After eight long years of injustice, solidarity won.
The court hearing in Lesvos, on January 15, was convened because twenty-four humanitarian volunteers, who rescued families from the sea and offered basic aid to those seeking safety, had been accused of human trafficking and espionage. For years, they stood before the authorities, effectively held hostage by charges that defied common sense. Year after year, they listened to the same baseless accusations, until a few days ago, when they testified to their motives and their political stance, clearly stating, “Saving lives is not a crime.” Even the prosecutor acknowledged that the case was unsubstantial. When the bench delivered its unanimous verdict, the words echoed far beyond the courtroom: Solidarity is not a crime.
We receive this moment with gratitude, but also with sober memory. The prosecution achieved its chilling effect. Independent rescue efforts withdrew from the Aegean, and people on the move faced an even deadlier sea. Fortress Europe sent a warning that solidarity and compassion will be treated as threats when they challenge the borders and powers of empire.
The same logic reverberates elsewhere. In Gaza, those who accompany families, deliver aid, or bear witness live under bombardment and the constant risk of death. In Minneapolis, neighbors who document ICE violence or organize mutual aid meet surveillance, detention, and state killing. It’s the same everywhere; the empire fears people who choose one another.
At CPT, we know these are not separate struggles. The radical commitment to abolition reminds us that violence is not only the prison or the bomb, but the structures that make them appear necessary. Abolition calls us to build communities capable of transforming harm, safety rooted in relationship rather than punishment, and with dignity stronger than cages.
From Lesvos to Gaza to Minneapolis, ordinary people continue to practice this radical act. They pull strangers from the water, share bread under siege, stand beside neighbors in courtrooms, film an arrest, and open their homes. These powerful acts of reimagination and action make another world possible.
The Greek verdict does not erase the suffering of these years, yet it reveals something no authority can outlaw: our strength in solidarity. In the midst of grief and uncertainty, we hold that conviction gently, that accompaniment endures, and that solidarity, stubborn and luminous, remains a form of nonviolent peacemaking that no power can defeat.
