By Saher Ghazawi
The trial of Sheikh Kamal Khatib offers a vivid and concrete example of the nature of the relationship Israel constructs with Palestinian Arab citizens of the country—one rooted in delegitimization, suppression of expression, and criminalization of identity.
The conviction handed down by the Nazareth Magistrate’s Court on June 30, 2025, after more than four years of detention and trial, was not merely a verdict against an individual. Rather, it represents a collective prosecution of Palestinians across three overlapping temporal dimensions: the past, the present, and the future.
From the very first moment of the outbreak of the Dignity Uprising in May 2021, Israel launched a systematic incitement campaign against the Palestinian Arab community, holding it responsible for the events and their aftermath. This campaign swiftly materialized into mass arrests that targeted hundreds of individuals, with Sheikh Kamal Khatib among the first detained—by direct order of then-Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu during an emergency government session.
In this context, the indictment against Sheikh Khatib exposed the overtly political nature of the prosecution. It was not grounded in solid legal evidence but rather based on posts and statements in which he expressed religious convictions, national positions, and identity-based beliefs—content that was reinterpreted and legally framed as “incitement to violence and terrorism.”
But what is even more troubling than the charges themselves is the prosecutorial logic underpinning them: the trial of Sheikh Khatib spanned three intersecting temporalities:
- Prosecution of the Past
Sheikh Kamal Khatib was punished for invoking Palestinian history—specifically, a post in which he referenced the 1929 al-Buraq uprising, expressing appreciation for those who resisted Zionist groups attacking Muslim worshippers at the time. Although such remembrance of national struggle is a legitimate expression of collective memory, the Israeli prosecution distorted this act into a charge of “glorifying rioters.” This represents a deliberate effort to erase the Palestinian narrative and enforce the state’s version of history as an uncontested legal truth.
This approach is not an isolated case but part of a broader pattern targeting Palestinian citizens who commemorate the Nakba or study Palestinian history in schools. Allegations of “incitement” and “extremism” are often deployed to suppress free expression and control collective memory—a process in which the law is weaponized to deny rights.
- Prosecution of the Present
The Israeli prosecution linked Sheikh Kamal’s statements to events in Jerusalem, Al-Aqsa Mosque, and several Arab towns, particularly in the mixed coastal cities, falsely claiming that he incited violence. This framing holds individuals accountable for broader collective political movements—a repressive tactic used against hundreds of activists and youth during and after the Dignity Uprising, merely for expressing opinions or participating in peaceful protests.
Here, the prosecution of the present is manifested in attributing responsibility for complex events to specific individuals, while ignoring the political and social conditions that prompted the protests. These peaceful demonstrations are cast as security threats to justify repression. This policy relies on arrests, restrictions on political expression, and the tightening of judicial rulings. As administrative detentions increase and sentences grow harsher, state repression escalates—targeting protestors and political leaders, deepening Palestinian Arabs’ sense of injustice and loss of freedom and dignity.
- Prosecution of the Future
Perhaps most dangerous in the indictment is its reliance on the possibility that Sheikh Kamal Khatib’s statements might lead to future acts of violence, despite the absence of any direct connection between his words and actual incidents. This preemptive logic—often described as a “trial of intentions”—demonstrates that the prosecution was based not on hard evidence but on preconceived assumptions and imagined future scenarios. This makes the case a glaring example of prosecuting intentions and speculative outcomes.
This trend, reflected in the prosecution’s future-oriented logic, reveals a growing tendency within the Israeli legal system to treat Palestinian political expression as a threat rather than a legitimate right. The Arab Palestinian is increasingly viewed as a perpetual suspect—not only for what they have said or done, but also for what they might say or do in the future.
Conclusion
In light of the above, the trial of Sheikh Kamal Khatib clearly illustrates the Israeli prosecution’s logic of trying Palestinians across three interwoven temporalities:
- The past, by criminalizing the invocation of historical narratives;
- The present, by treating national expression as a security threat;
- The future, by prosecuting assumed intentions and hypothetical scenarios.
This case is not an isolated incident. It epitomizes a broader legal-security system aimed at subjugating the Palestinian Arab community within Israel—controlling, suppressing, and marginalizing its consciousness and identity. This policy is embodied in a systematic campaign targeting activists and political leaders, particularly those affiliated with the Islamic movement, which was banned in 2015.
Thus, Sheikh Kamal Khatib’s trial becomes a mirror reflecting the mechanisms of state control—not just over actions, but over thoughts, affiliations, and memory. It underscores the ongoing, institutionalized exclusion that Palestinian citizens endure, and demonstrates how the Israeli judiciary has shifted from an authority presumed to uphold justice to an instrument of the colonial project—used to criminalize belonging and narrative, and to grant legal legitimacy to repression.
Sheikh Kamal is not being prosecuted as an individual alone, but as a symbol of Islamic religious identity and the Palestinian narrative that counters the Zionist one. His trial, therefore, is not only about personal beliefs but about the collective story and the Palestinian people’s right to narrate, express, and exist.
Most importantly, this trial holds immense documentary value. Even under a colonial regime that does not seek justice, recording the narrative from the perspective of the oppressed—not the oppressor—is essential. Archiving these trials within the records of the Israeli judiciary, even with unjust outcomes, creates a space to expose the role of the legal system in perpetuating oppression and discrimination. The legal battle here is not only for fairness—but for writing history as lived by the oppressed, not as written by the dominant.
As the African proverb says:
“Until the lions have their own historians, tales of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.”
