08/08/2026
We have been to many marches.
We have organised vigils, spoken at rallies, stood in crowds carrying grief, anger and hope. But crossing the Sydney Harbour Bridge changed something in us. It genuinely felt as though it changed our brain chemistry.
There were thousands of us moving together through the rain families, children, elders, strangers refusing to look away from what was happening in Gaza. And for those hours, We felt connected to something We had not realised We needed so desperately.
Hope.
Not the soft, passive hope that waits for someone else to make things better: hope born from uncertainty, from knowing the future is not yet settled and that our actions still matter.
That march did not remove our grief. It gave our grief somewhere to stand.
It reminded us that community can hold us when witnessing becomes unbearable. That solidarity can protect the part of us that might otherwise collapse into despair. That gathering together is not symbolic or pointless, it can heal us, strengthen us and return us to the work.
Crossing that bridge, We understood that we were not only marching for Palestinians living through genocide, displacement and starvation. We were marching for every person whose suffering has been treated as politically inconvenient.
And, in some way, we were marching for our own souls.
Because repeatedly witnessing cruelty without resisting it changes us too.
So we must keep witnessing when governments want us to forget.
We must keep resisting when injustice depends on our exhaustion.
We must keep boycotting when our money is used to sustain oppression.
We must keep demanding accountability for Palestinians, and for every life treated as disposable.
That march transformed us because it showed us that hope is not something we simply feel.
Hope is something we practise together.
One year later, We still carry that bridge inside us.
📷 andrewquilty