I am Iranian and I wish these poor kids were still alive. I wish I could sit down with them, have a coffee and a conversation about their lives and their dreams.
I am sorry they had to die so that Benjamin Netanyahu avoids going to prison. I am sorry they had to die for AIPAC. I am sorry they had to die for Jeffrey Epstein. I am sorry they had to die for the depravity and stupidity of your politicians.
These poor kids were murdered by the same monsters that are still busy murdering children from Gaza to Minab.
🧵Today, on the one-year anniversary of settlers beating 20-year-old Palestinian American Sayfollah Musallet to death in his own olive fields, I accompanied his father, Kamel, to visit his grave and then to try to reach the spot where he was killed. We were attacked by settlers…
Excerpt: I was angry at me. I felt as if I must have failed as a journalist. For surely if my reporting had properly depicted the pain of all the people who had bared their souls people should have cared on a basic human level. Surely if I had properly explained all that was at risk, world leaders, namely the US would realize that it was in American’s security interests to end Assad’s massacres of his own people. Surely if I had done my job properly, something should have changed. The rational part of my mind realizes it’s irrational but my inner monologue to myself was all sorts of nasty, its favorite phrase being “not good enough” (If I ever do write an autobiography that will be the title).
Read here: https://t.co/IsgQTokPL3
When I was able to return to my city, Beit Hanoun, for the first time after we were displaced at the beginning of the genocide, I saw nothing but the decomposed bodies of children, with nothing left of them except their clothes and shoes.
This happened nearly two years ago, but those scenes have never left me. They remain stuck in my mind, haunting me without mercy.
There are images that time cannot erase, and absence cannot soften. They remain living inside a person no matter how hard they try to continue their life.💔😭
When I hear Rubio talking about terrorism, I immediately remember the case of Luis Posada Carriles. He was the terrorist who planted a bomb on a civilian airliner, -Cubana Flight 455-, which exploded in 1976 off the coast of Barbados, killing all 73 people on board.
Despite facing legal proceedings, he was protected by powerful allies, lived freely in Miami, and died peacefully of old age at 90.
The Cuban regime certainly has many serious issues, but terrorism isn’t a word that applies to its classification. This case remains a textbook example of how the label “terrorist” is used selectively, depending on who holds power and whose side you’re on.
This place will remain a witness to the brutal and horrific crimes committed by the occupation against an entire family, which led to the annihilation of all its members without mercy or humanity.
The child Wadie Al-Madhoun was killed today after he found a suspicious object resembling food cans near his home. When he opened it, it exploded in his face.
I cannot believe that we have reached this point.
At the beginning of the genocide, the killing of any person would spark widespread attention. The media would talk about it, people would share posts and express their shock and grief, and there was a clear concern for what was happening to us.
Today, unfortunately, massacres of the most horrific, vile, and brutal kind imaginable are being committed against us. Dozens are killed, body parts are scattered, and yet no one speaks as they once did. No one is affected as they once were. No one seems to care anymore except for a very small fraction of this world.
I ask myself every day, every night, and every single moment: Why is this happening now? Has the world become accustomed to our deaths? Has the sight of us being killed become something ordinary to them? Or has the world simply grown tired of us? Or is there something else that we cannot understand?
Whenever these questions overwhelm me, I sit alone for long hours in the darkness, searching for an answer that might ease the pain inside me. But I find nothing. No answer, no words, no explanation.
What is happening to us, and what we are enduring, is not normal. It cannot be considered something ordinary or familiar. It is a harsh and unprecedented reality. Israel continues to commit against us the most horrific massacres and the gravest forms of genocide. We are still being killed. We are still being tortured. We are still being forcibly displaced from our homes. We are still being deprived of the most basic necessities of life that should be the right of every human being.
We are not numbers in news reports. We are not passing images to be consumed and then forgotten. We are human beings. We suffer, we lose our loved ones, and we dream of life just as every other person on this earth does. Yet it seems that the world has become more capable of living with our tragedy than confronting it.