This article is part of a series from countries that have experienced an authoritarian turn from democracy. Access the rest of the symposium here
For Israeli progressives, the spectacle of the Trump administration waging its war against the safeguards of democracy is both familiar and foreboding. The developments in America are a searing flashback to January 2023, when the most radical, far-right government in Israel’s history took the reins of power. This coalition brought with it an assembly of Jewish supremacists, violent settlers, annexationists and zealots. Much like the second Trump administration, they did not arrive unprepared. They walked into their offices with plans already drawn, with blueprints for dismantling democracy.
On the night of 4th January 2023, Yariv Levin, the newly appointed minister of justice, unveiled his four-phase plan in front of the cameras: it was a calculated, merciless judicial overhaul. The government said this was a package of reforms, but it was a coup waged with decrees and legislation. It was a battle for the soul of a nation, and we had a choice: to surrender, or resist.
Some Israelis chose defiance. The country’s democratic-liberal camp ignited, swelling into the largest protest movement in Israel’s history. Week after week, for many months, hundreds of thousands poured into the streets. It was an unyielding human tide against the rising authoritarianism that sought to drown civil liberties, erode human rights and smother an already flawed democracy.
As the protest movement evolved—and even after the terrible events of 7th October and the disastrous war in Gaza that ensued, engulfing the region in flames—I learned many lessons about resisting a hostile takeover from the right. Most important of all was the supreme power of defiance.
The architects of oppression are not confined to the halls of government. They fester in playgrounds where bullies rule through fear; in school corridors where silence is mistaken for obedience; in boardrooms where power is wielded like a weapon; and in the dark alleys of the internet where lies breed like vermin. Tyrants rely on the illusion of strength, their dominion built upon the fragile pillars of fear. The key to unravelling this is contempt, the companion to defiance.
Contempt is the ember that burns through the illusions of the autocrat. It is the crack in the marble facade, the whispered joke that topples empires. Defiance is not merely an act of resistance; it is the art of unmasking cowardice. In Israel, this spirit of defiance found its way through the medium of the bumper sticker and in the simplest of slogans: "FCK BNGVR."
This was a single, unfiltered message aimed at one man who is so representative of the Israeli government’s authoritarianism and extremism: Itamar Ben-Gvir, the so-called minister of “national security”. Here is a right-wing fanatic with convictions for terror offences, whose only qualifications seemed to be his unchecked hatred for Palestinians and human rights defenders, and of course, his unmatched incompetence. A man whose mere presence in office is an insult to the democratic principles of equality, transparency and accountability.
It began as a whisper, a private joke, a protest among friends. But soon, it spread. The design, inspired by the iconic RUN DMC logo and the German anti-fascist movement, became almost a movement of its own. T-shirts, hats, keychains, stickers—the slogan was everywhere.
The beauty of nonviolent defiance is that when the only weapon your opponent wields is brute force, every act of repression is a mirror that reflects his own weakness. Each time the police detained a protester for wearing a “FCK BNGVR” T-shirt, hundreds clamoured for one. Each time the authorities tried to crush the message, they amplified it tenfold.
Defiance is contagious. It turns individuals into a movement, transforms scattered voices into a chorus of unrelenting dissent. In the weekly protests against the government’s judicial coup, I saw elderly women standing shoulder to shoulder with teenagers, each bearing the same eight letters, which became not only a code, but a meme. It was a silent vow, a declaration of unity, that we will not be broken.
And so we marched. Not with guns, but with wit. Not with fear, but with unyielding, unbreakable pride. This is because, against a bully whose legacy is one of fanaticism and brutality, we choose to be the embodiment of everything he is not. We are determined, creative, fearless.
The bullies may wield their power, but they will never own our spirit. We will dance in the streets, we will sing in the courtrooms, we will laugh in their faces—and we will not stop until the last stone of their tyranny has turned to dust.
