Source: The Conversation – (in Spanish) – By Pedro Manuel Moreno-Marcos, Profesor Titular en el Departamento de Ingeniería Telemática de la Universidad Carlos III de Madrid, Universidad Carlos III
Hemos quedado a comer en un restaurante con una amiga. Cuando llegan los primeros platos, interrumpe la conversación para decir: “¿Me pasas la…?” mientras mira hacia un lugar concreto de la mesa. Seguramente no necesitemos más palabras ni gestos para entender que se refiere a la sal y se la pasemos.
Las personas no necesitamos que nuestro interlocutor termine su frase para saber qué es lo que quiere decir. Nuestro conocimiento de la estructura interna de la lengua nos permite anticipar qué palabra utilizará. Además, el contexto de la situación comunicativa nos da información sobre el contenido y las expresiones que dirá nuestro interlocutor.
El autocorrector del teclado del móvil intenta replicar este comportamiento humano a partir de técnicas estadísticas y de procesamiento del lenguaje natural (PLN). Con ello calcula la probabilidad de que una letra, palabra o secuencia aparezca en función de su frecuencia en grandes cantidades de texto utilizadas para entrenar el modelo.
Sobre esa base estadística, el PLN incorpora también el análisis de la estructura y el significado de las palabras, buscando patrones y relaciones entre ellas para generar correcciones más coherentes con el contexto.
¿Por qué, entonces, insiste en sustituir “jobar” por “Jonathan” (si no conozco a ningún Jonathan) o nos hace parecer un tanto excéntricos si afirmamos en un mensaje que hemos presentado una documentación vía “telepática” en lugar de “telemática”?
Combinando reglas y el uso individual
El sistema de procesamiento del lenguaje natural de los autocorrectores que usamos cotidianamente se basa en su diccionario interno, en las reglas sintácticas propias de la lengua y en el historial del usuario. El diccionario interno se construye inicialmente a partir de textos de entrenamiento procedentes de libros, artículos académicos y fuentes en línea, entre otros, que proporcionan un conocimiento general del idioma. A partir de ahí, el sistema combina este aprendizaje previo con reglas lingüísticas predefinidas y con la información que recolecta del historial del usuario. Como resultado, el sistema anticipa la cadena de texto más probable según lo aprendido.
En un principio, estas herramientas aparecieron para asistir a personas con discapacidades físicas, perceptivas o cognitivas en su uso del idioma a través de sistemas informáticos. No obstante, una vez integradas adecuadamente en la interfaz de las aplicaciones, pueden beneficiar a cualquier usuario mejorando la velocidad y el esfuerzo necesario para escribir.
Predecir cómo se escribe no es fácil
La aplicación del teclado del móvil maneja su propio diccionario de palabras y construcciones, en el que pueden no estar contempladas todas las opciones. A partir de la escritura del usuario y de la frecuencia con la que emplea ciertas expresiones, las predicciones se individualizan.
Aun así, sigue siendo un trabajo complejo para el sistema porque no basta con conocer todos los términos posibles. También debe decidir cuál es el más adecuado según el contexto y la intención del usuario. Por ejemplo, el sustantivo “casa” es completamente correcto y aceptado en el habla diaria. Sin embargo, en un proceso oficial o administrativo es más adecuado utilizar “vivienda”.
Puede imaginarse el diccionario del dispositivo como una estructura de árbol en la que ante una entrada de un bloque de texto se abren ciertas posibilidades con diversos grados de frecuencia que se va afinando a medida que la persona escribe. Dentro de las predicciones, algunas pueden estar motivadas por una programación específica del sistema, como evitar el uso de palabras malsonantes, y otra por el aprendizaje explícito, en el que el usuario agrega ciertas expresiones al propio diccionario del dispositivo. Por esta razón, el autocorrector no siempre coincide con lo que el usuario espera en cada momento.
Para optimizar el proceso de escritura, las aplicaciones tienen dos formas principales de incluir las sugerencias: ofrecer una lista de opciones en función de la probabilidad o introducir directamente el término en el texto. En el primer caso, el usuario tiene que analizar las alternativas de manera consciente. En el segundo, el discurso se construye de manera más rápida y orgánica, pero la persona debe eliminar activamente la sugerencia si no es la deseada.
Aunque en la mayoría de ocasiones el sistema encuentra la palabra requerida, hasta en un 94 % de las vecestendemos a recordar mucho más vívidamente aquellos momentos en los que comete un error grave. Además, según un estudio, solemos experimentar frustración cuando los mismos fallos se repiten de manera sistemática. Sin embargo, esto es normal: el aprendizaje del autocorrector no es inmediato, sino gradual, y funciona de manera probabilística, combinando lo que ya sabe de grandes textos con la información nueva que recoge del historial del usuario.
A pesar de ello, la mayoría de usuarios, tanto de iOS como de Android, afirma que los autocorrectores integrados en el teclado mejoran su eficiencia escribiendo y ayudan a reducir errores. Además, un uso continuado de las herramientas mejora progresivamente su efectividad al ofrecer una experiencia más personalizada.
La competencia léxica es solo humana
Ahora bien, no hemos de olvidar que el diccionario del autocorrector es un almacén de palabras, cuyo funcionamiento se aleja del lexicón mental del usuario humano. Dicho lexicón se construye a partir del establecimiento de redes entre las diferentes unidades léxicas en función de distintos tipos de relaciones (familias léxicas, campos semánticos, cognados, etc.). El autocorrector, por su parte, cuenta con una gran disponibilidad léxica, pero no domina los aspectos relacionados con la forma, el significado y el uso de cada unidad léxica, es decir, carece de la competencia léxica y comunicativa que poseen los hablantes.
A pesar de estas limitaciones, se están desarrollando propuestas que demuestran que es posible mejorar la corrección contextual, como la de PALABRIA-CM-UC3M, que se centra en el fenómeno lingüístico del tú impersonal. Mediante técnicas lingüísticas y modelos de inteligencia artificial que aprenden los patrones y contextos de este fenómeno, el sistema puede identificar y corregir errores que un autocorrector convencional no detectaría.
Aunque pueden continuar aprendiendo nuevos patrones y ampliando su conocimiento para ofrecer correcciones cada vez más acertadas, los autocorrectores no dejan de ser modelos matemáticos que operan a partir de patrones y reglas aprendidas, sin alcanzar la comprensión profunda, flexible y contextual que caracteriza al uso humano de la lengua. Nunca serán infalibles. Ni siquiera lo somos nosotros: a menudo, como en el ejemplo del principio, nuestras predicciones pueden resultar erróneas, y le pasamos la sal a alguien que en realidad quería la jarra de agua.
Pedro Manuel Moreno-Marcos recibe fondos del proyecto PALABRIA-CM-UC3M, financiado por la Comunidad de Madrid a través del convenio-subvención para el fomento y la promoción de la investigación y la transferencia de tecnología en la Universidad Carlos III de Madrid.
Marina Serrano-Marín recibe fondos del proyecto PALABRIA-CM-UC3M, financiado por la Comunidad de Madrid a través del convenio-subvención para el fomento y la promoción de la investigación y la transferencia de tecnología en la Universidad Carlos III de Madrid.
Natalia Centeno Alejandre recibe fondos del proyecto PALABRIA-CM-UC3M, financiado por la Comunidad de Madrid a través del convenio-subvención para el fomento y la promoción de la investigación y la transferencia de tecnología en la Universidad Carlos III de Madrid.
Rafael Fernández Castillejos recibe fondos del proyecto PALABRIA-CM-UC3M, financiado por la Comunidad de Madrid a través del convenio-subvención para el fomento y la promoción de la investigación y la transferencia de tecnología en la Universidad Carlos III de Madrid.
Al final de nuestra conversación, Nathan (seudónimo) repetía, casi para sí mismo: “Quizás deberíamos haber hecho más. Quizás podríamos haber hecho más. Quizás podríamos haber hecho algo con respecto al campamento en sí. Con respecto a los perros. Seguíamos oyendo a los perros. Todas las noches”.
Nathan, cirujano jefe en uno de los hospitales más grandes de Israel, se refería a Sde Teiman, un campamento militar situado en el desierto del Néguev, en el sur de Israel, que, tras el ataque del 7 de octubre de 2023, se convirtió en un centro de detención para presos de Gaza.
Inicialmente, este campamento sirvió para encarcelar a miembros de la fuerza Nukhba, la unidad de Hamás que lideró la masacre en el sur de Israel. Pero desde entonces, y durante todo el posterior asalto de Israel a Gaza, Sde Teiman ha sido un “lugar secreto” en el que se retenía a los palestinos capturados por el ejército israelí dentro de Gaza, incluidos muchos que afirman no haber participado en los combates.
Nathan nunca pisó el campo. Pero fue uno de los pocos médicos israelíes que se ofrecieron voluntarios para trabajar en un centro médico que funcionaba junto a él, donde algunos de los detenidos más gravemente heridos de Sde Teiman recibían tratamiento. Este centro se creó después de que muchos hospitales israelíes se negaran a admitir a cualquier persona sospechosa de haber participado en la masacre del 7 de octubre, muchas de las cuales estaban gravemente heridas.
La decisión de Nathan de prestar servicio en este centro no fue fácil, según nos explicó. Aunque no tenía reservas en tratar a los detenidos del campamento y consideraba que era su deber como médico atender a los pacientes sin importar quiénes fueran (especialmente si nadie más los trataba), su trabajo en el centro médico de Sde Teiman, que ha mantenido en secreto ante su familia y sus colegas, sigue atormentándolo. “En última instancia”, dijo, “me convirtió en un criminal de guerra”.
Entrevistamos a Nathan para un libro que estamos escribiendo sobre torturas en Israel. En nuestra investigación, llevada a cabo durante los últimos cinco años con la organización israelí de derechos humanos Comité Público contra la Tortura en Israel (Pcati), estudiamos hasta qué punto los sistemas de salud y otras instituciones cívicas se han convertido en cómplices de las torturas, que se han vuelto más generalizadas y brutales desde los atentados del 7 de octubre.
Después de que también comenzaran a aparecer testimonios desgarradores desde el centro médico, nos propusimos investigar el asunto. Las historias de este centro hablaban de pacientes recluidos en condiciones humillantes y degradantes, de una atención médica deficiente que provocaba complicaciones médicas (incluidas amputaciones innecesarias debido al uso constante de esposas) y de pacientes que morían por negligencia.
Nathan y otros dos médicos que trabajaban allí y a los que entrevistamos aportan nuevos datos sobre las condiciones dentro del centro médico y, en general, sobre la actuación del sistema sanitario israelí tras los ataques del 7 de octubre. Sus relatos nos permiten ver, como todos ellos dejaron claro de diversas maneras, cómo incluso las personas con las mejores intenciones pueden convertirse en cómplices de crímenes de guerra.
‘Todos sufrían un dolor insoportable’
Poco después de los atentados del 7 de octubre de 2023, Nathan recibió una llamada del Ministerio de Sanidad israelí preguntándole si estaría dispuesto a tratar a algunos de los autores de las atrocidades. El ministerio se puso en contacto con un pequeño número de médicos después de que muchos hospitales y algunos médicos se negasen a tratar a personas consideradas como terroristas salvajes.
Los médicos tienen la obligación ética de atender a todas las personas, independientemente de quiénes sean o qué hayan hecho. De hecho, el sistema sanitario israelí se enorgullecía de tener una larga trayectoria en el trato a todo tipo de pacientes, incluidos combatientesenemigos, terroristas suicidas y líderes de Hamás. Pero tras los atentados del 7 de octubre, por razones que analizaremos más adelante, los hospitales comenzaron a rechazarlos.
El centro médico de Sde Teiman se creó para que los detenidos recluidos en el campo principal pudieran recibir tratamiento médico sin tener que ser ingresados en hospitales públicos. Recordando la primera vez que visitó las instalaciones, Nathan nos dijo: “No tenía ni idea de adónde iba ni de qué me esperaba”. Creía que sería una solución temporal y, desde luego, no imaginaba que acabaría trabajando allí durante muchos meses.
Reportaje de BBC News sobre el trato a los presos en el centro de detención de Sde Teiman, agosto de 2024.
Durante las primeras semanas, sin el equipo adecuado, los medicamentos apropiados, un aparato logístico que funcionara e incluso una afiliación institucional adecuada, los médicos tuvieron que improvisar y confiar en su ingenio. “Al final, esta instalación estaba bien equipada en comparación con un hospital de campaña… Pero la cuestión es”, insistió Nathan, “que un hospital de campaña debe ser temporal; no se pueden realizar operaciones en una tienda en medio del desierto”.
Cuando nos reunimos a finales de 2024, Nathan no se sentía cómodo y parecía muy preocupado. Varias veces durante la conversación nos dijo: “nadie puede saber quién es Nathan”. Al ver lo angustiado que estaba por ser descubierto, nos sorprendió que hubiera aceptado ser entrevistado. Pero, sin que lo supiéramos, unos días antes de contactar con él, había asistido a una charla pública que dimos sobre nuestras investigaciones. Probablemente por eso, cuando nos pusimos en contacto, aceptó inmediatamente reunirse con nosotros.
Además de Nathan y los otros dos médicos que trabajaban en el centro, también entrevistamos a personas que participaban de alguna manera en su funcionamiento: dos miembros del comité de ética de la Asociación Médica de Israel, un experto en ética médica que asesoraba a los médicos que trabajaban en el centro de Sde Teiman y profesionales de los derechos humanos que lo investigaban. También entrevistamos a personal médico y sanitario de siete de los hospitales más grandes de Israel, así como a varios funcionarios del Gobierno israelí que trabajaban en el sistema sanitario y en el Ministerio de Justicia.
Aunque la mayoría de los entrevistados hablaron a condición de mantenerse anónimos, Nathan se mostró especialmente cauteloso. Lo que más le preocupaba era que él o su familia se convirtieran en blanco de activistas israelíes de derecha si se enteraban de que había tratado a “terroristas”. Pero también le preocupaban las reacciones de sus colegas: ni siquiera su superior inmediato sabía lo que había estado haciendo, salvo que había sido llamado a filas para cumplir con el servicio militar.
Además, Nathan quería protegerse de las críticas de los miembros de la comunidad de izquierda que consideraban a cualquier persona relacionada con las instalaciones de Sde Teiman como un criminal de guerra. Sin embargo, estaba claro que él también pensaba que la mera existencia de las instalaciones médicas era un delito, a pesar de que siempre había intentado proporcionar a los pacientes la mejor atención posible.
De hecho, Nathan nos contó que, mientras trabajaba allí, había intentado en repetidas ocasiones que se cerrara el centro médico. “Los pacientes no podían recibir el tratamiento que necesitaban. Todos ellos debían ser ingresados en un hospital normal”.
Después de muchos meses, una vez que “ya no era una situación de emergencia” y cuando Nathan se dio cuenta de que sus esfuerzos por cerrar el centro eran inútiles, sintió que no podía “seguir allí” y renunció.
Esposado, con los ojos vendados y con pañales
Nos pusimos en contacto con Ben (también un seudónimo) para entrevistarlo debido a su colaboración con otra organización de derechos humanos, con el fin de preguntarle sobre el tratamiento médico que reciben los palestinos en las cárceles israelíes tras los atentados del 7 de octubre. Durante nuestra conversación, cuando se enteró de que estábamos escribiendo sobre el centro médico de Sde Teiman, nos contó que a él también lo habían llamado a finales de 2023 para prestar servicio allí.
Ben, un médico mucho más joven que los otros a los que entrevistamos, trabaja en uno de los hospitales públicos de Israel. Recordó que un colega le pidió que ayudara a realizar una intervención a un paciente de Gaza al que había tratado anteriormente. Inmediatamente se subió a su coche y condujo hasta Sde Teiman, siguiendo las indicaciones que le habían dado por teléfono, sin saber exactamente adónde iba.
Una vez en el centro médico, Ben dijo que se quedó asombrado por lo que vio. Aunque era finales de diciembre y el lugar llevaba más de dos meses en funcionamiento, “los pacientes seguían sin llevar nada más que pañales”. Nos contó que seguían esposados a sus camas y con los ojos vendados en todo momento, incluso mientras recibían tratamiento médico. No se les permitía levantarse de la cama, por lo que tenían que defecar en ella cuando necesitaban hacer sus necesidades.
Ben llevó a cabo el procedimiento que se le había encomendado. Pero una vez llegó a casa, se dio cuenta de la realidad de lo que había presenciado: “Decidí no volver a pisar ese centro nunca más”.
Como estaban esposados, el personal de enfermería tenía que hacerlo todo por los pacientes. Los lavaban, les cambiaban los pañales e incluso tenían que alimentar a algunos de ellos con comida líquida a través de pajitas. Estos relatos fueron confirmados por los otros dos médicos que entrevistamos y que habían trabajado en el centro.
Los médicos describen las condiciones dentro del centro médico de Sde Teiman: BBC News, mayo de 2024.
Nathan nos dijo varias veces: “Debéis destacar el cuidado y la dedicación de las enfermeras”, que bañaban, alimentaban y cuidaban a personas a las que pocos estaban dispuestos a atender. Sin embargo, aunque esto es sin duda digno de mención, especialmente en aquellas circunstancias, la mayoría de estos pacientes habrían podido ir al baño, ducharse y alimentarse por sí mismos si no hubieran estado inmovilizados en sus camas las 24 horas del día. El uso indiscriminado de tales restricciones en los pacientes viola la ley israelí, y se considera una forma de tortura según los códigos éticos tanto de Israel como internacionales.
“Al principio, [el uso de esposas] puede haber sido necesario porque tratábamos a personas muy peligrosas” que acababan de cometer una brutal masacre, explicó Nathan. Describió un grave ataque a una empleada del que fue testigo y confirmó: “Tuvimos varios casos en los que los pacientes agredieron al personal”.
Pero, continuó, “no tenían justificación después de las primeras semanas. Para entonces, se podrían haber implementado otras precauciones y se podrían haber realizado evaluaciones para determinar quién podía suponer un peligro para el personal y aún necesitaba estar esposado”.
Nathan dijo que, al final, muchos de los pacientes atendidos por los médicos y enfermeras no eran peligrosos. “Se deberían haber tomado medidas para que esos pacientes pudieran ser atendidos en un hospital general en Israel”.
Tras visitar las instalaciones médicas de Sde Teiman a finales de febrero de 2024, los miembros del comité ético del Ministerio de Sanidad israelí informaron de que todos los pacientes seguían encadenados a sus camas por las cuatro extremidades, a pesar de que el propio ejército israelí admitió, en diciembre de 2023, que muchos de los detenidos en Sde Teiman no eran sospechosos de estar relacionados con Hamás u otras facciones militantes. Muchos de los encarcelados en Sde Teiman, incluidos algunos que habían permanecido detenidos durante meses y estaban encadenados a sus camas, acabarían siendo liberados sin cargos.
‘Hicimos todo lo que pudimos’
El relato de Nathan fue respaldado por nuestro tercer entrevistado, Yoel Donchin, un anestesista sénior que también prestó servicio en el centro médico durante muchos meses. Donchin describió algunos de los pacientes que trató al New York Times en junio de 2024, explicando que uno era parapléjico, otro padecía obesidad mórbida y un tercero había necesitado utilizar un tubo respiratorio desde la infancia. Donchin concluyó que era “muy improbable” que alguno de ellos hubiera participado en los combates. “Se llevan a todo el mundo”, dijo, refiriéndose a las acciones del ejército israelí en Gaza.
Como ya había habladopúblicamentesobre sus experiencias en las instalaciones, Donchin fue fácil de localizar. A diferencia de Nathan y Ben, no le importó que utilizáramos su nombre real y no tuvo reservas sobre su participación allí.
Después de defender públicamente su decisión de prestar servicio en el centro, Donchin y el resto del equipo médico que trabajaba allí fueron criticados por organizaciones de derechos humanos, incluidos miembros de la junta directiva de Pcati. Tratar a los pacientes allí, afirmaron, era “una vergüenza moral y una violación de todos los principios éticos” a los que deben comprometerse los médicos.
Sin embargo, tras un par de horas de larga conversación en su tranquila casa de las afueras de Tel Aviv, empezamos a conciliar los datos que teníamos sobre Sde Teiman con el relato de Donchin sobre su experiencia trabajando en el centro médico. Él comparó la situación en Israel inmediatamente después del 7 de octubre con “un suceso con múltiples víctimas”, y explicó que, en tales condiciones, “la ética médica es diferente”. En el caos de las primeras semanas tras los ataques, nos dijo, “nadie sabía lo que estaba haciendo. Los hospitales estaban abarrotados de pacientes y el sistema estaba desbordado”.
Donchin dijo que incluso algunos soldados israelíes heridos en el ataque de Hamás no pudieron recibir toda la atención que necesitaban. Tras el 7 de octubre, nos dijo: “Todo el sistema sanitario [israelí] estaba completamente desorganizado. Durante el primer mes, no se podía hablar de Estado en absoluto”.
En medio de este caos, Donchin nos dijo: “Hicimos todo lo que pudimos”. Explicó que, cuando no se suministraba la nutrición que necesitaban los pacientes, el personal la compraba por su cuenta. Cuando alguien necesitaba ser atendido por un especialista, recurrían a sus redes personales para traer a colegas con la experiencia necesaria, ya fuera para que acudieran al centro o, cuando eso no era posible, para que dieran consejos a través de una videollamada.
Sin embargo, aunque estas medidas de emergencia pueden haber sido eficaces, “no deberían haber sido la solución”. En última instancia, dijo Donchin, estas “concesiones e improvisaciones” significaban que los médicos estaban operando bajo “una bandera negra de ilegalidad”.
Según el experto en ética médica que asesoró a los médicos que trabajaban en Sde Teiman: “En este primer mes, tratar a quienes acababan de participar en la masacre planteó retos particulares”, porque algunos eran muy peligrosos y agresivos. “Los hospitales generales no están preparados para tratar a pacientes que suponen tal riesgo para el personal”.
Sin embargo, también afirmó que “Israel contaba con planes de contingencia detallados para tal escenario, que incluían la preparación de una sala dedicada a los combatientes enemigos en uno de los principales hospitales. Pero nunca se llevaron a cabo”.
‘Deberían dejar que se pudriese’
Muchos de los casi 200 militantes de Hamás que participaron en los ataques del 7 de octubre y fueron capturados en Israel resultaron heridos en los combates. Al principio fueron trasladados a hospitales generales, pero la noticia se difundió rápidamente, lo que provocó numerosas respuestas de turbas que asaltaban las salas de los hospitales y atacaban al personal y a pacientes que sospechaban que eran palestinos.
Para proteger la seguridad tanto de los pacientes como del personal, los hospitales israelíes comenzaron a negarse a admitir a estos pacientes. Pero algunos miembros del personal médico también expresaron “dificultades” para tratar a aquellos que sospechaban que habían cometido las atrocidades del 7 de octubre.
El 11 de octubre de 2023, Moshe Arbel, ministro de Sanidad de Israel en aquel momento, respaldó oficialmente esta reticencia mediante la promulgación de una ordenanza en la que se establecía que los hospitales generales no debían tratar a “terroristas de Gaza”. Esta directriz también permitió a los hospitales israelíes denegar la atención médica a cualquier palestino procedente de cualquier centro penitenciario.
El personal que trabajaba en algunos de estos hospitales nos contó después que había oído con frecuencia a sus compañeros hacer declaraciones como “Gaza debería ser borrada del mapa” o “en mi opinión, todos los bebés de Gaza son terroristas y pueden morir”, a veces en reuniones formales del personal y delante de compañeros palestinos.
También escuchamos historias de personal médico que mostraba un desprecio explícito por las lesiones y el bienestar de aquellos que sospechaban que formaban parte de la fuerza Nukhba y, en algunos casos, de los detenidos palestinos de Gaza en general.
Por ejemplo, Nathan nos contó que llamó a un especialista de alto nivel cuando necesitaba asesoramiento urgente sobre el tratamiento de uno de los detenidos en Sde Teiman, solo para que le dijeran: “En mi opinión, hay que dejar que se pudra”. Y según Ben: “El 8 de octubre, fui testigo de cómo un médico insertaba un tubo en los pulmones de un paciente de la fuerza Nukhba sin anestesiarlo. Probablemente hubo otros casos similares”.
“Paradójicamente”, nos dijo Ben, “los médicos del centro médico de Sde Teiman tenían un compromiso y una comprensión mucho más profundos de su responsabilidad de atender a estos pacientes”. Según él, era en los hospitales generales donde había encontrado más “violencia verbal, menos atención” y algunos casos de maltrato físico.
Según quienes trabajaban en Sde Teiman, al tratarse de un centro improvisado, con falta de equipamiento y personal, si un paciente necesitaba un tratamiento urgente que no se podía proporcionar in situ, a veces se le trasladaba a uno de los hospitales generales de Israel. Nathan describió cómo pasaba largas horas al teléfono cada vez, llamando a diferentes centros hospitalarios hasta que encontraba uno dispuesto a admitir al paciente. Pero era precisamente la existencia del centro médico de Sde Teiman lo que permitía a muchos hospitales eludir sus responsabilidades, ya que, aparentemente, estos pacientes ya estaban recibiendo tratamiento.
Y cuando se realizaba una intervención hospitalaria, los pacientes eran rápidamente enviados de vuelta al centro médico de Sde Teiman, tal y como se describe en esta carta filtrada dirigida al Ministerio de Salud de Israel por un médico que trabajaba en el centro:
“Los pacientes que han sido sometidos a operaciones importantes, como cirugías abdominales para resecciones intestinales, son trasladados, tras aproximadamente una hora de observación postoperatoria, al centro médico de Sde Teiman, que cuenta con un solo médico durante la mayor parte del día, acompañado de un equipo de enfermería, algunos de los cuales solo tienen formación médica”.
Finalmente, el personal del centro médico de Sde Teiman consiguió que algunos pacientes fueran liberados de las esposas que les ataban a la cama por las cuatro extremidades y que pudieran llevar batas de hospital en lugar de pañales. Pero, independientemente de sus esfuerzos por proporcionar una mejor atención, y a pesar de sus importantes luchas y éxitos parciales, tratarlos allí era, en opinión de muchos observadores y de algunos de los propios médicos, convertirse en cómplices de violaciones del derecho internacional y de Israel.
La carta anónima enviada al Ministerio de Salud de Israel afirmaba que las condiciones del centro a menudo provocaban “complicaciones y, en ocasiones, incluso la muerte del paciente”:
“Esto nos convierte a todos –a los equipos médicos y a los responsables de los ministerios de Sanidad y Defensa– en cómplices de la violación de la legislación israelí y, lo que es peor para mí como médico, de la violación de mi compromiso básico con los pacientes, estén donde estén, tal y como juré cuando me licencié hace 20 años”.
El dilema de los médicos
Ben solo visitó el centro médico de Sde Teiman una vez, pero el remordimiento le acompaña desde entonces. “Debería haber dado media vuelta en cuanto vi que tenían a los pacientes desnudos y esposados a sus camas”, nos contó. “Tratar a los pacientes allí no solo era una violación de nuestros códigos éticos como médicos, sino que era participar en crímenes de guerra, si no en crímenes contra la humanidad. Eso era algo que no estaba dispuesto a considerar”.
Continuó diciendo: “Prestar servicio allí mitigó eficazmente la crisis que se hubiese producido si ningún médico hubiera aceptado hacerlo. El personal médico permitió que las instalaciones de Sde Teiman siguieran funcionando, y la existencia de dichas instalaciones permitió a los hospitales negarse a tratar a esos pacientes”.
Aunque el campo de detención de Sde Teiman albergó a cientos de detenidos durante largos periodos, su centro médico no podía tratar a más de 15 pacientes a la vez. Por lo general, solo se atendía a quienes tenían lesiones graves, a menudo cuando su estado ya se había deteriorado. Según nuestros entrevistados, esto significaba que las lesiones se infectaban con frecuencia, lo que provocaba amputaciones de extremidades que se podrían haber evitado fácilmente.
En el campo de detención principal, las enfermedades no tratadas causaban complicaciones, debilidad y, en algunos casos, la muerte. Los datos públicos más recientes muestran que, entre octubre de 2023 y julio de 2024, al menos 36 detenidos fallecieron dentro de Sde Teiman. En menor medida, la retirada de la atención médica también se ha convertido en la norma en otras prisiones y centros de detención donde se encuentran recluidos palestinos. Según los datos más recientes (aún sin publicar) que hemos recibido de Médicos por los Derechos Humanos (Israel), entre octubre de 2023 y julio de 2025, 52 palestinos han fallecido en instalaciones militares y 41 en prisiones israelíes.
Negar atención médica a una persona encarcelada puede constituir en sí mismo un acto de tortura. Aunque comúnmente al escuchar la palabra tortura podemos pensar en huesos rotos, uñas arrancadas o descargas eléctricas, esta puede adoptar muchas otras formas. Cuando alguien está enfermo o herido, negarle el tratamiento que necesita e impedirle recibir cualquier tipo de alivio para el dolor puede ser una forma de causarle un dolor insoportable y un sufrimiento innecesario.
Para Donchin, negarse a tratar a los pacientes habría significado convertirse en cómplice de este delito. “Para mí, la alternativa –no proporcionar ningún tipo de atención, no mostrar compasión– era imposible”, afirmó, y añadió que una cosa es pensar en estas cuestiones en teoría y otra muy distinta es ver a una persona sufriendo delante de ti.
Por el contrario, para Ben, lo único correcto era negarse a trabajar en las instalaciones médicas temporales de Sde Teiman, sobre todo cuando había hospitales de última generación a poca distancia en coche. “Tratar a los pacientes allí no los salva, ya que los deja fuera del sistema sanitario que podría haberles proporcionado el tratamiento vital que tanto necesitaban”, nos dijo.
Pero, al concluir nuestra conversación, añadió: “No hay respuestas correctas aquí. Es una gran tragedia, se mire como se mire”.
El centro médico de Sde Teiman cerró finalmente en octubre de 2024, cuando, tras una petición al Tribunal Superior de Justicia de Israel por parte de varias organizaciones de derechos humanos, entre ellas Pcati y Médicos por los Derechos Humanos, se redujo significativamente la población del principal campo de detención.
Cuando Nathan se sentó a hablar con nosotros, el centro médico llevaba cerrado varios meses. Pero el hombre con el que nos reunimos seguía completamente abatido, visiblemente destrozado. No dejaba de preguntarse si había hecho lo suficiente, o si debería o podría haber hecho más. Fue entonces cuando llegó a la conclusión: “Quizás podríamos haber hecho algo con respecto al campo en sí”.
Aunque nunca pisó el campo principal, nos dijo que podía oír muy claramente los gritos y los ladridos de los perros. “Quizás podríamos haber hecho más con respecto al campo en sí”.
Mientras que Ben y Donchin parecían encontrar cierto consuelo en su convicción de que habían hecho lo correcto (a pesar de llegar a conclusiones opuestas), Nathan no compartía esa certeza. Por un lado, tenía claro que se había convertido en cómplice de los crímenes. Las condiciones de las instalaciones médicas ni siquiera cumplían con lo que él denominaba la “ley mínima” que Israel había adaptado para tratar a estas personas, por no hablar del derecho internacional de los derechos humanos y todos los códigos éticos médicos.
Sin embargo, al mismo tiempo, Nathan sentía que no podía abandonar a estos pacientes. Cuando nos reunimos con él, todavía estaba dividido por lo que había hecho, todavía se preguntaba si había tomado las decisiones correctas.
Comparando nuestros hallazgos con los testimonios que han surgido en los últimos dos años, podemos afirmar con certeza que el uso de la tortura por parte de las fuerzas de seguridad israelíes ha aumentado tanto en escala como en gravedad desde entonces, aunque esto ha sido negado por el gobierno y el ejército.
Según numerososinformesverificados, muchos de los detenidos en Sde Teiman fueron sometidos a violencia sexual, desde desnudos forzados y humillaciones hasta violaciones; esposas constantes que provocaron lesiones y, en algunos casos, la amputación de extremidades; y palizas con porras, barras de metal y culatas de armas y botas, a veces hasta que los detenidos perdían el conocimiento.
Se denunciaron prácticas similares en casi todas las prisiones y centros de detención israelíes donde se recluyó a palestinos tras los atentados del 7 de octubre.
Los relatos de los médicos que trabajan en Sde Teiman no deben distraer la atención de la gravedad de esta historia más amplia de abusos y torturas. Pero los dilemas a los que se enfrentaron los médicos y el impacto que esto ha tenido en sus vidas muestran las complejidades, si no imposibilidades, a las que se enfrentan los israelíes que intentan resistirse a las atrocidades que Israel ha estado cometiendo en Gaza (y Cisjordania) tras los ataques del 7 de octubre.
Un trabajador palestino de un hospital inspecciona los daños causados por un bombardeo en un almacén farmacéutico en Khan Yunis, al sur de Gaza, en mayo de 2025. Anas Mohammed/Shutterstock
En su informe de julio de 2025, Médicos por los Derechos Humanos Israel afirmó que “los ataques generalizados contra el sistema sanitario de Gaza” equivalen a un desmantelamiento de “las condiciones de vida existentes con efectos en el futuro” y, por lo tanto, deben considerarse una violación de la Convención sobre el Genocidio de 1948.
Los médicos con los que nos reunimos, junto con el resto del personal sanitario del centro de Sde Teiman, intentaron contrarrestar la deshumanización y el abandono de la vida que permiten que se produzcan genocidios. De diferentes maneras, intentaron detener la atrocidad que se desarrollaba ante sus ojos y remediar las condiciones que la hacían posible. Sin embargo, en su opinión, seguían siendo cómplices de los mismos delitos que intentaban prevenir.
Por mucho que su historia sea una historia de dilemas imposibles, también es una historia de personas que, al menos, hicieron lo que pudieron para contrarrestar esta complicidad casi inevitable. No solo insistiendo en la humanidad de quienes tenían delante, y por lo tanto también en la suya propia, sino también negándose a permanecer en silencio.
Respuesta a este artículo
The Conversation se puso en contacto con la Asociación Médica Israelí (IMA, por sus siglas en inglés) durante la edición de este artículo. Su respuesta, que se refleja en el artículo final, incluía los siguientes comentarios:
“Según las directrices del Ministerio de Salud israelí, todos los pacientes del centro médico de Sde Teiman fueron tratados de acuerdo con los estándares médicos convencionales israelíes, lo que significa que el nivel de atención allí era superior al que habrían recibido en Gaza”.
“La IMA se ha pronunciado continuamente sobre cuestiones humanitarias a lo largo de esta guerra y seguirá haciéndolo. El 5 de agosto de 2025, reafirmamos nuestra política de toda la vida sobre la garantía de la atención médica durante los conflictos armados”.
The Conversation también intentó recabar la opinión del ejército israelí sobre las conclusiones de este artículo, pero no obtuvo respuesta. Cuando la BBC se puso en contacto con él anteriormente para preguntarle sobre las denuncias de abusos y torturas en el centro médico de Sde Teiman, afirmó que “rechaza por completo las acusaciones de abusos sistemáticos a los detenidos”.
Recognition of a Palestinian state is likely to dominate proceedings at the U.N. beginning Sept 23, 2025, when world leaders will gather for the annual general assembly.
Of the 193 existing U.N member states, some 150 now recognize a Palestinian state. Ahead of the U.N. gathering in New York, Australia, Canada and the United Kingdom become the latest. And that number is expected to increase in the coming days, with several more countries expected to officially announce similar recognition.
That a host of Western nations are adding their names to the near-universal list of Global South countries that already recognize a Palestinian state is a major diplomatic win for the cause of an independent, sovereign and self-governed nation for Palestinians. Conversely, it is a massive diplomatic loss for Israel – especially coming just two years after the West stood shoulder to shoulder with Israel following the Oct. 7 attack by Palestinian militant group Hamas.
As a scholar of modern Palestinian history, I know that this diplomatic moment is decades in the making. But I am also aware that symbolic diplomatic breakthroughs on the issue of Palestinian statehood have occurred before, only to prove meaningless in the face of events that make statehood less likely.
‘I have come bearing an olive branch and a freedom fighter’s gun,’ PLO leader Yasser Arafat said before the United Nations General Assembly in 1974. Bettmann / Contributor
The non-state reality
The fight for Palestinian statehood can be traced back to at least 1967. Over the course of a six-day war against a coalition of Arab states, Israel conquered and expanded its military control over the remainder of what was historic Palestine – a stretch of land that extends from the Jordan River in the east to the Mediterranean Sea in the west.
At the war’s conclusion, Israel had taken control of the West Bank, East Jerusalem and the Gaza Strip.
Unlike after the 1948 war that led to its independence, Israel opted not to extend Israeli citizenship to Palestinians living in the newly conquered areas. Instead, the Israeli government began to rule over Palestinians in these occupied territories through a series of military orders.
These orders controlled nearly every aspect of Palestinian life – and many remain in effect today. For example, if a Palestinian farmer wants to harvest his olive trees near a Jewish settlement in the West Bank, they need a permit. Or
if a Gazan worker wants to work inside Israel, they need Israeli permission. Even praying in a mosque or church in East Jerusalem is dependent on obtaining a permit.
This permit system served as a constant reminder to Palestinians living in the occupied territories that they lacked control over their own daily lives. Meanwhile, Israeli authorities tried to squash the idea of Palestinian nationhood through policies such as outlawing public displays of the Palestinian flag. That, and other expressions of Palestinian national identity in the occupied territories, could result in up to 10 years in prison.
Around the same time that Meir made that comment, Palestinians started organizing around the idea of statehood.
Although the idea had been floated before, statehood was codified into official doctrine in a resolution in February 1969 in Egypt. It occurred during a session of the Palestine National Council, the legislative body of the Palestine Liberation Organization, which formed in 1964 as the official representative of Palestinians in the occupied territories.
That resolution called for a free, secular democratic state in Palestine – including all of the State of Israel – in which Muslims, Christians and Jews would all have equal rights.
From that moment on, the Palestinian struggle against Israeli occupation took twin paths: diplomatic pressure and armed resistance.
But events on the ground undermined the idea of a single state for all along the lines envisioned by the Cairo resolution.
The 1973 Arab-Israeli War’s inconclusive ending opened the door to greater diplomacy between Israel and the Arab states. Egypt and Israel decided that diplomacy would help them achieve their aims, culminating in the Egyptian-Israeli peace treaty of 1979. But the treaty also left the Palestinians without unified Arab support.
Meanwhile, throughout the 1970s, the Israeli occupation deepened and entrenched with the building of Israeli settlements, especially in the West Bank.
Yasser Arafat addresses the United Nations General Assembly in 1974. Bettmann / Contributor
The PLO responded in 1974 by issuing what became known as the 10-Point Plan, where they pivoted to seeking the establishment of a national authority in any part of historic Palestine that could be liberated.
It was, in effect, a way of threading the needle: It signaled to moderates that the PLO was adopting a more gradualist position, while also telling the group’s rejectionist front – which opposed peace negotiations with Israel – that they were not giving up completely on the idea of liberating all of Palestine.
The move was largely symbolic – the West Bank, Gaza and East Jerusalem were still under occupation, and the PLO was then in exile in Tunisia.
But it was nonetheless significant. It represented the bringing together of Palestinians in exile – most of whom were from towns and villages that were now part of the State of Israel – with Palestinians in the occupied territories.
It was also a moment of tremendous hope and possibility for Palestinians. What most Palestinians wanted was for the international community to recognize them as a national body, deserving of a seat at the table with other nation-states.
Compromise and rejection
Yet at the same time, many Palestinians saw the declaration as a huge compromise. The West Bank, Gaza Strip and East Jerusalem comprise about 22% of historic Palestine. So the declaration effectively meant that Palestinians were giving up on the other 78% of what they saw as their land.
Reaction from the international community to the PLO’s declaration was split. Many formerly colonized countries of the Global South recognized Palestinian independence right away. By the end of the year, some 78 countries had issued statements recognizing Palestine as a state.
Israel rejected it outright, as did United States and most Western nations.
Such was Washington’s opposition that the U.S. denied Arafat a visa ahead of his planned address to the United Nations at its New York City headquarters. As a result, the December 1988 meeting had to be moved to Geneva.
While refusing to accept Palestinian statehood, the U.S. and Israel did begin to recognize the PLO as a representative body of the Palestinian people. This was part of the Oslo Accords – a diplomatic process that many believed would outline a road map for an eventual two-state solution.
While some Palestinians saw the Oslo Accords as a diplomatic breakthrough, others were more skeptical. Prominent Palestinians, including Darwish and Palestinian-American professor Edward Said, believed that Oslo was a poison pill: While framed as a step toward a two-state solution, the agreement said nothing about a Palestinian state in the interim. It only said that Israel would recognize the PLO as a representative of the Palestinian people.
In reality, the Oslo Accords have not lead to statehood. Rather, they created a system of fragmented autonomy under the newly created Palestinian Authority that, though meant to be interim, has in effect become permanent.
The Palestinian Authority was allowed only limited powers and deprived of real independence. While it had some say over schooling, health care and municipal services, Israel maintained control of Palestinian land, resources, borders and the economy. That remains true today.
Mahmoud Abbas, the leader of the Palestinian Authority after Arafat, responded by pushing again for international recognition for statehood.
And in 2012, the U.N. General Assembly voted to upgrade Palestine’s status, elevating it from a “nonmember observer” to a “nonmember observer state.”
The Palestinian delegation at the U.N. General Assembly before the vote to upgrade Palestinian status to a nonmember observer state in 2012. Stan Honda/AFP via Getty Images
In theory, this meant Palestinians now had access to international bodies, like the International Criminal Court and the International Court of Justice.
But any meaningful change in the status of Palestinian sovereignty would need to come through the U.N. Security Council, not the U.N. General Assembly.
The U.S. remains opposed to Palestinians gaining statehood independent of the Oslo process. So long as the U.S. has a veto on the Security Council, achieving a truly sovereign Palestinian state will likewise be off the table. And that remains the case, regardless of what individual members – even fellow Security Council members like France and the U.K – do.
Maha Nassar does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Recognition of a Palestinian state is likely to dominate proceedings at the U.N. beginning Sept 23, 2025, when world leaders will gather for the annual general assembly.
Of the 193 existing U.N member states, some 150 now recognize a Palestinian state. Ahead of the U.N. gathering in New York, Australia, Canada and the United Kingdom become the latest. And that number is expected to increase in the coming days, with several more countries expected to officially announce similar recognition.
That a host of Western nations are adding their names to the near-universal list of Global South countries that already recognize a Palestinian state is a major diplomatic win for the cause of an independent, sovereign and self-governed nation for Palestinians. Conversely, it is a massive diplomatic loss for Israel – especially coming just two years after the West stood shoulder to shoulder with Israel following the Oct. 7 attack by Palestinian militant group Hamas.
As a scholar of modern Palestinian history, I know that this diplomatic moment is decades in the making. But I am also aware that symbolic diplomatic breakthroughs on the issue of Palestinian statehood have occurred before, only to prove meaningless in the face of events that make statehood less likely.
‘I have come bearing an olive branch and a freedom fighter’s gun,’ PLO leader Yasser Arafat said before the United Nations General Assembly in 1974. Bettmann / Contributor
The non-state reality
The fight for Palestinian statehood can be traced back to at least 1967. Over the course of a six-day war against a coalition of Arab states, Israel conquered and expanded its military control over the remainder of what was historic Palestine – a stretch of land that extends from the Jordan River in the east to the Mediterranean Sea in the west.
At the war’s conclusion, Israel had taken control of the West Bank, East Jerusalem and the Gaza Strip.
Unlike after the 1948 war that led to its independence, Israel opted not to extend Israeli citizenship to Palestinians living in the newly conquered areas. Instead, the Israeli government began to rule over Palestinians in these occupied territories through a series of military orders.
These orders controlled nearly every aspect of Palestinian life – and many remain in effect today. For example, if a Palestinian farmer wants to harvest his olive trees near a Jewish settlement in the West Bank, they need a permit. Or
if a Gazan worker wants to work inside Israel, they need Israeli permission. Even praying in a mosque or church in East Jerusalem is dependent on obtaining a permit.
This permit system served as a constant reminder to Palestinians living in the occupied territories that they lacked control over their own daily lives. Meanwhile, Israeli authorities tried to squash the idea of Palestinian nationhood through policies such as outlawing public displays of the Palestinian flag. That, and other expressions of Palestinian national identity in the occupied territories, could result in up to 10 years in prison.
Around the same time that Meir made that comment, Palestinians started organizing around the idea of statehood.
Although the idea had been floated before, statehood was codified into official doctrine in a resolution in February 1969 in Egypt. It occurred during a session of the Palestine National Council, the legislative body of the Palestine Liberation Organization, which formed in 1964 as the official representative of Palestinians in the occupied territories.
That resolution called for a free, secular democratic state in Palestine – including all of the State of Israel – in which Muslims, Christians and Jews would all have equal rights.
From that moment on, the Palestinian struggle against Israeli occupation took twin paths: diplomatic pressure and armed resistance.
But events on the ground undermined the idea of a single state for all along the lines envisioned by the Cairo resolution.
The 1973 Arab-Israeli War’s inconclusive ending opened the door to greater diplomacy between Israel and the Arab states. Egypt and Israel decided that diplomacy would help them achieve their aims, culminating in the Egyptian-Israeli peace treaty of 1979. But the treaty also left the Palestinians without unified Arab support.
Meanwhile, throughout the 1970s, the Israeli occupation deepened and entrenched with the building of Israeli settlements, especially in the West Bank.
Yasser Arafat addresses the United Nations General Assembly in 1974. Bettmann / Contributor
The PLO responded in 1974 by issuing what became known as the 10-Point Plan, where they pivoted to seeking the establishment of a national authority in any part of historic Palestine that could be liberated.
It was, in effect, a way of threading the needle: It signaled to moderates that the PLO was adopting a more gradualist position, while also telling the group’s rejectionist front – which opposed peace negotiations with Israel – that they were not giving up completely on the idea of liberating all of Palestine.
The move was largely symbolic – the West Bank, Gaza and East Jerusalem were still under occupation, and the PLO was then in exile in Tunisia.
But it was nonetheless significant. It represented the bringing together of Palestinians in exile – most of whom were from towns and villages that were now part of the State of Israel – with Palestinians in the occupied territories.
It was also a moment of tremendous hope and possibility for Palestinians. What most Palestinians wanted was for the international community to recognize them as a national body, deserving of a seat at the table with other nation-states.
Compromise and rejection
Yet at the same time, many Palestinians saw the declaration as a huge compromise. The West Bank, Gaza Strip and East Jerusalem comprise about 22% of historic Palestine. So the declaration effectively meant that Palestinians were giving up on the other 78% of what they saw as their land.
Reaction from the international community to the PLO’s declaration was split. Many formerly colonized countries of the Global South recognized Palestinian independence right away. By the end of the year, some 78 countries had issued statements recognizing Palestine as a state.
Israel rejected it outright, as did United States and most Western nations.
Such was Washington’s opposition that the U.S. denied Arafat a visa ahead of his planned address to the United Nations at its New York City headquarters. As a result, the December 1988 meeting had to be moved to Geneva.
While refusing to accept Palestinian statehood, the U.S. and Israel did begin to recognize the PLO as a representative body of the Palestinian people. This was part of the Oslo Accords – a diplomatic process that many believed would outline a road map for an eventual two-state solution.
While some Palestinians saw the Oslo Accords as a diplomatic breakthrough, others were more skeptical. Prominent Palestinians, including Darwish and Palestinian-American professor Edward Said, believed that Oslo was a poison pill: While framed as a step toward a two-state solution, the agreement said nothing about a Palestinian state in the interim. It only said that Israel would recognize the PLO as a representative of the Palestinian people.
In reality, the Oslo Accords have not lead to statehood. Rather, they created a system of fragmented autonomy under the newly created Palestinian Authority that, though meant to be interim, has in effect become permanent.
The Palestinian Authority was allowed only limited powers and deprived of real independence. While it had some say over schooling, health care and municipal services, Israel maintained control of Palestinian land, resources, borders and the economy. That remains true today.
Mahmoud Abbas, the leader of the Palestinian Authority after Arafat, responded by pushing again for international recognition for statehood.
And in 2012, the U.N. General Assembly voted to upgrade Palestine’s status, elevating it from a “nonmember observer” to a “nonmember observer state.”
The Palestinian delegation at the U.N. General Assembly before the vote to upgrade Palestinian status to a nonmember observer state in 2012. Stan Honda/AFP via Getty Images
In theory, this meant Palestinians now had access to international bodies, like the International Criminal Court and the International Court of Justice.
But any meaningful change in the status of Palestinian sovereignty would need to come through the U.N. Security Council, not the U.N. General Assembly.
The U.S. remains opposed to Palestinians gaining statehood independent of the Oslo process. So long as the U.S. has a veto on the Security Council, achieving a truly sovereign Palestinian state will likewise be off the table. And that remains the case, regardless of what individual members – even fellow Security Council members like France and the U.K – do.
Maha Nassar does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Recognition of a Palestinian state is likely to dominate proceedings at the U.N. beginning Sept 23, 2025, when world leaders will gather for the annual general assembly.
Of the 193 existing U.N member states, some 150 now recognize a Palestinian state. Ahead of the U.N. gathering in New York, Australia, Canada and the United Kingdom become the latest. And that number is expected to increase in the coming days, with several more countries expected to officially announce similar recognition.
That a host of Western nations are adding their names to the near-universal list of Global South countries that already recognize a Palestinian state is a major diplomatic win for the cause of an independent, sovereign and self-governed nation for Palestinians. Conversely, it is a massive diplomatic loss for Israel – especially coming just two years after the West stood shoulder to shoulder with Israel following the Oct. 7 attack by Palestinian militant group Hamas.
As a scholar of modern Palestinian history, I know that this diplomatic moment is decades in the making. But I am also aware that symbolic diplomatic breakthroughs on the issue of Palestinian statehood have occurred before, only to prove meaningless in the face of events that make statehood less likely.
‘I have come bearing an olive branch and a freedom fighter’s gun,’ PLO leader Yasser Arafat said before the United Nations General Assembly in 1974. Bettmann / Contributor
The non-state reality
The fight for Palestinian statehood can be traced back to at least 1967. Over the course of a six-day war against a coalition of Arab states, Israel conquered and expanded its military control over the remainder of what was historic Palestine – a stretch of land that extends from the Jordan River in the east to the Mediterranean Sea in the west.
At the war’s conclusion, Israel had taken control of the West Bank, East Jerusalem and the Gaza Strip.
Unlike after the 1948 war that led to its independence, Israel opted not to extend Israeli citizenship to Palestinians living in the newly conquered areas. Instead, the Israeli government began to rule over Palestinians in these occupied territories through a series of military orders.
These orders controlled nearly every aspect of Palestinian life – and many remain in effect today. For example, if a Palestinian farmer wants to harvest his olive trees near a Jewish settlement in the West Bank, they need a permit. Or
if a Gazan worker wants to work inside Israel, they need Israeli permission. Even praying in a mosque or church in East Jerusalem is dependent on obtaining a permit.
This permit system served as a constant reminder to Palestinians living in the occupied territories that they lacked control over their own daily lives. Meanwhile, Israeli authorities tried to squash the idea of Palestinian nationhood through policies such as outlawing public displays of the Palestinian flag. That, and other expressions of Palestinian national identity in the occupied territories, could result in up to 10 years in prison.
Around the same time that Meir made that comment, Palestinians started organizing around the idea of statehood.
Although the idea had been floated before, statehood was codified into official doctrine in a resolution in February 1969 in Egypt. It occurred during a session of the Palestine National Council, the legislative body of the Palestine Liberation Organization, which formed in 1964 as the official representative of Palestinians in the occupied territories.
That resolution called for a free, secular democratic state in Palestine – including all of the State of Israel – in which Muslims, Christians and Jews would all have equal rights.
From that moment on, the Palestinian struggle against Israeli occupation took twin paths: diplomatic pressure and armed resistance.
But events on the ground undermined the idea of a single state for all along the lines envisioned by the Cairo resolution.
The 1973 Arab-Israeli War’s inconclusive ending opened the door to greater diplomacy between Israel and the Arab states. Egypt and Israel decided that diplomacy would help them achieve their aims, culminating in the Egyptian-Israeli peace treaty of 1979. But the treaty also left the Palestinians without unified Arab support.
Meanwhile, throughout the 1970s, the Israeli occupation deepened and entrenched with the building of Israeli settlements, especially in the West Bank.
Yasser Arafat addresses the United Nations General Assembly in 1974. Bettmann / Contributor
The PLO responded in 1974 by issuing what became known as the 10-Point Plan, where they pivoted to seeking the establishment of a national authority in any part of historic Palestine that could be liberated.
It was, in effect, a way of threading the needle: It signaled to moderates that the PLO was adopting a more gradualist position, while also telling the group’s rejectionist front – which opposed peace negotiations with Israel – that they were not giving up completely on the idea of liberating all of Palestine.
The move was largely symbolic – the West Bank, Gaza and East Jerusalem were still under occupation, and the PLO was then in exile in Tunisia.
But it was nonetheless significant. It represented the bringing together of Palestinians in exile – most of whom were from towns and villages that were now part of the State of Israel – with Palestinians in the occupied territories.
It was also a moment of tremendous hope and possibility for Palestinians. What most Palestinians wanted was for the international community to recognize them as a national body, deserving of a seat at the table with other nation-states.
Compromise and rejection
Yet at the same time, many Palestinians saw the declaration as a huge compromise. The West Bank, Gaza Strip and East Jerusalem comprise about 22% of historic Palestine. So the declaration effectively meant that Palestinians were giving up on the other 78% of what they saw as their land.
Reaction from the international community to the PLO’s declaration was split. Many formerly colonized countries of the Global South recognized Palestinian independence right away. By the end of the year, some 78 countries had issued statements recognizing Palestine as a state.
Israel rejected it outright, as did United States and most Western nations.
Such was Washington’s opposition that the U.S. denied Arafat a visa ahead of his planned address to the United Nations at its New York City headquarters. As a result, the December 1988 meeting had to be moved to Geneva.
While refusing to accept Palestinian statehood, the U.S. and Israel did begin to recognize the PLO as a representative body of the Palestinian people. This was part of the Oslo Accords – a diplomatic process that many believed would outline a road map for an eventual two-state solution.
While some Palestinians saw the Oslo Accords as a diplomatic breakthrough, others were more skeptical. Prominent Palestinians, including Darwish and Palestinian-American professor Edward Said, believed that Oslo was a poison pill: While framed as a step toward a two-state solution, the agreement said nothing about a Palestinian state in the interim. It only said that Israel would recognize the PLO as a representative of the Palestinian people.
In reality, the Oslo Accords have not lead to statehood. Rather, they created a system of fragmented autonomy under the newly created Palestinian Authority that, though meant to be interim, has in effect become permanent.
The Palestinian Authority was allowed only limited powers and deprived of real independence. While it had some say over schooling, health care and municipal services, Israel maintained control of Palestinian land, resources, borders and the economy. That remains true today.
Mahmoud Abbas, the leader of the Palestinian Authority after Arafat, responded by pushing again for international recognition for statehood.
And in 2012, the U.N. General Assembly voted to upgrade Palestine’s status, elevating it from a “nonmember observer” to a “nonmember observer state.”
The Palestinian delegation at the U.N. General Assembly before the vote to upgrade Palestinian status to a nonmember observer state in 2012. Stan Honda/AFP via Getty Images
In theory, this meant Palestinians now had access to international bodies, like the International Criminal Court and the International Court of Justice.
But any meaningful change in the status of Palestinian sovereignty would need to come through the U.N. Security Council, not the U.N. General Assembly.
The U.S. remains opposed to Palestinians gaining statehood independent of the Oslo process. So long as the U.S. has a veto on the Security Council, achieving a truly sovereign Palestinian state will likewise be off the table. And that remains the case, regardless of what individual members – even fellow Security Council members like France and the U.K – do.
Maha Nassar does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Explaining his move to rename the United States Department of Defense the Department of War, as it was known prior to 1949, President Donald Trump explained it had “a stronger sound.”
It offered better messaging too. “Defense is too defensive; we want to be offensive too,” he said.
The once and future Department of War would revive the spirit of the years when “we won everything.”
Trump’s language — and the logic behind it — demonstrates how little America’s current leaders have learned from the clear failures of their predecessors across 70 years.
There were also grave flaws in American designs and actions, of course, though they rarely if ever stemmed from a lack of aggressive assertiveness and an appetite for winning. Trump’s failure to diagnose the real roots of real problems portends a worsening of already terrible costs and consequences.
Perpetual preparedness
A key source of Trump’s weaknesses is his shallow or distorted grasp of history. His failure here is understanding that the Department of Defense saw “offence” thoroughly embedded into its conception of defence.
Emphasis on “the world” helps to explain the scale of power. Air power and other technological advances (in communications, for example) created the integrated international arena in which American leaders acted after the defeat of the Axis powers in the Second World War.
There was Pentagon co-operation with other agencies engaged in all-of-government efforts — overt and covert operations that ranged from intelligence gathering (including espionage), destabilization and coups (for example in Iran, Guatemala, Chile) and assassinations (including repeated attempts on Cuban leader Fidel Castro and the frequently assumed association with the deaths of Congolese independence leader Patrice Lumumba, Dominican dictator Rafael Trujillo and South Vietnam’s Ngô Đình Diệm.
“Defence” served both as the foundation and the justification for the evolution of many elements of this repertoire over the decades.
Failures
A cost accounting of aggressive/offensive defence in the past is disturbing. The tabulation of a 75-year record has filled countless volumes, but two striking examples attest to some major failures:
A lack of “winning” in large-scale military operations: A “truce” in the Korean peninsula in 1953, giving way to failures in Indochina, Iraq and Afghanistan. (Success in Kuwait in 1990-91 does not significantly alter this problematic balance.)
Continued independence and resistance from states once thought weak enough to be managed, in particular Cuba and Iran.
Trump seems to believe that, with the Department of War, he’s replacing post-1945 defence policies rather than doubling down on them, meaning he is intensifying the offensive/aggressive approaches without grappling with their flaws. In particular, he has no apparent grasp of what bedevilled the post-1945 American drive for global domination.
American arrogance
Democratic Sen. J. William Fulbright famously critiqued the “arrogance of power” in the 1960s, countering the U.S. presumption of a right to impose values on distant corners of the world like Southeast Asia.
Other critics of the Vietnam War further questioned whether the U.S. had sufficient manpower and intellectual or economic resources to achieve its goals. Wasn’t the world too large and complex, with too many rival players and independent allies, and too many ever-evolving challenges, for one country to imagine holding global management capacities in its hands?
In recent years, former presidents Barack Obama and Joe Biden began to apply a pragmatic calculus to conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan, even if their core vision continued to exhibit historic “Manifest Destiny” concepts. One example is Obama’s attempt to determine an effective troop level in Iraq while simultaneously retaining his faith in American “exceptionalism.”
Trump’s determination to go on the offensive threatens to reverse even tentative adjustments to American aspirations of global domination. He is reviving attitudes like those of former secretary of state Condoleezza Rice early in the Afghanistan war, when she chided cautious generals by saying “I’m an American. Nothing is impossible.”
Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Daniel Skerritt, Affiliated Researcher, Fisheries Economics Research Unit, University of British Columbia
After nearly 25 years of negotiations, the World Trade Organization (WTO) finally has its first legally binding agreement to tackle government fisheries subsidies. After two-thirds of WTO members ratified the Agreement on Fisheries Subsidies, the deal has entered into force. It marks a long-overdue step toward addressing the role harmful fisheries subsidies play in overfishing.
Fisheries subsidies can cause harm by distorting markets and creating unequal competition — so-called “trade injuries.” In addition, they can cause ecological harm by increasing the capacity of fishing vessels and fleets. The result is overcapacity: too many boats chasing too few fish, which often leads to overfishing.
This agreement is a major milestone, but it’s only the beginning. Here’s what the agreement covers, why it matters and what needs to happen next to protect ocean health and ensure an equitable ocean economy for coastal communities.
“Prohibit certain forms of fisheries subsidies which contribute to overcapacity and overfishing, eliminate subsidies that contribute to illegal, unreported and unregulated fishing and refrain from introducing new such subsidies.”
This helped re-energize negotiations, culminating in the adoption of the subsidies agreement at the WTO’s 12th Ministerial Conference in 2022.
The agreement includes three key prohibitions targeting the worst kinds of subsidies. First, ratifying WTO members must stop subsidizing illegal,
unreported and unregulated fishing (Article 3).
Second, they must end subsidies for vessels targeting overfished stocks unless they can demonstrate that effective management measures are in place to rebuild those stocks (Article 4). Third, subsidies for fishing on the unregulated high seas are banned (Article 5).
While these measures don’t address all subsidies that contribute to overcapacity, they target some of the most egregious forms of financial support.
Another critical part of the agreement is Article 8, which strengthens transparency and accountability. Members must now provide detailed information annually, including information on fish stocks, conservation and management measures, fleet capacity and the names of subsidized vessels.
Historically, fisheries subsidies data has been patchy and incomplete. Better data will help identify who benefits from public financial support and whether it aligns with sustainability goals.
The agreement also introduces more equitable expectations for developing and least developed countries. These members are granted an extra two years before they must implement subsidy prohibitions and, crucially, can access the WTO Fish Fund — a funding mechanism that helps countries implement the agreement through technical assistance and partnerships.
While the agreement does not fully level the playing field, it establishes that major subsidizers must carry the greatest burden.
Another major limitation is that it only applies to countries that have ratified the agreement. As of now, some major subsidizers — including Indonesia and Thailand, two of the world’s top 10 subsidy providers — have yet to ratify.
In a 2021 report we wrote for ocean conservation group Oceana, we found that just 10 countries are responsible for 64 per cent of global harmful subsidies. Even with this agreement in force, without their participation, large gaps will remain.
Another challenge is ensuring transparency and data disclosure. While the agreement includes stronger notification requirements, it lacks detailed reporting guidelines. Much of the implementation will depend on self-reporting and peer accountability between members.
Without clear standards or enforcement mechanisms, many subsidy programs could remain opaque or under-reported. To have real impact, the WTO must develop robust and standardized reporting frameworks.
Whether this agreement will save fish, or merely save face, will come down to how it’s implemented. Success will hinge on whether WTO members hold each other accountable and whether industry, civil society and researchers can push their governments toward genuine compliance.
Importantly, the subsidies agreement was never meant to be the end of the conversation. Its entry into force triggers a four-year countdown to negotiate the next phase.
They must address the most damaging subsidies of all, those that fund fishing by rich foreign fleets in the waters of other nations, and those that drive overcapacity, to achieve a comprehensive agreement. These policies have the greatest potential ecological and equity impact but are the hardest to reach consensus on.
Fortunately, we’re now closer to that goal. The entry into force of this agreement provides the ideal platform from which SDG Target 14.6 can be fully achieved. Putting an end to billions in fishing subsidies would restore fish stocks, support coastal communities, and improve ocean health for all. The job is not yet done.
Daniel Skerritt is Senior Manager of Oceana’s Transparent Oceans Initiative, affiliated with the Fisheries Economics Research Unit at the University of British Columbia, School of Natural & Environmental Sciences at Newcastle University, and an International Board Member of the Fisheries Transparency Initiative.
Rashid Sumaila receives funding from SSHRC, NSERC and the World Bank. He is affiliated with Oceana, Stockholm University, the University of Cape Coast, Pew Charitable Trusts, Tyler Prize Foundation as a board member.
Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Douglas A. Stuart, Assistant Teaching Professor of Accounting, Gustavson School of Business, University of Victoria
United States President Donald Trump is, once again, suggesting eliminating quarterly reporting for American public companies in favour of just two earnings reports per year. Trump made a similar proposal during his first presidential term in 2018.
Quarterly reporting is the practice by which publicly traded companies provide financial updates every three months. These reports are meant to give investors, regulators and other stakeholders information about a company’s financial performance.
In a social media post, Trump said such a move “will save money and allow managers to focus on properly running their companies.”
Canadian public companies also report quarterly, while other markets, including the European Union, have adopted a six-month reporting model.
Researchers have studied reporting frequency for decades, and the scientific evidence shows the thinking behind eliminating quarterly reports is not cut-and-dried.
Quarterly reporting as a monitoring tool
Quarterly reporting is expensive. Employees’ time, executive review, board oversight and investment in reporting systems add up. Cutting external quarterly reporting could free up a company’s internal resources and remove administrative red tape.
Executives are expected to represent shareholders, but their priorities do not always align. Corporate executives may, for example, reject profitable investments due to their risk tolerance or overspend on travel and leisure items.
With quarterly reporting gone, the potential for these “agency costs” may increase as misaligned managerial actions go unnoticed. Shareholders use accounting reports to check up on executive decisions and hold them accountable.
Importantly, even if semiannual reporting becomes the baseline for public companies, banks may still ask for more frequent results in loan agreements.
Many investors have a limited sense of how a business is performing. They may live half a globe away and never set foot in the company’s offices. Because of this, investors generally have access to less information than internal employees, managers and executives do. This is called “information asymmetry.”
Investors, regulators and the public depend on corporate financial reporting to fill in these information gaps. If quarterly reporting mandates were removed, they might be left in the dark. Investment decisions might be less informed, although news releases and disclosures online could still be found. Corporate transparency and accountability might be reduced.
On the other hand, quarterly reporting is not a cure-all. Analysts might under-react to earnings reports, leading to delays. Or they may overreact, causing unwarranted fluctuations in investment prices. Investors are human and are subject to shortcomings like overconfidence and the fear of missing out.
Short-term versus long-term decisions
While quarterly reporting can be seen as a compliance activity, like filing taxes or acquiring a business licence, it can also be framed as a structure for decision-making.
Quarterly reporting incentivizes executives to focus on short-term financial performance, potentially at the expense of long-term results. Researchers call this “short-termism.”
Researchers have found that short-termism is not limited to managers and might stem from investors looking for quick profits. Investors may, directly or indirectly, influence the kinds of projects managers invest in. Managers may get financial bonuses based on quarterly earnings to align their goals with shareholder aims.
Short-term decisions are frequently tactical rather than strategic, meaning they may prioritize current earnings over long-term corporate sustainability and resilience.
However, larger firms may find that the benefits of prompt, high-quality information outweigh the costs of frequent reporting. Managers, executives and board members rely on accounting reports to show whether the firm is on track to meet its goals.
Furthermore, larger firms document industry conditions and future risks and opportunities in their accounting reports. Smaller firms in the same industry can look at this information for guidance. These are called “positive information spillovers.” Smaller firms may lose this information if larger firms file reports less often.
Information spillovers, however, can be a double-edged sword. Information may be taken out of context or applied to smaller firms incorrectly. At times, this may lead to temporarily poorly priced investments.
Treading carefully
We don’t know, yet, what the SEC will decide. If changes are to come, they should be made carefully and phased in. Pilot studies would give policymakers and researchers a chance to observe effects in real time.
Research shows corporate reporting frequency is a complicated topic. Switching from quarterly to semiannual reporting may have merit, but as with any decision affecting a wide range of stakeholders, a broader, global perspective highlights what some stand to lose and what others stand to gain.
Douglas A. Stuart does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
Source: The Conversation – Canada – By Jamaica Cass, Director, Queen’s-Weeneebayko Health Education Partnership, Queen’s University, Ontario
If Canada is serious about reconciliation, it must change how it trains health professionals. Right now, too few Indigenous doctors, nurses and other providers are working in communities that need them most. And too often, students learn about Indigenous health in ways that are optional, inconsistent or not led by Indigenous educators.
That’s where Indigenous-led health education comes in. When Indigenous communities shape how health professionals are trained, it supports a path toward trust, equity and a health system that finally reflects the people it serves.
As an Indigenous physician and medical educator practising in Tyendinaga Mohawk Territory, I know firsthand the challenges and the possibilities of this work. I am the first Indigenous woman in Canada to pursue both medicine and a PhD, a journey shaped as much by systemic barriers as by the support of my family and community.
Seeing the gaps in care in my own clinic, and working with students eager to change the system, informs my commitment to Indigenous-led education as the most direct path to reconciliation in health.
10 years after the TRC: promises vs. reality
It has been a decade since the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) released its Final Report. The Assembly of First Nations reports that of the 94 Calls to Action, only 14 have been fully implemented.
Two of them, No. 23 and No. 24, speak directly to health care: train and retain more Indigenous health professionals, and make sure all students learn about Indigenous health and the legacy of residential schools.
These aren’t symbolic. They are practical steps that would improve care and save lives. But progress has been slow. Indigenous professionals remain underrepresented, and cultural safety training is too often patchy or optional.
Indigenous-focused health education
A new national report from the Conference Board of Canada confirms what Indigenous leaders have been saying: reconciliation won’t happen unless Indigenous Peoples lead — in education, governance and workforce planning. Token gestures aren’t enough.
The report, Answering the Call: Strategies to Increase the Number of Indigenous Physicians in Canada, notes that “Indigenous students, especially in rural and remote areas, often lack career guidance and a culturally relevant curriculum, leading to lower graduation rates and fewer pathways to medical education.”
While systemic challenges persist, there are powerful examples across Canada that share the common goal of making sure Indigenous students can succeed in health education, and ensuring communities benefit from culturally safe, long-term providers.
The Queen’s–Weeneebayko program I’m directing is building a new health sciences Campus in Moosonee, Ont. Students from the Hudson and James Bay region — including from Moosonee, Fort Albany, Attawapiskat, Moose Factory, Kashechewan and Peawanuck — will be recruited locally, trained in Moosonee and supported to stay serving their home communities.
Video about the Queen’s–Weeneebayko Health Education Program.
This partnership, including the Weeneebayko Area Health Authority(WAHA), Queen’s University and the Mastercard Foundation, integrates local Indigenous knowledge and ways of knowing (for example, through Cree language, land-based learning and cultural safety) alongside biomedical science.
Indigenous leadership is embedded at every level — from community knowledge keepers and local education and health-care champions guiding what is taught and how to WAHA operating governance and mentorship frameworks rooted in local culture. I am the inaugural director.
Fostering culturally safe health care
Other programs across the country share the common goal of making sure Indigenous students can succeed in health education, and ensuring communities benefit from culturally safe, long-term providers.
For example:
At the University of British Columbia, the Northern and Rural MD Pathway is a distinct admissions stream designed to attract applicants with rural, remote northern or Indigenous community connections — or those passionate about serving such communities — by incorporating a rural and remote suitability Score (RRSS) and early rural placements to support rural and remote training and practice.
The University of Manitoba’s Mahkwa omushki kiim: Pathway to Indigenous Nursing Education (PINE) supports First Nations, Inuit and Métis students from start to finish. By combining academic help with cultural programming and community connection, it has the goal of boosting retention as it prepares more Indigenous nurses for practice.
Programs like these are concerned with helping whole communities gain consistent, trusted health care. And when trust grows, so does the likelihood that people will seek care early — improving outcomes for everyone.
Beyond such programs, system-wide change is needed to ensure Indigenous learners are supported at every stage, and to support viable pathways to medical training in rural and remote areas.
Underfunded K–12 schools that leave them less prepared for competitive admissions.
Racism and isolation once they enter professional programs.
Location also matters. Research shows that students trained in rural or remote areas are far more likely to practise there after graduation.
For Indigenous students, viable pathways to practising medicine are even stronger when training is grounded in community values and led by Indigenous educators.
Reconciliation is not just about apologies or ceremonies. It’s about real, structural change. In health care, that means:
Who delivers the care: building a stronger Indigenous health workforce.
Whose knowledge counts: recognizing Indigenous knowledge alongside Western medicine.
Who makes decisions: ensuring Indigenous voices lead the design and governance of health programs.
Indigenous-led health education tackles all three. It brings reconciliation down from the level of promises and into the day-to-day realities of patients, providers and communities.
The way forward
Ten years after the TRC, Canadians are right to ask whether reconciliation is real. The answer depends on whether we support Indigenous-led programs — not as small pilots, but as long-term, fully resourced commitments.
The initiatives described here show what’s possible. They are different in scope, but each demonstrates that Indigenous self-determination in health education is not only achievable, it’s already happening.
The next step is clear: supporting Indigenous-led education so that reconciliation moves from promise to practice in communities nationwide.
Jamaica Cass works for Queen’s University. She receives funding from the National Circle on Indigenous Medical Education, the CPFC and the CMA. She is a board member of the Indigenous Physicians’ Association of Canada and the Medical Council of Canada.
Deepfakes are forgeries of people’s faces, voices and likeness generated through artificial intelligence (AI). They create a serious digital deception. Deepfakes undermine constitutional rights, reduce trust in media and distort fairness in elections. While many countries have laws that address the risks caused by deepfakes, enforcement remains a challenge.
Deepfakes began to be widely created in 2017 after they’d first appeared on Reddit, a discussion website of forums where people exchange information. A Reddit user called Deepfakes shared an AI software tool that could superimpose celebrities’ faces on pornographic videos. AI-generated media became widely accessible through software apps that enable people to freely create deepfakes.
There are several types of deepfakes:
text deepfakes in the form of fake receipts and identification documents
photo deepfakes, often swapping faces and bodies using apps to create memes
audio deepfakes, where text-to-speech apps are used for voice cloning, often targeting politicians
video deepfakes, where face and movement are transferred onto someone else’s video, commonly used to create “revenge pornography”.
Deepfakes pose three main dangers:
They deceive audiences into believing fabricated media.
They enable cybercrimes, reputational harm and misrepresentation.
They can be published by anyone, including anonymous social media users.
The key issue is how law can protect people from the illegal use of their images, voices, and likenesses in deepfakes.
Since 2020, I have looked at laws that regulate deepfakes in South Africa and their implementation. My findings show that the biggest problem with deepfakes is law enforcement, rather than any lack of laws that prohibit the unlawful creation and distribution of deepfakes.
Deepfake threats
South Africa has seen notable cases that highlight the growing impact of deepfakes. In 2024, Leanne Manas, an award-winning South African broadcast anchor, was a victim when her image was used in fake endorsement of weight loss products and online trading on Facebook and TikTok.
In 2025, Professor Salim Abdool Karim, the director of the Centre for the AIDS Programme of Research in South Africa, appeared in a deepfake video showing him making anti-vaccination statements while endorsing counterfeit heart medicine.
Legal protection in South Africa
South Africa has a mixed legal system that combines constitutional rights, legislation and common law rules to provide deepfake victims with remedies.
There are laws that provide remedies in both civil and criminal cases. For example:
Cybercrimes Act 19 of 2020: criminalises electronic publication of intimate private images without consent.
Anyone can claim violation of privacy if their private images are used without permission. They can also enforce their right to identity if a deepfake misrepresents them or gives a perpetrator commercial advantage.
I investigated these principles in an article about the impact of deepfakes on the right to identity in South Africa. Using South African cases, I found that the unauthorised use of a person’s identity attributes in a deepfake deserves protection.
The Supreme Court of Appeal confirmed, in Grütter v Lombard, that South African law protects a person’s identity from being exploited without permission. And this protection is supported by the constitutional guarantee of human dignity. Grütter and Lombard once practised on the same premises under the name “Grütter and Lombard”, but Grütter later left. Lombard kept using Grütter’s name without consent. The court ordered him to stop as it falsely implied an ongoing professional association and infringed Grütter’s right to identity.
In another case, a surfer’s magazine called ZigZag published a photo of a 12-year-old girl as a pin-up cover image. The court stressed that the key issue was whether an image was exploited for another’s benefit without consent. The defendants were ordered to pay compensation and costs.
Another case is that of South African television personality, beauty pageant titleholder, businesswoman and philanthropist Basetsana Kumalo. She sued a business that took photos of her while she was shopping in their store and used those images in an advertisement for their products without her permission. The court ruled that using someone’s likeness for false endorsements infringes identity and privacy, because it creates the misleading impression of support for the product, service or business.
These cases fit squarely into the deepfakes misuses, showing that false endorsement, election disinformation and non-consensual pornography on social media can trigger liability.
Enforcement challenges
While South African law provides remedies against deepfakes, four hurdles frustrate enforcement:
While South African courts can assert jurisdiction over global platforms like Meta and TikTok, serving court orders abroad and compelling compliance is still costly, and takedown notices are often enforced too late.
These enforcement challenges can be addressed through capacity building and legal reform. AI research centres should work with law enforcement to train personnel and provide practical skills and tools for tracing and authenticating deepfakes. Parliament must update social media laws so that platforms are directly accountable for fast and fair action when people’s identities are misused in deepfakes.
Legal rules should set minimum standards that deepfake apps and platforms must follow. Rather than relying on age restrictions or consent alone, the law should require these tools to embed watermarking to signal that content is a deepfake, enable tracing of where it comes from, and make sure takedown systems actually work.
Justice on paper
South African law clearly prohibits the misuse of identity through deepfakes, but enforcement gaps leave victims exposed. Without affordable legal access, faster platform accountability, and effective international cooperation, illegal deepfakes will continue to increase.
Nomalanga Mashinini receives funding from the National Research Foundation Thuthuka Grant.
