To Gaza with Nothing But Conviction: One Woman’s Stand Against Genocide
What began as a peaceful march to Rafah ended in state violence and unresolved grief.
When I spoke to Sashah about her journey to Egypt to join the Global March to Gaza (GMTG), her voice carried a rare mix of determination and vulnerability. What she described was not just an activist’s mission it was a deeply personal act of resistance, driven by empathy and a refusal to be complicit in silence.
On 12 June 2025, Sashah a visually impaired woman who had never travelled alone before boarded a plane to Cairo. Her destination wasn’t a holiday resort or family reunion. It was a frontline in a global struggle for justice: the Rafah border, the gateway to Gaza, where hundreds of civilians, including babies and children, remain trapped under an inhumane blockade.
“I’d been waiting over a year for someone to organise something like this,” she told me. “Protests and rallies just weren’t cutting it anymore. I needed to do more. I needed to try.”
Despite the challenges that come with her visual impairment, Sashah made the decision in just a few days. After joining a GMTG (Global March To Gaza) group chat and finding support among like-minded activists, she booked her flights and accommodation with two weeks to spare. “It felt like a now-or-never moment,” she said. “I was done watching from afar.”
Her family’s reaction was one of concern and fear. “My sister looked shocked. My friend cried. But the guilt I felt was overpowered by the compassion I had for the people of Gaza. I just couldn’t sit back any longer.”
A Journey into Surveillance and Suppression
What awaited Sashah and the other GMTG activists in Egypt was far from the symbolic march they’d hoped for.
Upon landing in Cairo, participants had to be discreet. The action was politically sensitive, and security legislation in the UK and Egypt made it risky. Activists identified one another at the airport using code words and subtle signals items of clothing, whispered phrases.
“We became tourists in small groups of four or five,” Sashah explained. “We had to blend in. But that covert energy moving in shadows that would come to define our entire experience.”
Originally, GMTG planned to travel from Cairo to Al-Arish and then march three days to Rafah. But as police presence escalated in the capital, plans shifted. Activists were instructed to reach a new meeting point in Ismailia by taxi, moving individually to avoid drawing attention.
What unfolded next felt more like a scene from a dystopian film than a peaceful march.
Checkpoint One: The First Blockade
At a toll booth turned checkpoint, Egyptian authorities demanded participants hand over their passports. “We didn’t think much of it at first,” Sashah said. “But then a crowd started forming. There was confusion, a language barrier, no one could tell what was really going on.”
After two hours, a plainclothes officer gave them an ultimatum: return to Cairo or surrender your passport indefinitely.
They turned back but not for long.
That evening, the group tried again. This time, they passed the first checkpoint. Spirits lifted briefly.
Checkpoint Two: Hope Crushed
“The second checkpoint was different,” Sashah recalled. “It was chaos. Crowds were chanting for Palestine. There was energy but also fear.”
Their taxi driver stopped short of the gathering, refused to proceed, and demanded their passports again. When he wouldn’t return them, the group exited and walked.
And then everything changed.
“Riot police stormed in. They started hitting people, dragging elderly protesters onto buses. Fire engines were used to hose people down. Kids—yes, children—were sent to pickpocket and throw stones. People were being beaten, deported, or dumped in the middle of nowhere.”
In the activist group chats, messages poured in stories of missing passports, detained participants, women assaulted. “It was overwhelming. I expected this kind of backlash from the IDF near Rafah. Not from Egypt,” she said.
Despite the violence, their small group decided to stay and camp at the checkpoint overnight. But their resolve was interrupted.
“One of the organisers came running she was panicked. She told us women were being specifically targeted, and we had to leave immediately. That was it. That was the end.”
Aftermath: A Heavy Return
Sashah returned to the UK physically unharmed but emotionally shaken.
“I left feeling helpless and I came back feeling worse. We didn’t get to march. We didn’t get to speak. We couldn’t even try to lift the blockade. That pain stays with me.”
Still, she doesn’t regret going.
“I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Again and again. Because not going would mean accepting what’s happening in Gaza. And I refuse to accept genocide, land theft, starvation, and silence. I may be quiet, but I’m not passive. I won’t watch a people suffer just because it’s politically ‘inconvenient’ to care.”
A Call to Action
Sashah’s message is clear:
“We can’t allow a genocide to become normal. We can’t get used to watching children be bombed or starved or caged in. This matters not just for Palestine, but for all oppressed people, and for our future generations. If you’re not actively standing up against it, you’re passively standing with it.”
As I finished the interview, I asked her what she would say to someone who feels powerless, who wants to help but doesn’t know how.
She paused, then said: “Start somewhere. Speak up. Show up. And don’t be afraid to go further than what’s comfortable. Because the people of Gaza don’t get comfort. They get bombed.”
If this story moved you, consider sharing it. Speak out, act up, and stay loud—for Gaza, for justice, for all of us.