out research on Palestine or support Palestinian human rights through debilitating investigations and internal disciplinary processes.

As the report, which was published by the British Society for Middle Eastern Studies and the European Legal Support Centre, makes clear, the fact that all of the cases resulted in exoneration ¨C except for two cases that are still ongoing ¨C is?not the point. Many of the staff and students who were subjected to investigations reported that their research or studies had suffered. A Palestine student society lost nearly all its members because they were scared of being tarnished by the IHRA brush. Those subjected to investigations and disciplinary processes, which can stretch out for months and even years, are left with fears of careers and reputations in tatters, with major ramifications for their own and their family¡¯s mental and emotional well-being.

Yet instilling such fears now seems to be the objective of those who wield the IHRA definition. It is classic McCarthyism. They want staff and students thinking of speaking out about Palestine to ask themselves: ¡°Is it worth it?¡± Will their employer renew their contract if they?do? Will they be?promoted? Or?will they be?suspended? Will their mental and emotional health withstand the protracted uncertainty and public shaming?

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This not only calls into question the compliance of UK universities with their legal obligation to protect academic freedom and freedom of expression. It is also leading universities away from their core mission of nurturing critical thought, facilitating unhindered research and encouraging wide-ranging debate.

Defenders of the IHRA definition counter that it is not ¡°legally binding¡± and merely a guide for university committees. But this is irrelevant. It is being routinely used in a way that silences and discriminates against Palestinians and others who wish to teach, research or speak out against the oppression of Palestinians.

This is particularly troubling since antisemitism is alive and kicking in UK ÖйúAƬ and society more generally, as my own lifelong experiences illustrate. Fighting it is necessary and urgent. But adopting a definition of antisemitism that curtails free debate while simultaneously failing to protect Jews who are discriminated against is not the way to?do?so.

Clive Gabay is a reader in international politics at Queen Mary University of London.

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