Calling the Gaza genocide a βwarβ is like seeing a man beating a toddler to death and calling it a βfightβ.
If you call ethnic cleansing and genocide 'war' then you are supporting genocide propaganda.
Look at the face of your child.
There, in the curvature of a cheek, in the light that pools in their eyes, is the most sacred thing this cursed world has ever known: innocence- unspoiled, unarmed, unsuspecting. And now, let your mind descend, as mine has, into the abyss that is Gaza. Imagine a child with that same divine light in their eyes, but that light flickers beneath the shadow of famine, disease, and fire from above.
I speak now not only as a man, but as a doctor. I have studied anatomy, the workings of the lungs, the trembling pulse of a febrile child. But nothing in those books could have prepared me for the living autopsy that is Gaza. These children do not die in silence, they perish in slow, deliberate agony, as though the universe itself were conducting an experiment in cruelty.
They are born already wasting away. Their ribs push through their skin like the bars of a cage. Some weigh no more than a cat. Others grow pustules, rashes, blisters that no textbook has named, as though the diseases themselves were ashamed to be written down.
Their immune systems -if we dare call them that - collapse under the weight of infections too trivial for most of the world to notice. Meningitis spreads unchecked. Septicemia dances through their bloodstreams. Tumors rise like monuments to our collective indifference. And still they smile. They reach out. They laugh.
This, I cannot understand.
Their laughter is not joy, it is defiance. It is the last rebellion of the human spirit before it is extinguished.
And what of their mothers? Women with empty breasts, who rock starving infants in arms that no longer believe in salvation. What does a mother feel when her body betrays her child, when even milk, that most ancient offering, turns to nothing?
I have seen medical wards filled with children who belong to a different century, skeletal frames, sunken eyes, diseases that civilized nations buried generations ago. But Gaza is where time rots. Where progress retreats. Where history loops like a noose.
And yet the world debates. It argues. It calculates. It measures suffering in metrics, in reports, in resolutions that gather dust. While the children waste away.
What good is medicine in a place where there is no clean water?
What is ethics in a world where some children receive MRIs, and others receive shrapnel?
They are not symbols. They are not causes. They are not βcollateral.β
They are children, each with a soul as complex and trembling as yours.
And they are being annihilated, not merely by bombs, but by our consent, our silence, our distractions, our clever rationalizations.
I once believed in man. I believed we were capable of redemption.
But now, I have looked into the eyes of dying children and seen the abyss stare back.
Gaza is not a wound on the map.
It is a wound on the soul of humanity.
And we, we are letting it fester.
#GazaGenocide