Usual Suspects: Minorities, Policing, and Citizenship in Israel

Guy Ben-Porat and Yair Yassan

In the summer of 2020, the world fell silent. The COVID-19 pandemic spread rapidly and struck hard. Yet on Balfour Street in Jerusalem, as restrictions eased following the first nationwide lockdown, protests against the prime minister only intensified. Alongside the “Black Flags” movement, activists from "Crime Minister", the “Pink Bandanas,” the “Submarine Protest,” and other groups joined the demonstrations, fueled by growing criticism of the government’s handling of the pandemic and the vaccination campaign.

During the weekly Saturday-night demonstrations in Jerusalem, many protesters were arrested out of tens of thousands of participants. The police made frequent use of mounted units and police water cannons ("Makhtazit"), firing high-pressure water jets at close range and in direct aim at protesters, at times also dispersing a foul-smelling liquid (“Boash”). 

For us, as researchers, the extensive force deployed by the Jerusalem police was not entirely surprising. Research shows that police forces often apply heightened force against groups perceived as a threat by the police and/or the governing authorities. We were also familiar with Israel’s history of police violence on the one hand, and police neglect on the other, toward different social groups.

The way public order, crime, and especially security are defined does more than distinguish law-abiding citizens from those deemed threatening. It also delineates priorities and hierarchies of citizenship. These hierarchies are translated into formal and informal policies that label certain citizens as “security threats,” enemies, or potential enemies—and therefore as subjects requiring special attention. These are not necessarily criminals in the sense portrayed in police television dramas, but also individuals whose actions, presence, or identities are perceived  a threat to social order. Once depicted a threat, harsh policing becomes justified against these individuals and groups, backed by public demands for law and order and for a firm hand against those who allegedly undermine it. As numerous studies have shown, the enforcement of the law and the notion of “reasonable suspicion” guiding police officers (“it is natural to suspect,” as then-Police Commissioner Roni Alsheikh stated in 2019 when referring to the over-policing of Israelis of Ethiopian descent) are intertwined with assumptions and stereotypes about social groups. These practices are part of a broader discriminatory system, reflected as well in the low levels of trust expressed by marginalized communities.

Against this backdrop, we decided to write Usual Suspects, recently (2024) published by Lamda – Iyun. We selected four case studies illustrating the polarity between over-policing and under-policing—phenomena that, paradoxically, often coexist.

The first case study examines Arab citizens of Israel in the early years following the establishment of the state, focusing on their depiction as  security risk and the resulting over-policing, manifested in state violence. Central to this case are formative events in the relationship between Arab citizens, the police, and the state: the military rule imposed during the state’s first two decades on Arab citizens and the institutionalization of a Jewish–Arab hierarchy of citizenship; the 1956 Kafr Qasim massacre, analyzed within the broader context of Arab citizenship and military rule; Land Day in 1976 and the struggle over land rights, which repeatedly placed Arab citizens in confrontation with state authorities and the police; and finally, the October 2000 events—a significant and post-traumatic milestone in relations between Arab citizens and the police, marking, among other things, the emergence of a new generation (“the Upright Generation”) and a renewed struggle over citizenship.

The second case study focuses on the Mizrahi ethnic question from the early years of statehood through the 1970s. The hardships faced by newly arrived Mizrahi immigrants, the political leadership’s fear that their protests could be mobilized against it, and the criminalization of protestors all positioned the police as a central actor in maintaining social order in transit camps, impoverished neighborhoods, immigrant camps, and especially in face of organized protests such as those in Wadi Salib and later by the Black Panthers. Here too there was over-policing, but its scope and objectives differed. Unlike Arab citizens, Mizrahim were part of the Jewish collective—a belonging that shaped both police conduct toward them and immigrants’ own perceptions of the police. Identification with the Jewish collective and the state, alongside discrimination and inequality, produced an ambivalent relationship. Ultimately, however, belonging, identification, and participation prevailed, and the protests subsided. Nonetheless, Mizrahi identity and its social and political significance continued to resonate in subsequent decades.

The third case study examines Israelis of Ethiopian descent and the over-policing they experience. As with Mizrahim, Israelis of Ethiopian descent are part of the Jewish collective, yet they suffer from institutionalized racism by state authorities in general and the police in particular. Documented incidents of violence—such as the beating of an Ethiopian Israeli soldier by police officers in 2015—transformed individual experiences into a collective one and brough the issue of racism to the fore. Comparisons to the United States may seem obvious, as skin color has served in both contexts as a rationale for over-policing, unjustified stops, and documented violence leading to protest. However, while similarities exist, the historical and social contexts of racism and protest differ. Protests against institutional racism and police violence were led by young Israelis of Ethiopian descent, most of them Israeli-born, who demanded their rights as citizens while emphasizing their belonging. As in the Mizrahi case, Israelis of Ethiopian descent have fulfilled—and continue to fulfill—their part “republican equation,” measured in contribution, sacrifice and loyalty, military service for example, demanding that the state and society reciprocate.

The final case study returns to Arab citizens of Israel and the transformations in their relations with the police. Whereas over-policing characterized police conduct toward Arab citizens in the state’s early years, under-policing emerged as a central problem in the 2000s. The Or Commission’s report on the October 2000 events serves as the starting point. The commission examined not only the violent events themselves but also their broader context: inequality and citizenship. A new generation of Arab citizens, referred to in the literature as “the Stand-tall generation,” articulated new demands for equality and political order, challenging the state and its citizenship regime. At the same time, changes within Arab society produced a complex reality in which crime and violence became a central and deadly threat to everyday life. The state’s inability—and of  police in particular—to curb this violence was perceived by Arab citizens as evidence of neglect and under-policing, as well as of the Jewish majority’s indifference to their plight. Simultaneously, violence posed a dilemma for Arab citizenship: deep mistrust of the police and fears that intervention would serve control rather than protection, alongside growing recognition that without effective policing, violence could not be stopped.

Through the lens of police–citizen relations, the book’s chapters collectively trace Israeli citizenship and the ways it reflects status and hierarchy. Citizenship in Israel, as elsewhere, is not merely a legal status and the rights derived from it, but rather a dynamic arena of struggle over those rights. A fair and effective police force, enabling citizens to feel safe both inside and outside their homes, is therefore a prerequisite for the full realization of citizenship.

When writing the book we assumed it would be relevant upon publication, but we did not anticipate how much. The Protests against the judicial overhaul that began in 2023 demonstrated that even powerful groups can be exposed to police violence and over-policing—even if the likelihood and risk of harm remain lower in comparison to minorities. 

The staggering numbers of crime victims among Arab citizens, on the one hand, and of police violence, on the other hand, echoed what might be described as the “commander’s spirit” of the new Minister of National Security, Itamar Ben-Gvir. The minister initiated the establishment of a “National Guard” under his authority and promoted amendments to the Police Ordinance Law to expand ministerial involvement in police operations, including imvestigations. Petitions against the law argued that it would enable political use of the police and violations of human rights—concerns that proved well-founded. For example, when right-wing activists stopped and looted trucks carrying humanitarian aid to Gaza, the minister instructed police officers not to secure the convoys.

We wrote the book’s epilogue in early summer 2024, roughly eight months after the outbreak of the October 7th war. As in all moments of acute insecurity, the war initially reinforced security discourse, broadened reliance on the police, and generated public appreciation for officers who risked—and in some cases sacrificed—their lives. Yet within months, levels of violence in Arab society returned to those of the previous year, and then broke new records, as police once again appeared either powerless or unwilling to address it. The renewal of protests against the government again brought demonstrators—including families of hostages—into confrontation with the police, intensifying criticism of police violence. Under a minister who promised “governance,” the police appear weaker than ever, with declining public trust, making reform more urgent than ever.

The events of October 7th underscore the need for a police that is part of a functioning democracy rather than hollow “governance” that concentrates power without checks and balances, or oversight—a threat to all citizens and particularly marginalized groups. Now, more than ever, Israel needs a legitimate police force that enjoys public trust, a functioning police force committed to the security of all citizens, as expected in a democracy. “We have no other police,” citizens from various groups told us in interviews—but the police must be different. For their own sake, and for all of citizens.

Prof. Guy Ben-Porat is a faculty member in the Department of Politics and Government at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev. His research addresses the Israeli–Palestinian conflict and Northern Ireland, religion–state relations and secularization processes, and the policing of minorities in Israel and globally.

Dr. Yair Yassan is a visiting lecturer in the Program for Conflict Management at Ben-Gurion University of the Negev. His research focuses on civil protest, police–society relations, and political violence. His first book, Hands Raised: Protest and Violence against the State in Israel, was published by Resling in 2022.

This article is based on their book Usual Suspects: Minorities, Policing, and Citizenship in Israel, published in 2024 by Lamda – Iyun, The Open University Press. Winner of the Best Book Award from the Israeli Political Science Association (2023–2024); the University of Haifa Chaikin Geo-Strategy Best Book Prize (2024); and the Goldberg Foundation Best Book Award for Outstanding Manuscripts (2023).