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I hit the ground in Barcelona at a run. Well, sort of. I spent the first afternoon upside down in a quarter berth fixing hydraulics, skinning my knuckles in the familiar poses of boat yoga. That night, a bunch of captains fanned out to other ports to sail more vessels to our central hub. The workload increased every day as more and more boats arrived, and folks showed up from every corner of the world to help. We quickly established teams, and a frenzied camaraderie emerged that will bind us together for life.
Then, we sailed.
“It was the Storm of the Century!” my seasick passenger was wailing at me. “I wanted to do this to have an adventure, to go to Gaza, not to take RISKS!” I stared at her. “Not to take risks?” She realized how ridiculous that sounded. “Well, I’m willing to take risks with the Occupation Forces, but not with the ocean,” she amended.
It took the Israel Occupation Forces 12 hours to capture us all, despite hammering us with water cannons, skunk water, and sending their special forces to board and arrest us.
It wasn’t the storm of the century, just a nasty little gale—but it did cause our untested flotilla an outsized number of problems. Hasty fixes done in port by volunteers don’t always hold up in bad weather at sea. Things broke at a rather alarming rate on all the vessels, and some were forced to turn back immediately. On the Mikeno, we had our share of small issues, and all our participants were down below vomiting. My two crew managed a heroic bucket brigade, and kept the fish food splashing over the side until dawn broke clear and beautiful over the Balearic Islands.
Luckily, that was the worst bit of wind Poseidon threw at us during the whole trip. We faced firebombs in Tunisia, drone attacks with explosives and mysterious chemicals off of Crete, and constant threats from the occupation government. By the time we finally got to the Eastern Mediterranean and had a clear course laid for Gaza’s shore, those of us who remained were hardened and determined. One last boat, the Johnny M, sank in calm weather on that stretch. I sailed over to them, picked up their crew, and we kept forging ahead.
When the interception forces began to hit us 75 miles from Gaza’s shores, we were well drilled in nonviolent resistance tactics. It took the Israel Occupation Forces 12 hours to capture us all, despite hammering us with water cannons, skunk water, and sending their special forces to board and arrest us.
In prison, we went on hunger strike, sang revolutionary songs all night, and refused to bow to their guns and dogs. Some of us were seriously beaten, many were deprived of critical medicines, and legal representation was almost nonexistent. But our comrades around the world stood up, blocked ports, shut down cities on many continents, and inundated the Zionist consulates with calls and emails.
Members of the Gaza Sumud Flotilla return from Israeli prison. (Photo by Bill Lee)
So here we are, free again and ready to escalate the struggle.
