Brussels, 30th July
I’m not an activist. I go out and protest, but I’ve never done anything illegal to defend my ideas. When my friend Lara told me about the Global Movement To Gaza and their march to Gaza, I just thought that it could really make a change.
The aim of this march was not to enter Gaza —that’s impossible— but to enter Rafah through the Sinai and do a sit-in, a gathering of bodies from all over the world to say to Israel : “What you are doing is absolutely immoral.” We would be the first group and then the second group would arrive and the plan was for it to be like one constant protest just in front of Gaza. And I had to be part of that.
So two weeks later, I was at the airport with my little suitcase. Everyone had to travel alone so as not to arouse any suspicions.
I was really dressed up. I had all of my jewelry on, I had these fancy shoes with a small heel. I looked like I could have worked for an embassy! —Not like someone who was about to walk through the desert.
I was quite nervous. In the three days leading up to it, I had stayed at home. I didn’t tell my family what I was about to do. I was afraid someone would try and talk me out of it. The Belgian embassy had informed me that if something happened, they wouldn’t be able to help because I was doing something illegal. The Belgian delegation of the Global Movement to Gaza —each country had its own delegation— made us sign a contract stating that it was a peaceful act, but the Egyptian authorities had not approved of the march and protests are forbidden in Egypt.
Before we traveled, we were advised to delete all of our Instagram, WhatsApp, Signal, accounts etc., so that if we were arrested at the airport, they wouldn’t be able to look at them. But nobody ever questioned me. A white woman with a small suitcase… I looked like a full-on tourist. And it was one of those moments where you’re sharply confronted with your own privileges as a white woman from Western Europe.
The next day, as indicated by the organisers on Signal, Lara, who I had met the day before at the hotel, Nazir, who I had met during the trip, and I, took a taxi together to Ismailia, a town closer to Sinai. There aren’t many roads leading to Sinai, and there are a lot of checkpoints along the way. During the journey, we kept receiving messages saying that the authorities were arresting and blocking people at the checkpoints.
We passed the first checkpoint fairly easily. Our driver was convinced that we were just tourists —we had booked rooms in a hotel with a swimming pool and had stopped at Decathlon to buy stuff to play in the water.
But when we got to the second checkpoint, it was chaos. There were lots of cars and participants of the march. A police officer instantly came up to us and took away our passports saying in an ironic way: “Welcome to Egypt!” He and his colleagues were mad, they were furstrated. And next to them, there were people getting out of their cars and waving Palestinian flags, chanting “Free, free Palestine”. In a way, it was a very beautiful and powerful moment.
Three hours later, they took pictures of our passports and began redistributing them. Then we were given two options, either go back to Cairo or stay. We didn’t have any food and just half a bottle of water, so rationally it made little sense, but emotionally we felt we had to stay. At that time we still thought everything was possible. There were around a thousand other protesters from different countries and we decided that instead of going to Ismailia, we would march from checkpoint to checkpoint. That was the new plan.
Then we received new messages. “The army is clearing the fourth checkpoint.” “Now, they are heading to the third checkpoint.” “They will be at the second checkpoint in one or two hours.”
The army arrived and gave us an ultimatum: leave within the next 15 minutes or be forcibly removed. It became quite scary. Among the different delegations, there were people who wanted to leave because it had to stay peaceful and others who wanted to resist, to stay on foot. And there were Palestinians who really wanted to reach Rafah. It was very emotional.
Then violence broke out. People who had joined the crowd and were probably paid by the army, started beating people who had sat down on the ground, and threw glass bottles at them. As we didn’t want to be arrested and sent back on a plane, Lara, Nazir and I decided to return to Cairo.
We were back to square one, feeling like traitors to the cause, but we hoped we’d be able to try again the next day.
However, the next day, war broke out with Iran. It became very clear that the Egyptian authorities, who were pressured by the Israeli government to block us, would never approve of the march and would have no patience for us. With the Belgian delegation, we decided to keep a low profile until our departure and post photos of ourselves with Palestinian flags next to monuments or museums. Small acts of rebellion.
One week later, I was in a taxi on my way home. I cried a lot. Although I knew there was nothing else we could have done, I felt useless, like it had all been for nothing and that I had abandoned a country that needed help and was isolated.
Today, it’s impossible to reach people in Gaza by land or sea, but there are things we can do —Lara and I decided to create a line of t-shirts, the profits from which will go to Gaza. As Europeans, I think it is important to pressure our local authorities into acknowledging that it’s a genocide and that they have to do something to stop it. They have to do something to stop the hunger, to stop the blockade, and to break the silence
