For decades, Nicholas Kristof has been among the most respected and effective columnists in American journalism. At his best, he has exposed genuine atrocities, amplified neglected voices and forced readers to confront suffering they would rather ignore.
That record makes his recent column in The New York Times all the more shocking.
In a piece alleging widespread sexual abuse of Palestinians by Israelis, Kristof repeated one of the most grotesque accusations imaginable: that Israeli prison dogs were trained to sexually assault detainees. He acknowledged that there is “no evidence that Israeli leaders order rapes.” Yet he proceeded to construct a narrative suggesting that sexual violence is an integral part of Israel’s security system.
This is not a minor lapse in judgment. It is a collapse of journalistic discipline.
Rape is among the most serious allegations that can be leveled against any individual or nation. To imply that a democratic ally systematically employs sexual torture demands overwhelming, independently verified evidence. Kristof offered none.
If credible evidence exists that any Israeli soldier, prison guard or settler committed sexual assault, those allegations should be investigated and prosecuted. No civilized society should tolerate such conduct.
But that is not what Kristof did.
Instead, he stitched together disputed advocacy reports, unverified testimony and sensational accusations, then drew an explicit moral equivalence between Israel and Hamas, whose sexual atrocities on Oct. 7 were documented through forensic evidence, eyewitness accounts and extensive investigation.
That comparison is not bold journalism. It is an act of extraordinary irresponsibility.
The reaction was swift. Deborah Lipstadt asked whether the Times had “any sense of decency and journalistic responsibility.” NGO Monitor and numerous analysts challenged the credibility of key sources cited in the column.
The greater scandal, however, is institutional.
The New York Times did not merely publish a provocative opinion. It placed the authority of its name behind allegations so inflammatory that they would once have been subjected to the most exacting scrutiny. Instead, the paper appears to have accepted insinuation where such proof was absent.
This is what happens when a great institution becomes intoxicated by its own moral certainty. Editors begin to believe that their motives are so pure that they are exempt from the ordinary rules of evidence. Emotion displaces verification. Ideology overwhelms skepticism. Prestige becomes a substitute for discipline.
And with that comes something even more dangerous: the conviction that certain targets no longer deserve the presumption of fairness. Once a newsroom decides that one nation, one people or one cause is uniquely suspect, evidentiary standards begin to erode. Rumor becomes credible if it confirms a preferred narrative. Doubt is treated as moral weakness. The urge to accuse overwhelms the duty to prove.
The result is not journalism. It is advocacy masquerading as fact.
The New York Times is free to criticize Israel, as it should when criticism is warranted. But it is not free from the basic obligations of the profession it claims to lead.
When a newspaper treats one of the oldest and ugliest libels against the Jewish people as fit material for speculative commentary, it has crossed a line.
And when the paper of record abandons the discipline of proof, it ceases to be a guardian of truth and becomes a vehicle for defamation.
