An Interview with Haecho, a Peace Activist Who Joined an Aid Flotilla Bound for Palestine

A Sense of Responsibility: What Led Haecho to Join the Aid Flotilla for Palestine

Kyeol : Many people see the situation in Palestine simply as a distant, complicated conflict. How did you come to feel personally connected to Palestine?

Haecho : Two paths led me there. One was sailing. Many groups worldwide use sailing as a form of protest, and voyages to break the blockade of Gaza have taken place almost every year since 2008. It’s a fairly popular movement along the Mediterranean coast. We started sailing because we wanted to visit isolated islands and build connections between them. So it was natural for us to want to cross the sea to Gaza in Palestine—the most isolated place in the world. Our original dream was to sail all the way from Korea to Gaza. But as the blockade and attacks on Gaza intensified after October 2023, the movement became much more active. There were five voyages last year, and I applied to join one of them.

The other path was film. I’m deeply interested in film movements in the non-Western world and the Third World. In the 1960s and 1970s, Palestinians also waged a fierce struggle through film, using it to build solidarity with countries in South America and the Arab world that were facing blockades. Watching those films made me feel a special connection to Palestine. This year marks the 78th year of colonial occupation in Palestine. You might expect that after so long under occupation, people’s lives would inevitably become subordinate to the occupying system. Yet Palestinians always seemed to be resisting. In the films, I was struck by young children who, even under brutal oppression, identified themselves as Palestinian and took pride in their history and culture.

Then, watching the news in 2023 and 2024, I saw people dying in so many different ways. I thought, “This is unconscionable.” Seeing children and older people alike being targeted made me feel that I had to do something.

Kyeol : Moving beyond concern and solidarity to actually boarding a boat in an aid flotilla requires a different level of commitment. Could you walk us through the process, from deciding to join in September 2025 to setting sail?

Haecho : There are currently three major flotilla initiatives around the world: Thousand Madleens to Gaza (TMTG), the Global Sumud Flotilla (GSF), and the Freedom Flotilla Coalition (FFC). Each has national or regional branches that coordinate participation or purchase boats and send them to join the flotilla. But there wasn’t a branch in Korea, so I applied as an individual participant. With so many people in the Mediterranean region interested in taking part, competition for places is strong. Priority is given to people with sailing skills, medical professionals, journalists, and influential public figures. The remaining places go to ordinary citizens. Applicants also undergo personality and psychological assessments. I was the only Korean, and I think I was selected because it’s important to have participants from as many countries as possible.

What ultimately led me to join was a sense of responsibility. Korea has served as a strategically significant place for the United States and has played an aggressor’s role not only in Vietnam and Iraq but also in Palestine. It also sells weapons to Israel. Despite our own painful history of colonization, the public in Korea seems to reflect far less on imperialism and colonialism than people in other countries I’ve visited. I think that’s why people here tend to see Palestine as having little to do with us. I found that both shameful and frustrating. Korean civil society had been steadily engaged in solidarity work for Palestine since before 2023, but those efforts hadn’t attracted much public attention. I felt that someone needed to go there in person.

Seizure, Detention, and Violence

Kyeol : I’d like to take you back to October 2025, when your boat was first seized. I know these memories aren’t easy to revisit, but I hope you won’t mind my asking, because it’s important to put that experience into words. What did you go through from the early hours of that morning until you were taken into detention?

Haecho : There were 60 of us from 15 countries. We were taking turns sleeping in pairs when a warning woke us in the early hours of the morning. Soldiers boarded our boat. Seeing countless lights in the darkness, I realized just how many soldiers surrounded us. I watched as the other boats were seized one by one. I didn’t think I was afraid, but my body began to tremble instinctively.

After I was transferred to a warship, my wrists were bound so tightly with cable ties that the marks were still there two days after my release. I was blindfolded, put on a bus, and taken to a detention facility in the middle of the desert. I remembered the principle I had learned in Sicily: “Always stay calm, and say as little as possible.” I let my eyes convey that I had come to resist, while keeping my face as expressionless as possible and answering only the questions I was asked. I found some comfort in what earlier detainees had left behind: the words “Free Palestine” written on the wall, and ballpoint pens and rosary bracelets hidden around the room.

Kyeol : Despite that frightening experience, you joined another aid flotilla in May 2026. Having already been through a seizure and detention, setting out again must have felt very different. How did the second seizure differ from the first?

Haecho : It was different in many ways. The first flotilla was relatively small, with about nine boats, and there was a ceasefire around the time our boats were seized and we were deported. One important role of these voyages is to draw attention to the issue. Detaining citizens from around the world in Israeli prisons prompts an international outcry, so Israel processed our cases and released us relatively quickly. We also had opportunities to chant slogans and make demands while in detention.

The second voyage was the largest to date. We had originally planned for 100 boats, and some 70 ultimately took part. Israel’s response was correspondingly more forceful. Israeli forces began seizing the boats much earlier, and the operation stretched over two days because of the flotilla’s size. This time, we were held in a floating prison rather than one on land. We were completely cut off from the outside world, with no one outside able to know what was happening to us. Because the prison moved through international waters, the authorities could evade responsibility by claiming that the assaults had occurred outside Israeli territory. Perhaps that was why the violence was so much more blatant. Conditions were poor, and many people suffered broken bones. The men were subjected to particularly severe violence. The hardest part was having to listen repeatedly to the sounds of my fellow activists being beaten. I had set out expecting something like my experience the previous year, but this time I felt that even the slightest mistake could cost us our lives.

Kyeol : I understand that the aid flotilla brought together a diverse group of people, including Israeli citizens, Jewish participants, Muslim women, and queer activists. Is there anyone you sailed with who particularly stands out in your memory?

Haecho : One French friend who shared our boat this year stands out. They grew up in a Jewish community, and some of their family members moved to Israel as adults and now live there as settlers. Israelis and Jews also take part in these voyages, but they face the harshest treatment—even harsher than that inflicted on participants from Arab countries. They’re treated as traitors, so joining us must have taken tremendous courage. My friend showed me a letter they had written to their family. In it, they described how Zionism had distorted and taken from them the Jewish community and faith they had cherished in childhood. I found it deeply moving.

There were also many queer people on our boat, and they were subjected to much harsher treatment during the seizure. I felt that wartime violence follows the same hierarchies of hatred that exist in the wider world.

What frightened me most was not the large-scale violence between two countries, but how systemic violence seeped into people’s private lives. That’s when I find myself struggling with how difficult this issue really is and wondering how it can possibly be resolved. It’s a question I continue to grapple with.

Gaza and the Issue of Japanese Military “Comfort Women”

Kyeol : There have been testimonies and reports of sexual violence during the recent seizure of the flotilla.

Haecho : That’s right. Nearly half of the women activists were subjected to some form of sexual assault. Many of my fellow activists have shared accounts of what happened to them. I’m sure many more survivors haven’t spoken out publicly. As I understand it, Muslim women were subjected to physically intrusive forms of sexual abuse that caused profound humiliation and shame tied to their religious beliefs. I’ve heard that white women were subjected to violence ranging from unwanted touching to rape for the perpetrators’ sexual “pleasure.”

Many of those detained after the first seizure were women from Malaysia and Indonesia. Both countries have a strong sense of solidarity with Palestine. They supported the flotilla at the national level, actively raising funds and sending participants. Nearly all the women detained were sexually assaulted. The perpetrators knew how deeply humiliating these acts would be to the women because of their religious beliefs. There are also reports that women from both countries stopped participating in the voyages afterward.

But I don’t think the violence inflicted on us can compare with what Palestinian detainees endure. Extensive testimony documents the widespread use of sexual violence as a tool of torture against both men and women.

Kyeol : I see a connection between the history of suffering endured by the Japanese military “Comfort Women” and the suffering and sexual violence in Gaza. How do these two histories intersect for you, and how do they differ?

Haecho : I believe history is repeating itself. Unless we break the links that perpetuate this violence, it will keep recurring. The issue of the Japanese military “Comfort Women” is a painful part of Korean history, spanning the colonial period and its aftermath. I didn’t live through that time myself; I learned about it through study and novels. Through my involvement with the Palestine flotilla, however, I encountered Israeli occupation forces and prisons firsthand. I confronted the reality of occupation and violence as they unfolded. That experience made me reflect anew on the violence of colonial occupation.

I think there are both similarities and differences. What I’m still grappling with is how systemic violence enters people’s private lives and takes shape there. Colonial occupation may end at the national level, but the harm inflicted on individuals is difficult to heal or undo, and its effects persist. Before I left, I watched a film directed by Park Sunam about the life of a “Comfort Woman” survivor. Her story stayed with me for a long time. I’m cautious about saying this, but my experience with the Palestine flotilla complicated my understanding of colonialism and liberation. It also left me with another question: Why is it so difficult for Koreans, who grew up in a country with that history, to empathize with people elsewhere who are now living through similar experiences? Why does their situation feel so distant to us?

Kyeol : As the movement for justice for the Japanese military “Comfort Women” has shown, accurately documenting and remembering both the violence committed and the harm suffered is an important way to prevent such tragedies from recurring. How is the truth about what is happening in Gaza being documented, and how far have efforts to hold those responsible to account progressed?

Haecho : During these voyages, we use a live flotilla tracker to share our progress in real time. People around the world can follow our journey and see what is happening to us. Enabling people to bear witness is one of the principles of this movement.

Since the boats were seized, the participants’ condition has been documented and their testimonies collected. In several European countries, prosecutions and court proceedings are already underway. The soldiers involved in seizing our boats have also been identified. They can’t be arrested while they’re in Israel, but there is a strong campaign in Europe to have them arrested if they enter another country while on leave. The International Criminal Court (ICC) has already issued an arrest warrant for the Israeli Prime Minister. Yet Korea hasn’t even begun such an investigation. We’re asking the Korean government to hold the soldiers involved in the seizures accountable. The Korean president did address the incident when I was detained for the second time, but that alone isn’t enough. There are concrete steps the government can take to protect Korean citizens, support people from around the world who have suffered violence, and bring the perpetrators to justice. Several European countries are already taking such action.

Compassionate Solidarity: The Strength to Traverse an Era of Violence

Kyeol : Unfortunately, many people see the Israeli-Palestinian conflict as impossible to resolve. Where do you find a glimmer of hope?

Haecho : While I was in prison, I found myself questioning what it means to be free. We were beaten, mocked, and locked up, but were those soldiers, unable to imagine a world beyond the prison walls, really any freer than we were? I began to wonder whether freedom might be measured by how wide a world we can imagine. The media can make it seem as though the world is falling apart, but sailing taught me that there are places we know little about where people live in peace. Just as fragments of a broken boat reached Gaza, some things cannot be stopped—they will eventually find their way.

Palestine is a place where people hold on to their dignity and pride, even in the midst of one of the world’s most devastating tragedies. I believe that simply living in Gaza is a miracle. Amid bombardment and starvation, many people remain on their land and continue to protect one another. To me, that is resistance through everyday life. Communities and organizations, both large and small, are still there. Gaza is on the coast, so it has groups such as fishermen’s unions. Before setting sail, the aid flotilla contacts the local fishermen’s union to say, “We’re coming. Please wait for us.” I believe that letting people know someone is coming from across the sea—and keeping that connection alive—is also part of providing aid. The liberation of Palestine, I believe, can inspire resistance to totalitarianism around the world.

Kyeol : Despite having been through two boat seizures and two periods of detention, you’re planning to set sail again. Where will your next voyage take you?

Haecho : My fellow activists and I have formed a new organization called the Korean Flotilla for Free Palestine (KFFP). Through it, we’ll continue to take action and provide support in ways both large and small. I didn’t set sail simply to have an extraordinary experience. I went determined to break the blockade of Gaza, and I’ll continue to stand with Palestine until it is free. I keep thinking about place—about what makes somewhere feel distant and the questions that lie between “here” and “there.” When people tell me Palestine is far away, I often ask, “Then where is close?” A place can feel distant not only because we know little about what is happening there, but also because we’ve lost our sense of connection to the history of the land beneath our own feet.

I want to keep connecting people who are cut off from the rest of the world with others by sharing their stories. Above all, I want to see for myself that there are people across the sea who share the same determination. And I’d like to see more of the wonders of nature, too.

Kyeol : Finally, as a peace activist who has sailed for Palestine, what would you like to say to the readers of the webzine Kyeol, who have long listened to, documented, and taken an interest in the testimonies of the Japanese military “Comfort Women” victims? And what would you say to young people who may one day bear witness to violence they cannot yet foresee?

Haecho : I hope you’ll live with greater imagination and courage. Among the flotilla participants detained with me were athletes, actors, teenagers, parliamentarians, and farmers. They saw humanitarian action as their civic duty in a world where massacres take place. They weren’t extraordinary people. Violence is always close to us, and we can confront it together. At sea, I learned that even when we can’t sail straight into the wind, we can tack back and forth and eventually reach our destination. Above all, I want you to know that our greatest strength in traversing an era of violence lies in our compassionate solidarity—in never turning away from one another’s suffering.