Priya writes

The people aboard the Gaza Freedom Flotilla are some of the bravest in the world. Ordinary people — activists, doctors, writers, parents, retirees — who chose to set sail toward Gaza, knowing full well the risks. They carry not weapons, but medicine, food, and conviction. Their courage is a reminder that resistance doesn’t always look like what governments or militaries do. Sometimes it looks like civilians in a small boat, confronting overwhelming power because conscience demands it.

And if they can do this, how can we not at least keep Palestine in our consciousness? Alongside Congo, Sudan, and the Rohingya communities facing violence designed to erase them, to strip them of land, voice, and future. These are not faraway tragedies for “someone else” to deal with. They are part of our shared world, and their struggle for dignity asks something of us too.

We cannot afford to turn away completely, however heavy it feels. To disengage entirely is to leave space for propaganda, disinformation, and narratives that dehumanise people until their suffering becomes invisible. Fighting propaganda online, refusing to amplify misinformation, and speaking up when silence is easier; these are forms of resistance. So are BDS boycotts (learn more here), petitions, sharing truths, and supporting movements that defend human dignity. Even the act of refusing to let these struggles slip from memory is defiance.

But resistance is not only about enduring pain. It is also about joy. Joy is resistance. To laugh, to celebrate, to create beauty, to love without apology — these are acts that say: you will not strip us of our humanity. You will not take away our right to exist in fullness.

And always, resistance is collective. No one carries the burden alone. Movements are sustained not only by protests and boycotts but by the quiet acts of care: meals cooked for exhausted organisers, songs sung in defiance, friendships that hold people steady. Community is what transforms despair into strength.

The people of Palestine, Sudan, Congo, and the Rohingya camps should be somewhere in our daily consciousness. Not as endless despair, but as reminders of what it means to fight for dignity against overwhelming odds. If they can keep going, so can we. And we do it best together: resisting where we can, amplifying truths where we must, and holding on to joy as proof that humanity cannot be extinguished.

Engagement keeps us awake. Joy keeps us alive. And solidarity — across oceans, struggles, and borders — keeps the possibility of freedom alive..