Exclusive interview with Finnish-Kurdish Global Sumud Flotilla participant Renaz Ebrahimi

AMMAN, Jordan - In an exclusive interview with The New Region, Finnish‑Kurdish journalist, DJ, and activist Renaz Ebrahimi spoke about her participation in the Global Sumud Flotilla carrying  to Gaza, the personal motivations behind joining the mission, her Kurdish identity, and the deep connection she feels with the Palestinian cause. The discussion also detailed life aboard the flotilla and the tense hours before and after the illegal Israeli interception of the vessels and her subsequent detention.

Q: To begin, can you tell us about yourself: who you are and why you chose to take part in the mission?

A: My name is Renaz Ebrahimi and I’m a Finnish citizen. I’ve been living here since I was five years old when I came with my family, but my origin is from Kurdistan. My parents are both Kurdish, I’m Kurdish myself. I’m a journalist, a DJ and activist. I work in the media and cultural field, and before that I used to work in NGOs on anti‑racism, immigration policies, and other issues. Right now, it's mostly media and cultural events.

Q: Which part of Kurdistan are you originally from?

A: From Rojhelat, the area occupied by Iran. I actually sometimes feel like it’s so unnecessary that we have to always mention from which part of Kurdistan we are, because I think that’s something that keeps us divided, which is something that I would love to get rid of. So I just say Kurdistan, but yeah, the truth is that most of my relatives and family are from that part of Kurdistan occupied by Iran.

Q: Do you think being Kurdish played a role in your closeness to the Palestinian cause and your decision to join this mission, especially given your work on immigration and anti-racist causes?

A: Yeah, of course. Being a kid from a refugee background, growing up in Finland as a brown person, having the Kurdish background, knowing the history of our people — I think all of those have very deeply affected the way I see the world, the way I think about the world, the way I see the Palestinian cause, the way I feel like I’m related to their cause. I feel there’s a lot of similarities with our history, the things that we are going through. Yes, we are occupied and been brutalized by different nations and different people, but still the story and the history is very much similar. So I feel like just as a human being, I felt like I wanted to do something and do something concrete to try to help stop this genocide, but at a deeper level, of course, I feel like there’s this relation that I see, and I feel like the stories and the histories are very similar.

Q: Many Kurds seem distant from the Palestinian cause. Does that reflect your experience? Can it change?

A: I see that. After my involvement with the flotilla became public, I received a lot of messages from Kurds worldwide, many were supportive and proud. Luckily, there are a lot of people who understand, who think the same way and feel proud to see another Kurd being a part of this movement. But there were also very negative, even horrible messages, not only to me but to my family, which bothers me. 

I can understand the history behind it: Kurds have been brutalized and have faced violence throughout history by the Turkish and Iranian states, and from Arabs in Iraq or Syria. There's fear, bad blood, and painful history. Especially where my family comes from, people see the Iranian government's support for Palestinians or Hamas and this shapes their perceptions. But there are bad dictators and leaders in many nations, we shouldn't judge entire peoples by a few bad actors. 

And even if there were some Palestinians who were not supportive of the Kurdish cause, nothing justifies genocide. Killing civilians and babies: as Kurds, we should understand that deeply after enduring ethnic cleansing and attempts to erase us for centuries. I get the history, but I won't give it a pass, it makes no sense to me.

Q: Do you believe that what we're witnessing in Gaza, with the Palestinian cause becoming "viral" again, can open the world's eyes to other genocides and crises such as those in Congo, Sudan, and Kurdistan?

A: Yeah, and I’ve been asked, “Why aren’t you in Kurdistan helping Kurdish people, or talking about Sudan or Congo?” And I think it’s a silly question, a bit of whataboutism. The existence of other atrocities doesn't mean you can't focus action on one cause at a given time. It’s not like I care less about my own people in Kurdistan suffering, or people in Congo or Sudan. There are so many places that need the world’s attention.

But I strongly believe that if the world's view on Palestine/Israel changes — and it already is — that will influence how the world sees Kurdistan, Sudan, Congo. We'll see the connections: Western powers and global elites have caused and perpetuated many of these crises, profiting from chaos while people are turned against each other. It's not about religion: it's about interests and money — capitalism as usual.

Q: This was a tough experience and you knew it. What motivated you to take part?

A: I didn't have to think long. Watching a genocide livestreamed for two years made me feel like I was losing my humanity by doing nothing. As a journalist I spoke whenever I could, went to demonstrations and events, used my platforms in Finland, but it didn't feel concrete enough. When I saw the application posts on Instagram, I applied immediately. I thought: "This is it." If I didn't, I'd regret it. I never had a second thought afterward, I felt I was supposed to be there. It was physically hard: the mission stretched to almost a month and a half — rough seas, seasickness, a small boat. But every day I felt it was right, and a privilege to be part of it.

Q: How did your journey start?

A: I went to Barcelona to see the first boats launch: thousands of people supporting, which was powerful and motivating. Then I flew to Tunis, where our training began, because my journey started there.

Life on the flotilla

Q: How was life on the boat? Was there someone scanning for drones or possible attacks?

A: This was one of the preparations as well. From the beginning, it was clear that we’d have a tight schedule: we knew we came to work. My boat was called the “veteran boat” because there were five former US veterans — some served in Afghanistan and other areas of the global south. Their presence made me feel very safe: they knew what they were doing and how to prepare us civilians, physically but also mentally. 

We were 12 but after the sabotaging of another boat off the Cretean shore we arrived to 14. We had shifts every night, three different ones: early evening, midnight, and early morning when it was still dark, and the crew had their own rotations to make sure the boat stayed on course. It was strict, most nights we couldn’t sleep through the night. Everything — cooking, cleaning, even watching the sea — was scheduled and fair: everybody did everything, there was no hierarchy, no one with privileges. Everyone worked, everyone took turns. 

Q: How did you feel on board?

A: Before this, my life was very work-oriented. But on this mission, I wasn’t thinking about work. For the first time in a long time, I enjoyed music again — not for gigs, but for my soul, for my mental health. My work was being part of that mission and doing everything I could in that.

People expect me to be traumatized, but I feel more healed than traumatized. Even though I didn’t go there to enjoy myself, being surrounded by amazing, motivated, like‑minded people with empathy and humanity — I needed that. Living in Finland, seeing so much discouragement and coldness, I’d started to lose faith in humanity. But within this Flotilla, I got some of it back. Feeling many people who are willing to risk everything, to help others and be part of a mission like this, it was very healing and reconnected me to my roots again. 

My dad was a Peshmerga — a  freedom fighter — in Kurdistan for many years before I was born. He taught me that we all have to do what we can to fix the world, to help other people and be there for each other. He always encouraged me to use my voice and my privilege whenever I can to make the world better. That’s why I worked in NGOs, then in media and culture. On this mission, I felt I went back home — back to who I really am and what I really want to do in life.

"Even if we didn't break the siege, we broke the silence"

Q: Even though you didn't reach Gaza, how do you assess the mission’s impact?

A: Even though we didn’t succeed in breaking the siege or making it into Gaza — which was very difficult for me, the only times I felt really sad and even cried or felt hopeless were those moments when I realized we weren’t actually going to make it. But seeing how the world reacted — how people mobilized, got out, had strikes, were in front of government buildings and making noise — it felt like “okay, at least something happened.” At least there was a shift in the way people see what’s happening in Palestine through all the propaganda that Israel is trying to sell the world. I was getting hundreds, even thousands, of messages daily where people said “I feel like I’m there with you. Thank you for sharing everything you are doing right now. Thank you for letting us be part of this through social media.” 

I didn't feel like it was just the 400 of us on the mission. I felt like we were millions, because we were so strongly seen by the world at that moment, and they saw what we were trying to do and saw through the propaganda — not just from Israel, but even our own media in Finland, and across the Western world. The media was trying to sell us as the selfie boats: “they're just there to make names for themselves, trying to become famous.” 

People saw that what we were trying to do was bring focus to the cause and we used our faces, our likeness, our followings so the rest of the world could see what's happening. If we didn't do that, nobody would talk about it; we wouldn't succeed without content from the boats, from Tunis, from Barcelona — people would not know. I'm not going to apologize: of course we were trying to get attention, because we were trying to get people's attention to the cause so people would see. If they weren't willing to see what's happening in Gaza through the media or Instagram, maybe they will through me or someone they recognize — they will hear me out, hear us out, or see what's going on.

The interception and the illegal kidnapping and detention in international waters

Q: Walk me through the interception. When did it happen and how?

A: There were drones, but they didn't use them. There were smaller boats trying to make us stop. They'd announce, “You are entering a war zone” and that we needed to stop. They kept repeating it and we didn't listen because our mission was not to stop unless we have to, unless there's a gun to our heads.

They had a huge boat going next to ours; for a couple of minutes internet and cameras would go down until we would dodge and get a bit farther away, and then we'd get internet and everything back. 

They used this boat to stop the connection. They tried that a few times with us, but we were able to dodge it three times and keep moving forward. The last time they tried from both sides and there was no way to get away. They tried to aim dirty water on us, but even that they couldn't manage. We were laughing at some points: they had months to prepare and this is how they do it? It felt like a bad movie. When they stopped us, around 3 am, they got on our boat heavily armed — but nothing happened. I think they were told to be polite and kind because of hidden cameras. On some boats the experience was different.

We got quite close to Gaza, but we weren't the ones who got the furthest. Our boat wasn’t heavily damaged. Another boat actually sank: they let it sink while participants were still on it and rescued them last minute, but not safely. The Israeli military made them go into life rafts

The rest were just driven back to Israel. It took almost a day for us to reach Israel. During that time, we were confined inside but were allowed to eat our own food, drink water, and try to sleep.

Q: What change upon arrival in the port of Ashdod?

A: The atmosphere shifted right away. Once we arrived in Ashdod, the police and more experienced military got involved. We were taken off the boat, placed in an outdoor parking lot, and made to sit for hours. 

Violence escalated around the time of [Israeli National Security Minister Itamar] Ben‑Gvir’s appearance. He showed up and yelled “terrorists” and “baby killers” at us. We answered back and chanted: that's when they lost it and zip-tied us, hands behind our backs, for hours. I was grabbed, pushed, and dragged; I saw arms twisted, people forced to the ground, some stepped on and kicked. Ben‑Gvir did not physically touch detainees, officials were filming. They were trying to make a TikTok video to show us in a bad light, but they weren’t prepared for us to chant or yell back. The chanting really pissed them off, prompting more violence.

The duration in restraints varied. They kept taking small groups inside, and more people arrived from other boats. For some it was a couple of hours; for me around 7–8 hours, for others 10 hours. We didn't reach the prison until the next morning.

Complaints about cold or loss of circulation from tight zip‑ties were largely ignored or mocked. Only when something looked really bad did officers intervene. But in some cases they were very violent and definitely breaking our human rights.

Q: Were you afraid?

A: Not really. We knew that us, internationals with “good passports” and all the global attention on us, wouldn’t be treated like Palestinians. Still, the conduct was very violent in some instances and definitely in violation of human rights, particularly inside prisons.

I was more scared for people without “good passports”, like Arab activists — specifically Algerian and Tunisian nationals from countries without diplomatic relations with Israel: they faced physical violence, particularly the men. I won’t detail others’ experiences, it isn’t my place. For women, abuse skewed more psychological: harassment, bullying, intimidation. 

I’m uncomfortable labeling my own experience “abuse,” given the scale of Palestinian suffering, yet our rights were violated. We probably didn’t even see a small part of what they are capable of and what they do to Palestinian people. That’s one reason we tell these stories: so people understand that even us, with all our privileges, were treated this way.

The detention 

Q: When were you taken to prison and how was your experience there?

A: We were taken to the prison in different groups. Some were already there during the night, some of us arrived in the morning, and some later after that. The bus ride took hours and most of us, especially women, were forced to take off long-sleeve shirts; we were in t-shirts or tops and put in a bus where we couldn’t see outside. It was all covered, even the seats were metal, and the AC was heavily on — very, very cold. Nobody got food or water. They didn’t let anybody out for a bathroom break or anything. So the experience from the port to the prison was very uncomfortable in many ways. After that, it was about four to almost five days (for me) in the prison. The treatment varied — every day different things happened.

I was told that in our prison there were around 11,000 Palestinians, including 400–600 who were children, but I didn’t meet any, we were in a separate part of the prison. This goes beyond what your idea of humanity can comprehend. It wasn’t “eye-opening” because we already knew, but now I witnessed personally how they react to other people. Among Flotilla participants, I recall a girl in severe pain who was denied medication while guards laughed and joked. You have to be a sociopath to react that way.

We were divided and often moved at night; companions might vanish without explanation. Sometimes we didn’t see them until the next day, or at all. We didn’t know if they’d gone home or were put somewhere else. The uncertainty was itself a form of abuse. 

Q: How many people were in a cell with you?

A: In my cell it was a little less than 10 people but in others it was 15–16 people, and those cells only had five beds. You can imagine it was too many people per cell. Sometimes they pushed me to a wrong cell and I’d spend almost half a day there: this happened many times to a lot of us — they’d just change us or push us into whatever cell was in front of them to get rid of us. 

Sometimes they’d take us out, put us in a bus for a 30–60 second ride (still inside the same prison area) and then put us in this cage, maybe 14–15 square meters. Basically a cage you could use for animals, with no roof. During the day it was scorching hot, sometimes without receiving water for an hour or two. We were just there outside waiting and nobody told us what we were waiting for.

Q: You were waiting for water, what about food? Do you feel like you had enough food for those days?

A: I was on a hunger strike, so I didn’t eat in solidarity with Palestinian people. The prison I was in was really close to Gaza. The idea of getting any food from the occupiers while there are starving people only a few kilometers away didn’t feel right to me. I didn’t want to have anything from them.

For those who did eat, almost a day or more passed before they got any food. For me it was almost a day before I got any water. I drank tap water, my cell’s water looked clean, so I was able to drink a lot during those days. In some cells, I heard the water was yellowish, so some people on hunger strike in those cells couldn’t even drink water. Food came every now and then on the next days: random stuff like rice with cucumbers, an egg, a potato, not proper meals. Some days just bread and jam. I didn’t focus on food, but a lot of people were definitely in very weak condition because they didn’t get enough. 

Q: How were your days there, what were you doing? How were the guards behaving with activists?

A: There was constantly something happening, they didn’t let us have peace or quiet. Many of us were really sleep-deprived. They’d make noise day and night to keep us awake. They’d randomly enter the cell to count people, do random checks, make noises, or randomly pull people: “You need to go there, come with us,” with no explanation. They wouldn’t let us just be. They’d take us to the cage outside with no explanation. 

Sometimes they’d say, “You’re seeing the judge,” and it would take hours while they took two or three at a time. The judge basically asked: “Do you want to go home or stay here?” Some people argued, asking more legal questions that required a lawyer. If you said you needed your lawyer, they would throw people out. Mostly we were waiting, trying to get info, but the info was always wrong or not useful. The next day some of us — not all — saw their embassy representatives in Israel. Not all participants had that privilege. Even that meeting didn’t give much information, the only useful thing was letting our families know we were alive.

Q: Did you experience or witness any form of sexual abuse among the prisoners, among the activists?

A: No, I did not witness that, and I don’t know everybody’s experience: we were 400 people and divided a lot. If that’s someone’s story, they need to tell it themselves. 

When we arrived, they made us change into prison clothes. I was forced to strip in front of another participant with three female guards present. It didn’t feel necessary to have three of them staring at us; they ordered us to turn and then laughed at us. I wasn’t touched, and there were only women in the room, but it still felt like a violation. 

And what really bothered me: male guards frequently entered women’s cells at night without warning, even when detainees were lightly clothed because of the heat. Some women who wear the hijab did not have it on at those moments. While a woman guard was occasionally present, most of these unannounced entries were by men.

I also faced recurring harassment: guards repeatedly read my last name, “Ebrahimi,” and mockingly called me “Arab” to provoke a reaction. I chose not to respond. Even if I were Arab, using the term as an insult is unacceptable. Guards seemed to revel in emotional reactions — fear, tears, anger, or defiance — because they could then justify harsher treatment. Those who shouted back or refused orders risked violence, separation, and solitary cells.

Psychological pressure was constant. We were kept in the dark, rarely informed about what was happening, where we were being taken, or why some people were removed and others left behind. Sleep deprivation was routine. On later days, authorities set up screens and looped propaganda videos with loud music “all day,” designed to exhaust detainees. I avoided watching but I believe the footage included images from October 7. They seemed to want to film us watching: when we made noise and disrupted it, that plan fell through.

My refusal to engage mostly frustrated guards. I was ordered back to my cell or denied minor privileges. One punishment, no shower for five days, was particularly difficult. I washed my hair with tap water. Treatment varied by guard, with some more chill and others constantly on edge.

Q: How did Israeli authorities handle detainees' belongings?

A: Regarding personal belongings, we were instructed to discard our phones at sea before interception to protect sensitive information. Other valuables — microphones, AirPods, and additional equipment — were collected into a separate stash and never returned. I assume that wasn't trash they were going to throw away but what they took. They always steal. I’m not surprised, but it was weird: like, what are you going to do with my makeup? 

I expected to receive a backpack containing clothing and personal items but did not. In the end, I recovered only my shoes and my passport.

Q: Why, according to you, some activists were released earlier than others?

A: It wasn’t just Europeans, and government involvement was decisive. I think some Turkish people were released a bit earlier, then the Italians, and so on. In some countries, the governments made a big effort, they really pushed to get their citizens out as soon as possible.

For the Italians, their representatives were actually there in the jail. One night, he came to see all the Italians and said, “If you sign this paper, you can be out by tomorrow.” So I think it was mostly that some governments made a huge effort to get their people out.

A Greek‑chartered plane became a lifeline for many Europeans. Greece bought a plane for their citizens — there were only 27 of them — so the rest of the plane was filled with us Europeans. It wasn’t our government that made the effort to get us out, it was because Greece got their own chartered plane.

Mine [the Finnish government] was just giving media comments like “business as usual.” They said it’s normal to have some Finnish people stuck in prisons every now and then — really horrible comments in Finnish media — saying there was nothing dangerous or risky about us being in prison in Israel.

Some Americans and participants from the Global South — including Brazil and South Africa — remained detained for a day or two after our group departed. There were only about six people left: a few Norwegians, a Spanish person, maybe one Tunisian. They stayed a few more days, almost a week. I worried about US nationals: they didn’t see anyone from their embassy until maybe the fourth day, and their experience was really bad.

It wasn’t just white privilege or a “good passport” privilege: it was about which government was actually willing to go the extra mile to get their citizens out.

Q: Would you go back?

A: Definitely, in a heartbeat, without even thinking. Even with all the stress and not always knowing what was going on, I never felt like I shouldn’t have done it. I was sure, from beginning to end, that I was glad to be there — that I could use my privilege somehow, do something concrete, and be part of this. I’d do it ten times over if possible.

I hope it won’t be necessary, I hope the world will change and finally do something — not just people, but governments, the ones with the power to make change — so we don’t have to do this again. We civilians — normal people — shouldn’t be the ones trying to break a siege or deliver humanitarian aid to starving people. It should be governments, NGOs, associations with the resources and the mandate, the UN, and organizations built for this kind of work. We shouldn’t be doing this. 

Q: Are you traumatized, especially by the prison experience?

A: Honestly, right now, I don’t feel traumatized. Of course it wasn’t easy and I wouldn’t recommend it. Who knows what might come up in weeks or months, maybe something will surface and I’ll feel different. But right now, I feel like something changed in me. I felt I was in the right place at the right time, doing something important, and it changed me for the better. It gave me clarity about who I am and who I want to be, what I want to do, and where I want to put my focus. That feeling is stronger than any of the traumatic or heavy parts I experienced.

We were very well prepared, at least I was. The training, the conversations, and drills helped me understand what I was participating in, what I was doing, and what risks I was taking. Also, I’m a refugee myself: I saw things before I was even five years old. I’ve seen horrible things and how our people are treated in different parts of Kurdistan and Turkey. I’ve felt fear many times in my life. So maybe that helped: this isn’t the first time I’ve experienced something like this, being threatened or feeling like something might happen.