Thank you for this powerful and necessary piece. It names critical truths that many of us involved in solidarity work—especially those from outside the region—need to grapple with. I deeply appreciate your care in outlining the risks faced by Palestinians and Egyptians, and the real harm that can come from uninformed or performative activism.
That said, I want to gently challenge one recurring implication: that participants in the March to Gaza were broadly unaware of the personal risks—including arrest, violence, and even death. In my experience, that wasn’t the case. Most marchers I spoke with understood the severity of the Egyptian regime and how limited the protections of passports or nationality might be. It wasn’t naïveté—it was a conscious choice to engage in a high-risk action, knowing the odds were slim and the outcome uncertain. We saw it as a kind of moonshot—not because we truly believed we’d reach Rafah, but because even a failed attempt might pierce growing apathy and reignite media attention on Gaza.
Where I believe you’re absolutely right—and where we failed—is in understanding how seemingly minor or symbolic actions, especially in surveillance states, can endanger others. The risk wasn’t just to ourselves. It was to displaced Palestinians, local organizers, and Egyptian allies whose safety depends on invisibility. That risk wasn’t taken seriously enough. There should have been far stricter vetting of participants and mandatory training sessions. Some were clearly unprepared for what it means to operate in a dictatorship, and their reactions to police tactics—viewed as extreme only through the lens of a conformist Westerner—highlighted just how untested they were. That disconnect isn’t harmless.
I also share your discomfort with some of the public-facing content from the march. Videos of Westerners pleading with rank-and-file soldiers—and then becoming the focal point of the narrative—undermine the purpose and distort the power dynamics. This kind of visibility can obscure more than it reveals.
Still, I believe the core premise of the march had some value: to challenge the Egyptian regime’s hollow rhetoric of its solidarity with Palestine and to help refocus public attention at a moment when media interest in Gaza was fading. That the spotlight quickly shifted—especially after Israel’s escalation with Iran—is beyond the control of organizers. But the attempt to revive that focus, however flawed in execution, wasn’t inherently misguided.
This March did many things wrong, and I agree that it is highly likely that it caused unintended harm. But I also think some criticism of it risk flattening the full picture by assuming bad faith or ignorance where there was actually a mix of desperation and grief over months of activism at home. That doesn’t excuse the mistakes—but perhaps we can now more strongly interrogate similar efforts (not that I am encouraging them) to be sure that they minimize harm. That doesn’t absolve responsibility—but it calls for critique rooted in context, not caricature.
I share this in the spirit of reflection and respect. Your piece challenges all of us to move with more care, more clarity, and deeper alignment with those we claim to stand beside. Thank you for pushing that conversation forward.
Thank you so much for this generous and deeply thoughtful response. I really appreciate the care and clarity with which you’ve engaged—not just with the piece itself, but with the larger questions it raises about risk, responsibility, and solidarity.
You’re absolutely right to point out that many participants were not naïve about the risks involved, and I take seriously your pushback on that point. I recognize that, for many, the decision to join the march came from a place of informed conviction and a willingness to confront danger for the sake of visibility and renewed momentum. That intention matters, and I respect it.
At the same time, as you so thoughtfully articulated, intention doesn’t always shield others from harm—especially in authoritarian contexts, where the dynamics of visibility and association are so precarious. The tension you raise—between a powerful symbolic action and the very real vulnerabilities it can expose others to—is something we all have to grapple with more deeply.
I’m grateful for your acknowledgment of the unintended consequences, and your willingness to sit with complexity rather than collapse it into a binary of good/bad, right/wrong. That kind of reflection is what helps us all do better.
Thank you again for engaging in the spirit of care and accountability. I hope these conversations continue—because we need them.
This is an immensely valuable post. I wish this got massive attention so every well-meaning person can pause, stand down, listen, and act strategically.
You're a 100% spot on about how so much of the loudness is born out of the inability to bear our own helplessness and uselessness.
The sad reality, I think, is that genocides will never end. It was only after 2023 that I came to learn of the numerous genocides around the world in modern/recent history. This means that this work will never end. If one land gains freedom, then another will be fighting for its freedom elsewhere. It's like wildfires. One gets put out and another erupts.
And so we keep at it, our small boats against the crashing waves, like how The Great Gatsby ends.
Dismissing criticism as “infiltration” is not only inaccurate, it’s harmful. It shuts down necessary conversations and makes it harder for us to build something resilient and accountable. We don’t need to agree on everything, but we do need space for principled critique and reflections without resorting to smear tactics.
Thank you so much for this article
Thank you for reading!
Thank you for writing this in such a clear, thought out and thoughtful way. I hope many will listen.
Thank you for your thoughtful comment!
Thank you for your critique and your reflection. It's much needed.
Thank you for this powerful and necessary piece. It names critical truths that many of us involved in solidarity work—especially those from outside the region—need to grapple with. I deeply appreciate your care in outlining the risks faced by Palestinians and Egyptians, and the real harm that can come from uninformed or performative activism.
That said, I want to gently challenge one recurring implication: that participants in the March to Gaza were broadly unaware of the personal risks—including arrest, violence, and even death. In my experience, that wasn’t the case. Most marchers I spoke with understood the severity of the Egyptian regime and how limited the protections of passports or nationality might be. It wasn’t naïveté—it was a conscious choice to engage in a high-risk action, knowing the odds were slim and the outcome uncertain. We saw it as a kind of moonshot—not because we truly believed we’d reach Rafah, but because even a failed attempt might pierce growing apathy and reignite media attention on Gaza.
Where I believe you’re absolutely right—and where we failed—is in understanding how seemingly minor or symbolic actions, especially in surveillance states, can endanger others. The risk wasn’t just to ourselves. It was to displaced Palestinians, local organizers, and Egyptian allies whose safety depends on invisibility. That risk wasn’t taken seriously enough. There should have been far stricter vetting of participants and mandatory training sessions. Some were clearly unprepared for what it means to operate in a dictatorship, and their reactions to police tactics—viewed as extreme only through the lens of a conformist Westerner—highlighted just how untested they were. That disconnect isn’t harmless.
I also share your discomfort with some of the public-facing content from the march. Videos of Westerners pleading with rank-and-file soldiers—and then becoming the focal point of the narrative—undermine the purpose and distort the power dynamics. This kind of visibility can obscure more than it reveals.
Still, I believe the core premise of the march had some value: to challenge the Egyptian regime’s hollow rhetoric of its solidarity with Palestine and to help refocus public attention at a moment when media interest in Gaza was fading. That the spotlight quickly shifted—especially after Israel’s escalation with Iran—is beyond the control of organizers. But the attempt to revive that focus, however flawed in execution, wasn’t inherently misguided.
This March did many things wrong, and I agree that it is highly likely that it caused unintended harm. But I also think some criticism of it risk flattening the full picture by assuming bad faith or ignorance where there was actually a mix of desperation and grief over months of activism at home. That doesn’t excuse the mistakes—but perhaps we can now more strongly interrogate similar efforts (not that I am encouraging them) to be sure that they minimize harm. That doesn’t absolve responsibility—but it calls for critique rooted in context, not caricature.
I share this in the spirit of reflection and respect. Your piece challenges all of us to move with more care, more clarity, and deeper alignment with those we claim to stand beside. Thank you for pushing that conversation forward.
Thank you so much for this generous and deeply thoughtful response. I really appreciate the care and clarity with which you’ve engaged—not just with the piece itself, but with the larger questions it raises about risk, responsibility, and solidarity.
You’re absolutely right to point out that many participants were not naïve about the risks involved, and I take seriously your pushback on that point. I recognize that, for many, the decision to join the march came from a place of informed conviction and a willingness to confront danger for the sake of visibility and renewed momentum. That intention matters, and I respect it.
At the same time, as you so thoughtfully articulated, intention doesn’t always shield others from harm—especially in authoritarian contexts, where the dynamics of visibility and association are so precarious. The tension you raise—between a powerful symbolic action and the very real vulnerabilities it can expose others to—is something we all have to grapple with more deeply.
I’m grateful for your acknowledgment of the unintended consequences, and your willingness to sit with complexity rather than collapse it into a binary of good/bad, right/wrong. That kind of reflection is what helps us all do better.
Thank you again for engaging in the spirit of care and accountability. I hope these conversations continue—because we need them.
Maria
This article is a wake up call to reality. Thank you for that.
Thank you for saying!
This is an immensely valuable post. I wish this got massive attention so every well-meaning person can pause, stand down, listen, and act strategically.
You're a 100% spot on about how so much of the loudness is born out of the inability to bear our own helplessness and uselessness.
The sad reality, I think, is that genocides will never end. It was only after 2023 that I came to learn of the numerous genocides around the world in modern/recent history. This means that this work will never end. If one land gains freedom, then another will be fighting for its freedom elsewhere. It's like wildfires. One gets put out and another erupts.
And so we keep at it, our small boats against the crashing waves, like how The Great Gatsby ends.
As an attendee of the march, this feels very sus. And as a Palestinian, this feels like it was written by the infiltrators.
Dismissing criticism as “infiltration” is not only inaccurate, it’s harmful. It shuts down necessary conversations and makes it harder for us to build something resilient and accountable. We don’t need to agree on everything, but we do need space for principled critique and reflections without resorting to smear tactics.
TELEGRAM MARCH TO GAZA 🇵🇸
https://t.me/marchtogaza_palestine
The citizen-led movement continues,
We will not stop!
We will not rest!
the Cairo expedition was only a small part of it . Hope they learnt a lesson from this experience . Other Marches.to Gaza continue