Addressing the Palestinian issue today while avoiding sterile rhetoric is an almost impossible task. Not only because the conflict is intrinsically unresolved, and perhaps irresolvable, but also because public opinion tends to reduce it to slogans, one-day protests, or superficial political statements, only to quickly return to daily routines as if nothing had happened.
Europe, under internal pressure, resorts to symbolic gestures like the recognition of the Palestinian state, which, however, have no real impact.
Israel seems determined to turn the current advantage into a historic opportunity to pursue the idea of a “Greater Israel,” a project rooted in the origins of Zionism, reinvigorated by the eschatological fervor of Mizrahi Jews and the demographic momentum of the Haredim, though it remains largely aspirational.
Throughout its history, Italy's political posture has often displayed a distinct pro-Arab inclination, a tendency dating back to the era of Francesco Crispi, Italy's prime minister at the end of the 19th century, whose foreign policy aimed at expanding Italian influence in the Mediterranean and North Africa. This inclination did not stem from ideological convictions but rather from geographic imperatives: situated as a natural bridge between Europe and the Mediterranean, the peninsula could hardly avoid looking southward and eastward.
Italy’s strategic interest in the Mediterranean emerged clearly during the Italo-Turkish War of 1911–1912, when, under the leadership of Prime Minister Giovanni Giolitti, the country targeted the Ottoman provinces of Cyrenaica and Tripolitania — the last accessible territories in a Mediterranean already carved up among the colonial powers. Although victorious, Italy soon saw its ambitions frustrated. After the First World War and the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, it was Britain and France that secured the most strategic mandates in the Middle East, while Italy was pushed aside.
This marginalization drove Rome to seek new political relevance by aligning itself with Arab nationalist movements opposed to Anglo-French control. Italy’s pro-Arab policy was often instrumental — Mussolini’s brandishing of the “Sword of Islam” being a prime example — but it reflected a long-term strategic orientation that persisted even after Italy’s postwar expulsion from North Africa.
After 1945, Italy re-entered the Mediterranean scene not through military force but through diplomacy and energy policy. Enrico Mattei, founder of ENI, was the architect of this new strategy: using oil diplomacy to build alliances with Arab countries and expand Italian influence. Postwar foreign policy focused on North Africa, key islands like Malta and Cyprus, and the Mediterranean’s strategic choke points — the Strait of Gibraltar and the Suez Canal — with the implicit goal of replacing Britain and France as the region’s leading Western power.
The United States supported this posture, seeing Italy as a useful counterweight to Anglo-French dominance. However, the emergence of Israel as a regional power complicated Rome’s carefully constructed balance. On one hand, Israel was a Western ally; on the other, it was at war with the very Arab states with which Italy was forging ever-closer ties. As a result, Israel became both a necessary partner and a strategic obstacle.
The repercussions of Italy’s pro-Arab policy on its relations with Israel were inevitable. Rome’s attitude toward the Jewish state never followed a consistent line, shifting over time — as was also the case for many other European countries. Yet one fact remains inescapable: Israel was born and grew up in a unique existential condition, surrounded by hostile nations that repeatedly attempted to annihilate it. Not only in the past — even today, Iran and its proxies, Hamas, the Houthis, and Hezbollah, have made repeated attempts to obliterate Israel.
For this reason, Israel has had to arm itself to the teeth, building one of the most efficient military machines in the world. And every time it has been attacked, it has responded with severity — sometimes disproportionately so, in the eyes of much of European public opinion. It is hard to imagine that a state which constantly perceives itself on the brink of annihilation would choose half-measures in dealing with its enemies.
But over time, Israel’s image in the European collective imagination has changed: the initial admiration for Israel as a modern outpost in the Middle East has progressively faded. For many, Israel stopped being seen as an asset and came to be viewed as a problem — an intrusive actor that further complicated Italy’s already fragile web of international relations.
In addition to Italy’s role in containing the Franco-British axis, there were other reasons why — at least during a certain phase — the United States looked favorably upon Italy. Rome had never questioned its loyalty to the Atlantic Alliance and possessed considerable military potential, reinforced by a geographic position of extraordinary strategic importance. If Germany was the barrier against a possible Soviet incursion into Eastern Europe, Italy represented the gateway for American reinforcements to Southern Europe. In the event of a conflict with the communist powers, for example, equipment landed at the port of Livorno could reach the eastern frontier and the Adriatic coast within a matter of hours, crossing the Po Valley.
To this must be added the importance of the Italian navy, considered crucial for monitoring the entire Mediterranean. Taken together, these factors gave Italy significant strategic weight, which inevitably intersected with its complex — and at times competitive — relationship with Israel.
Making an effort to understand requires examining the controversial decision by some European chancelleries to proceed with the legal recognition of a Palestinian state. . Countries such as France and the United Kingdom, on the one hand, recognize the State of Palestine, but on the other, continue to maintain military and economic relations with Israel, without imposing any real sanctions. Europe, in fact, continues to purchase arms from Israel: in 2025, 54% of Israel’s defense exports went to the European continent, amounting to nearly 15 billion dollars, a 35% increase compared to the previous year.
Only Spain and Germany have halted their purchases. In practice, however, no one is taking concrete action. Since the beginning of the Israeli counteroffensive, European governments have issued a barrage of condemnations, appeals, and calls for restraint. In the meantime, their diplomatic corps have summoned ambassadors, demanded explanations, and threatened sanctions. Spain and the Netherlands even declared two ultranationalist Israeli ministers – Ben-Gvir and Smotrich – persona non grata, only to quickly return to business as usual.
This makes recognition, at least for now, more of a symbolic gesture than a substantive one. Moreover, both France and the United Kingdom are experiencing domestic political turmoil. In France, Prime Minister François Bayrou lost a parliamentary vote of confidence in September 2025 and promptly resigned. Underscoring the country’s ongoing political volatility, his successor, Sébastien Lecornu — appointed on September 9 — lasted less than 24 hours in office following the announcement of his cabinet, despite his tenure being formally recorded as 27 days. This made his administration one of the shortest in the history of the Fifth Republic.
In the United Kingdom, torn between its Middle Eastern community and loyalty to Washington, on 13 September 2025 a major rally in London, called Unite the Kingdom and organized by Tommy Robinson, drew more than 110,000 people. Clashes broke out with police and counter-demonstrators, while support for Nigel Farage’s party continues to grow.
For this reason, some European political elites, seeking to capture domestic consensus, have opted for the recognition of Palestine. A gesture devoid of substance, producing no tangible effects on the ground, but serving only to placate public opinion. Berlin resists this dynamic, constrained by the weight of memory and the lingering sense of guilt over the Holocaust. Rome, by contrast, maneuvers with greater skill: it maintains strong ties with Israel while at the same time attempting to reassure a public waving Palestinian flags, often unaware, out of superficiality, of the many other humanitarian crises burning across the globe, for example in Sudan, Democratic Republic of Congo, and Yemen.
And in Ukraine, Russia’s invasion has turned Europe’s borderland into a war of attrition, with tens of thousands dead and millions forced to flee.
Recognition thus risks degenerating into a cosmetic maneuver: a symbolic absolution for the governments that grant it, a balm for domestic opinion, or a brushstroke to embellish their global image. In substance, it amounts to little more than words cast to the wind — verba volant — with no concrete effect on the ground. Law, left to itself, is inert: it requires political will, instruments of coercion or incentive, and a minimum of international cohesion to translate into reality. Where these are lacking, what remains is — to borrow from Macbeth — mere sound and fury, signifying nothing.
As so often in human affairs, the decisive factor is will. Where it is lacking, even the most advanced legal instruments remain a dead letter. Formal justice without concrete force is a fragile illusion. And legal recognition, if not accompanied by real political action, amounts to nothing more than an aesthetic concession, useful only for temporarily easing guilty consciences.
Today, relations between Italy and Israel appear firmly anchored, despite the complexities inherited from the past. The evolution of the international landscape and Israel’s centrality as a regional power have gradually consolidated a bond that transcends political contingencies. Among European capitals, Rome stands out for the greater stability of its approach, addressing the Middle Eastern question through a pragmatic lens.
On the issue of recognition, Giorgia Meloni has been clear. Such an initiative can only make sense if used as a political lever. But the target, according to the executive, must be precise: not Israel, rhetorically forced to defend itself, but Hamas and the actors who fuel fragmentation and conflict. True obstacles to any notion of Palestinian statehood. It was a tactical move dictated by the fear of irritating the Israeli ally — a form of useful complacency meant to avoid alienating Arab-Palestinian support and to contain the risk of future attacks on Italian soil, as history teaches us.
In the 1970s, Italy experienced bloody episodes, such as the Fiumicino massacre (1973) or the attack on the Trieste-Ingolstadt oil pipeline (1972) by Palestinian terrorist organizations that exported the war with Israel to Europe, with the aim of influencing our public opinion. To avoid turning the peninsula into a battlefield, the Italian government made deals with the Palestinians. The so-called "Moro agreement": in exchange for non-belligerence, Rome turned a blind eye and allowed logistical bases.
It was an act of wise politics — a flexible position that could be adjusted according to how events evolved, in a time when uncertainty ruled daily life.
Almost two years after the start of the campaign, Hamas has not yet been eliminated. As an armed organization, it can be struck; as an idea and socio-political fabric, it proves far more resilient and difficult to eradicate. “Israel will probably face armed resistance for many years to come, and the military will struggle to neutralize Hamas’s underground infrastructure,” U.S. intelligence has warned.
The reaction of European public opinion to the conflict is a factor shaping the diplomatic framework. The priority remains the neutralization of the armed threat (Hamas), but the real strategic challenge is to combine military pressure with the simultaneous development of a long-term political and ideological strategy — one that dismantles the legitimacy of extremism and prevents further cycles of violence.
Riccardo Ficicchia is a geopolitical analyst with the Istituto Analisi Relazioni Internazionali (IARI)
