One of the art world's most prestigious events, Documenta, has implemented a controversial new code of conduct that critics argue will effectively censor artworks critical of Israel, raising serious questions about artistic freedom and institutional integrity. The quinquennial exhibition, held in Kassel, Germany since 1955, announced an all-female, people of color curatorial team for its upcoming 2027 edition, but the celebration has been overshadowed by concerns about systematic censorship.
The controversy stems from the fallout of Documenta 15, curated by Indonesian collective Ruangrupa, which faced intense scrutiny and accusations of antisemitism. The collective's commitment to intersectional solidarity, including support for Palestinian voices alongside feminist, queer, and Indigenous perspectives, triggered what critics describe as a campaign of "witchhunts" involving death threats, cancellations, and criminalization. The German state's tolerance for various forms of social justice advocacy notably excluded expressions of solidarity with Palestinians or criticism of Israeli policies.
In response to the previous edition's backlash, Documenta published its new code of conduct on February 3, 2025, ostensibly designed to protect against antisemitism, racism, and other forms of group-related hatred. However, the document heavily relies on the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance's (IHRA) working definition of antisemitism, which has drawn sharp criticism from its own lead author, Kenneth Stern. Stern argued in a 2021 Forward editorial that the definition has been "grossly abused to suppress and chill pro-Palestinian speech" when used as a legal framework by institutions and governments.
Major human rights organizations, including Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch, have warned that the IHRA definition dangerously conflates criticism of Israeli policy with hatred of Jews, effectively erasing Palestinian voices from public discourse. The definition's adoption by Documenta essentially guarantees that the 2027 exhibition will exclude any artworks critical of Israel, regardless of their artistic merit or relevance to broader social justice themes.
The situation reveals what critics call a "twisted logic" regarding artistic freedom at Documenta. While the organization initially stated that the artistic direction and curatorial team are exempt from the code of conduct, it simultaneously requires these same teams to explain how they will ensure "respect for human dignity" using the IHRA definition as their standard. When contacted by Hyperallergic for clarification on this apparent contradiction, Documenta declined to provide further comment, leaving the restrictions' scope deliberately ambiguous.
The article draws a disturbing parallel to historical documentation of atrocities, referencing art critic Thierry de Duve's 2008 essay about photographs taken at S-21, Pol Pot's torture and extermination center in Phnom Penh. Between 1975 and 1979, 14,200 people were executed there after being photographed by 15-year-old Khmer Rouge photographer Nhem Ein. De Duve questioned whether genocidal images could be considered art when displayed in museums, but the current situation presents an inverted dilemma: institutions actively excluding documentation and criticism of ongoing atrocities.
The pattern extends beyond Documenta to other German cultural institutions. The 13th Berlin Biennale, co-curated by Mumbai-born Zasha Colah, celebrated "cunning, humor, and fugitivity" as subversive strategies against state control while simultaneously refusing to confront Germany's own repressive policies. Colah's recent claim that "there is no censorship in Germany" contradicts documented evidence of police crackdowns, targeted arrests, criminal charges, deportations, and systematic career destruction targeting those who express solidarity with Palestine.
A particularly revealing moment occurred in June 2021 when then-Culture Minister Claudia Roth welcomed Bonaventure Soh Bejeng Ndikung as the new director of Berlin's Haus der Kulturen der Welt. While celebrating diversity and intersectional inclusion, Roth immediately clarified the limits: "We don't fund events during which BDS is advertised or supported – BDS is antisemitic." This statement perfectly encapsulates the German cultural establishment's selective tolerance for social justice causes.
Critics argue that marginalized cultural workers, including women and people of color, are being used as "Trojan horses" by the German cultural ministry to provide progressive cover for fundamentally restrictive policies. The appointment of diverse curatorial teams creates an illusion of radical change while ensuring that the most challenging critiques of state power remain excluded from major platforms.
Scholar Fred Moten's analysis provides crucial context, noting that defending Israel's "right to exist" functions as a defense of the nation-state form itself. He argues that nation-states don't have rights – they exist to protect people's rights within their borders, but never at the expense of those outside them. This perspective challenges the fundamental assumptions underlying Germany's cultural policies and their international implications.
The current situation in Gaza has shattered many long-held beliefs about the progressive nature of art institutions and their commitment to critical thought. As genocide unfolds in real time, major cultural organizations are actively working to silence voices that might document or critique these atrocities, revealing the limitations of supposedly radical spaces when confronted with state power.
De Duve's observation about genocide proves particularly relevant today: "It belongs to the definition of genocide that the people it exterminates are annihilated in their humanity even before they are actually killed." When cultural institutions refuse to acknowledge ongoing atrocities or silence those who attempt to document them, they participate in the perpetrators' logic of erasure, treating victims "as if they never lived, as if their suffering doesn't matter."
The controversy surrounding Documenta 16 reflects a broader crisis in the international art world, where institutions must choose between maintaining access to funding and preserving their commitment to free expression and social justice. For many observers, the only viable response is to boycott compromised institutions and focus on building alternative platforms that can amplify Palestinian voices without institutional constraints or state interference.
