Southport Said “No!”
Babu Patel shares powerful words after our demo in Southport. Please watch.
Words from Babu Patel
In the relative comfort and tranquillity of a town like ours, it can be difficult to fully grasp the magnitude of suffering occurring thousands of miles away. Yet, your presence here today speaks volumes. It affirms that the people of Southport—like so many across this country—are not indifferent to injustice. You are here because you care about justice, human dignity, and moral responsibility.
We have gathered today in solidarity with the call for a free Palestine—not only for lives lost and communities devastated by violence but for a people who have endured decades of occupation, displacement, and siege. More fundamentally, we are here because we believe in our shared humanity and the urgent need to act in its defence.
We believe that every life matters, that human rights are not selective, and that suffering, no matter where it happens, should never be met with silence.
I am proud that Southport is not a place that stays silent in the face of injustice.
When tragedy struck our town — when we lost three young girls in a horrific act that shook us all — some tried to exploit that pain to spread Islamophobia, to sow fear and division.
But Southport said no.
You stood up.
You pushed back.
You rejected hate.
You rallied around your Muslim neighbours with compassion, solidarity, and love.
That same spirit — that same humanity — is what we must carry with us today.
Because if we could come together to protect our community from hate, then surely we can raise our voices to protect a people who have no one left to protect them.
I want us to remember: behind every headline, behind every statistic, is a child. A name. A face. A story.
There was the story of Hind Rajab, a six-year-old girl whose voice has broken hearts across the world. Hind was in a car with six members of her family when Israeli forces opened fire on their vehicle. Most of her family were killed instantly. Hind, somehow still alive, called emergency responders — crying, terrified, pleading for help. Her last words were broadcast around the world — and then came silence. Hind Rajab was found dead. A child, alone in the dark, in the middle of a war zone — and the world did nothing.
There was Adam, just twelve, who was filmed playing the oud — an old stringed instrument — in the middle of rubble. That boy played music for a neighbourhood that had lost everything. He said, “Maybe if they hear music, they will feel less afraid.”
There was Mariam, just seven years old, who used to paint sunsets with her fingers in a classroom that no longer exists. Her teachers said she was shy, but her art was filled with bold colours and hope.
There was Yousef, age nine, who dreamed of becoming a doctor — not because it sounded important, but because he once helped carry his wounded sister to a makeshift clinic, and decided right then he would learn how to heal.
There was Layla, who used to race her cousins through the alleyways of the refugee camp, giggling louder than the drone overhead. A little girl who loved skipping ropes and reading stories about faraway cities — cities that, to her, sounded like magic.
These are not militants.
These are not threats.
These are children. Full of dreams. Full of joy. Full of life.
And they deserve a future. Just like our children. Just like yours.
This is not about choosing sides in a distant geopolitical conflict — it is about affirming the principles of basic human decency. It is about rejecting the notion that some lives hold greater value than others.
It is about asserting, clearly and unequivocally, that the destruction of homes, hospitals, and schools — and the killing of thousands of children — must never be accepted as normal or justified.
I want to say this clearly:
It is not extreme to demand a ceasefire.
It is not controversial to want civilians and children to live.
And it is not complicated to oppose war crimes and collective punishment.
Some of you may be thinking, “But what difference can we make?”
We must demand more from our leaders and keep them accountable — not just words of concern, but with real action:
An end to arms sales.
An end to blind support.
And a foreign policy that upholds human rights, not undermines them.
And in moments like this, I’m reminded of the words of Desmond Tutu, a leader who helped guide South Africa out of apartheid. He said:
“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”
But it doesn’t end with government pressure — each of us can play a role.
That’s why I want to talk about BDS — Boycott, Divestment, and Sanctions. It’s a peaceful, grassroots movement inspired by the anti-apartheid struggle in South Africa, and it gives ordinary people a way to stand up for justice.
Boycott: Choosing not to support companies that profit from or enable the oppression of Palestinians.
Divestment: Encouraging institutions — including our universities, pension funds, and local councils — to withdraw investments from those same companies.
Sanctions: Calling on governments to apply diplomatic and economic pressure, just as we would in any case of systemic human rights abuse.
It’s a way of saying: we will not be complicit. Our money, our choices, our institutions must reflect our values.
BDS is not about hate — it’s about accountability. It’s about nonviolent resistance. And it’s one of the most effective tools we have to push for real change, especially when governments refuse to act.
So I ask you — don’t let today be the end of your outrage. Let it be the beginning of your action.
Write to your MP.
Speak out.
Support BDS.
Keep the pressure on.
Because change does not come from quiet agreement — it comes from persistent voices, from moral courage, from people like you, who refuse to look away.
And when future generations ask where we stood in this moment, let us be proud to say we stood on the side of justice, peace, and humanity.
Because peace will never come without justice.
And justice will never come without truth.
From the river to the sea — may Palestine, at last, be free.
Words from Babu Patel
