By Ann Marie Ghazy

On June 13th, 4,000 people from over 80 countries gathered in Cairo, Egypt, answering a global call to march to Gaza. This was a grassroots movement—ordinary people uniting for the people of Gaza, who have endured nearly two years of war and over 75 years of displacement and occupation by the Israeli government. In Islam, speaking up against oppression is a duty.

The march was intended to be peaceful—an international demand for humanitarian access through the Rafah crossing, where aid has been blocked and suffering has intensified. Palestinians in Gaza are facing starvation, relentless bombardment, and mass displacement. More and more people around the world are waking up to this reality—and still, western world leaders remain silent.

When I saw the call to join the march, I knew it was a chance to fulfill my obligations as a Muslim. It was a chance to go beyond prayers, rallies and events. I landed on June 12, one of the last flights before our group was to head to Al Arish. The U.S. contingent was large, so we split into teams—Veterans for Peace, Code Pink, faith based, Midwest, Northeast. As I boarded, I scanned the plane, wondering who else was headed for Gaza.

We were instructed to go in quietly: dress like tourists, no keffiyehs or flags. We deleted apps, memorized emergency contacts, and tucked away anything that marked us as activists.

At the airport, I saw a Canadian of Algerian origin pulled aside. “Aslan min Jaza’ir”—from Algeria, the officer said. Anyone from Tunisia, Algeria, or Morocco was targeted. Those countries had helped organize the Sumud Convoy that was supposed to meet us in Al Arish, but it was already blocked at the Libyan border. Reports of deportations and detentions were pouring in. A woman from Australia was turned back just for having a Palestinian flag in her suitcase.

I made it through. My white skin, passport, and name gave me a layer of protection—a privilege I carry with discomfort, but also responsibility to show up when others can’t. There shouldn’t be privilege. Everyone should have the same rights. In Islam, racism is sinful. Prophet Muhammad reminded us in his last speech before he died: “O People, your Lord is one and your father Adam is one. There is no favor of an Arab over a foreigner, nor a foreigner over an Arab, and neither white skin over black skin, nor black skin over white skin, except by righteousness…”

In the days that followed, activists were taken from hotels or off the streets, deported, or detained. Our leadership kept counting heads—who made it, who was missing. We reminded ourselves: we were there for Gaza. This wasn’t about us.

The next plan was to regroup in Ismailia. Rana Abu Hashem and I took a taxi with two brothers from Ohio. We passed one checkpoint, but at the second, we were stopped. Over a thousand of us—from countries across every continent—stood in the heat as soldiers took our passports. 

The chants started: “Passports back!” Then: “Free Palestine!” Detention turned into protest. Nelson Mandela’s grandson stepped in to lead, as communication with leadership had broken down. Egypt hadn’t expected resistance. Riot police arrived—young faces behind shields. Then came the bultagaya, plainclothes thugs sent to beat us while police stood by. Rana and Yezzen, the two Palestinian Americans with us, were told they wouldn’t get their passports back unless they got on the bus. They were escorted there and warned.

Some of us made the painful choice to leave—some of us have children waiting at home, maybe we could regroup and try another action. A mother wept, “How do I have the right to hold my healthy child while mothers in Gaza don’t?”

We returned to Cairo to find that the leaders of our action had been arrested. Hotels were pressured to report us. Canadians were taken from the rooftop of their hotel. Thank God our hotel was safe.

Eventually, the message came: if you can leave, leave. It’s no longer safe. I got home on June 17. But nothing about me felt home again.

We are all at a turning point. There is no going back to the status quo. We can’t give up—because the people of Gaza haven’t given up. And we won’t stop—not until we see a Free Palestine no longer living under apartheid. Jews, Christians and Muslims deserve to live together in equality and peace.

A Free Palestine means a free Sudan, a free Kashmir, a free Congo, a free Rohingya, and a free world. Everything starts with Gaza.