Today, I made a stand. A small one. But a real one.
I resigned an account. A bread and butter one. A well-paid one. A keep-the-lights-on, don’t-worry-about-the-bills-for-a-while kind of one.
But the client was supplying the U.S. military. And while I am a commercial copywriter, the math is easy:
Marketing for Murderers?
A line too far for this Irish ma.
I didn’t make this choice because I’m flush with cash or floating in privilege. I made it because I’m not.
I’m one of the working class of this country, like so many others, trying to hold it all together while the world falls apart.
And I’m watching babies be unalived in Gaza. On my phone. On the news. In quiet videos late at night after my own kids have gone to bed. Babies pulled from rubble, children dying of dehydration, mothers screaming in dust and blood and disbelief. Again. And again. And again.
So when I was asked to write words for a company that outfits the same war machine that’s fuelling this horror?
Copywriting for the killers? Fk that.
The United States has sent $14.5 billion in military aid to Israel since October 2023. That’s on top of the billions sent annually since 1948. Weapons, intelligence, logistics, and diplomatic cover – even as the Israeli military obliterates entire neighbourhoods, targets journalists and aid convoys, and blockades water and food from children.
They’ve bombed refugee camps, flattened hospitals, and reduced Gaza to a haunted pile of ash and grief. They’ve killed over 35,000 Palestinians, mostly women and children. One child every 10 minutes, according to Save the Children. It is a genocide being livestreamed. And marketed.
And here I am, a small woman on a small island, saying:
Not through me.
A Small Stand on a Big Island: Saying No to War From My Kitchen Table
I’m not a saint. I’m not some moral paragon above it all. I’ve done work for brands I wasn’t proud of. I’ve stayed silent when it suited. I’ve justified and explained and excused. I’ve participated in systems that crush others while I complain about the price of spuds.
We all do. Because the system is designed that way. It wants us complicit. It needs us distracted. It feeds on our fragmented outrage, our tiredness, our quiet, reluctant compliance.
But this time, I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t. It was a hard no.
This time, my soul shouted louder than my bank account. And that’s a rare thing in this world. I hope it’s contagious.
Some jobs pay well. Others let you sleep at night.
It’s in the Cola and the Cloud: Why Divestment Feels Impossible
Let’s not pretend this is simple. You can’t just pick a lane and be clean. The war machine is in everything – from your search engine to your handbag. From the servers that host your favourite streaming service to the burger on your plate.
Amazon? Microsoft? Google? All have contracts with the Pentagon.
Coca-Cola? Proud supplier to U.S. bases around the world.
Unilever? Intel? McDonald’s? IBM? All complicit in direct or indirect support for military industries or Israeli apartheid infrastructure.
Even the bloody shampoo in your shower might have a supply chain tied to the occupation.
So yes, it’s exhausting. It’s overwhelming. But that doesn’t mean we stop. We just start where we are. We do what we can with what we have. We choose the battles we can fight, and we fight them.
Me? I had one in front of me today. So I walked. Because the idea that resistance only counts if it’s perfect is yet another lie sold by the same people who profit from silence.
BDS: Boycott. Divest. Sanction
The BDS Movement – Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions – is one of the most powerful, nonviolent ways to oppose Israel’s apartheid system and military aggression.
It calls for:
- Boycotting companies complicit in Israeli crimes.
- Divesting from institutions that fund the occupation.
- Sanctioning the state of Israel until it complies with international law.
Think of it as the economic version of civil disobedience. It’s been demonised in media. Silenced by governments. Even outlawed in some countries. Which tells you everything you need to know about its power.
And no, I’m not claiming that walking away from one job is BDS in action. But it is in spirit. It’s me saying: “I won’t be the one polishing the bullets.” Even if those bullets are metaphorical. Even if I was only ever holding a pen.
This is what resistance looks like:
Not perfect.
Not easy.
Not always loud.
But real.
It’s choosing your soul over your salary.
It’s turning down work that funds war – even if your fridge is looking bare.
It’s choosing decency in a world that commodifies death.
This is what resistance looks like—
On a budget and with a mortgage.
And I hope it inspires someone else to draw a line in the rubble. To say not through me. To be one less cog in the machine, even if just for a moment.
Because sometimes, a moment is all it takes.
Domesticky 
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