In 1964, the arrest of a student who set up an informational table about the Congress of Racial Equality at the University of California, Berkeley, led to the free speech movement, the first mass civil disobedience on college campuses in the 1960s. This moment resonates with today’s campus protests against the ongoing genocide in Gaza. Both movements were, among other things, defenses of academic freedom, free speech and assembly, including disruptive protest or direct action.

One of most enduring memories from the free speech movement was Mario Savio’s impassioned call for civil disobedience: “There’s a time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart that you can’t take part. You can’t even passively take part. And you’ve got to put your bodies upon the gears and upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you’ve got to make it stop. And you’ve got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people who own it, that unless you’re free, the machine will be prevented from working at all.”

These words have been ringing in my ears for months. They were on mind last week when I locked myself to the makeshift barricades that organizers with ongoing “Stop Arming Genocide” campaign constructed to block entrance to General Dynamics Weapon Systems in Saco. This weapons factory is an odious machine. In 2023, it received a $16 million contract to make guidance system for the 500-pound MK82 bombs. The Young School, a public elementary school, sits across the street from this death factory.

We picked this site for its obvious symbolism. American children safely attend school beside a weapons factory facilitating genocide. The Israeli invasion of Gaza has killed at least 36,550 people, including more than 15,000 children. The Israel Defense Forces have dropped 5,000 MK82 bombs on Gaza since October 2023 as part of one of the most destructive bombing campaigns in human history.

In part, it feels like a professional obligation. I am the chair of the University of Southern Maine’s criminology department, which has a unique critical and international focus. The ongoing genocide in Gaza is a war crime broadcast in real time. While I protested as a private citizen and not a representative of my employer, I am nonetheless moved by the same intellectual and ethical commitments that led me to devote my life to teaching and research. There is a value orientation to liberal arts education. It’s secular humanism: a belief in reason and science, a search for truth, a concern for material life, a commitment to justice and fairness, and belief that a better world is possible. While some equivocate – “it’s complicated” – the matter seems quite clear to me: It’s time to put our bodies on the line to resist the normalization of mass death.

The Gaza genocide is a dark portent of future crimes against humanity. The Institute for Economics and Peace estimates that there could be 1.2 billion climate refugees by midcentury. This could unleash unspeakable violence. In the absence of “de-growth” or even a “green new deal,” border security is the U.S. and EU’s most coherent policy response to climate change. If the Gaza genocide proceeds, what precedent will it set?

Here, my reasoning becomes quite personal. What world will my sons will inherit? What does it mean to be human if genocide is socially possible? Will brutality and desolation harden my sons’ hearts – and those of their peers? I think about the new Mainers in my life – my children’s classmates and my students at USM, many of whom share a refugee experience in common with Palestinians. Solidarity with Gaza feels visceral and immediate.

I’m sick at heart but not numb.

We didn’t shut down the factory. The police escorted workers around our blockade. We did prevent deliveries, disrupted the workday and got media coverage. Most importantly, we challenged ourselves – and everyone – to stop the death machine and defend our humanity.