The Blind Spot of Power: Why Israel’s Realist Diplomacy Fails Without a Constructivist Lens

For decades, the story of how nations interact has often been told through the lens of strength. In this traditional view, a country's safety depends on its army, its alliances, and its ability to convince others that it is too powerful to be challenged. This approach, known in political science as realism, assumes that if a nation has the weapons and the money to back them up, it can secure its place in the world. However, a newer way of thinking, called constructivism, suggests that power is not just about what you hold in your hand, but about what people believe you stand for. It argues that a nation's success depends on whether its actions make sense to the people watching them, fitting into a shared understanding of right and wrong. When a country's story about itself clashes with what the world sees happening on the ground, its ability to get what it wants through diplomacy can crumble, even if its military remains strong. This tension between raw force and the stories we tell about that force is at the heart of a new study examining why Israel's long-standing diplomatic strategy is struggling in the face of the war in Gaza.

Researchers Surwandono Surwandono and Takdir Ali Mukti from Universitas Muhammadiyah Yogyakarta in Indonesia set out to understand a puzzling situation. For more than seventy years, Israel has successfully used a specific narrative to protect its interests on the world stage. The story was simple and powerful: Israel is a vulnerable democracy surrounded by enemies, fighting for its very survival against existential threats. This "self-preservation" tale worked well. It secured strong support from the United States, built alliances with Western nations, and helped the country navigate international criticism by framing its military actions as necessary defense. The researchers wanted to know why this same story seemed to be losing its power now. They asked whether Israel's ability to turn its military strength and political connections into diplomatic success had changed, and if so, why.

To find the answer, the authors did not conduct surveys or run computer simulations. Instead, they acted as careful readers of the world's recent history. They gathered a wide range of documents, including court rulings from the International Court of Justice, reports from the United Nations, official government statements from countries like the United Kingdom, Spain, and Canada, and the vast amount of public debate happening online and in the media. They looked for patterns in how these different groups were talking about the conflict. They compared Israel's official explanations of its war with the way legal bodies, foreign governments, and ordinary people were interpreting the same events. The goal was to see if the gap between Israel's story and the world's perception was widening, and what that meant for the country's future.

The study found that Israel has not lost its military power, its lobbying networks, or its key alliances. The country still possesses the tools it has relied on for decades. What has changed, the researchers argue, is the effectiveness of those tools. They describe this loss of effectiveness as a decline in "diplomatic productivity." This is a way of measuring how well a country can turn its resources into results, like keeping allies on its side or preventing new sanctions. The authors discovered that Israel's diplomatic productivity is dropping because its hard-power strategy is running into a wall of human rights norms. The world is increasingly viewing the war through the lens of civilian protection, proportionality, and the right of Palestinians to self-determination. When Israel's military actions are seen as causing too much harm to civilians, the old story of "we are just defending ourselves" stops sounding convincing to many audiences.

One of the main reasons for this shift is what the authors call "narrative exhaustion." This happens when a country keeps repeating the same justification for its actions, but the reality on the ground makes that justification hard to believe. After the initial shock of the October 7 attacks, many nations supported Israel's right to defend itself. However, as the war continued and the scale of destruction in Gaza became visible through satellite images, news reports, and social media, the story began to fray. The researchers noted that digital media played a crucial role here. In the past, a government could control the flow of information. Now, images of destroyed neighborhoods and suffering children circulate instantly, creating a competing story that is hard to ignore. When a state insists its actions are purely defensive while the world sees widespread civilian suffering, the state's message can feel evasive, leading to a loss of trust.

The study also highlights a growing "normative backlash," where legal and political institutions begin to treat the conflict differently. The authors point to specific actions taken by Western nations that signal this shift. For instance, the United Kingdom suspended about thirty arms export licenses, and a court in the Netherlands ordered the government to block the export of parts for fighter jets to Israel. Several European countries, including Spain, Ireland, and Norway, formally recognized the state of Palestine. These are not just symbolic gestures; they represent a change in the rules of the game. The researchers explain that these actions show that supporting Israel is becoming more complicated and costly for its allies. The international community is no longer just listening to Israel's security claims; it is demanding that Israel prove its methods are legal and humane.

Another critical factor is the fracturing of the story from the inside. For a long time, Israel's diplomacy benefited from the appearance of a united front, both at home and among Jewish communities around the world. The researchers found that this unity is now cracking. Inside Israel, citizens are debating the length of the war, the fate of hostages, and the moral implications of the government's strategy. Outside Israel, Jewish communities are no longer a single block of support; many are criticizing the war based on Jewish ethics and human rights principles. This internal disagreement makes it harder for Israeli diplomats to present a single, coherent story to the world. When people who share a nation's identity start questioning its actions, it becomes difficult for that nation to claim its behavior is universally justified.

The authors conclude that the problem is not that Israel has run out of power, but that it has run out of the ability to make that power look legitimate to a skeptical world. They introduce the idea of "normative overstretch" to describe this condition. It is a state where a country uses so much force that it expands beyond its ability to explain that force as right or necessary. In the past, Israel's military strength was enough to secure its diplomatic goals. Now, that strength is colliding with a global expectation that war must be conducted with restraint and respect for human life. The researchers suggest that unless a country can align its actions with the stories the world believes in, its diplomatic influence will continue to fade, regardless of how many weapons it possesses.

This study offers a clear warning for the future of international relations. It suggests that in an age where information travels instantly and human rights norms are deeply embedded in global consciousness, military power alone is no longer a guarantee of success. A nation can have the strongest army and the most loyal friends, but if its actions are perceived as violating the shared rules of the international community, its ability to shape the world will diminish. The researchers argue that the path forward requires more than just strategic calculation; it requires a story that can survive the scrutiny of a world that is watching closely, judging not just the threat, but the response. The findings do not predict the end of Israel's power, but they do suggest that the old ways of wielding it are becoming less effective, forcing a rethinking of how security and legitimacy are connected in the modern world.