October 1, 2025
The dawn was long and dark. On board the Global Sumud Flotilla, bodies stiffened from the vigil; souls, from certainty. That last night before reaching Gaza was etched in the memory of those who could not sleep: activists, doctors, journalists, and parliamentarians —representatives from 45 countries— sitting on deck with life jackets on, defying the cold and insomnia while the sea returned shadows that were anything but innocent. Out of the darkness emerged unlit vessels circling the civilian boats; above them, swarms of drones cut the sky like mechanical eyes. It was a night of tactical harassment, of systematic intimidation, and also of serene resistance. The flotilla spent the entire night on high alert; now, at dawn, their bodies are exhausted, but their resolve has not faltered.
Just days ago, at the United Nations General Assembly, leaders embraced solemn language: recognition of Palestine, promises of protection, speeches on human rights. Words that echoed in the halls with pomp and applause. Today, while that bureaucratic oratory is repeated in minutes and communiqués, Europe itself has, in practice, withdrawn: Italy set its frigates at 150 miles and turned back; Spain drew a “security line” at 120 miles and also turned back; both hide their retreat behind euphemisms of “prudence” and “avoiding destabilization.” What does this gesture mean in human terms? It means abandoning a civil and humanitarian initiative that challenges a blockade, leaving it alone in international waters, permitting a UN member state to announce interception and even, according to reports, to prepare selective sinking tactics. That is not neutrality: it is betrayal. And their calls urging the flotilla to cease its voyage is nothing less than a boycott.
“If we, the leaders of this planet, cannot offer more than terror, conflicts, pollution, fear, inequalities, and wars to millions of people, then we must face the truth. We are complicit in crimes against our civilization and our planet. None of us can plead ignorance about what is happening. If we believe in human dignity for all, we must offer more. A world that holds life, not one that threatens us. Let us show that this General Assembly can and must make a difference. Let us show that we reject arrogance, hatred, and willful blindness in the face of injustice, in the face of war of aggression. We did not stop the Holocaust, we did not stop the genocide in Rwanda, we did not stop the genocide in Srebrenica, we must stop the genocide in Gaza. There is no excuse, no more excuse, no excuse whatsoever.”
The words of Nataša Pirc Musar, president of Slovenia, in her recent UN address, are not distant rhetoric; they come from a country forged in violence and fragmentation, and for that reason her voice carries the sharpness of one who knows the price of silence. When she says “there is no excuse,” she is pointing to the most implacable tribunal: history. Because recognizing a State at the podium is not the same as protecting its people at sea. You can applaud a flag in a chamber and at the same time order frigates to turn back, leaving sailboats exposed to military might. That gulf between word and deed is the very essence of diplomatic cynicism.
The Sumud Flotilla sails, however, with the greatness of a pure human gesture. Its vessels do not carry weapons but medicines; not soldiers but doctors; not slogans but bread. They are small boats, sailboats, almost dinghies, that confront the night and the machinery of war solely to bear witness and to try to save lives. That decision to expose themselves, to become mobile witnesses, is today the highest form of humanity. When the powerful cower before the logic of force, it is these citizens who uphold material justice: presence, documentation, stubbornness in solidarity.
That Europe, which swears by rights, hides behind the excuse of security while powerful forces harass unarmed civilians, is a shameful page of the present. But history will also record those who rose from the comfort of their sofas and went out to sea: those who, even exhausted after a night of siege in the darkness, tightened their life jackets, picked up their cameras, signed statements, and stayed the course. They are the ones who represent us before the world, the voice and the action that governments lacked the courage to exercise.
This is, and will remain, a chronicle with a double reading: on one side, the denunciation of institutional abandonment; on the other, the recognition of the dignity that sails. The political decisions that today protect interests and contracts will be explained by name in the books; but the indelible image will remain of the decks where men and women, with their gaze broken by the night and their hope intact, dared to show that another politics is possible: one of solidarity without calculation.
If there is a moral judgment upon nations, let it be rendered now: pomp at the General Assembly of the United Nations is not enough to wash hands stained by indifference. If there is political responsibility, let it be applied now: excuses of prudence do not redeem those who leave others at the mercy of violence, crime, and barbarity. And if there is human gratitude, let it be expressed loudly and clearly toward those who have taken the risk on our behalf. For in that instant when the night was darkest, they became beacons and pressed forward.
The Global Sumud Flotilla reported a few hours ago that it is less than 90 nautical miles from Gaza, having sailed for many hours already in the heart of the “high-risk zone.” The message was issued with an urgent call to vigilance, warning that they continue on course, undeterred by threats or Israeli harassment tactics.
The statement emphasizes that the boats advance with determination to deliver humanitarian aid to Gaza’s besieged population, despite the presence of drones and military vessels in the area. It also urges the international community to protect the mission, reminding that any attack against it would constitute a grave violation of international law and a crime against humanity.
The announcement, accompanied by the position map, underlines the critical nature of this moment: the flotilla advances toward Gaza with hundreds of activists, all fully aware of the risk but determined to break the blockade.
In one of the many videos uploaded by the crews, my heart tightened watching a Spanish activist whose voice broke, not out of fear for her own safety, but because she mentioned the boxes of chocolates she knows will most likely never reach the children of Gaza waiting on the shore, whom she only longs to embrace and embrace. She carries on board the embraces of the whole world.
Brave, brave, brave.
