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| Shayna Wise-Till |
In the early hours of June 9, the ship Madleen was stopped about 200 kilometres off Gaza’s coast and redirected to the Israeli port of Ashdod. On board were influencers, activists and politicians who referred to themselves as a “freedom flotilla.” Israel’s Foreign Ministry, however, dismissed it as a “selfie yacht.”
Their stated goal was to bring humanitarian aid to Gaza, a region facing a dire humanitarian crisis. Israel actually restarted a small flow of aid trucks into Gaza the same day the flotilla was seized, after a brief pause meant to pressure Hamas toward a ceasefire. That pause had already set off urgent warnings from the UN about worsening malnutrition among Gaza’s children.
Historically, it is rare for one party engaged in active conflict to be expected to provide aid to a civilian population governed by its adversary. The power imbalance between Israel and Hamas is profound, and while wars are rarely between equals, those kinds of expectations are rare, and exceptional for a reason.
There is a necessary conversation to be had about the strategies employed by some of the world’s most privileged individuals choosing to charter a ship into an active war zone rather than directing resources to experienced humanitarian organizations. While their voyage succeeded in drawing global attention, it is fair to question the primary intent.
That said, even if the sole goal was raising awareness, that is important too. Many aboard the Madleen probably knew, and maybe even hoped, they’d be stopped and arrested. Their dramatic interception, caught on camera and shared widely, brought much-needed focus to Gaza’s worsening situation. This is supported by the fact that several flotilla members have refused deportation and instead chose to remain in Israeli detention. In a world where stories of suffering often get buried under political noise, their presence made a statement, even if they didn’t deliver a large shipment of aid. In that sense, their mission was a success.
Some have called the seizure a “kidnapping,” but the legal situation is complicated. Also, more than 600 days into this war, with dozens of Israeli hostages still captive in Gaza, referring to these influencers as “kidnapped” is perhaps tone-deaf and insensitive. The Madleen was stopped in international waters, which don’t fall under any one country’s jurisdiction. Normally, ships there are governed by international maritime and humanitarian law, but during war, the rules can change.
Naval blockades can sometimes extend further out than usual during conflict. There’s no one clear international law on this, but the San Remo Manual, a respected guide on maritime warfare, sets out conditions for when blockades might be legal. One key point: blockades can’t stop humanitarian aid from reaching civilians. But the manual also says that aid must be co-ordinated through neutral organizations, must be necessary, impartial and not pose a threat.
Reports say the Madleen carried very little aid and wasn’t connected to any neutral humanitarian group. The trip was overtly political. That doesn’t mean the people on board didn’t care deeply, but it complicates claims that Israel’s interception was illegal under international law.
This is not a judgment on the moral rightness or wrongness of Israel’s actions or the intentions of the flotilla. What is clear is that while Israel may have sought to assert control and send a security message, the greater cost was a missed opportunity to alleviate Gaza’s worsening humanitarian crisis. If those on board anticipated their arrest, which seems likely, then this flotilla was as much civil disobedience as aid delivery, and in that sense, it worked. But on the other hand, it casts serious doubt on the assertion that the ship’s seizure was unlawful.
The flotilla’s cause was rooted in conscience, and anyone willing to risk themselves to highlight injustice deserves respect. However, conflating symbolism with legality can obscure a complex legal and geopolitical reality. Israel’s conduct throughout this conflict has rightly invited scrutiny, but careless or exaggerated legal accusations risk diluting the legitimacy of genuine claims. To hold those in power accountable, we need precision and credibility in our language. The power of protest lies in its credibility. Let’s not waste it.
Shayna Wise-Till is a safety specialist at Airbnb, where she leads cross-jurisdictional investigations involving issues like human trafficking, intimate partner violence and policy enforcement. She holds a law degree from the University of Leicester. Before joining Airbnb, Wise-Till worked in policy, international advocacy and soft diplomacy, with a particular focus on the Middle East.
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