One of the most striking features of modern political discourse is the willingness of certain societies to condemn historical injustices committed by others while remaining reluctant to confront the foundations of their own existence. Nowhere is this contradiction more apparent than in the relationship between sections of Ulster Unionism, American political culture, and their unwavering support for Israel.
Throughout history, settler societies have often presented themselves as pioneers, civilisers, or victims seeking security, while indigenous populations have frequently viewed the same processes as conquest, dispossession, and colonisation. At first glance, these may appear to be entirely separate historical experiences, differing significantly in time, context, and scale. The Plantation of Ulster was a seventeenth-century colonial project; European settlement of the Americas unfolded over several centuries; and Israeli settlement in Palestinian territories belongs to the modern era. It can be argued that they share common characteristics associated with settler colonialism. Beneath the differences lies a common thread: the establishment and consolidation of settler societies on lands already inhabited by indigenous peoples, followed by the creation of legal, political and cultural narratives designed to legitimise the outcome.
A recurring feature in all three cases is the arrival of a population supported, either directly or indirectly, by a powerful state. The Plantation of Ulster involved the confiscation of land from Gaelic Irish families and its redistribution to settlers from Britain. European settlement of the Americas involved the gradual displacement of indigenous nations through war, coercion, treaty violations, forced removals and, in many instances, outright massacres. Israeli settlement in Palestinian territories represents a modern manifestation of a similar process, whereby land is acquired, settlements expanded, and demographic realities altered under the protection of state power.
Central to each narrative is the question of land. Indigenous communities often viewed the land as theirs by inheritance, tradition, and continuous occupation. Settler communities, however, frequently relied upon legal frameworks created by the conquering authority to justify ownership. What one side viewed as lawful transfer or development, the other viewed as confiscation and theft. This divergence in understanding remains a source of conflict centuries later.
In each case, the use of force played a central role in establishing and maintaining the new political order. The Plantation was preceded by military campaigns that defeated Gaelic resistance and enabled land redistribution. European expansion across North America was accompanied by countless conflicts, forced removals and atrocities against indigenous populations, culminating in events such as the Wounded Knee Massacre. In Palestine, military occupation, settlement expansion, checkpoints, house demolitions, the destruction of indigenous societies and what some human rights organisations, legal scholars, and activists describe as state-sanctioned killings of Palestinian civilians have been presented as mechanisms through which settlement expansion and territorial control have been facilitated and protected. In all three cases, the presence of military power has been essential to establishing and maintaining a new political and demographic reality.
The similarities extend beyond land and violence. Settler societies frequently rely upon legal structures created by the dominant power to justify what indigenous populations experience as dispossession. What is conquest in one narrative becomes lawful administration in another. What is theft in one account becomes development in another. What is occupation in one perspective becomes security in another.
History demonstrates that legality and morality are not always the same thing. The response of the British government during the Great Famine illustrated how adherence to economic orthodoxy, property rights and colonial priorities contributed to immense and catastrophic human suffering while maintaining the existing social order. Whether viewed as neglect, ideological rigidity or deliberate policy, the episode remains a powerful example of how legal and political systems can be used to defend structures of power at the expense of indigenous populations. The confiscation of Irish land was legal under English law. The removal of Native Americans was frequently legal under American law. Segregation was legal. Colonial rule was legal. Apartheid was legal. Throughout history, legal systems have often reflected the interests of those who possessed power rather than the interests of those subjected to it.
This raises uncomfortable questions about modern support for Israel among sections of Unionism and American political culture. Such support is not simply rooted in shared democratic values, strategic alliances or security concerns. Rather, it reflects a deeper historical identification.
The Ulster planter and the Israeli settler occupy remarkably similar positions within their respective historical narratives. Both emerged from settlement projects supported by powerful states. Both established communities whose legitimacy is contested by populations who regard themselves as indigenous. Both reject the description of themselves as colonisers and instead present themselves as people exercising a legitimate right to exist in the land they inhabit.
Likewise, many within the United States see in Israel a reflection of their own historical experience. America was built through territorial expansion across lands already inhabited by indigenous peoples. That process involved warfare, broken treaties, forced displacement, cultural destruction and massacres. Yet over time the settler became the native in the national imagination, and the indigenous population became marginal to the dominant historical narrative.
Supporters of Israel reject such comparisons. They argue that Jewish historical ties to the land are ancient, that Israel emerged following centuries of persecution culminating in the Holocaust, and that Israeli security concerns are real and cannot be ignored. They further contend that comparisons with colonial projects oversimplify a complex conflict involving competing national claims and existential threats.
These arguments deserve consideration. Yet, security concerns and historical suffering do not exempt a state from moral scrutiny. Nor do they erase the experiences of those who have been displaced, occupied or subordinated. The existence of historical Jewish connections to the land does not negate Palestinian connections to the same land, just as the passage of time did not erase the memory of dispossession among Native Americans or the descendants of those affected by colonisation in Ireland.
Indeed, one of the defining features of settler societies is their ability to transform conquest into legitimacy through the passage of time. Once enough generations have passed, the descendants of settlers cease to see themselves as settlers at all. Their presence becomes normalised. Their ownership becomes unquestioned. Their version of history becomes common sense.
This process of historical normalisation helps explain why allegations against Israel are often received differently by those whose own societies were built through settlement. To acknowledge the possibility that Palestinians have experienced dispossession, ethnic cleansing or even genocide would require confronting difficult and uncomfortable questions about the treatment of Native Americans in the United States and the colonial origins of Unionist settlement in Ireland. This helps explain why allegations against Israel are often met not simply with scepticism, but with outright hostility: acceptance of those allegations would cast a shadow over foundational narratives upon which other settler societies have built their own legitimacy.
The result is a form of moral exceptionalism. Actions condemned elsewhere are justified when undertaken by an allied settler society. Civilian deaths become regrettable necessities. Land seizures become security measures. Occupation becomes self-defence. Allegations of war crimes, ethnic cleansing or genocide are dismissed not necessarily because the evidence has been examined and disproven, but because accepting such allegations would challenge foundational myths upon which other settler societies have built their own identities.
Perhaps the greatest power of settler colonialism is not its ability to seize land but its ability to rewrite memory. The indigenous population remembers dispossession. The settler remembers survival. The indigenous population remembers conquest. The settler remembers civilisation. The indigenous population remembers what was lost. The settler remembers what was built.
The conflict, therefore, is not merely over territory. It is over history itself.
Whether in Ireland, North America or Palestine, the central question remains the same: who has the authority to define the past, and whose version of that past becomes accepted as legitimate? The issue is not simply whether Israel's actions are justified or unjustified. It is whether settler societies are capable of recognising in others the very patterns of dispossession, domination and historical revisionism that shaped their own emergence. Until that question is confronted honestly, the struggle between indigenous memory and settler legitimacy will remain unresolved, shaping politics, identity and conflict long after the original acts of settlement have passed from living memory into history.
⏩ Cam Ogie is a Gaelic games enthusiast.
