The Middle East Doesn’t Need More Armchair Experts

Western pundits speak with confidence but not consequence. That’s the problem.

I recently watched Douglas Murray and Dave Smith discuss the Middle East on The Joe Rogan Experience, and I couldn’t shake a familiar frustration: once again, two men were dissecting a region they don’t speak the languages of, don’t live in, and—most crucially—don’t have to endure the fallout of their ideas.

Dave Smith brings a perspective rooted in libertarian caution. He questions America’s entanglements abroad, both good and bad. He doesn’t offer an alternative to an 80-year-old conflict; his skepticism of foreign intervention offers a welcome break from the sanctimonious certainty of Washington hawks. But even his approach remains clinical—if Israel misuses U.S. aid, then we should stop giving it. It’s a cost-benefit framework, not a moral or humane one. And while honest, that kind of detachment becomes perilous when it abstracts away millions of lives.

Douglas Murray is another matter entirely. He speaks with sweeping certainty about a civilizational clash, casting the region as a battleground between good and evil. He writes from a safe distance in the West, projecting ideological clarity over a landscape he doesn’t inhabit. Yes, he’s traveled there. But his reporting filters the region through a narrow lens. His go-to Arab voice? Mosab Hassan Yousef—a deeply fringe figure whose credibility is shaky even among Israeli intelligence. But for Murray, Yousef is useful: he parrots Murray’s worldview. That’s not honest reporting. That’s confirmation bias in brownface.

The irony—and projection—is that Douglas criticizes Joe Rogan for not presenting both sides on his podcast, yet fails to do the same on his own. He also refrains from criticizing other podcast hosts he appears with, even when they lack subject-matter expertise and are primarily comedians or musicians, so long as they echo the arguments he promotes in his books.

But this is what happens when commentary is insulated from consequence. When your children aren’t threatened by missiles, when your family won’t suffer the effects of the policies you endorse, when you can close your laptop and return to a quiet life in London or New York, your analysis floats. It may sound polished, even profound. But it’s weightless. Narratives become more important than reality.

It’s easy to say “let them sort it out” or frame the conflict as an epic cultural clash when you’re not navigating border checkpoints or explaining to your children why hope is in short supply. The voices that deserve amplification aren’t the loudest or the safest—they’re the ones shaped by lived experience in addition to expertise. The ones who have skin in the game and still believe in something better.

Here’s a truth rarely spoken on platforms like Rogan’s: Israel cannot kill all Palestinians, and Palestinians cannot kill all Israelis. While extremists on both sides fantasize about total victory or a maximalist position, a quieter, more rational shift is unfolding. Some Palestinians are beginning to understand that continued “resistance” might amount to collective suicide. Some Israelis are realizing that endless war is not a strategy—it’s a trap. These voices—still marginalized—are grounded in reality. And they need airtime.

Ironically, Tucker Carlson—hardly a representative of nuance—has aired more Arab pragmatism than Douglas Murray ever has. In interviews with Gulf leaders, Carlson showcased perspectives focused on negotiation, investment, and long-term stability. Not utopianism—strategy. Because, across the region, beyond the polemics and propaganda, there are millions who want to build futures, not just avenge the past.

My mother is a Muslim woman who lost a son. Her grief is no different than that of an Israeli or Palestinian mother. Pain doesn’t discriminate. And any worldview that dehumanizes the other is not only immoral—it’s a roadmap to ruin. That’s not sentimentality. That’s realism.

Joe Rogan has one of the most powerful platforms in the world. If he truly wants to explore the Middle East with honesty, he needs to invite voices from the region—people who live its complexity, who speak its languages, who know its costs. People who still believe in coexistence. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s necessary.

And yes—I speak the language and have spent more than two decades working and trying to understand the region, often to my own detriment.

Which I suppose makes me more of an expert than either of them. Funny how that works.