Art Under Siege

INSTALLATION LOG // >
Exhibit Entry ____ Distortion Dialogue

June 2025

Baptiste Andre, Greta Thunberg, Şuayb Ordu, Mark van Rennes, Omar Faiad, Pascal Maurieras, Reva Viard, Rima Hassan, Sergio Toribio, Thiago Ávila, Yanis Mhamdi, and Yasemin Acar

The Madleen, a modest fishing vessel, named after the only female fisherwoman in Gaza left port with a simple mission: to bring food, medicine, and hope to a starving, besieged people. Gaza is under blockade. Gaza is starving. Gaza is bleeding. The Freedom Flotilla knew this—and they sailed anyway.

They knew the risks.
They’d read the history.
They’d seen what happened to the Mavi Marmara.
They prepared—physically, emotionally, legally—for the possibility that they would not make it.

Last night, they were intercepted by Israeli naval forces in international waters.
That’s not disputed. That’s not ambiguous. That’s a violation of international law. A war crime.
The Madleen never even reached Gaza’s horizon.

What is being reported—and reported only by a few brave sources like Al Jazeera—is that during the interception, those onboard were attacked with a white, paint-like chemical substance. There has been no official admission, no forensic analysis. Only the accounts of people who were trying to deliver food and instead found themselves chemically assaulted in open water.

Israeli officials have already dismissed the Madleen as a “selfie ship,” accusing the activists of performative politics—as if risking chemical assault, arrest, and possible death is some kind of PR stunt.

But this isn’t performance. It’s presence. It’s bearing witness in the most dangerous way possible—by showing up. These weren’t celebrities. These weren’t thrill-seekers. They were doctors, journalists, teachers. People who understand that sometimes showing up is the most radical act you can commit.

If there were cameras, it’s because history is being rewritten in real time. Because without documentation, truth disappears. And Israel knows this. That’s why it bombs press offices. That’s why it targets journalists. That’s why it tries to frame nonviolent resistance as theater—because theater is easier to mock than war crimes are to justify.

They were not armed.
They did not resist.
They had announced their route publicly.
They carried no threat—only aid.

And yet this is how they were met.

Most media outlets have ignored it. There’s barely a ripple on the global stage.
But the blockade of Gaza continues.
And while the bombs fall from the sky, the sea is being weaponized too.

This was not just an act of aggression—it was an attempt to erase a story before it could reach the shore. The flotilla was a message. And the attack on it was an answer: No. You will not be allowed to witness this. You will not be allowed to care out loud.

But here is the thing: they sailed anyway.
Knowing it could end in detention.
Knowing it could end in violence.
Knowing it might not end at all.

This is what resistance looks like.
This is what solidarity looks like.
And this is what we mean when we say that art is under siege—not just the paintings, the poems, the songs—but the people who carry those stories, who risk everything to make sure they are heard.

The Madleen will not be a footnote.
It is part of the record now.
A vessel of courage. A floating manifesto. A page torn from the silence.

They boarded it with weapons.
We answer with memory.

FAce-lIft

Feed the Paws…