We Are All Complicit

When police officers arrest peaceful protesters, the defence is often: *I was just following orders.* And the counterpoint is equally familiar: there is no excuse for obedience to injustice. That much is true. But there is a harder truth we often avoid because it implicates not just those in uniform, but all of us. The truth is: we are all complicit.

Complicity isn’t confined to batons and handcuffs. It is woven into the everyday systems that sustain our lives. We pay taxes that fund military budgets. We scroll through apps built by companies investing in surveillance and arms. We consume products that travel through supply chains threaded with exploitation. None of us stand outside this web.

Take the NHS, a cherished institution that is supposed to be our sanctuary. And yet its data platform is being built by Palantir, a company whose technology is tied to surveillance and military targeting in Israel and beyond. Do I stop using the NHS? I can’t. My family’s health depends on it. But my reliance still binds me to a company profiting from war.

Or consider Spotify. For most of us it is simply music in the background of our days. But its billionaire co-founder Daniel Ek has invested millions into military technology firms supplying Israel’s assault on Gaza. Even our playlists, it seems, carry the weight of complicity.

And these are only fragments of a larger pattern. Google and Amazon provide AI and cloud infrastructure to the Israeli government under Project Nimbus.[1] Microsoft’s Azure and GPT-4 tools have been integrated into military operations.[2] Caterpillar supplies the bulldozers that demolish Palestinian homes—so notorious that Norway’s $2 trillion sovereign wealth fund recently divested from the company.[3] Defence giants like Lockheed Martin, Leonardo and Elbit Systems profit directly from weapons sales, while global shippers like Maersk keep the cargo flowing.[4] Even the phones in our pockets are assembled from minerals extracted under brutal conditions in global supply chains.

This is not accidental. The system is designed to make purity impossible. It wants us dependent and compromised, so that complicity feels inevitable and resistance feels futile. When every service, every product, every institution is touched by violence, the temptation is to shrug and say: *what difference can my choices make?*

But recognising complicity is not about surrender. It is about clarity. It means refusing the comfort of pointing fingers while pretending our own hands are clean. The question is not *“Am I complicit?”* but *“What am I doing despite my complicity?”*

There are cracks in the system. Some institutions are beginning to take a stand. Scotland has banned public funding for arms companies supplying Israel’s military.[5] Norway has divested from Caterpillar. And workers inside tech firms are organising: Google and Amazon employees have launched the *No Tech for Apartheid* campaign, while Microsoft staff have staged walkouts under the banner *No Azure for Apartheid*.[6] These acts are small, but they remind us that even in a tangled web, it is possible to pull at the knots.

We are all complicit. That is not an excuse to turn away or to accept things as they are. It is the very reason we must act—because if our daily lives are tied to injustice, then our daily acts of resistance matter all the more. Keep questioning the status quo...

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References

[1] “How US Big Tech supports Israel’s AI-powered genocide and apartheid,” Al Jazeera, May 2024.

[2] “Israeli military used Microsoft AI in Gaza war,” The Guardian, Jan 2025.

[3] “Norway’s wealth fund divests from Caterpillar over ethical concerns,” Reuters, Sept 2025.

[4] “Global firms profiting from genocide in Gaza, says UN rapporteur,” The Guardian, July 2025.

[5] “Scotland bans arms companies that supply IDF from receiving financial aid,” The Guardian, Sept 2025.

[6] “No Tech for Apartheid campaign at Google and Amazon,” Wikipedia (accessed Sept 2025)

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To My Dearest Friend

If I could gather every shard of injustice
and burn it down for you…
I would.
I would stand in the ashes
and challenge the heavens…

You who carry strength
like a light within your palm,
who can crack the darkest day
with one gentle look,
who makes the world feel possible
just by being in it…
You deserve better.

There are no right words
for how wrong this is.
I see you.
Not broken, never broken…
but shining with a passion
that no suffering can extinguish.

You are not alone.
Even when darkness dwells inside you,
I am there, the steady hand beside yours,
the voice that stays
when everything else fades.

And when you forget
how golden you are,
I will remind you…loudly.
Fiercely.
Forever.

x

PALANTIR - Remember the name

There are names that stir unease before they reveal their intentions. Palantir is one of them—named after Tolkien’s “seeing stones,” instruments of vision, power, and control. Today, the company is embedded in the NHS. A private firm forged in military surveillance and intelligence now holds the keys to millions of patient records.We’re told this is progress. But progress for whom? 

In late 2023, NHS England awarded Palantir a £330 million, seven-year contract to build the Federated Data Platform (FDP), a system meant to centralise NHS data across England. The language—efficiency, modernisation, transformation—is familiar. But beneath it lies the quiet outsourcing of public power to private surveillance. 

Palantir’s history is not one of care. It was born from the CIA’s venture capital arm and honed by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) to track undocumented migrants. More recently, it has been linked to Israeli military operations in Gaza. These are not abstract associations. They reveal a corporate philosophy rooted in control, not compassion. 

This is not the first time data systems have been weaponised. In the 1930s, IBM supplied punch-card technology to the Nazi regime—tools that helped the government identify and track Jewish communities. IBM didn’t run the camps. It built the system that made them possible. Palantir is not IBM. But the logic is the same: power cloaked in neutrality, tools sold as apolitical, consequences outsourced. 

Public trust is already breaking. Nearly half of people in England say they would opt out of sharing NHS data if a company like Palantir is involved. But for most patients, no real opt- out exists. The data is “pseudonymised”—a meaningless term when the company handling it also holds the tools to re-identify. 

Doctors’ organisations have pushed back. The British Medical Association, the Doctors’ Association UK, Medact, and Foxglove have all opposed the deal, citing threats to patient confidentiality and the NHS’s founding principles. A legal challenge is underway over the heavily redacted contract—417 of 586 pages were blacked out—and the lack of a proper tender process. 

Meanwhile, NHS staff on the ground report little improvement. Some trusts find Palantir’s software incompatible with their systems. Others say it increases their workload. At the same time, the company’s liability for data misuse is capped at just £150,000—a laughable figure for a billion-dollar firm. 

So why is Palantir here? 

The answer is depressingly familiar. They were already in the room. During the pandemic, Palantir was granted emergency access to NHS data systems. That foothold gave them an enormous advantage when bidding for the long-term platform. No meaningful alternatives were explored. No public debate was held. 

But there are better options. Platforms like OpenSAFELY, built during the pandemic by NHS doctors and researchers, allow for privacy-preserving, open-source analysis of sensitive data—without the need to centralise or commercialise it. Other European public-health systems use tools like Better (based on openEHR) or UK-developed platforms like Graphnet and Black Pear, which operate without ties to military surveillance. 

The question isn’t whether we need digital transformation in the NHS—we do. The question is who should lead it, and what values they should uphold. 

Palantir does not share the values of the NHS. It is a surveillance firm, not a care provider. And its growing role in our health system—quiet, complex, and largely invisible to the public—risks normalising a future in which healthcare is governed not by ethics or equity, but by algorithms and efficiency. 

If we care about the NHS as a system of care, not control, we must pay attention and do something. 

What we can do: 

- Demand transparency: Full release of the Palantir contract and a public inquiry into the procurement process. 

- Push for a real opt-out: Patients should have the right to refuse sharing their data beyond direct care. 

- Support public alternatives: Invest in NHS-led, open-source platforms with democratic oversight. 

- Lift liability caps: Private companies handling patient data must be fully accountable. 

- Connect: Join campaigns like No Palantir in Our NHS, write to your MP, and amplify voices of doctors, patients, and campaigners. 

The NHS was founded on the belief that healthcare is a right—not a commodity. The more we hand over its infrastructure to corporations built for surveillance and war, the more we forget that promise. 

Palantir does not belong in the NHS.

Breaking the Wall: What Real Allyship Looks Like

I know good men.

Men who sit through discomfort,

who don’t need applause for doing the right thing.

Men who show up — fully, quietly —

because they believe in shared humanity, not performance.

 

I’ve seen what it looks like when a man listens with his whole presence.

I’ve felt the steadiness of being heard without interruption,

understood without being translated.

 

And still — even with some of these progressive types —

there’s a wall.

 

Not one built with bad intentions.

But with old habits.

With self-protection.

With unspoken expectations.

 

It shows up subtly:

a deflection when the conversation shifts to uncomfortable truths,

a correction or explanation that shifts focus back to his experience,

an urge to “fix” rather than simply hold space.

The way my words get weighed before they’re received,

the way my tone is measured more than my meaning.

 

Some progressive men may say they support equality,

but sometimes fall into the trap of expecting “curated” communication —

silencing anger, skepticism, or rawness because it feels “too much.”

They lean in when the message is polished,

but retreat when it’s messy or complicated.

 

I’ve watched them nod in meetings,

then hesitate to call out a wrongdoing,

or stand aside when women are interrupted or ignored.

They champion diversity —

but sometimes forget to challenge the systems they benefit from.

 

And here’s something else I’ve witnessed:

 

Men tend to listen more

when a woman looks a certain way.

 

When her voice is sweet.

When her body is pleasing.

When her demeanour and opinion soften into a smile.

 

I’ve watched men lean in, nod along —

not because the woman was more insightful,

but because she was more “palatable”.

And I’ve seen others — brilliant, brave, messy in all the right ways —

go unheard.

Not because they lacked wisdom,

but because they weren’t curated for the male gaze.

 

We shouldn’t have to perform beauty or restraint

to be taken seriously.

 

And I get it, I’ve fallen in this trap myself. 

Considering my hair, my make-up, my smile, my clothes…

As I know I will be listened to.

And I want so much for this to change.

Not only for me but for my daughter as well.

For all of us.

 

At work, support isn’t about being “open-minded” —

it’s about stepping aside so others can lead.

It’s amplifying women’s voices.

It’s noticing who gets interrupted and who gets the final say.

It’s using your position to shift the dynamic — not just reflect it.

 

In friendship, support isn’t saying “I’m here for you”

when things are light, fun, or flattering.

It’s staying when things get honest.

When we’re not polished or self-contained.

When we simply tumble up.

When we ask questions without expecting quick answers.

 

And in love —

it’s not enough to admire a woman’s strength

if her vulnerability makes you withdraw, 

or her leadership makes you take a step back.

Real partnership means co-creating a space where emotions can exist

without becoming threats.

Where the labor of connection is shared.

Where we’re not expected to tone ourselves down

to keep the other person comfortable.

 

To be an ally isn’t to be perfect.

It’s to be present.

To reflect.

To ask:

Am I truly listening?

Or just waiting to speak?

Do I support her,

or do I admire her when it serves me, it pleases me?

 

And to women —

we don’t need to carry the weight of re-educating everyone.

We don’t need to dress our truth in softness to be heard.

We can be clear.

We can take up space.

We can stop trying to be easy to digest.

 

We can hold the mirror —

but the work of change isn’t just ours to do.

 

The wall won’t fall with one conversation.

But it can crack.

With self-awareness.

With repetition.

With presence.

 

With men who don’t just believe in equality —

*embody* it

in the way they speak,

listen, and show up. 

x

Най- благата душа

Баба ми Севда, на която съм кръстена почина.

Исках да напиша нещо…не че не съм губила хора, които обичам много преди…но исках да напиша нещо само за нея.
Не защото го заслужава повече, а защото искам да разкажа, за да може всички да знаят. И поне веднъж прожекторите, вниманието, емоциите да са само и единствено за нея и за никой друг.

Защо?

Защото това беше жена, която тихо, усмихнато, без да търси внимание правеше всичко по силите си за хората около нея. Беше силна, изпълнена с любов, смиреност, трудолюбивост, чувство за хумор, нежност, искреност, приветливост и винаги готова с вкусна гозба да те нахрани и да се погрижи за теб.
Самата тя беше нисичка и фина, с мек глас.  Казвахме й малката баба Севда….но духът й беше огромен.

Като деца често прекарвахме летните ваканции с нея. Тя сама успяваше да гледа със седмици пет от нас - братовчедките и нас със сестра ми и брат ми…Никой! Никой не е успявал да се пребори сам и с петима ни, но тя можеше. Сама. Ние бяхме лудетини до дупка. Но тя го правеше с лекота. Без да иска нищо в замяна, дори благодаря. Никога не се оплакваше, никога не ни дерзаеше, никога не беше намръщена( ех, добре де, изкарахме я извън нерви един два пъти…).

С годините разбрах колко труден е бил животът й и често си мислех как е оцеляла.
Но най- много се чудех как след всичките мъки, тежести, проблеми нямаше и капка цинизъм или сърдитост в нея. 

Нямаше злоба, нямаше обвинителност, нямаше дерзание, самосъжаление….Беше обратното, раздаваше се за най- близките, без много шум, смирено, искрено и с усмивка и без да иска нищо в замяна. Как успяваше и от къде идваше тази светлина и благост…......................

И всички го знаехме и я обичахме много….но сега искам да го извикам от покривите…искам всички да чуят, да знаят, че една от най-благите души ни напусна. 

Тихо, без много шум и фанфари си отиде един безкрайно силен човек за пример за всички нас. 

Поклон, бабе! 

Обичаме те!