The Dreyfus Affair as a Smokescreen for the Real Spy – Contemporary Antisemitism and the Decline of Western Values

More than 130 years ago the Dreyfus Affair triggered a political and moral earthquake in France

In 1894 the Jewish army captain Alfred Dreyfus was falsely accused of spying for Germany—a conspiracy fuelled by antisemitism in both the army and the press. There really was a spy, but the French general staff used that fact as cover to pin the blame on Dreyfus while letting the true culprit walk free. Dreyfus, desperate to prove his innocence, cried out:

“My only crime is to have been born a Jew.”

Those words captured the essence of the case: a society deemed his Jewishness more important than truth or justice.

Antisemitic frenzy then: a nation split in two

The affair pushed the young French Republic to the brink. Venomous newspapers branded Jews “vampires… who will enslave France.” Such rhetoric poisoned public opinion, paving the way to convict an innocent man. The army even compiled a secret file of fabricated “evidence” to make Dreyfus look guilty. While he was exiled to the infamous Devil’s Island, it emerged that the army had knowingly sacrificed an innocent officer to shield the real spy.

France fractured. On one side stood the Dreyfusards, demanding that the Republic live up to its ideals of truth and justice. On the other were the anti-Dreyfusards, egged on by rabid headlines that openly questioned the patriotism of French Jews. Antisemitic cartoons and slogans were rampant; the paper La Libre Parole ran a caricature of hook-nosed, bug-eyed Jews captioned “Judas defended by his brothers.” Political rallies even rang with the cry “À bas les Juifs!”—“Down with the Jews!” The hateful words soon turned into deeds: riots erupted, Jewish shops were looted, and physical assaults followed.

Yet courageous dissenters spoke up. Writer Émile Zola risked career and liberty to expose the truth. His open letter “J’Accuse” denounced the army’s cover-up and official corruption. Public pressure eventually forced a retrial in 1899. Although Dreyfus was again found guilty—on the same bogus evidence—the president granted him a pardon; full exoneration came in 1906. But the damage was done: French Jews’ trust in their homeland was deeply shaken.

A barometer of Western values

The affair proved far more than a single miscarriage of justice; it became a test of Western civilisation itself. The ideals of the French Revolution—liberty, equality, fraternity—buckled under the weight of hatred and prejudice. Facts and the rule of law lost out to xenophobic hysteria. The episode foreshadowed what the 20th century would bring: a society that fails to protect its Jewish citizens clears a path to even greater catastrophe. One window in today’s Paris exhibition reminds visitors how that story continued: the names of 80 Jewish residents of the same building (now the museum) who were deported by Vichy France in 1942 and murdered. Like Dreyfus, they were treated as strangers in their own land. Tragically, even Dreyfus’s granddaughter Madeleine Lévy perished in Auschwitz—a grim post-humous “victory” for the antisemitism that once targeted her grandfather.

Parallels with the present: history repeating

It is tempting to think antisemitism ended in the civilised West after the Holocaust. Unfortunately, recent trends show old demons returning in new guises. The Dreyfus case offers chilling echoes in the 21st century:

1. Scapegoating mechanism
   Then, a Jewish officer was wrongly labelled a traitor to hide the real spy. Today Jews—or Israel—are often blamed for global ills. Whenever the Middle East flares up, European reflexes point fingers at Jewish communities, a modern variant of the scapegoating that doomed Dreyfus.
2. Media campaigns and conspiracy theories
   In the 1890s the press waged a smear campaign depicting Jews as treacherous parasites. Today, myths of Jewish power persist. Surveys show 39 % of Belgians believe “Jews have very powerful lobbies,” 38 % that “too many Jews work in finance,” and nearly one in five subscribe to bizarre conspiracies—an online echo of La Libre Parole. Even mainstream politicians resort to Holocaust analogies to demonise Israel, signalling how acceptable belittling Jewish suffering has become.
3. Political gain over principle
   Where 19th-century candidates campaigned with “Down with the Jews!”, modern versions appear as hard-line anti-Zionism. Parties realise harsh anti-Israel stances win votes in certain constituencies. Brussels parties—from socialists to Greens—vie to outdo one another’s criticism of Israel while remaining silent on abuses by China or Saudi Arabia. Extremes surface, too: in 2012 an Antwerp politician chanted “Hamas, Hamas, gas the Jews!”—and he belonged not to a fringe group but to the then Socialist Party.
4. Violence and intimidation
   Toxic rhetoric once led to street attacks on Jews; today words likewise turn into acts. Europe has seen deadly assaults from the 2014 Brussels Jewish Museum shooting to vandalism and beatings whenever Middle-East tensions rise. After Hamas’s 2023 massacres and the ensuing war, Belgium recorded a spike in antisemitic incidents: Jews spat at, called “Zionist murderers,” synagogues needing extra police, parents wondering if it is safe for children to wear a kippah. The atmosphere chillingly recalls the Dreyfus years.

These parallels show dismayingly little has changed. Antisemitism remains a gauge of democratic health—and a mirror held up to our civilisation.

The erosion of Western values: a warning sign

The liberal, pluralist principles that underpinned post-war Western democracies crack whenever antisemitism becomes respectable. Historians say the affair taught that weak or corrupt democracies breed Jew-hatred, whereas societies embracing diversity flourish. In 2025 we must ask whether we are forgetting that lesson.

A recent Belgian poll reveals antisemitic prejudices run deeper than many assumed: 14 % of Belgians feel outright antipathy toward Jews; in Brussels that rises to 22 %—almost a quarter. By contrast France scores 6 %. Ignorance is rife: three-quarters of Belgians do not know there are only 30 000 Jews in the country (0.3 % of the population), yet one in ten thinks that is “too many.” If 19 % still believe “Jews killed Christ” and 28 % say “Jews are not like other people,” medieval mind-sets persist beneath a modern veneer.

When antisemitism is normalised, the rule of law and ideals of equality weaken. Jewish organisations in Belgium report a growing sense of abandonment. Historian Joël Kotek recently remarked, “The feeling of being left alone among Jews is total; many want to leave Belgium.” If a community woven into national life for centuries contemplates departure out of fear and disappointment, the problem is not theirs alone—it indicts society’s failure to protect minorities.

Belgium as a case study: demography and electoral shifts

Belgium illustrates how demographic and political changes intertwine with antisemitism. The Jewish community is small yet historically influential. Its clout has ebbed, partly through economics: Antwerp’s diamond trade—once 70 % Jewish-run—fell to 25 % by 2006 as Indian merchants rose. Thousands left in the 2000s, thinning the community to perhaps 20–25 000, mostly in Antwerp.

Meanwhile the Muslim population has grown. People of Arab or Turkish origin outnumber Jews by roughly sixteen to one. In Brussels Islam is now the most practised faith, and about a quarter of regional MPs have an Arab-Islamic background. Within the largest Francophone party (PS), nearly 60 % of the Brussels caucus is of Muslim origin.

Parties naturally court large electorates. Jewish voters—0.3 % of the populace—carry little weight next to a swiftly expanding Muslim electorate decisive in many districts. Issues dear to that bloc—Palestine, visible religious identity—command political attention, whereas Jewish concerns fade. Politicians can criticise Israel for easy popularity, but supporting Jewish interests brings few votes and potential backlash. Thus a climate forms in which Jewish voices are sidelined.

The result surfaces in media tone, too. Mainstream outlets often cover Israel with skeptical or hostile framing. RTBF once cast suspicion on a freed Israeli hostage by quoting five “experts” who claimed her testimony might be propaganda—treatment unthinkable for an IS victim.

Antisemitic expressions in popular culture face similar shrugging. At Aalst Carnival, after grotesque Jewish caricatures provoked condemnation in 2019, organisers doubled down in 2020 with floats depicting Jews as “money-grubbing rats.” Despite UNESCO’s rebuke, local officials defended it as humour. When such imagery is waved off as folklore, moral vigilance yields to relativism.

Conclusion: Values under strain

The Dreyfus Affair taught that a society’s treatment of its Jewish minority reveals the health of its principles. France fancied itself civilised yet forgot its ideals when it mattered—with dire consequences. Today Western nations trumpet human rights and equality, but resurgent antisemitism exposes how fragile these claims are. Weak democracies nurture Jew-hatred; genuinely pluralist societies allow Jews to thrive. The warning from the fin-de-siècle remains.

The West must look in the mirror: will we heed the lure of populism and prejudice, or uphold the rights of every citizen? Signs from Brussels to Aalst are worrying. Antisemitism is not a relic but a litmus test. It shows where values are betrayed for fear or expedience.

Ultimately more is at stake than Jewish well-being. A society that tolerates antisemitism undermines itself. France’s injustice to Dreyfus signalled broader democratic decay; today’s complacency toward Jew-hatred is likewise ominous. Policymakers, press, and citizens must act. We cannot echo Émile Zola’s lament—that wrong is done “in all our names”—without protest. If “Never Again” still means anything, it must be proven now: by confronting every form of antisemitism and thereby reaffirming, rather than betraying, Western values. Only thus can we prevent history—from Dreyfus to Auschwitz—from rhyming once more in our time.

The silent Antwerp Jewish community will soon realise that the federal structure recognising the community as a whole works to its disadvantage. To have a voice, one must speak up; those who remain silent are left to their fate.