Respecting Choices: When Other People's Decisions Become Your Drama.
Or: The Samaritans understand something that vigil-holders apparently don't.
Remember when I talked about Locke and people losing their shit in yesterday’s article? How we’ve reached a point where everyone’s having emotional breakdowns over things that don’t actually affect them, whilst ignoring what’s right in front of them?
Well, this brings it all together rather well.
There’s this training exercise that sticks with you if you’ve ever volunteered for the Samaritans. You’re on the phone with someone who’s telling you they’re going to end their life. And here’s what they teach you: you don’t persuade them either way.
You listen. You hold space. But you respect their autonomy.
Because ultimately, it’s their choice. And your emotional need to rescue them doesn’t override their right to self-determination.
Most people’s instinct is to leap in. To save. To make the other person’s decision for them. Feels like compassion, doesn’t it?
But here’s what the Samaritans’ training understands—rescue fantasies usually serve the rescuer more than the person in crisis.
Which brings us to HMP Bronzefield on a Wednesday night in December 2024, where MP Zarah Sultana is camped outside the prison gates whilst Qesser Zuhrah, a 20-year-old Palestine Action activist, enters her 46th day refusing food.
Medical professionals join her. Supporters gather. Social media fills with urgent updates. The emotional tenor is unmistakable: someone must do something.
But here’s the question nobody wants to ask: do something about what, exactly?
Let’s Talk About Choices.
Qesser Zuhrah was arrested on 19 November 2024, as one of the “Filton 24”—activists accused of breaking into Elbit Systems’ facility in Bristol on 6 August 2024.
That’s over a year ago. Not yesterday. Not last week. Over a year.
She chose to participate in what Palestine Action described as an action targeting Britain’s largest Israeli weapons manufacturer. She knew—everyone involved knew—what breaking into a defence contractor’s facility might entail.
This wasn’t spontaneous. Palestine Action has been running twice-weekly training workshops since 2020. When announcing the hunger strike, Zuhrah herself stated: “We who are imprisoned for Palestine have tested this ‘justice system’, and for 15 months we have watched Elbit Systems, the Zionist entity and our Government abuse justice.”
There’s clarity here. Purpose. Deliberation.
Now, 44 days into refusing food, having lost 13 per cent of her body weight, Zuhrah continues. Along with seven others—Amu Gib, Heba Muraisi, Jon Cink, Teuta Hoxha, Kamran Ahmed, Muhammad Umer Khalid, and Lewie Chiaramello.
Their demands? Immediate bail, end to censorship, right to fair trial, deproscription of Palestine Action, shutdown of all Elbit sites in the UK.
Political demands. Political protest. And everyone involved knows exactly what they’re invoking—the campaign group explicitly frames this as the largest coordinated hunger strike since Bobby Sands in 1981.
They know what they’re risking. This is the point.
The Performance Begins.
So when the vigils start, when the urgent letters get written, when social media fills with “the government is letting them die”—we need to ask: who is this actually serving?
Jeremy Corbyn writes to David Lammy, calling the situation “outrageous and authoritarian.” When Justice Minister Jake Richards refuses to meet with representatives in the Commons, MPs can be heard laughing.
Corbyn: “They should be ashamed of themselves.”
Should they, though?
Because here’s what’s actually happening: the hunger strikers are remand prisoners—people awaiting trial, not convicted of anything. Some held for over 20 months, well beyond the 182-day limit.
And you know what? That is a scandal. The justice system is catastrophically broken. 73,105 cases waiting in the Crown Court. 17,600 people on remand—highest in 50 years. 770 prisoners held for over two years without trial.
770 people. Two years. No trial.
Where are their vigils? Where’s Zarah Sultana camping outside their prisons? Where are the urgent letters about them?
Oh, right, they didn’t break into weapons factories. They’re just... stuck. In a broken system. Without anyone performing concern on their behalf.
But the emotional campaign around the Palestine Action strikers isn’t really about the broken justice system, is it?
Tower Hamlets Green Party states it explicitly: “It is irrelevant whether or not we agree with their tactics.”
Let me translate that: the specific actions that led to the arrest don’t matter. The legal process doesn’t matter. What matters is how we feel about people suffering.
And that’s where this stops being about respect for autonomous choice and starts being about performance.
What the Samaritans Know
When someone tells a Samaritans listener “I’m going to kill myself,” the counsellor’s job isn’t to fix the material conditions that brought them there. It isn’t to change external circumstances. It’s to hold space whilst respecting their autonomy.
You don’t agree or disagree. You don’t approve or disapprove. You witness.
And you certainly don’t make it about you.
But watch how the emotional energy flows around these hunger strikers. Shahmina Alam, sister of Kamran Ahmed: “At any moment now, you could receive a phone call to get the most unfortunate news.”
Devastating for her. Genuine anguish. No question.
But notice how quickly it becomes about the observers. The vigils aren’t for the hunger strikers—they’re already in prison, already committed. The vigils are for the people outside, performing their anxiety, their fear, their need to be seen caring.
One supporter wrote that they’d sent letters to journalists “asking them to publish something to raise awareness.”
Because that’s what matters. The audience. The performance.
Rahma Hoxha, sister of striker Teuta Hoxha: “I feel like the state has taken away peace for me and literally shattered my heart.”
Again: genuine anguish. Also: entirely about how she feels, not about respecting her sister’s choice.
Because Teuta herself stated from prison: “I either walk out of prison, or I leave in a wheelchair. I am prepared to go the full way.”
She’s clear. She’s chosen her path.
Yet somehow the emotional response insists this clarity doesn’t count. That what really matters is how supporters feel about her choice.
This is exactly the dynamic the Samaritans’ training warns against. Making someone else’s decision about your emotional comfort. Centring yourself in their crisis.
The Demands Nobody’s Discussing.
Here’s the bit everyone’s dancing around: this hunger strike isn’t about bail or prison conditions.
The core demands are “deproscribe Palestine Action” and “shut down all Elbit sites.”
Those aren’t procedural requests. They’re political ultimatums: change government policy, alter the legal designation of a proscribed organisation, close down a private defence contractor.
Palestine Action was proscribed under terrorism legislation in July 2024—legally equivalent to ISIS. You can argue whether that’s appropriate. UN Special Rapporteurs have called it “not justified.”
But that’s a debate for courts and lawmakers. Not something that gets undone because eight people refuse to eat.
Yet that’s precisely what’s being demanded. Not through the democratic process. Not through judicial review (though that’s happening separately).
Through emotional blackmail: do what we demand or watch us die, and it will be on your hands.
When Keir Starmer was challenged at PMQs, he said: “There are rules and procedures in place in relation to hunger strikes, and we’re following those rules and procedures.”
Most boring answer imaginable. Also, the only honest one.
Because what’s the alternative? A system where anyone can bypass legal processes by threatening self-harm? Where government policy gets rewritten based on who’s willing to starve themselves most dramatically?
The Theatre.
Watch the performance unfold.
Supporters camping outside prisons. Medical professionals joining vigils. Letters to MPs. Social media campaigns.
All focused on eight people who chose to break into facilities, chose to refuse food, and are now choosing to continue that refusal.
Meanwhile, 770 people have been on remand for over two years. No choice in the matter. No political statement. Just... stuck in a broken system.
Where’s their theatre? Where’s their performance?
Oh right. They’re not useful for the cause. They didn’t choose their suffering, so it can’t be weaponised.
The bins still need collecting. The potholes still need filling. The court backlog still needs clearing. But none of that provides the emotional satisfaction of a vigil.
What Respect Actually Means.
Let’s return to basics.
When 24 people break into a defence contractor’s facility, they get arrested. When they’re charged with aggravated burglary and violent disorder, they might be held on remand.
The remand length is actually a problem—some being held for 400 per cent beyond the legal limit. That warrants scrutiny.
But the hunger strike’s demands go way beyond “process our cases faster.” They’re demanding complete political capitulation.
And when those people choose to refuse food, respecting their choice means... letting them refuse food.
Not agreeing. Not approving. But respecting their capacity to make that decision and accept its consequences.
Starmer’s response—procedures exist and are being followed—is what respect for autonomy looks like. Not dramatic. Doesn’t provide emotional satisfaction.
But it treats them as adults capable of making decisions, rather than children needing rescue from themselves.
The alternative is infantilising. It says: “Your stated commitment doesn’t count. Your analysis doesn’t matter. What matters is our fear about what might happen.”
It transforms political actors into victims.
The Bit Nobody Wants to Hear.
Tower Hamlets Green Party calls them “heroic young people” and “prisoners of conscience.”
Fine. But heroism implies accepting consequences. A prisoner of conscience is someone who has chosen principles over freedom.
You can’t celebrate their principled stand whilst demanding they face no consequences.
The cognitive dissonance runs through every press release, every vigil, every urgent letter. They want the drama of the hunger strike without the hunger. The political statement without the politics.
What the Samaritans understand—what anyone who’s sat with a genuine crisis understands—is that sometimes the most respectful thing is not to intervene.
Not because you don’t care. Because you do. Because care means respecting autonomy even when you’d prefer different choices.
The Transfer of Responsibility.
When Shahmina Alam confronted David Lammy at a Christmas event, presenting a letter about her brother, he said: “I don’t know anything about this. In the UK?”
Street theatre. Social media moment. Evidence of “callousness.”
Alam felt “sick, knowing that the people who are in a position to help end this hunger strike are not engaging.”
But “help end this hunger strike” is doing massive work in that sentence.
Three ways to end a hunger strike:
The strikers eat
Their demands get met
They die
Option 1 is always available. Option 2 requires overturning the political system. Option 3 is what everyone claims to want to prevent.
Yet the campaign seems designed to force Option 2 by threatening Option 3 whilst pretending Option 1 doesn’t exist.
As if the strikers have no agency. As if they’re not currently exercising the ultimate expression of bodily autonomy.
Pattern Recognition.
You see this dynamic everywhere.
The person threatening suicide who demands their ex return. The teenager refusing to eat unless parents reverse a decision. The activist chaining themselves to machinery whilst demanding rescuers risk their lives.
Same architecture: I’m making a choice, but you’re responsible for the outcome.
Sophisticated manipulation. Often not even conscious. But the mechanism is clear: transfer responsibility for your choice onto others by making your suffering their emergency.
The Samaritans training anticipates this. Because suicidal people sometimes frame it as “you didn’t save me, so you killed me.”
And the training says: No. You respected their autonomy. You held space. You didn’t take their decision. That’s not killing them. It’s treating them as capable of choice.
What It Actually Looks Like.
Qesser Zuhrah from prison: “For 15 months, we have watched Elbit Systems, the Zionist entity and our Government abuse justice and prolong our imprisonment, demanding that we forsake our cause in exchange for our freedom.”
There’s your answer. She’s chosen cause over freedom. Over food. Possibly over life.
That’s her right.
Amu Gib: “My body has been put in custody of the state—but I still have a duty to fight for freedom from oppression.”
Clarity. Adult decision-making. Political commitment.
Respecting these statements means taking them seriously. Not rushing in to override expressed will because we find the consequences uncomfortable. Allowing them to be political actors rather than symbols of suffering.
When MPs laughed after Jake Richards refused to meet, what were they laughing at?
The absurdity of treating political ultimatums as medical emergencies. The ridiculousness of pretending that adults who made deliberate choices are helpless victims.
The laughter might have been uncomfortable. But it revealed recognition: this framework is slightly mad.
The Training.
That Samaritans exercise stays with you because it’s counterintuitive.
Your instinct is to rescue. To intervene. To stop the bad thing.
But the training teaches you to distinguish care from control. Respect from rescue. Witnessing someone’s choice of taking that choice.
When someone says, “I’m going to kill myself,” you don’t say," No, you’re not.” You don’t promise to fix their situation. You don’t take responsibility for their decision.
You hold space. You listen. You let them own it—and its consequences.
Feels cruel if you’re not trained. Feels like abandonment.
But it’s the opposite. It’s the deepest respect for human autonomy.
Lawyers warn the strikers “could die without immediate intervention.”
Yes. That’s what happens when people stop eating for 40+ days. Everyone knows this. The strikers most of all.
The question isn’t whether the risk is real.
The question is: whose decision is it?
Right Now.
Qesser Zuhrah: day 46, unable to stand. Kamran Ahmed: lost 10kg, dangerous ketone levels. Jon Cink and Amu Gib: bail refused.
Government continues procedures.
And every day, eight people make the same choice: not to eat.
That’s their right. Their autonomy. Their statement.
What it shouldn’t be is everyone else’s emergency.
Not because we don’t care. Because we do. Because caring means respecting the capacity for choice. Because empathy that overrides autonomy isn’t empathy—it’s control in a concerned costume.
The Samaritans teach you: sometimes the kindest thing is holding space without fixing. Witnessing without rescuing. Respecting someone’s path even when you desperately wish they’d chosen differently.
Uncomfortable. Doesn’t feel virtuous. Doesn’t provide satisfaction of having done something.
But it treats people as agents, not objects. As adults, not children. As humans capable of making a decision, not victims requiring salvation.
Teuta Hoxha from prison: “I either walk out, or I leave in a wheelchair. I am prepared to go the full way.”
She’s told you her choice.
The respectful response isn’t to override it.
It’s to take her seriously.
Even when—especially when—the consequence might be one we’d rather not witness.
Meanwhile, 770 people sit on remand for over two years. No vigils. No letters. No theatre.
The bins still need collecting.
Sources & Citations
Middle East Eye. (2024, November 5). “Palestine Action prisoners launch rolling hunger strike over detention conditions.”
Al Jazeera. (2024, December 17). “Palestine Action hunger strikers could die in prison: Families, lawyers.”
CAGE. (2024). “Prisoners for Palestine begin hunger strike.”
Tower Hamlets Green Party. (2024, December 12). “Solidarity with Palestine Action Hunger Strikers.”
The National. (2024, December 18). “UK MP Zarah Sultana holds vigil outside prison holding Palestine Action hunger striker.”
International Centre of Justice for Palestinians. (2024, December 17). “UK Government’s disregard for Palestine Action hunger strikers is inexcusable.”
Parliament UK. (2024). “Crown Court backlogs - Public Accounts Committee report.”
National Audit Office. (2024, May). “Reducing the backlog in the Crown Court.”
Institute for Government. (2024, October 23). “Performance Tracker 2024: Criminal courts.”
The author once trained with the Samaritans and still remembers that first shock of being told: “You don’t save them. You respect their choice.” Some lessons stay with you precisely because they’re uncomfortable.