Throughout history, ideologies have justified acts of displacement, conquest, and cultural erasure, often framed as righteous or inevitable. Two such ideologies—Manifest Destiny and Zionism—stand out as emblematic of movements driven by a belief in entitlement to land, often at the expense of existing populations. While each arose in different times and circumstances, the common thread that binds them is a troubling disregard for those deemed obstacles to their fulfilment.
Manifest Destiny, rooted in 19th-century American expansionism, held that white settlers were divinely destined to spread across the North American continent. Cloaked in the language of progress, civilisation, and divine right, it justified the violent removal of Native American tribes and the erasure of their cultures. Entire nations were decimated, their histories and lives rendered expendable in the pursuit of a vision that prioritised land over lives. The moral calculus was stark: the dreams of one group outweighed the humanity of another.
Zionism, while born of a profoundly different context, raises similarly troubling questions about the moral implications of nation-building. Emerging as a response to centuries of Jewish persecution, it sought to establish a homeland in the historic Land of Israel. The Jewish connection to the land is undeniable, deeply rooted in religious, cultural, and historical ties. However, this movement also came with a cost—the displacement and marginalisation of the Palestinian population, whose lives and claims to the land were often dismissed as secondary or irrelevant. While Zionism sought to rectify historical wrongs against Jewish communities, it has simultaneously created new injustices.
The parallels betwixt these ideologies lie not in their origins but in their execution. Both Manifest Destiny and Zionism have relied on the dehumanisation of those already inhabiting the coveted lands. Native Americans were labelled “savages” to justify their removal, while Palestinians are often framed as obstacles to peace or progress. Such narratives erase the voices of the oppressed, reducing them to footnotes in a larger story of conquest and self-determination.
It is worth asking whether the ends ever truly justify the means. Can a vision of nationhood or progress be considered moral if it necessitates the oppression of another people? Proponents of both Manifest Destiny and Zionism might argue that their causes were or are just, that they were fulfilling a divine plan or correcting historical wrongs. But justice that ignores the suffering of others ceases to be justice; it becomes a form of domination, cloaked in righteousness.
The most profound tragedy is the enduring legacy of these ideologies. The scars of Manifest Destiny are etched into the fabric of the United States, seen in the ongoing marginalisation of Native American communities. Similarly, the unresolved tensions of Zionism manifest in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, a seemingly intractable struggle marked by cycles of violence, dispossession, and despair.
Perhaps the lesson from these histories is not that the pursuit of land or identity is inherently wrong, but that it must be tempered with empathy and a recognition of shared humanity. True progress does not trample the weak; it uplifts all. Any ideology, no matter how noble its intentions, that turns a blind eye to the suffering it causes risks losing its moral footing.
As we reflect on these movements, we must confront the uncomfortable truths they reveal about the human capacity for exclusion and oppression in the name of destiny. For it is not enough to question where we are going; we must also ask who we leave behind.
