The campaign of annihilation has changed all that
At 86, Nobel laureate JM Coetzee has declined an invitation to Jerusalem's international writers festival, citing Israel's conduct in Gaza as a 'genocidal campaign' that has severed his long-held hope for a just resolution between Israelis and Palestinians. His refusal is not merely a personal withdrawal but a moral reckoning — one that carries the weight of a man who once stood on an Israeli stage to condemn apartheid, and who now finds the distance between that moment and this one impossible to bridge. Coetzee's act joins a growing chorus of cultural figures reconsidering what participation in Israeli institutions means when, as UN inquiries suggest, the human cost in Gaza continues to mount.
- A writer who once accepted Israel's most prestigious literary prize now refuses to set foot in the country, calling its Gaza campaign an act of annihilation — the reversal is as stark as it is deliberate.
- Coetzee's letter, sent in November and only recently made public, implicates not just the Israeli government but its broader society, arguing that widespread public support for the military operation makes collective responsibility inescapable.
- The festival's artistic director, herself shaped by injustice, appealed to their shared moral history — asking the South African author to extend a hand rather than turn away — and received only silence.
- UN and Amnesty International findings of genocidal intent and ongoing civilian harm lend institutional weight to what might otherwise be dismissed as one author's private conscience.
- With past attendees including Atwood, Rushdie, and Knausgård, the Jerusalem festival now faces a cultural landscape in which Coetzee's withdrawal may embolden others to follow.
JM Coetzee, the 86-year-old Nobel laureate whose life's work has probed the architecture of power and injustice, has written to the organisers of Jerusalem's international writers festival to say he will not attend. His letter, now made public, is unsparing: he calls Israel's actions in Gaza a 'genocidal campaign' and argues the country faces years of effort to restore its standing in the world.
The refusal carries unusual weight because Coetzee was once a genuine supporter. In 1987, he travelled to Jerusalem to accept the Jerusalem Prize — awarded to writers who explore individual freedom — and used the occasion to denounce apartheid in South Africa. For decades afterward, he held onto the hope that Israel would find its way toward justice for Palestinians. That hope, he writes, has now collapsed entirely.
Coetzee argues that the scale of Israel's military response to the October 7 attacks has been vastly disproportionate, and that its broad support among the Israeli public means cultural and intellectual sectors cannot stand apart from responsibility. The festival's artistic director, Julia Fermentto-Tzaisler, described his position as 'especially harsh' and wrote back appealing to their shared histories — asking the man who fought apartheid through literature to extend a hand rather than withdraw it. His silence in reply was its own answer.
Coetzee is among the most decorated living authors and rarely speaks publicly, which makes his letter all the more resonant. A UN inquiry has found evidence of genocidal intent in Israel's conduct in Gaza, and Amnesty International has documented ongoing harm to civilian infrastructure even during ceasefire periods. His withdrawal, then, is less an isolated gesture than a signal — one that reflects a deepening reckoning across the cultural world about what participation in Israeli institutions means at this particular moment in history.
JM Coetzee, the 86-year-old Nobel laureate who has spent much of his life examining power and injustice, has written to the organisers of Jerusalem's international writers festival to say he will not be coming. His letter, sent in November and now made public, is unsparing. He calls Israel's actions in Gaza a "genocidal campaign" and argues that the country will require years to restore its standing in the world.
Coetzee's refusal carries particular weight because he was once a believer in Israel's project. He visited the country in 1987 to accept the Jerusalem Prize, an award given to writers who have explored the theme of individual freedom. At that ceremony, he used his platform to denounce apartheid in South Africa, the country where he was born. He had held out hope, he wrote in his recent letter, that Israel would eventually find a way toward justice for Palestinians. "I kept telling myself that surely the day was coming when the Israeli people would have a change of heart," he explained.
That hope has collapsed. The military campaign in Gaza, which began after the October 7, 2023 attacks, has shattered what Coetzee describes as a broad Western consensus in Israel's favour. He argues that the scale of the response has been vastly disproportionate to the provocation, and that the operation has enjoyed widespread support among the Israeli public. Because of this, he contends, Israeli society—including its cultural and intellectual sectors—cannot escape responsibility for what has occurred. "The campaign of annihilation in Gaza has changed all that," he wrote. "Long-time supporters of Israel have turned away in revulsion."
The festival's artistic director, Julia Fermentto-Tzaisler, learned of Coetzee's decision in April when she spoke to Israeli media. She described his response as "especially harsh" and said it had shocked her. In her own reply to Coetzee, she appealed to their shared history as writers from societies marked by injustice. "As a South African writer who fought apartheid, I would have expected—or perhaps dreamed—that you would extend a hand to me," she wrote, asking him to encourage her to keep fighting. Coetzee's silence in response speaks for itself.
Coetzee is rarely seen in public and gives almost no interviews. He is among the most decorated living authors: two Booker Prizes, the Nobel in Literature in 2003. The Jerusalem festival, scheduled for late May, has in the past attracted major international names—Margaret Atwood, Salman Rushdie, Jonathan Franzen, Joyce Carol Oates, Karl Ove Knausgård. Coetzee's withdrawal, and the reasoning behind it, signals something shifting in the cultural world's relationship to Israel.
A UN inquiry has found evidence of genocidal intent in Israel's conduct in Gaza, pointing to mass civilian casualties and the creation of life-threatening conditions. Amnesty International has argued that even during the ceasefire, Israel continues actions consistent with genocide—targeting civilian infrastructure and restricting access to medical care and humanitarian aid. Coetzee's letter, then, is not an isolated moral gesture. It reflects a broader reckoning among writers and artists about what it means to participate in Israeli cultural institutions at this moment.
Notable Quotes
It will take many years for Israel to clear its name, assuming that it wishes to do so, and to re-establish itself in the international community.— JM Coetzee, in letter to festival organisers
The campaign of annihilation in Gaza has changed all that. Long-time supporters of Israel have turned away in revulsion at the actions of the Israeli military.— JM Coetzee
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does Coetzee's refusal matter more than any other author's might?
Because he was inside the tent. He accepted their prize, stood on their stage, believed in the possibility of change. His withdrawal isn't a protest from the margins—it's a defection from within.
He says he was a supporter. What changed his mind?
Not a single event, but the scale and duration of what's happening in Gaza. He watched something he thought was temporary become systematic, and watched a society he'd hoped would choose differently embrace it instead.
The festival director appealed to their shared anti-apartheid history. Why didn't that work?
Because Coetzee sees the parallel, not the distinction. He lived through one system of dispossession. He's not going to legitimise another by showing up.
Is he saying all of Israeli society is complicit?
He's saying that when a campaign has broad public support, you can't separate the military from the population. The intellectual community, the artists—they're not innocent bystanders.
What does "it will take many years for Israel to clear its name" actually mean?
It means he doesn't think this is recoverable quickly. Reputation, once broken at this scale, doesn't snap back. It requires sustained, genuine reckoning.
Will other writers follow?
That's the question now. Coetzee has given permission, in a way. He's shown that you can say no and name why.