In Tigrinya, there is a saying, “እንተ ሓንቲ እትሓስብ፣ ሓደ ዓዲ ክትገንጽ እየ።” In English this translates to, “If you think as one, you can build a whole village”. Many times at the encampment, I found myself reflecting on this proverb, thinking, This is exactly what we have accomplished together: We built a village.
In our village, we built a sanctuary—a library for wisdom, a kitchen for sustenance, a medical station for care, an art station for creativity, and a common space for unity. Within the heart of the University of Michigan, a symbol of corruption and oppression, we made homes for all. Our village thrived on radical love and revolution, even as we stood surrounded by those who sought to cause harm. Time and again, our community rose to protect us, fiercely driving away threats that sought to destroy what we had built.
Even in moments when we did not “think as one” and our disagreements surfaced, at our core, there was always one thought, a question, that united us: How can we stand with the oppressed and against our oppressors?
To me, the encampment was the truest form of solidarity, woven through every action and moment. For that month, we stood united. We tended to each other, washing away the chemicals that burned our skin and eyes. We shared meals, broke bread, and offered prayers side by side. We stood with the oppressed of Ann Arbor, offering food and shelter to our unhoused friends, and creating a safe haven for our queer allies. We were a sanctuary for one another, a community bound by compassion.
Local restaurants donated food, tea, and coffee, while community members gave trunks filled with medical supplies, clothing, and blankets to endure the early days of below freezing temperatures. We stood in solidarity not just with our local community, but with the oppressed across the world. Teach-ins were given and zines were created to educate others about the global impact of imperialistic systems that have long silenced and suppressed countless voices.
When I gave a teach-in about the genocide against my people in Tigray, I spoke of my family back home. I told stories of struggle, pain, and resilience. Standing in the Diag, I felt connected to those around me and the greater purpose of this encampment. The attentiveness, quiet hums, the nods, and the collective silence created an air of shared truth—a hallmark of the encampment’s spirit. This moment, like so many others in that space, belonged to us all because it was rooted in our shared humanity and recognition that we all have a role to play towards collective liberation. By bearing witness together, we reaffirmed our responsibility to learn, to act, and to stand united against injustice.
I ended my talk, as I always do, with these words:
“As a Tigrayan, when I say Free Tigray, I mean Free Palestine, Free Sudan, Free Congo, Free Haiti, Free Armenia, Free Syria, Free Uyghur, Free Yemen, Free Rohingya, and all occupied peoples across the world.”
I say these words because the dream of liberation transcends borders. They are a promise that none of us are free until all of us are free—a testament to solidarity as the thread that binds humanity’s collective yearning for justice and peace.
We remained in deep solidarity with the people of Palestine. Morning meetings consisted of reflections and news from Gaza. Our words wove a tapestry of shared struggle, and at the core of every conversation stood a resolute and unified call: divestment. During the encampment, we were not separate from Palestine but a part of its enduring cry for justice, our collective will forging a bond that no distance could sever. The encampment was a living heartbeat of solidarity with Palestine.
In Tigrinya, we also have another saying, “”እቶም ኣይንበርን፣ እቶም እትማርኩም።” which translates to “One hand cannot clap, but two hands create a sound.” Together, we made our voices impossible to ignore, disrupting the university time and again in the face of overwhelming violence. Although our village was eventually destroyed, we remain unsilenced. We carry forward the lesson we learned: the power of solidarity terrifies those who uphold systems of oppression.
As the Regents, President Santa Ono, State Attorney General Dana Nessel, and Zionist entities grow increasingly fearful of our movement, we will remain unapologetically loud, steadfast in our presence. We will continue to stand together, united in solidarity with one another, our communities, and the oppressed across the world. The destruction of the encampment is not the destruction of a movement. This is the revolution we have begun, and this is the world we will create.
