Tadhg Hickey is an Irish comedian, actor, and activist. He was detained by Israeli forces while participating in a humanitarian flotilla attempting to deliver aid to Gaza.
We were sat in the baking sun, cable ties behind our backs. If you lifted your head to offer solidarity to a comrade ahead who was being abused, your head was slapped back down. I had tried to bring baby formula to Gaza — that’s all. And I just kept thinking: how could you treat an Irish citizen like this?
They treated us like animals. Guards spat in Thiago’s face — one of our leaders — and called us “terrorist animals.” If they do this to people with my passport, imagine what they do to Palestinians who have no diplomatic protection. There are no repercussions, no diplomatic pressure to stop it. They’ve manufactured a situation in which they could kill one of us and probably get away with it. That’s the truly terrifying part.
“We were just trying to bring baby formula to Gaza”
We started this mission with a single focus — to reach Gaza and establish a humanitarian corridor. We trained for it. We knew it was dangerous, but our aim was simple: to deliver basic supplies to a besieged civilian population. When we realized we were going to be intercepted, the first feeling was disappointment that we wouldn’t reach our goal. Then anger — because Israel had already announced in their own media that they would intercept us. That, in itself, is an international crime.
They even told us where they’d take us: a “terrorist prison” in the desert near the Egyptian border. They were telling the world in advance they were about to commit an illegal act, and then they went and did it. What we experienced was effectively kidnapping — being taken to a prison with no charges and no legal process, for the “crime” of bringing humanitarian aid.
“They acted as if they’d captured a member of al-Qaeda”
When their navy boarded our boat, it was mostly young lads. The soldier who took me for questioning was trembling — it must have been his first interception. I couldn’t bring myself to hate him. He was a young man indoctrinated by propaganda, terrified, and yet ordered to carry out war crimes.
I didn’t feel scared of him personally. What frightened me was the impunity — the knowledge that anything could happen, that there was no system of accountability. They could hurt you, or worse, and the world would look away.
When we arrived in Ashdod, they dragged us from the boat. My head was forced to the ground, my arms pinned in the air. They acted as if they’d captured a member of al-Qaeda. It was sadistic and absurd at the same time.
In the prison, they tied us up and left us in the sun. If you lifted your head, they hit you. A seventy-five-year-old Irish delegate, the gentlest man you could ever meet, Paddy Kelly, was denied his insulin. We feared he’d die. When we protested, instead of sending a doctor they sent a SWAT team to restrain us. One of the guards said, “We don’t have any doctors for animals.” That’s how they saw us.
“No water, no lawyers, no contact with the outside world”
Inside, there was no access to water, lawyers, or the outside world. We were packed twelve or thirteen to a cell, unwashed, exhausted, and deprived of sleep. They would count us every two hours just to keep us awake — psychological torture.
At one point, when we protested for Paddy’s insulin, we hid behind a blanket in the toilet so they couldn’t count us. They freaked out and burst in — a full SWAT team with rifles and a muzzled dog ready to attack. “Put the blanket down or we’ll shoot,” they screamed. For a moment I thought: this is it, this is how it happens. They have created a world in which they could kill one of us and simply say we were resisting.
They seemed to enjoy petty cruelty. I begged for water — we were in the desert, dehydrated, close to collapse. Instead of helping, they shoved me back on a bus and blasted hot air at us for hours. It was as if they were trying to make us suffer without leaving marks.
When I was finally told I was being moved, I had no idea where to — I hadn’t seen daylight in two days. I didn’t know if I was being taken to a wall to be shot or released. Even at the airport, they woke us before dawn, refused to let us use the toilet, and kept us for six hours without food or water. There was an old man in his eighties on that bus. It was just petty, sadistic cruelty to the end.
“They’re like teenage Nazis — trying too hard to be baddies”
I don’t think everyone involved is a psychopath. It feels more like a society that’s drunk the Kool-Aid — gone so far down the rabbit hole of anti-Arab propaganda that they genuinely believe they are eternal victims and everyone else is the enemy.
If you try to help the people of Gaza, you’re branded a Hamas supporter or an antisemite. Their propaganda is so absurd it’s almost comical — they claimed our aid boat had a mojito machine and boxes of bombs. They filmed that instead of the hundreds of boxes of medical and food supplies that were clearly visible. It reminded me of the early days of the genocide: the lies were so transparent, but they had to double down because they have nowhere else to go.
“Ireland must grow a pair of balls”
When I got back, I felt anger — not only at Israel’s behavior but at the silence of the international community. How can this level of impunity persist? Imagine if the Iranian or Russian regimes treated an Irish humanitarian the same way. There would be outrage. But Israeli exceptionalism still shields them from consequences.
Ireland, a signatory to the Geneva Convention on Genocide, has a legal duty to prevent genocide where it can. Yet our leaders do nothing. They make speeches while our Central Bank buys Israeli war bonds and our airports facilitate U.S. arms transfers. The stain is deep.
We — ordinary citizens — were upholding international law, doing what our politicians refuse to do. The people of Gaza should not need flotillas. They should not depend on civilians risking their lives at sea to deliver baby formula and insulin.
“We’ll keep doing the work of governments until they act”
They can call us what they like — narcissists, Hamas sympathizers, whatever. But I didn’t go on that mission for attention. I’d never even been on a boat before. I went because I believe a besieged population deserves life, and because our governments have failed to act.
If they think cruelty will deter people, they’re wrong. The next flotilla already has over 100,000 people signed up. The more they repress, the more people awaken.
Until governments stand up and apply sanctions, ordinary people will keep filling the void. We’ll keep doing the work they should be doing — bringing aid, upholding international law, and refusing to accept a world where genocide is normalized.
