Silence can be resistance too
The gentle power of quiet activism
I have been reflecting on, and talking quite a bit lately, about quiet activism. The type that happens away from the glare of social media, and away from what I see there as a lot of blaming and shaming about complete strangers seemingly not doing ‘enough’.
There has been a narrative, particularly in relation to the genocide in Gaza, that we are all just idly watching as these horrors unfold – or worse, we are intentionally looking away and letting it happen. That in our silence, we are all complicit.
Yet silence can mean many things, and perhaps sometimes it can even be used as a tool of solidarity.
Back in May, there was a silent march through Brighton to mark 77 years of the Nakba (when over 750,000 Palestinians were forcefully and violently dispelled from their homes to make way for the creation of the State of Israel in 1948).
And just this week, I was moved to tears by a public message shared by a Palestinian doctor in Gaza. You can read it in full here (and I encourage you to do so). Dr. Ezzideen’s words speak of the silence of death and destruction. The silence when there is no ‘normal life’ left. The silence when communication networks are almost completely dismantled, cutting you off from the rest of the world. He had to go to great efforts to get his message out to the world, but what has followed is a call on us – anyone who is out there and listening – to be with the silence he speaks of (starting the Sunday just gone).
From 9-9.30pm every night, in our respective time zones, we are called to switch off our phones and devices to be completely present in a global wave of solidarity that is quiet but nevertheless very powerful.
A mass, progressive silence like this, on social media in particular, messes with internet traffic and algorithms and has the potential to send a strong signal to internet servers of abnormal behaviour. When done in an organised fashion like this, it is a form of resistance – to both the noise of social media and the silence of our politicians towards this genocide.
This act of resistance has another effect too. It is an opportunity for us to actually be in silence, without the distraction of our phones, as we intentionally bear witness and allow all that we feel to fully flow through us.
Because whilst we may not all be guilty of complicity or allowing this genocide to happen under our noses, we are probably all guilty, at certain points, of numbing or distracting ourselves away from our pain. It is a natural human habit that can serve us very well in times of distress. And with so many distractions at our disposal – social media, shopping, alcohol, drugs, sex, busyness, to name a few – we have forgotten the power of presence, of breathing through all that we feel.
So as I take part in this quiet act of solidarity with Dr. Ezzideen and the people of Gaza whose lives hang on a thread, and who are losing their loved ones every day, I am also doing this: sitting for 30 minutes in silence from 9-9.30pm and allowing the emotions arising to run through me.
Using a method shared by the wonderful Joanna Macy - a prominent and much loved figure in the deep ecology movement who is herself making her journey back to the stars as I write this - I breathe in the emotion and imagine as I do so that it is being dropped down into my heart.
The heart – the place in our bodies that reminds us that we are more than just our minds or intellect; the place that gives us the capacity for huge acts of love, kindness and care.
The place where we are told that we are told our hearts can be broken. Yet as Joanna Macy tells us, our heart as an organ can never really ‘break’. It can only burst open as a reminder that our sorrow, our grief, our compassion and joy are all part of being human; and in doing so, bring us back to our interdependency and connection in the web of life.
To discover more about Joanna Macy’s work, including this breathing practice, I highly recommend this podcast We are the Great Turning.
When we breathe our feelings down into the heart, we not only fully allow them to be there – we also alchemise them. So that on the exhale, we might imagine that sense of love, compassion and connection flowing back out into the world.
It is a simple practice – breathing in the emotions, breathing out the flow of lovingkindness – and not dissimilar to the Tibetan Buddhist practice of Tonglen. Last night I sat outside at the allotted time in the silence of this practice, hearing the birds and wildlife around me and letting any emotions arising to run through me. Including the moments of numbness, the moments of anger or resentment or self-judgment, as well as the moments of deep sorrow and pain. Trusting that I can hold it all, that I don’t need to move away from any of it
I know this act in itself will not end the genocide. But it will at least allow me space, for the next few days, to be present to not only my own pain but the collective suffering of this moment. To remember that our human capacity to overcome some of the biggest tragedies and upheavals, and to deepen our love for each other and the planet, requires that we open ourselves to suffering. And to be in quiet solidarity with Dr. Ezzideen.
If you would like to join in too, there is still time. Please read the instructions below, and his heartfelt message, here.
Starting today
In the strongest form of internet disconnection, from 21:00 (9PM) to 21:30 (9:30 PM) for one week—for the Palestinian people.
Silence for Gaza
30 minutes of digital silence
THIS IS A coordinated digital campaign of the “Silence for Gaza” movement was launched. It is a growing wave.
Because something can be done: a daily digital break for 30 minutes every evening, from 21:00 (9:00PM) to 21:30 (9:30 PM) local time in each country.
During this break:
No social media.
No messages.
No comments.
Phones and computers are turned off.
This collective action will send a strong digital signal to the algorithms, and show our solidarity with Gaza.
(It’s not easy—but let’s do something. That’s what matters.)
The idea:
Every day, at the same time, millions of users around the world go completely silent on social media for 30 minutes.
No posts.
No likes.
No comments.
No opening apps.
Complete digital silence. Turn off your phone.
It is an act of resistance—a global digital protest.
The anger of so many citizens in the face of immense injustice.
Because something can be done: simple and effective.
Remember 21:00 (9PM) digital silence.
(Set an alarm on your phone: 21:00 (9PM) reminder.)
⸻
Technical Explanation:
1. Algorithmic Impact
Social media platforms depend on constant user activity.
We are the ones who keep the system running.
A sudden, synchronized drop in activity—even for a short time—can:
(a) disrupt visibility algorithms.
(b) affect real-time traffic statistics.
(c) send a technical signal to servers about abnormal user behavior.
This act highlights a citizen resistance to injustice, which until now was fueled by our passivity.
2. Symbolic Impact
In a hyperconnected world, digital silence is a powerful statement.
It creates a stark contrast between the noise of social media and the forced silence in Gaza.
It’s a moment of collective reflection.
3. Social Impact
If the action is widespread, leaders will see that citizens reject the crime in Gaza—
And only then will they move.
We aim to create a progressive wave that spreads worldwide
This stance feels neither authentically feminist nor genuinely spiritual - it seems designed to preserve personal comfort above all else. While there's always space for personal practice and withdrawal from the world's horrors, certain moments demand more of us.
In the face of what Palestinians are experiencing - forced into increasingly confined areas, denied basic necessities, and targeted even at aid distribution centres - silence becomes complicity. When you speak out, you stand in solidarity not just with those suffering, but with everyone who believes in fundamental human rights. Your voice sends a clear message: this is not being done in your name.
We have a moral obligation to advocate for those whose voices are being silenced. Consider the weight of history's questions: What would you have done during the Holocaust? During slavery? Today, as people are being detained without due process, the question remains urgent and immediate.
The entire purpose of privilege is to use it as a platform to elevate others. If your spirituality cannot withstand the discomfort of speaking truth to power, if it crumbles under the weight of moral responsibility, then perhaps it needs to be examined more deeply.
True spiritual practice doesn't retreat from justice - it demands it.
I really loved this post, it’s prompted deep thought and introspection around the “silence is complicity” narrative which I must admit at times I do get caught up in. So glad to have found your Substack and connected with you.