Monna

They've been issuing evacuation orders over Lebanon for decades: "The Israel Defense Forces have not used all the means at their disposal to defeat the terrorists. Save your lives... Leave Beirut." (Beirut Fragments, Invasion of 1982)

Palestine in the 1972 Egyptian Student Uprising: Arab Solidarities of Principle and Affect — Reem Abou-El-Fadl cambridge.org/core/journals/…

when harm happens, our first instinct is often retaliation. what if that instinct isn’t natural, but learned? what if undoing it is part of undoing the system?

@ireallyhateyou What the helly

🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

@Mo7mmd30 ❤️

My grandmother, who is older than Israel, and I survived the war.

@NiohBerg Shut the fuck up.

Gaza right now. All well fed and with fresh haircuts. There was never a genocide or a famine at any point in the past 2 years.

#sciopero In Italia centinaia di migliaia di persone per la Palestina. Blocchi ovunque. #StrikeForGaza Hundreds of thousands block Italy in a general strike for Gaza and Palestine. They occupied train stations, ports, and roads aganist Meloni 's complicity with genocide

jewish supremacy is a cancer

@MouinRabbani But most importantly, it’s because they’re actual deranged psychopaths.

They speak this freely because they know they have total impunity to do as they please, and that if anyone tries to hold them accountable the US will stop at nothing to ensure their crimes go unpunished.

I must write this down before the night devours me. My father’s friend, a poet and a guardian of words, the son of a family that owns the oldest library in Gaza, that sacred house where history and imagination slept together like weary brothers… he is leaving. Yes. Leaving. He is fleeing Gaza City. He wrote yesterday, with the voice of a man who has reached the last edge of human despair: “I cannot take the books with me. If there is anyone who can save them, let him come. It would break my heart to see them burn, for I have placed my heart within them, and my heart will burn with them.” This is not metaphor. This is not the polished language of salons. He says plainly: my heart will burn. And I believe him. Dozens upon dozens of volumes, centuries of memory, law, history, economics, literature, the wisdom of the dead, now lie waiting to be carried away like children from a burning house. Not sold. Not bartered. Not traded. Offered. Offered as one offers a soul to anyone willing to save it from hell. This is Gaza. Where we are made to abandon, again and again, the last sacred pieces of our existence. Not ornaments. Not luxuries. But the very marrow of our being. Here survival is surgery without anaesthetic: we cut away memory to keep the breath. We cut away words to keep the body. We cut away the past to stumble, blind, into a future that does not want us. And so we go on, less and less human, until what is left is no man at all but a wound that breathes. Here in Gaza, books are exiled with their writers. Letters are orphaned like children crying in the streets. Libraries, temples of memory, are scattered like bones, like families fleeing in the night. And I ask: what remains? What is left of us? A people stripped bare, stripped of houses, of books, of the very act of remembering. A people ordered to forget. To forget! But no. No! Every page that burns becomes a prophet. Every letter that turns to ash becomes a witness against heaven and earth. If the houses fall, if the books burn, let it be known: this too is part of the crime. Not merely the killing of the body, but the attempted erasure of memory itself, the murder of the soul. And yet, even as the pages blacken, they do not die. They rise. Yes, they rise. As smoke into the night sky, into the face of God Himself, whispering: We were here. We wrote. We dreamed. We loved. And I swear to you, if the world has any conscience left, one day it will hear them. And it will tremble. And it will kneel. #GazaGenocide

time and time again it’s been proven that for the people of the region, no settlement, normalization, disarmament or peace processes will protect you from Israel. the mere hostile existence and continuation of Israel in the region guarantees that

فهل تُستأصلُ الأدواء بالذمِّ والشتمِ؟ وهل تُستخلص الحرية السمجاءُ بالوهمِ؟

Israeli leftists be like: end the occupation, peace for all, but Israel’s right to exist is non-negotiable.

Even on distant shores, they wrote Leo’s name… my cat who was taken by hunger in Gaza. Today his name is etched in the sand and the sea, as if the world is saying: we have not forgotten, and we never will. Leo was not just a cat, he was a soul that shared my days in the midst of war, and his story became a symbol of our hunger and pain that the world has yet to see. Thank you to everyone who writes his name, draws his picture, or whispers his story… you keep him alive, proving that love is stronger than death, and memory stronger than erasure

You know, the killing is so relentless that you almost get used to it. A classroom of children killed every single day. You write about it, you read about it. Someone’s mother digs herself up from the rubble. Someone’s father is split in half. There was a video of wounded man using his arms to crawl across the road. Another man is so hungry he weeps. You read the stories. Each one is more brutal than the next and somehow the brutality is banal. You are numb, for better or for worse. But there are moments in the day, maybe just a singular moment, when you actually contend with the magnitude of the tragedy, when you are able to quantify the loss and in those moments you feel crushed—there are no adjectives. There are people mourning their lovers. Students missing their teachers. Orphans. Widowers. Grandmothers who look just like your own. I cry when I think about the people who were martyred just hours before they could apologize for something, or confess to something, or have something to eat. Or the slain who believed they would survive. And as the rancid rotten people of the world pontificate and debate the definition of genocide, you are at war with yourself, trying desperately to ignore the material meaning of the word. You read the news and you read the news and it is so hard to accept that the dead, the thousands of people they are slaughtering, they are your loved ones and your loved ones’ loved ones. This isn’t just a bad dream.

@VintageVault8 Condescending asshole

Why didn’t anyone throw a sermeye at his face

There are nights in the history of mankind when the stars themselves seem to recoil, when the firmament closes its eyes, unwilling to behold what man does to man. Gaza is such a night. The assault has begun. Do not call it battle, for there is no battle here. There is no clash of equals. What unfolds upon Gaza is a burial conducted by machines, a demolition of stone and flesh, a deliberate erasure of a city whose crime is to exist. They speak to the world of “safe zones,” of “infrastructure,” of tents dispatched across oceans. They conjure the illusion of humanity with bureaucratic phrases. But these are not shelters; they are spectres. These are not promises; they are lies embalmed in official seals. Gaza has already tasted their poison. Driven from Rafah, its people found nothing awaiting them but the scorpion and the snake, the desert and the blazing orb of the sun. Children fainted upon the sand while the world counted tents that never were. And now the command returns: depart again! Abandon your houses, your wells, your cradles, your graves. Depart into the void! But this is no Exodus, for there is no Moses. The sea does not part; it devours. No pillar of fire lights the sky, only fire from above that consumes. God is silent, and man has made himself deaf with the roar of artillery. Look into the streets. There walk the condemned, yet they wear no chains. They are shadows broken from their bodies. They no longer greet one another; they have forgotten the grammar of human fellowship. They wander as if bearing invisible coffins, and from their lips drip questions as salt from a wound: Where shall we go? How shall we endure? What remains of us? And still the ransom is demanded: a thousand coins for a carriage that does not exist, fuel dearer than gold, a tent that is but a rag in the dust. This is the tax of despair. And while the poor are flayed of their last coin, the lords of faction, the priests of power, the crowned withered men who proclaim themselves leaders, command them: Die bravely, that we may live ignobly. They prefer their titles to their children, their factions to their people, their own breath to the breath of Gaza. Thus Gaza is abandoned. But this abandonment is ancient. It was written by the prophet Zephaniah, six hundred years before Christ: “For Gaza shall be forsaken.” And lo, the word endures. The prophecy is not history; it is recurrence. From Babylon to Persia, from Alexander to Caesar, from caliphs to crusaders, Gaza has been crushed beneath every empire’s heel. Yet through every ruin, one fact has defied oblivion: her name remained. Gaza, written in Hebrew as Azzah, spoken by Greeks as Gaza, whispered in Arabic as Ghazza, has never been erased. The city that endures conquest after conquest now faces a new desolation, more relentless than the old, for it seeks not merely the conquest of her streets but the annihilation of her memory. Gaza! Thou ancient sentinel of the sea, thou doorway of Canaan, thou stronghold older than Rome! For three thousand years thy lamp has burned, sometimes dimmed, never extinguished. And now, in this century of steel, electricity, and law, thou art consigned once again to the abyss. Thy children are scattered like sparks before the storm. Thy walls fall like the teeth of an old man torn from his jaw. Yet thy cry rises still, more enduring than stone, a cry that indicts the centuries and arraigns the nations. Hear this, O world: the crime is not Gaza’s alone to bear. To forsake Gaza is to forsake justice, to betray mercy, to shatter the covenant of humanity itself. If Gaza falls and the world is silent, it is not Gaza that is condemned, but mankind. For in Gaza’s ruins lie the ruins of our conscience, and in Gaza’s silence resounds the silence of the world. #GazaGenocide

Her name is Mariam Abu Daqqa, and she has worked day and night, like all of our peers in Gaza- in excruciating inhumane circumstances to do their job. All so at the end @AP doesn’t even give courtesy of giving a name. Just passing news.

I don't know where the number 83% comes from. 100% of the people murdered in Gaza are innocent and victims of an occupation and extermination campaign. If Zionism had not come to them, or for them, none of them would ever have been a militant. The fault is fully and always that of the colonizer and oppressor. The occupied and oppressed are never the aggressors, ever

There’s no real way to express what it feels like to be this powerless, this suppressed.