It’s 5am in Blackburn and two large coaches wait in the dark.
Drummers stand together, tuning their instruments while others carry boxes of flags and posters.
Before setting off, there’s a quick roll call, a reminder to stay together and to keep safe.
By 5.50am, we stop in Accrington to pick up the second group. Snacks are passed around the bus, and one of the drummers shares two batches of homemade crisps.
After Fajr (dawn) prayer, we’re finally on the motorway. The mood is steady but hopeful. At 8.20, we pull into the services for a break before the long drive to London.
Snacks and gossip are passed around throughout the seven-hour journey, not a moment of silence to be seen.
A few people start painting the Palestinian flag onto each other's faces, while others write a solicitor’s number on their arms, just in case.
By the time we arrive, the grey skies we expected have turned blue, and the sun even makes an appearance.
At 12.30pm, we step off the coach and into a crowd of thousands. Flags fill the air, drums echo down the streets, and voices rise together calling for a free Palestine.
This protest marks the two-year anniversary of the genocide in Palestine committed by the Israeli government and military to the people of Gaza.
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Local activist Neelam leads the chants through a megaphone:
“Every time the media lies, a neighbourhood in Gaza dies.”
“For me, leading chants is about breaking silence,” Neelam says.
“Every chant we raise exposes the hypocrisy of those who stay quiet and reminds people that Palestine’s struggle is a human one. The chants are sharp and defiant because they have to be — they challenge injustice, call out complicity, and unite people in truth.”
The atmosphere is electric. People from across the country of all ages, races, and religions march together through central London.
At one point, we cross paths with a much smaller pro-Israel counter-protest. Music blares from their speakers, but it’s drowned out by the sound of the drums and chants echoing across the street.
It’s during that moment that a police officer threatens to arrest me for filming an altercation. He shouts in my face to stop recording, attempting to strip my journalistic rights away from me. I comply, but tension lingers.
We had marched through Westminster, crossing Waterloo Bridge and finishing at Downing Street, where the crowd gathered to hear the final speeches of the day.
The protest closes with words from Jeremy Corbyn, met with loud cheers and a sea of waving flags.
By 5pm, we make our way back to the coaches with the sound of our drums lightly echoing through central London.
Everyone is tired but still buzzing from the day. At the services, food is waiting for us: fried snacks, sliders, and juice, all arranged by Moulana Hanif from Blackburn, who organised the trip.
After 14 hours, what stays with me isn’t the near arrest or the long ride. It’s the sense of people coming together and refusing to look away.
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