Jennifer Horgan: Only twelve people on a boat to Gaza — but they carry the weight of millions
Climate activist Greta Thunberg stands near a Palestinian flag after boarding the Madleen boat and before setting sail for Gaza along with activists of the Freedom Flotilla Coalition, departing from the Sicilian port of Catania, Italy.
The poor man started quoting Seamus Heaney to comfort us.
“Heaney used to say a poetry reading is a success once there’s more people in the audience than on stage.” It haunted him ten minutes later — with three of us, two poets and himself, scanning a crowd of two, one being my husband.
The absolute relief when a few people joined in the final seconds! By the time I made my way to the podium there was a comparably robust crowd of twelve.
It ended up being enjoyable. Crowded poetry readings can blur. You walk away feeling exposed, the only one to have taken their clothes off.
After my reading, two women approached me clutching my book to buy.
Numbers are funny, aren’t they? They can look terrible, feel terrible. The news is full of them, statistics after statistics, and yet, they are not always representative or straight-forward — something worth remembering.
Take for example this column. It got thousands of likes on X last week. Tiny in social media terms — far from viral, certainly. But I could look at 7.6 thousand likes and deem myself successful. I mean, it’s not twelve.
But it’s an empty number. Many people who liked the column may not have read it, not beyond the headline. Some were bots. It’s a puffed-up nothingness. You, on the other hand, a single reader reading now... You matter. But unless you get in touch I’ll never know we connected, albeit briefly.
Of course, numbers aren’t always so specious.
Sometimes they alert us to an overlooked truth. This week, The Children’s Rights Alliance reveals that the number of children in consistent poverty rose by a staggering 45,107 in 2024 to 102,977. 45,107 individual children in desperate need. 102,977 children. There is a heft of sadness behind that number, a depth and width.
What exists behind the numbers — in this example, children — matters.
Clodagh Finn wrote a beautiful piece last week about a woman called Jennifer Sleeman. Sleeman believes that the width of life is much more important than its length. In her tenth decade, she could be boastful in terms of the length of her life, but instead she remembers small, meaningful moments, like when a woman climbed down from her bike to accompany her on a long walk home. The width of her life, ballooning in such precious moments, is more important than its length.
And so, it is with numbers. Numbers deceive. The width of them — the space they travel back into, can matter more than the length across.
Zoom out to far bigger events and numbers misrepresent us all the time.
As it was last weekend, when Cork became a tale of two vastly different cities. One group marched through the city for Palestine. The other, marched against immigration. One group was deeply representative — the other full of hot air and menace.
The convergence of the two groups passed noisily but peacefully, according to local reports.
The numbers are interesting. put the Pro-Palestinian march at “approximately 2,500” whilst describing the anti-immigrants as having “swelled to 5,000 according to one garda estimate.” The latter group waved tricolours and American flags, believing themselves to be as exceptional as their deluded American anti-immigrant allies.
However the two groups may have compared on the day, I am certain that the 5,000 anti-immigrant protesters have less in common with the average Irish person. Yes, violent protests are occurring, including what happened this week in Ballymena — but such events are not necessarily representative.
Deeper analysis conducted by the ESRI last year showed that attitudes in Ireland towards refugees and immigration remain largely positive, both compared with previous data on attitudes in Ireland and compared with other European countries. Irish people are far better represented by the number one — one man — the 90-year-old Irish priest Fr Peter O’Reilly, who is standing in solidarity with LA rioters this week. “I’m an immigrant too,” he shared. "With the Irish experience of being discriminated against for so many years and knowing the discrimination here in this country against the Irish, I felt there was something personal about that."
Irish people align themselves with Palestine and with Fr Peter O’Reilly far more than they do with people marching against immigration.
Last week, almost 400 writers in Ireland signed an Irish PEN/PEN na hÉireann statement calling for an immediate ceasefire in Gaza. The letter represents us — the four hundred represent us.
Which brings me back down to only twelve — the twelve who sailed towards Gaza on the Madleen this week. Only twelve, the same number of people at my poetry reading.
It’s important we name them.
Reva Viard. Greta Thunberg. Rima Hassan. Yasemin Acar. Thiago Avila. Yanis Mhamdi. Omar Faiad. Sergio Toribio. Baptiste Andre. Suayb Ordu. Mark van Rennes. Pascal Maurieras.
I am in awe of this blessed dozen this week — in absolute awe. How incredible it is, beyond words, to sail into the mouth of such cruelty and horror, where others have died before, for the sake of people they have never met.
Predictably, there has been criticism. Some call them performative, on a ‘selfie’ boat in search of celebrity. Others argue that the Madleen is bringing attention away from Gaza not towards it.
I disagree. I think their act is a hugely courageous and defiant one.
Long before October 7, Israeli commandos raided another vessel doing similar, the Mavi Marmara, in international waters. They killed ten activists and injured dozens.
Some activists choose to turn the heroism of these twelve into a weapon with which to beat ordinary people, accusing everyone who is not on a boat to Gaza of cowardice or heartlessness.
Liam Cunningham, one of the flotilla’s most vocal supporters, says when our children and grandchildren ask us what we did during this genocide, our only answer can be: 'I didn't care'.
I don’t agree. Or I’m not there yet — not at that point of complete despair for us all.
Most Irish people care, and care deeply. Yes, we are more complicit in these days of blanket news coverage and social media consciousness-raising, because we know more — that is true. But we have done more than we ever did for the victims of the Holocaust. Many Irish people have donated money, petitioned politicians, marched, written, prayed, sang, cried. But only exceptional people will manage to leave their kids, parents, jobs, bills, and responsibilities, to go out and change the world, regardless of the consequences. I would rather praise these twelve than punch down on everyone else.
These twelve are the brave few, doing what we all might but can’t, won’t do — for assorted reasons. I don’t believe this makes the rest of humanity bad. History is littered with these exceptional souls — from Rosa Parks to Nelson Mandela. We must be grateful they exist and support them in our hearts and through our prayers.
Yes, only twelve, not five thousand, but behind them, the thoughts and prayers, the tears and protestations, and the genuine pain of millions.
An exceedingly small number of people can change the world when they represent so many — when their width far exceeds their length.
As it happened, we passed an anti-immigrant group leaving that poetry reading too. They held up their banners about Irishness and Ireland in the centre of an otherwise welcoming rural town.
My reading had twelve people in attendance. Their protest had only seven. On that occasion I was happy to count the numbers and believe them too.
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