The Joke that is Stanford’s “Hunger Strike” 

On a manicured quad at Stanford University, a clutch of pampered students and faculty have embarked on what they call a hunger strike, waving Palestinian flags and preaching solidarity from the cushy confines of White Plaza.

Launched a week ago (May 12, 2025) by Stanford Students for Justice in Palestine (SJP), this spectacle sees over ten affiliates, mostly students, a few professors, swearing off food to protest Israel’s Gaza blockade.

The strikers demand Stanford divest from Israel, drop charges against 12 peers who trashed the president’s office last June, repeal free speech rules, and have President Jonathan Levin sign a statement decrying Trump’s education policies. They’re tabling daily from 6 to 8 p.m., as if revolution runs on a tidy schedule.

“My body will be a site of protest,” proclaims Arwa Faruk ’25, as if her elective fasting mirrors the the torment of hostages held by Hamas.

Areeq Hasan, a Ph.D. student, rambles about a global “body” of believers, feverish for Palestine. Spare us. Seriously.

Yousef Helal M.S. ’26 vows to escalate “until complete liberation” for Palestinians.

Hilton Obenzinger, a novelist and ’68 Columbia protester, invokes his family’s Holocaust trauma to draw parallels with Gaza.

Let’s contrast their cosseted crusade with the hostages’ reality. Taken October 7, 2023, from homes and festivals, they endured dank tunnels, flea bites, being shackled and kept with bags covering their heads, not able to stand up, with no access to sunlight or clean water or basic hygiene, surviving on a diet of meager scraps and beatings.

Liri Albag, a freed hostage, spoke of surviving on a quarter-pita and salty water. Eli Sharabi watched Hamas feast while captives starved.

Stanford’s strikers are a little bit busy to worry about this, though. Actually, they're very busy, crafting Instagram posts, likening their stunt to Palestinian prisoners’ fasts or the 1981 H-Block strike. The comparison is obscene. Those were desperate acts in brutal conditions, not choreographed protests with medical supervision.

It's 2025, so we're not all that surprised at these precious little snowflakes.

But here's where it takes a bizarre turn. Rupa Marya, a UCSF physician facing dismissal for her activism, monitors their health alongside Stanford medics, ensuring no one faints too dramatically. But wait, it gets worse: They are sipping on electrolyte-rich water during their hunger strike. (!!!)

It would be hilarious if it wasn't so sad.

Their demands are as absurd as their methods.

Divestment? Stanford’s Board of Trustees rejected that last October, unmoved by SJP’s petitions.

Dropping felony charges for vandals? Those 12 broke into and defaced university property, actions that deserve consequences, not clemency.

Repealing speech rules? The guidelines, born of last year’s chaotic encampments, exist to keep order, not silence them.

And Levin signing a statement against Trump? That’s just posturing, a demand for symbolic flexing over substance.

University spokesperson Lusia Rapport put it bluntly: Stanford won’t negotiate. Good. Capitulating to this farce would only embolden more stunts.

The strikers fancy themselves heroes, but they’re rainclouds, drippy, self-absorbed, and oblivious to the storm they’re mimicking. Their “indefinite” strike will likely fizzle when finals loom or hunger pangs hit too hard.

This is classic narcissism. These Stanford elites have turned themselves into a campus soap opera, starring themselves as martyrs: Pathetic doesn’t begin to cover it. They’re not standing up to genocide: they’re sitting down for applause.

Shame on them, and shame on Stanford for letting this circus pitch its tent.

The Stanford Daily contributed to this article.