Susan Flower

[Susan Flower @SusanFlower1]

@AaronBastani https://t.co/amLLfa7j3s qqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqq

[Susan Flower @SusanFlower1]

@LionelMedia K

[Craig Foster @Craig_Foster]

World football should be embarrassed and outraged that the game of the world, that everyone plays in all corners of the planet, has been used to promote a human rights abuser, currently extrajudicially killing Venezuelans, who play our game.

Locking up immigrants and vilifying all manner of cultures and faiths, who play our game.

Funding and arming genocide in Palestine, who play our game.

This award further stains the reputation of Infantino, FIFA, and places football as an enabler of Trump’s attacks on international law, multilateral systems, on justice, and accountability.

Football once stopped wars, today, it promotes the worst crimes against humanity.

It’s a shameful day for the beautiful game.

[Susan Flower @SusanFlower1]

@YourNewReality_ @QuentinDempster @SBS .....

[Dr. Ezzideen @ezzingaza]

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

[Dr. Ezzideen @ezzingaza]

For days I cannot breathe. My chest burns, my throat closes. We wander like madmen, deranged, waiting for the blow, for the command that will tear us away again. We have known war, yes, two endless years of it, gnawing at us like rats gnaw at the bones of a corpse, but this… this is worse, infinitely worse. They tell us to leave. Again. For the fifth time. Do you hear? The fifth! And this time, O God, this time, we know it is the last. The last. We will not return. Never. Not tomorrow, not in ten years, not even in the fading memories of our children.

The door I shut behind me now will never open again to my hand. That sound, wood against wood, is not a door closing. It is my soul being nailed into its coffin. I am alive, yet I am already buried.

And what is this exile? It is not a journey, no! It is the stripping out of the last trembling thread of the human soul. They do not want men, or women, or children. They want shadows. Shadows crawling over dust, faceless, nameless, memoryless. A people of tents! Yes, tents! A nation whose destiny is canvas and rope, whose highest ambition is a rag flapping in the wind. Lord, is this not a death more merciless than the grave? To leave a man breathing, but rob him of all that makes him man, to condemn him to walk as a ghost who cannot even die.

The city, our city, beloved, betrayed, will be erased, levelled, spat into dust. Its stones scattered like ash in the wind. The houses where children quarreled, where mothers sang, where bread rose warm from the oven, all gone, gone forever. And then, O merciful God, we will forget. Yes, we will forget! In the torment of thirst, clawing for one drop of water, we will forget our streets, our walls, our keys, our doors. We will forget the warmth of winter, the sting of summer nights. We will forget neighbors, quarrels, weddings, songs. We will forget even that we were human.

Tell me, Lord, how can man forget himself? How can memory be ripped from the soul like flesh from bone? Remember us! Remember us before the breaking is complete. Remember the eyes of the children before their light is extinguished. Remember the tears of the mothers, the same as your mothers’ tears. Remember that we screamed, that we did not fall silent, that we tried with the last shreds of our strength.

And look, look with horror, at the abyss of history: how those who once wept in ghettos, who staggered through camps, who suffocated in ovens, now see their leaders prepare our exile. Auschwitz, do you hear its echo? It has not ended. It returns, it mutates, it reappears in new masks. And now the victim wears the face of the executioner. This is the most infernal blasphemy: that those scarred by the Holocaust now see their leaders fashion a Holocaust anew.

Write our names, I beg you, I cry to you, on your walls, in your books, in your prayers. Carve them into stone, before they vanish into dust. For tomorrow even you will doubt we ever walked the earth. And when your children ask: were they ever a people? Did they breathe? Did they love? Were they human? What will you answer then, when your own memory betrays you?

And Gaza, my Gaza, is ending. Yes, ending. This is the fifth exile, and the last. The last! An end blacker than the blackest pages of history, darker than the darkest prophecies ever dared to imagine. And yet, even as I write, through tears that blind me, something remains. A silence. A silence heavier than stone, heavier than tombs, heavier even than God’s gaze. A silence that devours the cry itself, that roars louder than all screams combined. That silence will not die. It will haunt you. It will haunt the world. It will haunt God Himself.

#GazaGenocide

[Doug Cameron @DougCameron51]

Albo it would make a “positive difference” by joining the majority of nations in recognising Palestine.
Sovereignty requires Australia to stop being intimidated by Trump and Netanyahu!
Take a stand consistent with National Conference policy and stop the verbal gymnastics.

[Dr. Ezzideen @ezzingaza]

There is no internet.
No signal. No sound. No world beyond this cage.

I walked thirty minutes through ruins and dust. Not in search of escape, but for a fragment of signal, just enough to whisper, “We are still alive.”

Not because anyone is listening,
but because to die unheard is the final death.

Gaza is silent now.
Not with peace, but with obliteration.
Not a silence of stillness, but of smothering.

They severed the last cable.
No messages leave. No images enter.
Even grief has been forbidden.

I passed the corpses of buildings, of homes, of men, some breathing, some not.
All of them erased by the same hand that erased our voices.

This is not a siege of bombs alone.
It is a siege of memory: a war against our ability to say, “We were here.”

The bombing never stopped, especially in Jabalia.
They shell the streets where children beg for food.
They shell the lines where mothers wait for flour.
They shell hunger itself.

No food. No water. No exit.
And those who try, those who reach for aid, are struck down.

People die here, and no one knows.
Not because the killing paused, but because the killing of connection succeeded.

The internet was our final breath.
It was not a luxury; it was the last evidence of our humanity.

Now it is gone.
And in the dark, they massacre without consequence.

I found this faint eSIM signal as a dying man finds a flicker of flame.
I stood beneath a broken sky, risking death, not for rescue, but to send this.

A single message.
A last resistance.

If you are reading this, remember:
we walked through fire to say it.
We were not silent.
We were silenced.

And when the cables are restored,
the truth will bleed through the wires,
and the world will know what it chose not to see.

[Chris Hedges @ChrisLynnHedges]

https://t.co/rCBCwNiNst

[Music and Lyrics! 🎙️🎵🎸🎼🎹🤘 @somethingrand77]

If you stand for peace, like and repost to spread the message.
- 🎙️John Lennon & Eric Clapton, 🎵 Give Peace A Chance (1969)
https://t.co/kUv4w6gTnf

[Dr. Ezzideen @ezzingaza]

This morning, on my way to the clinic, though even calling it that feels absurd now, it is more graveyard than refuge; I saw a girl. She was sixteen, no older. She was thin, with the kind of tiredness around her eyes that children should never know. In her hands, she carried a pot, a blackened metal container, steaming faintly. Inside was a thin, soupy liquid. It was mostly water, with a few pale white beans floating like little wrecks in an ocean of absence.

Behind her, her father moved through the crowd with a soldier’s gaze. It was not the gaze of one trained for war, but of one forced to survive it. He was scanning faces, perhaps for danger, perhaps for hope, or perhaps for something in between.

The girl looked back once, then again. When she saw him turn away, she seized that brief moment of freedom. She dipped her fingers into the pot, scooped a few beans, and stuffed them into her mouth with the speed of guilt. Her eyes darted around as she chewed, terrified that he might see her, that he might scold her. Not because he was cruel, but because that pitiful soup was meant to feed not one child, but an entire family. Perhaps five. Perhaps ten. We no longer count mouths. Only spoons.

There was a kitchen once, a charity. They cooked for over a thousand families every day. They did it not for profit, and not for recognition, but because their souls could not do otherwise. That kitchen shut down three days ago. Not because people stopped being hungry, but because the shelves became empty. The rice, the oil, the flour — everything ran out.

And now the people go to the American aid centers.

Yes, of course. "Humanitarian corridors." What a beautiful phrase. How clean, how sterile, how bureaucratically elegant. It sounds like "collateral damage" or "operation." The Americans built them. The Israelis secured them. And forty people die at their gates every day.

Crushed. Shot. Starved. They come seeking bread and leave as corpses.

Everyone knows this. Absolutely everyone. And yet they still go.
Hunger will drive a man to walk toward his own execution if there is even a shadow of rice behind the gun.

Yesterday, my friend Al-Aloul went. He is not a fighter. He is a software engineer, a quiet man.

He came back stabbed, in the neck.
Six stitches. Blood soaked through his shirt.

But he smiled.

"I got the box," he said. "They did not take it."

What kind of world is this? What kind of man smiles through blood because he has a box of flour?

This is not the war of tanks and planes. Those have become irrelevant. This is the war of hunger, the war of slow death.
Mothers fast for days, not in spiritual devotion, but because their sons must eat first.
Children stand in line for aid, not knowing if they will return alive.
Girls eat in secret, and fathers carry shame heavier than bread.

This is genocide by exhaustion, by silence, by paperwork, and by averted eyes.

Do you want to know what the modern age has made of evil?

It has made it bureaucratic.
Digitised.
Professionalised.

A genocide in which the world debates definitions while children chew air.

The child who ate those beans is more real than your opinions.
My friend who smiled through blood has more dignity than your excuses.
Gaza is not a headline. It is a mirror.
And when you look at it, what you see is the measure of your own humanity.

You want God to speak?
Perhaps he already has.

He speaks through the silence of that girl.
Through the blood on that box.
Through the words I now write with shaking hands.

Gaza is not dying.
It is being crucified.
And we are the crowd at Golgotha.
Watching.

#GazaGenocide‌

[Susan Flower @SusanFlower1]

Simonlongstaff

[Massimo @Rainmaker1973]

'Barefoot Gen' (1983) is an anime based on Keiji Nakazawa's manga, offering a heartbreaking child point of view on one of the biggest tragedies of the XX century.

The author was 6 and he was there when Hiroshima was bombed, 79 years ago #Today.
https://t.co/kZL70GM5R6

[Susan Flower @SusanFlower1]

Do you remember when you joined X? I do! #MyXAnniversary

[Susan Flower @SusanFlower1]

@vishnu_moholkar Ij.
.

[Susan Flower @SusanFlower1]

@HumansNoContext 96

[Jonathan Cook @Jonathan_K_Cook]

Ex-ambassador Craig Murray:

'Yesterday I attended a session called by Palestine at the United Nations in Geneva. Over 120 states attended. While the formal session consisted of statements of national position with few surprises, I was able to discuss with a large number of delegates in the corridors why the Genocide Convention has not been activated, triggering a reference to the International Court of Justice.

'The answer is now clear to me. It is not that people are worried that a claim of genocide will not be successful at the International Court of Justice. It is that everybody is quite sure it will succeed. There is no respectable argument that this is not a genocide...

'The problem is that once the ICJ has determined that this is a genocide, it follows that not only are Netanyahu and hundreds of senior Israeli officials and military personally liable, but it is absolutely plain that “Genocide Joe” Biden, Sunak and members of their administrations are also criminally liable for complicity, having provided military support for the genocide.

'The International Criminal Court cannot ignore a judgment of genocide from the International Court of Justice and will have no choice but to issue arrest warrants.'

Source: https://t.co/trxaaR5HIj

[Jennifer Gai Lambie @JenLambie @JenGLambie]

@EVERALDATLARGE Your son, your grandson, your great-grandson....

[Dr. Jennifer Cassidy @OxfordDiplomat]

I have no words of my own that could even come close to conveying what I have just seen and we have all just witnessed.

So I turn to the direct words of Ambassador Husam Zomlot, @hzomlot , Head of the Palestinian Mission to the UK. Listen carefully to his words:

“Israel media did not show the mass murder of Palestinian children and innocent civilians, or the mass destruction of Gaza. But Israeli media has no qualms about showing these savage images of Israeli occupation forces detaining and stripping civilians taken from a UN shelter in Gaza today. This evokes some of humanity's darkest passages of history. It is well past time that the world speaks as one and demands - and enforces - an immediate and permanent #ceasefire.”

[Susan Flower @SusanFlower1]

@littledarkhorse @OxfordDiplomat @hzomlot . M