The Palestine conflict has divided Britain. Jeff J Mitchell/Getty Images

When I walk to my local supermarket in north Belfast, the journey takes me through a Catholic, Nationalist area, marked by Palestinian flags, to the edge of a Protestant, Loyalist area, where Israeli flags flutter, alongside Union flags, from the terraced houses. The 10-minute walk takes me from an area where the British state is an alien imposition to one where it is the wellspring of ethnic self-definition: for both communities, the Israel-Palestine conflict serves as a useful symbolic proxy for this suppressed ethnic rivalry. The supermarket itself is on neutral ground: it sits on what was once Victorian terraced housing, whose rezoning as a retail park “definitively separated and segregated [the] two areas whilst also decisively prohibiting any further future expansion of Catholic territory”. On a local level, as well as a national one, demographic change, and the shifting power relationships it betokens, is one of the central drivers of ethnic conflict.
While this dynamic may seem exotically Irish to mainland British eyes, it shouldn’t. The discourse surrounding the Gaza war has, over the past year, become markedly unmoored from the causes and conduct of the war itself, instead becoming a safe, symbolic means for a newly multiethnic British polity to express its own domestic demographic anxieties and aspirations. For the Conservative influencer Bella Wallersteiner, pro-Palestine demonstrations sparked her Damascene conversion from advocacy for mass immigration to the view that “multiculturalism has failed” and “migrant numbers will need to come down”. When Kemi Badenoch wished to stake her claim as the champion of newly sensible immigration policy, remarking that “we cannot be naïve and assume immigrants will automatically abandon ancestral ethnic hostilities at the border”, the example she chose to make her case, rather than anything centred on Britain, was “the number of recent immigrants to the UK who hate Israel”.
Conversely, Labour MPs electorally threatened by the pro-Gaza vote among ethnic Mirpuri constituents emphasise their pro-Palestinian credentials, to the extent that Jess Phillips made the remarkable, if improbable, claim that an ethnic Palestinian NHS doctor gave her preferential treatment to reward her stance. Baroness Warsi’s self-expulsion from the Conservative Party was the consequence of calling Rishi Sunak and Suella Braverman “coconuts” — that is, race traitors — for supporting Israel. While the cultural logic of her claim is incomprehensible, it is another striking example of the sorting of British party politics along ethnic and sectarian lines in which the Palestine conflict, for reasons that remain stubbornly unarticulated, has become a major dividing line.
There is a natural tribal logic for British Muslims to feel aggrieved by the suffering of their co-religionists in Gaza, just as there is for the Chief Rabbi to condemn the halting of Britain’s arms sales to Israel: whether the increased domestic salience of Middle Eastern wars is healthy for British politics or the British people generally is now beside the point. In a culturally diverse democracy, the forms of party organisation inevitably take on an ethnic or confessional cast, as groups compete to maximise their collective advantage, and parties compete to cater to the rival voter blocs. In the United States, this dynamic is more or less formalised, despite the official “melting pot” rhetoric: if anything, it is most pronounced in Washington’s “natsec” sphere, as members of diaspora groups compete to wield the empire’s military power in pursuit of their own group interests.
In Britain, the ongoing sorting along ethnic and sectarian lines rather than the racial categories of popular discourse — with Hindus and Nigerians leaning towards the Conservatives and Muslims and West Indians to Labour (both reflected in Cabinet choices and policy decisions) — remains only tacitly recognised. As the renowned sociologist of ethnic conflict Donald L. Horowitz put it, in a divided society “the election is a census, and the census is an election”, just as we see in Northern Ireland. Britain is not so dissimilar to Northern Ireland after all — nor are Palestine flags hanging from lampposts in Stepney markedly different, in their symbolic meaning, to Israeli ones flying on the Shankill.
There is a dark historical irony, then, in Conservative critics of mass immigration simultaneously presenting themselves as Israel’s strongest supporters. The process by which most of Mandate Palestine became the State of Israel was after all the direct consequence of immigration policies enabled by Westminster officials, who set in train, as the Israeli historian Benny Morris observes, “a demographic-geographic contest the Arabs were destined to lose”. From a tenth of Palestine’s population when Britain assumed the Mandate in 1918, Jews made up a fifth by 1931 due to immigration from Europe. By the time of the 1948 war, and the forced expulsion of the Palestinians, Jews comprised a third of Palestine’s population, and owned 5% of the country’s land. “Palestinians now saw themselves inexorably turning into strangers in their own land”, the Palestinian-American historian Rashid Khalidi records, but were given no democratic recourse to opposing this vast and irreversible upheaval, carried out over just 30 years: “This was still the high age of colonialism, when such things being done to native societies by Westerners were normalized and described as ‘progress.’”