Opinion: A trade unionist’s view from Israel

The international labour movement’s response to the war with Iran reveals both admirable principles and troubling omissions.

Peter Lerner

For more than a century, the international trade union movement has claimed a unique moral voice on war and peace. Rooted in traditions of solidarity and internationalism, unions often frame themselves as representatives of the people who ultimately bear the costs of conflict: workers, families, and communities.

The current war involving Iran has triggered a familiar response across global labor federations. Statements from union organizations around the world emphasize ceasefire, de-escalation, diplomacy, and adherence to international law. They warn that wars devastate working people, destroy public services, and divert resources away from social welfare.

As a trade unionist myself, I recognize the moral instincts behind these arguments. Workers do pay the price of war. Nurses and teachers see their institutions destroyed. Transport workers navigate dangerous shipping lanes and air routes. Journalists risk their lives to report the truth. These realities should always temper the enthusiasm with which governments resort to military force.

But from the perspective of a liberal Israeli trade unionist, the global labor movement’s response to the war with Iran also exposes some serious blind spots.

The most obvious is the movement’s instinctive aversion to the use of force under almost any circumstances. The language of ceasefire and de-escalation appears immediately, often before serious consideration is given to the circumstances that led to war in the first place. Yet liberal political thought has long recognized that the use of force can sometimes be morally justified, even necessary, to defend democratic societies against violent threats.

Israelis intimately understand this dilemma in ways that are often difficult for distant observers to grasp. When a state openly calls for your destruction, develops advanced missile capabilities, arms proxies across multiple borders, and strives to achieve nuclear weaponry, the debate about war is not abstract. It is existential. The question is not simply whether war is tragic, because it always is. The question must relate to the consequences of refusing to confront a threat that may produce an even greater tragedy later.

Many international trade union statements frame the conflict primarily through the language of international law and civilian protection. These are essential principles. Yet the conversation rarely extends to the political character of the regimes involved. The Islamic Republic of Iran is not simply another sovereign state caught in geopolitical rivalry. It is a system that suppresses independent labor organizing, imprisons trade unionists, restricts women’s rights, and violently represses dissent.

This creates a striking paradox. Global unions routinely express solidarity with Iranian workers, rightly so. But in categorically opposing military action, they risk ignoring the broader struggle that those same workers face inside their own country.

History offers uncomfortable reminders that peace alone does not guarantee justice. Some of the twentieth century’s most oppressive regimes survived precisely because democratic societies hesitated to confront them. The labor movement itself has learned this lesson before. European trade unions that fought fascism in the 1930s understood that defending democracy sometimes required more than moral appeals.

There is another problem in the way the international labor movement discusses conflicts involving Israel or the Middle East more broadly. Too often the analysis collapses complex realities into a simplified narrative of power, imperialism, and victimhood. In this framework, the actions of democratic states are scrutinized intensely, while the extremist ideological motivations of authoritarian actors receive far less attention.

For Israelis, including Israeli trade unionists, this asymmetry is difficult to ignore. It creates the impression that some parts of the global labor movement apply universal principles selectively.

None of this means that trade unions should abandon their commitment to peace or humanitarian values. On the contrary, those commitments remain essential. The protection of civilians, adherence to international law, and the pursuit of diplomacy should always guide responsible governments.

But the labor movement must also confront a more complicated truth. Liberal democracy sometimes faces adversaries who reject or exploit those very norms. In such cases, defending democratic societies, including the rights of workers within them, may require the use of force.

A more balanced trade union response would therefore acknowledge two realities at once: that war is tragic and should always be the last resort, and that democratic societies have a legitimate right to defend themselves against existential threats.

Israeli trade unionists have a particular role to play in this debate. Our movement was founded on a belief that workers’ rights, social justice, and democratic values are inseparable. Those principles compel us to advocate for peace. But they also compel us to defend the democratic society that makes those rights possible.

International solidarity remains one of the labor movement’s greatest strengths. Yet solidarity must be grounded in an honest understanding of reality, including the difficult moral choices that democratic societies sometimes face.

If the global trade union movement wishes to remain a credible voice in debates about war and peace, it must learn to hold these tensions rather than retreat into familiar slogans.

Workers deserve nothing less than that seriousness.