In September 2023, the Israeli Ministry of Defence released a promotional video for its Iron Sting precision mortar system. The footage—taken from a drone—shows a building in Gaza being obliterated. It isn’t merely a military demonstration; it’s a sales pitch. The message? Our weapons work. And they work because we’ve used them—on real people, in real places, with very real consequences.

At arms fairs like DSEI in London, the phrase “combat-proven” is more than sales patter; it’s a mark of credibility. The battlefield doubles as showroom. And the uncomfortable question is this: Is it morally, legally, or politically justifiable to turn war zones into testing grounds for profit?

Gaza as a weapons laboratory

Gaza—under blockade and densely populated—has become one of the world’s most brutally consistent testing grounds for Israeli military hardware. Companies like Elbit Systems, Rafael Advanced Defense Systems, and Israel Aerospace Industries benefit directly from each IDF incursion.

When Hermes 900 drones were deployed over Gaza during Operation Protective Edge in 2014, they weren’t just carrying out surveillance or airstrikes. They were collecting data for future sales. Within months, over 20 countries had placed orders. Their “combat debut” wasn’t a side note—it was the selling point.

The cost of this field testing is overwhelmingly borne by civilians. An estimated 37% of the 2,200 Palestinians killed in 2014 died in drone strikes. In the marketing material, this human toll becomes a metric of “performance under pressure.”

Arms fairs: showcasing war as a product

If Gaza is the laboratory, arms fairs are the showroom. DSEI, hosted biennially in London, is a vast trade carnival where governments peddle the latest “solutions” to visiting delegations from Saudi Arabia, the UAE, and other regulars on the airstrike circuit.

Israeli stands are often festooned with products “proven” in Gaza. At the 2023 fair, Elbit proudly promoted its Hermes drone line as “combat-proven.” UVision, in a particularly grotesque flourish, handed out chocolates shaped like its Hero-series “suicide drones.” In the arms world, even desserts are weaponised.

These events are walled off from public scrutiny. Protesters are kept at bay by police lines. Inside, VIPs roam freely under armed guard while deals are made behind closed doors. War is packaged as innovation, and marketing masquerades as strategy.

Surely such commodification of conflict is tightly controlled? Not quite. Israel is not a signatory to the Arms Trade Treaty (ATT), which aims to prevent arms sales to human rights violators. As a result, Israeli arms exports operate with fewer formal constraints.

Even ATT signatories find workarounds. The UK and Ireland, for instance, have repeatedly approved “dual-use” exports—goods with both civilian and military applications—that quietly find their way into Israeli weapon systems. In 2022, Ireland approved such exports to firms with clear military portfolios. In 2024, despite mounting evidence of war crimes in Gaza, contracts with Israeli defence firms doubled.

Official rhetoric hasn’t helped. In 2023, an Israeli minister infamously referred to Palestinians as “human animals”—a dehumanising frame that turns civilians into unwilling R&D subjects. Legal safeguards become rhetorical wallpaper. UN resolutions, such as the 2024 call to halt arms transfers to Israel, generate headlines but rarely consequences. The UK approved over $169 million in arms licences in the months that followed. Realpolitik, as ever, outpaces principle.

Corporate complicity and government collusion

The arms trade operates through a tight feedback loop between industry and government. In the UK, the revolving door is especially glaring. Politicians like Liz Truss, who once greenlit arms sales to Saudi Arabia for use in Yemen, now work for firms advising weapons manufacturers. It’s less a career path than a choreography.

Ireland tells a similar story. Despite strong public opposition, the Irish government deepened ties with Israeli defence firms throughout 2024. Contracts with Aeronautics Defence Industries surged, even as images of bombed-out flats and dead children filled the news cycle. Neutrality in name only.

Germany approved €326 million in arms exports to Israel in 2023 alone, including Leopard tanks and fighter jet components. France has sold surveillance tech and dual-use equipment with the usual ambiguity baked into the paperwork. Italy and Spain continue their dealings more discreetly—proof that ethical posturing often depends on the angle of the camera.

Legal resistance is rising. In the UK, groups like Al-Haq have launched lawsuits arguing that British-made components used in F-35s implicate the country in war crimes. French campaigners such as AFPS and ACAT-France are also taking arms companies and the state to court. Germany, meanwhile, now finds itself at the International Court of Justice, sued by Nicaragua for aiding genocide. It’s slow going—but the paper trail is building.

Resistance and alternatives

Not everyone is buying in. Across Europe, activists are targeting the companies, governments, and logistics chains that sustain the arms trade. Palestine Action has blockaded Elbit factories, occupied offices, and disrupted operations. Their methods are direct and increasingly effective.

In Germany, BDS Berlin and Aktion Aufschrei – Stoppt den Waffenhandel! have mobilised against Rheinmetall and others. In France, Collectif Palestine Vaincra and Stop Arming Israel push back through protest and shareholder activism. In Italy, Rete Italiana Pace e Disarmo has even convinced dockworkers to refuse to load weapons bound for war zones. In Switzerland, the Group for a Switzerland without an Army (GSoA) continues to challenge the country’s profitable but opaque arms exports.

Legal pressure is growing. Nicaragua’s ICJ case against Germany could, if successful, set a transformative precedent. Spanish human rights groups are demanding investigations under Law 53/2007 on arms export controls. And the European Center for Constitutional and Human Rights (ECCHR) is coordinating transnational legal campaigns against manufacturers and policymakers alike.

Policy demands are also sharpening: enforce the ATT meaningfully; ban “battle-proven” advertising claims; close dual-use loopholes that allow missile parts to masquerade as weather sensors; and divest public funds from occupation-linked firms. Ireland’s ongoing financial entanglement with five such companies remains a glaring contradiction. From Scandinavian pension boards to Dutch university campuses, the call is clear: stop monetising war crimes.

Conclusion: a call for accountability

What we’re witnessing is the industrialisation of human suffering. Every drone strike declared a “success” becomes a brochure highlight. Every civilian death becomes a bullet point in a pitch deck.

When weapons marketed as “surgical” kill thousands, who answers for the bloodshed? The general? The minister? The CEO? Or the citizen who shrugs and turns away?

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