During the past 18 months hundreds of thousands have taken to the streets in mass anti-genocide protests. While some marched down Whitehall or filled Parliament Square, others set up camps and support groups. Many have faced the oppression of the state and the violence of the police. Almost all have experienced mental and emotional anxiety from seeing their own government enable mass murder. While the struggle for Palestinian justice continues, we meet five of the activists.
One Struggle, Five Individuals
On October 7th 2023, I wrote an 800-word piece on Operation Al-Aqsa Flood and Israel’s military response. The details coming in at the time were scant, and there was misreporting and misdirecting by authorities, as well as suppositions. Writing the article was hard, as events and the specifics were changing so fast. Concluding the piece was equally difficult. Several times I hammered away on my keyboard only to delete what I had written. In the end, I simply wrote what I intuitively felt, and those words have haunted me ever since:
“In the days ahead, events will overtake us all – and there is no going back.”
That was 540 days ago, tens of thousands of deaths ago – it was another world. Much of my time since then has been spent on the frontlines of the anti-genocide protest movement in Britain and Europe. I have reported on marches and visited encampments, observed sit-ins, die-ins, and teach-ins, listened to speakers, and heard the drums of dissent, spoken to the kettled, the arrested and the imprisoned, as well as surviving family members of those killed on Ghazzah’s beaches, and in her towns and cities. I have attended vigils and memorials. Most of all, I have seen people – everyday people – repeatedly use their bodies and voices as instruments to critique and resist a genocide, and I am interested in their personal stories.
#1 Tom Billy – We are funding war, and it must stop.
The catalyst for me was visiting Palestine 48 [so-called Israel], and the occupied West Bank, with a group from ICAHD in late 2022. What I saw and heard changed my whole perception of the occupation. You can read as much as you like sitting at home, but actually seeing and feeling it, the whole atmosphere was eye-opening and the motivation for me to get involved and do more in support of Palestine. When I returned, I became more active, organising meetings at the local Mosque and leafleting on the high street with a local Palestine solidarity group.
I retired around October 2023. People started asking me if ‘I was going off on a cruise.’ My response: ‘I’m going to be on a protest, and I might be arrested so please come and support me at the police station.’ I was being flippant about the threat of arrest then – less so now. I naively believed US president Biden, when he talked about red lines, and I never assumed I’d still be protesting today.
I made a trip to Canada with the family in mid-2024, which was a welcome break after six months of intense organising, campaigning, and protesting. But when in Canada I couldn’t escape seeing the symbols of settler-colonialism everywhere. The experience deepened my thinking about occupation. I thought – I’m here in Canada, which presents itself as a friendly place, and yet they committed a genocide against the Indigenous people. It was a light bulb moment, and I realised this is why governments in Canada, the US, and the colonial empires of Europe haven’t spoken out against the genocide in Ghazzah. It’s in their DNA. They committed genocides to occupy other peoples’ lands.
Arriving back from Canada, I realised the genocide wasn’t going to end any time soon, and the so-called red lines were meaningless. The level of my protest activity, coupled with what we were seeing on our tv screens and phones was overwhelming, and I sensed it wasn’t good for my mental health. I needed a positive activity, so I joined a poetry group.
I met up with friends, who were supportive of Palestine, but they were in a different zone. It’s hard when you’re very active and then you step out of that bubble and into friendship groups, who while sympathetic are not directly involved in resisting the genocide.
I ask Tom how he sees the current crackdown on protest and civil disobedience.
I’m worried. I’m old enough to remember the miners’ strike, of police battling people on picket lines, and on marches, of protestors being stopped on motorways, and jailed. Now, we are seeing dubious and overzealous use of counter-terrorism laws, of people on extended remand, and of severe bail conditions.
I am worried for my kids – they are 20 and 21. We are returning to an age of militarisation. So, the weapons factories and war will be funded unless we mobilise people against war, the war in Palestine, as well as war in the wider sense, the wider threat.
In the UK, I think we can only win on the issue of Palestine if we create a wider movement that rejects militarism in favour of welfare, and promotes a green agenda.
As Tom and I finish speaking a headline appears on my phone: Billions for War, Pennies for the Poor. The headline relates to UK Chancellor Rachel Reeves’ budget.
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#2 Biba – NGOs and international institutions are failing us.
I think I’ve always been an activist, and aware of injustices, even at the micro level. I started with animal rights – leafleting and collecting donations. During my university days I got involved with other causes and later with Palestine. I went on to join a global human rights organisation and worked there for almost two decades.
Over the years, the treatment of Palestinians has been exceptionable, but international institutions have failed to hold Israel to account. It feels a bit palliative. I think they’ve allowed the situation to deteriorate and worsen, prior to October 7th, without pushing back enough or making enough noise about it.
And that’s one of the issues a lot of people have with NGOs – their work doesn’t get to the root of the problem – it just deals with the symptoms. This belief compelled me to act, to join the protest marches.
You were arrested soon after the genocide began.
It was early on, yeah. I made a placard around mid-October 2023, marched with it a couple of times, and then in early November it got me arrested. That march was marked by Suella Braverman’s infamous and incorrect labelling of protestors as hate-marchers. The police were eager to clamp down on us that day. I wasn’t given a proper reason for my arrest despite being fully compliant with the officers who initially questioned me.
Biba was arrested in front of her two children, placed in a police van and driven to a police station approximately an hour away. She had no criminal record nor any interaction with the police prior to the day she was arrested.
This was your first arrest – how did that affect your home life?
At the time I was arrested, my main concern was the kids. I would have kicked off more had my kids not been there, but I didn’t want anything distressing them, so I stayed very calm. I panicked a little when they tried to put me in the back of the van because I’m claustrophobic, and the lights in the van were off, and I was forced to climb into a dark space. That panicked me.
I was held in custody until the next day. They released me at 4.30am. I remember the desk officer saying, ‘we think it would be unreasonable to keep you any longer,’ and I was like okay, but you realise it’s 4.30 in the morning and I’m an hour from home? It was like everyone was very polite whilst suppressing my basic rights. I call it polite fascism.
I was aware if I was charged and found guilty it would be tough. I would get a criminal record, and there would be implications for my career. I’m also a school governor, and I was concerned about that as well.
The arrest hung over us for six months before we finally received an email notifying me no further action would be taken. The arrest affected my kids and changed their relationship with the police.
I agree with Sarah Wilkinson’s observation, ‘the bail is the jail.’ Many of us have been arrested and then investigated for six months before being notified no further action would be taken. In the meantime, we are bailed on stringent conditions, which are obviously just an attempt to obstruct and harass us from our legitimate protest.
I have decided to sue the police for wrongful arrest, and I am hopeful something will come from that. There needs to be pushback on the institutions that are there to protect us but are now actually harming us.
Biba’s sign was returned by the police – both she and the sign are a regular feature at London’s anti-genocide marches.
#3 Djassi – Palestine is now our teacher
We set up the anti-genocide encampment in the spring of 2024. It followed months of actions, and protests and rallies. We realised we needed something more long term, that the genocide wasn’t going away quickly. The first night at the encampment was high energy. There was interest and curiosity in what we were doing. We felt enabled and the space represented a clear shift in the pressure we were applying to the university.
There was something a bit unknown about it all. It felt like there was a wave of some sort. Momentum and energy that we needed to act on, that we couldn’t avoid.
And was there any concern about what you were getting involved in?
The only concern was it wasn’t enough.
The encampment that Djassi belonged to lasted several months before twice being moved on. It frequently attracted pro-Zionist agitators, who on occasion turned violent towards the camp’s guardians. The university refused to enter into discussions with the camp, instead deploying aggressive private security guards to disrupt and harass. Students associated with the camp were threatened with suspension, some with expulsion. The camp was a peculiar experience – a place of sanctuary and solidarity, it fostered a spirit of enlightened resistance and collective empowerment, but it also bore the scars of uncontained belligerent bullying and calculating coercion by the university’s management. The institution’s raged response will blight their reputation for years to come.
Djassi remains part of a movement that is extending the struggle for the liberation of Palestine across university campuses and beyond. He continues to challenge institutions that are complicit and enabling the genocide.
I ask Djassi what he would say to his October 2023 self.
Don’t trust everyone who claims to be in the club. You will get through the smears. Be persistent with things.
Djassi reflects on what else he has learnt through his frontline experiences.
The Palestine issue is complex, and what is happening here is complex. Palestine is like a teacher, and I reflect deeply on that.
I think the scariest thing is seeing what is happening to Palestinians. It’s undeniably scary, and it should alarm all of us. We have a responsibility to do something, and we tried and are still trying. In terms of how institutions have responded to us, perhaps it is more than we expected, more aggressive, but we weren’t surprised that they did respond. We should have been ready, more prepared.
Djassi has witnessed how the state, and its institutions attempt to quell dissent. I ask him where the civic protest movement is heading.
I think the civil society question is interesting. Who defines what civil society is, and how it behaves? I think we’re discovering to what degree protest is acceptable, and more importantly, to what degree is it even effective. How we critique and who we critique, how we challenge each other is all changing. If we approach this differently, people start responding differently.
I think protests and acts of solidarity are going to have to get a lot more serious, a lot smarter. Don’t think just protests but movement building, community building – in very serious ways, all for the purpose of taking action. It’s going to have to be much deeper than just turning up on the day. We must form really strong networked organisations, if we want to be able to protest effectively, now and in the future.
Are today’s political organisations failing us?
I’ve been involved in [political] organisations before, but I think one of the lessons of the past 18 months is that because of the state of today’s political organisations in Britain, often it’s those who have not been previously involved [in political movements] that have a more positive impact, a more positive contribution. They’re not so old fashioned in their thinking – for example on things like models of organising. We will look back on this period as a moment when protest laws were tightened, and protest rights were threatened, but I hope we also look back on this time and see that we changed how we organise and who we organise with. Palestine is the teacher.
#4 Mish – Deep connections and communal relationships
Prior to October I hadn’t been involved in any kind of protest or activism or anything at all. I have kids and that kept me busy. The Palestine cause was something my extended family – parents, aunts, and uncles – felt strongly about, so it was often discussed, but I wasn’t politically active on the issue. I knew things needed to change but never expected I’d have the chance to be involved in a movement dedicated to making that change.
After October 7th 2023, my sister took me to a Friends of Palestine meeting. She was more politically active than me, and that’s when I became more involved. Initially, I was handling communication and social media.
I remember going into the first meeting. There was an openness and curiosity as to who these people were, and what we were going to do, but it sort of just happened very naturally. It was good – we felt like we could do something.
I ask Mish what she might say to her October 2023 self, knowing what she knows now.
Trust in what you’re doing, and there is nothing that is too much for you. Be bolder, yeah, I think be bolder is a big one. Don’t hold back because you know there’s nothing to hold back for.
Mish continues:
It was around February 2024 when I realised we were in this for the long run. It was not going to be a one-or-two-month thing. What followed was a bit of a strange time where we all were adjusting to this new reality. Then we started asking ‘what else can we do?’
Along with a few others, I got involved in banner and leaflet drops, and things like that. Things with more impact. On one occasion we did a five-banner drop, which back then was rare. I began to feel comfortable with more visible actions. A die-in in Whitehall and two encampments outside the US embassy in London followed.
Downing Street is a high-profile location and the die-in needed to be a success.
Nobody knows how things are going to happen, or exactly when. You’re never sure how the police will react, even when an action carries no threat or presents no danger. The Whitehall die-in was highly symbolic. And it happened – about 60 of us made death visible, while hundreds looked on.
For the embassy encampments, we did our research, and we knew we had the right to set up a camp. It hadn’t been done before, but it was all within our legal rights to do so. I’m a practical person so preparation is important to me.
How do you reconcile family life with being an activist?
After the Whitehall die-in I returned home via my local Sainsbury’s – children need feeding. I walked through the door and asked them how their day had been, and whether anyone had walked the dog. It was all very normal.
In May 2024, Mish was arrested in central London, along with several others. She had no prior interaction with the police, nor did she have a criminal record. The arrest was pre-emptive and designed to stop an anti-genocide rally. Mish was never charged with any offence. Despite this, she spent 14 hours in a police cell with only a book for company.
It was a novel – Against the Loveless World – by Palestinian-American Susan Abulhawa. The irony. It’s about a woman in a prison cell and the story is from her perspective. She’s in this cell and she looks back on her life and what’s happened to her.
How did the arrest affect you, I ask.
I felt like I needed some time to just figure things out. I didn’t want to get arrested again while out on bail, so I was very careful. I’ve got kids who are dependent on me, and they were my main priority.
After being formally notified of no further action by the Metropolitan Police in connection to the May arrest, Mish continued with her activism, supporting various groups in various ways. We lost contact for a short period, and then reconnected. I asked her what she is focused on currently.
A few of us are involved in relationship building because it is clear we’re all in this constant heightened state, and it’s been a while now, and our collective relationships are starting to show cracks. We are not tending to each other, and to be effective [in resisting] we need to work better communally.
For about three months, we have been holding weekly meetings to simply come together and hold space for each other. Processing and understanding grief are a large part of the work we are doing. Alongside that, I’m still supporting other actions.
Before we end our call, I ask Mish how the last 18 months have shaped her.
It’s hard to put into words. It’s so much and yet so little at the same time because I feel like we’ve not really done enough in stopping the genocide. Little has changed. Personally, I have grown in my self-belief, in trusting myself, in my faith to get through hardships. I have also formed some deep connections with fellow human beings, and without those relationships none of the resistance and solidarity work would be possible.
#5 AB – The revolution begins with radical care
I get a ping on Signal. A short message, 11 words sent from some place away from here, a plane-ride away. The message travels well in today’s topsy-turvy world: Everyone wants a revolution, but nobody wants to do the dishes – Dorothy Day.
The message is on the back of a call with AB.
I’ve always been active in organizing with communities, and building systems and structures that are for us – communities for the marginalised, the Queer community, the disabled community, the Muslim, Black and Brown peoples’ communities. And we’ve always been aware of Palestine. Then October 2023 happened, and it just got kind of notched up a level. Things happened so quickly, and one person can’t do everything, but here we are, collectively active on the front line doing what we can.
I ask AB how they view the last 18 months?
There is a lack of awareness about how the coloniser lives amongst us, within us, especially for those who live in the West, they forget that those systems and structures operate through us. You cannot liberate a whole other community of people when you’re oppressing your own people here, right now.
I also find it interesting how lots of people come to the cause with the energy, of this is the way, this is the revolution, of I’m in it, I’m here for it. They’re more than happy to dance around on the streets but few come prepared to do the additional work of taking care of each other, of understanding one another, of building a support system. When people are left hurt and burnt out, that breaks the movement.
What we’re seeing on the streets is still very much traditional protest, where you have one side against another, and there is constant disagreement, and on occasion that escalates to violence by the state and by the police.
I sense a lot of people new to protesting feel they need to do something and do it quickly. Taking to the streets is necessary, it’s a fundamental right and it has its place.
But slowly, some are recognising the revolution begins with care. What I am personally seeing now, 18 months into it [the anti-genocide protests], is people are thinking about who we need to be in this world.
When we are in collaboration with each other, when we are looking out for each other, we are dangerous to them [the institutions that oppress]. They are built to separate us, but when we’re reluctant and resistant to that separation, that scares them. They don’t understand what to do then. It confuses the hell out of them.
The oppressive system and its people have made us believe that we are powerless. They tell us ‘we don’t have anything, our voices don’t matter, we don’t deserve to exist.’ And that’s exactly what’s happening to the Palestinian people.
If radical care had been exercised earlier, would it have made a difference?
Absolutely. It’s what’s holding us back. Perhaps eighteen months could have been slashed by half if we knew how to take care of each other, if we knew how to uplift each other and support each other, including when harm happens, because that’s inevitable. This type of radical care must be something we are comfortable with, that when some form of harm or violence of oppression happens, we have a process in place, or at least trusted comrades around us, so we don’t have to deal with the harm on our own, while others are silent.
I ask how the last 18 months has changed AB.
Everything I’m doing, I’m figuring out. It’s a constant. It’s changed me in that sense. I think I feel like everything I have experienced through life was for this period.
I am clearer in my values, beliefs and principles and what justice means, and my level of consciousness and awareness of not enacting oppression is much higher.
A friend reminded me, if you want to know where to go or where to put your time, energy, and effort, look for the direction of the tip of the arrow. Where is it heading towards? Who is it directed at? That’s where you need to be. That’s who you need to support. And currently, the tip of the arrow is pointing towards Palestine.
Yes, the last 18 months have changed me. It’s been scary, tiring and exhausting, but I have a solid routine where I come back to myself. My heart is above my head.
*Some names are pseudonyms.
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©2025 Sul Nowroz – Real Media staff writer
