When neutrality becomes complicity

German academia often prides itself on Wissenschaftlichkeit, a scientific rigor presumed to be objective and politically neutral. Yet history shows that science is never truly free from social or political influence. 

Historian Steven Shapin reminds us in "Never Pure" that scientific inquiry is situated within particular times, cultures and power structures. What counts as scientific "truth" is shaped by patronage, ideology and social interests. The notion of a neutral, apolitical science is a historical fiction.  

Claims to pure objectivity can mask the ways in which scholarship may unwittingly serve the status quo. Rigorous science demands honesty and openness about evidence and reasoning; it does not demand abstaining from moral judgment in the face of human suffering. Neutrality is often a rhetorical stance that gives academic work the appearance of objectivity, while concealing the value judgments and interests already at play. 

Nowhere is this more evident than in Middle East scholarship produced in the German context, where choices of research topics, frames and terminologies are all steeped in political significance.  

In the discussion on Palestine in particular, the argument for scientific neutrality is often used to justify complicity. Scholars who claim neutrality overlook how their refusal to take sides can amount to taking the side, by default, of the powerful. 

Knowledge implies responsibility—in Arendt, Islamic thought and feminist theory

The German intellectual tradition itself offers tools to critique the idea of neutrality. Political theorist Hannah Arendt argued that thinking is not a dry intellectual exercise but a moral activity—one essential to preventing political catastrophe.  

Reflecting on the "banality of evil" under totalitarianism, Arendt suggested that great evil is possible when individuals refuse to critically examine what they are doing or to judge right from wrong. In other words, to abstain from thinking (and by extension, judging) is itself a choice, and one that enables injustice to proceed unchecked. 

Arendt's insight places a moral burden on scholars: if we think, we must also judge.

A parallel ethic runs through the Islamic intellectual tradition. Knowledge (ʿilm) carries with it taklīf—obligation or ethical responsibility. Far from seeing knowledge as power to be used at will, classical Islamic thought holds that being informed imposes duties on the knower.  

Knowledge divorced from ethical responsibility is not a virtue in the Islamic lens; it is a betrayal. The core idea converges with Arendt's: genuine understanding brings an imperative to care and to act.  

A scholar who knows about injustice yet claims neutrality to avoid engagement is, from this standpoint, betraying the very purpose of knowledge. Neutrality becomes a pretext for moral abdication.  

Another key critique of neutrality comes from feminist epistemology. Feminist scholars like Clare Hemmings have argued that knowledge is embodied, emotional and affectively charged. With her concept of affective solidarity, she challenges the idea that one can (or should) remain detached from their subject of research. Detachment is revealed as a political stance, often aligned with dominant perspectives that dismiss the experiential knowledge of marginalised groups. 

This distance can inadvertently reinforce a hierarchy between the Western "knower" and the Eastern "object" of study. By contrast, acknowledging affect and situatedness can lead to affective solidarity: a commitment to knowledge that arises from caring and standing with, not above, those who are studied. 

Neutrality is a political act

With these perspectives in mind, let us return to the halls of German academia and the specific case of Middle Eastern studies. Over the course of my own career, I have often witnessed how the claim to neutrality masks complicity. 

Many German experts on the Middle East—respected professors, pundits and analysts—who work on authoritarianism and conflict refrain from speaking out publicly when the communities they have been researching for years are attacked, or when political dissidents from the Middle East are beaten and arrested in Germany. They refrain from writing op-eds, avoid protests or petitions and stay silent on social media when moral clarity is most needed. Some invoke scholarly objectivity as a reason not to comment. The result is a deafening silence from those who know the historical and political contexts best. 

This dynamic was palpable to me as an early-career researcher from the Middle East. I often felt that for many German academics, our pain was the topic of a paper, and little more. The people of the region appeared in German scholarship as objects of analysis, not as communities to stand in solidarity with.  

This is not a call for academics to become activists in a simplistic sense, but a call to recognise that refusing to engage is a political act that typically favours the status quo. 

By staying above the fray, scholars send a message that certain events are not morally clear enough to warrant condemnation, normalising injustice. 

Within German political circles and media, academic expertise may then be cited selectively: if scholars aren't loudly debunking a biased narrative, their silence can be wielded as implicit validation of it. 

The suppression of critical discourse on Palestine

Germany today faces a democratic challenge: the shrinking space for open debate on certain issues in the Middle East, especially Palestine.  

Under the banner of combating antisemitism (a vital cause, without question), authorities have adopted policies that conflate legitimate criticism of Israeli state actions with bigotry. German lawmakers have endorsed the controversial IHRA definition of antisemitism, despite warnings from human rights groups that it could be misused to "suppress legitimate criticism of the Israeli government's policies." A 2025 parliamentary resolution even explicitly called for blocking campus activities by groups that support boycotts of Israel.   

In practice, these moves have encouraged universities, cultural institutions and conference organisers to pre-emptively cancel events and ostracise scholars who are vocal about Palestinian rights. The result is an atmosphere of fear and self-censorship. Academics know that frank discussion of Israeli violations, no matter how well-grounded in research, might cost them their funding or their jobs. 

This suppression of critical discourse presents two major dangers. First, it directly harms Middle Eastern and Palestinian communities by excluding their narratives and grievances from public legitimacy. It leaves the affected communities effectively voiceless in German forums, their suffering unseen or deemed undiscussable.  

Second, it undermines the integrity of science and the health of German democracy. When certain conclusions or topics are off-limits due to political taboos, how can scholarly inquiry remain honest? A science constrained by political red lines ceases to be science in the fullest sense, it becomes dogma. 

In a democratic society, universities must be bastions of open debate, not enforcers of official narratives. The slide towards intellectual orthodoxy on the Middle East does not only foreclose justice for Palestinians; it corrodes the principle of free inquiry upon which all scholars—and citizens—depend. 

Reclaiming knowledge with ethical responsibility

It is time for those in German academia—especially white, non-Middle Eastern scholars who have long enjoyed the luxury of a neutral stance—to rethink their responsibilities. Neutrality can no longer be an alibi for inaction. We must re-embrace the notion that knowledge carries obligations. A Middle East expert, upon recognising facts of oppression or inequality, should not hide behind scholarly detachment, but to use their voice to inform public conscience. 

Thinking, as Arendt would insist, must lead to judging: calling things by their name, resisting lies and simplifications, and refusing to become complicit through silence. It means, in the Islamic ethical sense, treating knowledge as a form of trust: an amānah, for which we will be held accountable.  

The credibility of German scholarship on the Middle East will not suffer when scholars take moral stands; it will be enhanced. It will show that our work is grounded in reality and humanity, not produced in an echo chamber and insulated from consequence.  

Scholars can maintain methodological rigor and accuracy while acknowledging the moral dimensions of their subject matter. In fact, doing so openly can inoculate us against the worst politicisation, by depriving reactionary forces of the power to dictate the terms of debate. 

Consider the alternative: if scholars say nothing, the only voices filling the void will be those of demagogues and ideologues.