katie

environmental archaeologist floating around 🦴🌿

[Josh @JoshAlexCairo]

The UK public celebrates a genuine national treasure on his centenary, which coincides with a landslide of council votes for a political party that rejects net zero, wants to defund the institutions that Attenborough's life has enriched, and doesn't care about nature. Go figure.

[Niall Stanage @NiallStanage]

Please pause and take the 2 minutes to watch this.

[Majid Freeman @Majstar7]

Remember when Saleh found that Palestinian boy lying on his mother’s grave at night?

He showed us their pain and strength, being our eyes and ears in Gaza. Through him, we felt their suffering and love. He inspired us all. What a beautiful soul. We’ll miss you, Saleh. 🌹💔😢

[WearThePeace @WearThePeaceCo]

Saleh's older brother, Naji AlJafarawi, sees his father for the first time after being held hostage by the occupation. His father buried Saleh today, and welcomed Naji back hours later.

[PALESTINE ONLINE 🇵🇸 @OnlinePalEng]

A child couldn't get a hold of himself upon spotting his father upon released prisoners, jumping to embrace him immediately.

[Dr. Ezzideen @ezzingaza]

I came back today. I thought I had known despair before, but what I saw today is beyond despair.
It is not grief, nor horror, nor pain. It is something colder, a stillness where even God seems to have withdrawn His hand.

The sky was impossibly blue. The kind of blue that mocks you, that makes you wonder whether beauty itself is a crime.
I walked through streets that no longer exist, streets that were my childhood.
They are now a wilderness of stone, wire, and dust.

A man stood on a heap, a neighbor, I think.
He pointed and said, “It’s here.”
I asked him how far.
He looked down.
And I understood: my house was beneath his feet.

I lifted my phone, as if the machine could recognize what I could not. The screen glowed; there was nothing to see. The earth had swallowed the distances. Even the smell of home was gone. It was as if the thread connecting me to life itself had been cut.

I dug with my hands. The dust burned. My palms bled.
My mother had told me: “Search for anything we can save.” And so I obeyed her like a son obeys the last voice that still believes there is meaning in obedience.

From a house that once cost my father one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, a lifetime of labor, of hope, of decency, I found two things:
a knife, and a pillow.

Two relics of civilization. One for necessity, one for illusion.
That is what remains of man.

I sat in the ruins, the blue of my shirt turned gray with ash, and I thought:
this is the end not of a city, but of meaning itself.

I thought of my parents, their hands, their faith in honest work.
How will they bear this? How will any man bear seeing his father’s roof turned into dust by a stranger’s hands, hands that will never know the names of those they destroyed?

But what tears me apart more than ruin is silence. No one speaks to us.
No one tells us where to go, who will rebuild, or who is responsible.
The politicians talk of victories, the generals of strategy, the world of peace and progress.
But none of them live here among the ashes. None of them stand where I stand, sifting through their own dead.

And those who claim to represent us, where are they? Where is the money they collected in our name, the promises they made before the cameras, the slogans they wrote while we buried our children?
Who among them will come to this ruin and say: Forgive us, we failed you?
Not one.

They sit in offices with clean shirts, counting our corpses as figures on paper. They say “reconstruction,” “aid,” “negotiations,” as though the vocabulary of power could fill the emptiness of a mother’s bed.

I tell you the truth: there is no crime greater than indifference.
The murderer at least acknowledges the victim.
But those who look away, they kill the soul itself.

I brushed the dust from my shirt, though I knew it was useless.
I wanted to see if there was still color left in the world.
There wasn’t.
The blue had become the color of mourning.

I looked at my hands. They were shaking, not from fear, but from the unbearable realization that we have become expendable to the world.
Our suffering is entertainment, our death a policy, our endurance a statistic.

I wept then, openly, shamelessly.
I, who once believed in the dignity of suffering, now see that dignity itself has been annihilated.
There is nothing noble in being forgotten.

If you are reading this, do not admire the style or the language.
Lower your head, and weep.
Because this dust, this silence, this cry, is what remains of us.

[Ounka @OunkaOnX]

After a year of war, separation, and suffering, two Palestinian twins were finally reunited. Their embrace was more than just a hug — it was healing, defiance, and a reminder that even in darkness, love and hope survive.

[Eye on Palestine @EyeonPalestine]

Journalist Hala sits beside the grave of her fiancé, the martyr Mohammed Salameh, after the occupation stole their joy before it could be fulfilled, leaving behind the pain of loss and dreams killed with him.

[Barry Malone @malonebarry]

Mariam Dagga, killed by Israel today, was an incredibly talented photographer. She relentlessly and courageously documented the genocide. I'm going to share some of her images. Graphic content included.

[Paul Graham @paulg]

"She says 'We'll bake bread tomorrow,' even when there is no flour. She says 'The windows are broken because we wanted more air,' even though that is not why the windows are broken. She says 'The baby is sleeping,' even though the baby is gone."

[Karim Wafa-Al Hussaini @DrKarimWafa]

We’re not meant to be numb. You’re not meant to look away. That ache in your chest? That anger in your gut? That feeling you can’t shake that makes you feel like the world should suffer and tremble to finally wake up and put an end to this? That’s your humanity refusing to die.

[Dr. Ezzideen @ezzingaza]

Last night, the order came again; cold, mechanical, without voice or face. The Israeli army demanded that we leave our homes in northern Gaza. It was not a request. It was not advice. It was a verdict passed by those who will never hear the sentence echo.

We stayed. Not out of courage. No, that is too clean a word. We stayed because there was nowhere else. Because the night was heavy, the children already asleep in fear, and we had made a thousand choices before this one. What was one more?

Then the shelling began.

Not a war. A ritual. The walls trembled as if they too knew they were no longer homes. Each explosion tore not only through concrete but through the illusion that any of this would end with dawn. And when dawn came, it brought not light but precision.

At 7 a.m., the phones rang. Not for salvation. Not for news. But for warning. You have minutes.
This house will die. One by one, they called us, as if they were God, but without the mercy.

We ran. And with us ran our shame. Shame for still hoping. Shame for surviving. We moved from one shelter to the next, chasing a place where the bombs had not yet decided to fall. The dust was so thick it erased everything: the street, the sky, even time.

We joined the thousands. No, tens of thousands. Some weeping. Some silent. Men dragging children who no longer cried. Women walking without shoes. The air was filled with names no one would remember.

I asked an old woman where she was going.
She looked up, eyes like burnt-out stars, and said,
“To hell, my son. As long as it isn’t here.”

And what frightened me most was that I understood her.

Later, we found a room. It cost more than we owned. Still, we paid it. Others were not so lucky. They sleep under trees stripped of leaves, under the gaze of drones, under a sky that has forgotten how to protect.

Then came the television.

The screen flickered. A man appeared. Clean. Composed. Untouched by dust or hunger. He spoke in the language of death’s accountants.
“This is pressure,” he said.

Pressure?
Is that what they call it now, this slow, systematic undoing of a people?

Our dead are “statistics.”
Our hunger is “leverage.”
Our exile is “security.”
Even our grief is renamed, made abstract, made sterile.

They say it is to weaken Hamas. But we are not Hamas.

We are mothers who have not tasted bread in three days.
We are fathers who cover their children’s ears so they do not hear their brother scream.
We are girls carrying water across ruins. Boys who wake up afraid of the sky.

And Hamas?
They do not speak for us. They do not die with us. They negotiate in rooms lit by the same electricity we live without.

So we are caught. Yes, caught like rats between two powers that have turned our lives into tactics. One bombs in the name of peace. The other hides behind us in the name of resistance. Neither believes in our future.

What is this war, then?

A war between men who will never hold the body of a starving child. A war where God is silent, and the devil no longer hides.

We are dying for nothing. Not for a homeland. Not for liberation. Not even for revenge. Just nothing.

And the worst part is this. The world is watching.
And still, they call it “pressure.”

If you have a soul left, remember this. There is no strategy worth the cost of a child’s scream. There is no victory in making people envy the dead.

#GazaGenocide‌

[Farrukh @implausibleblog]

2017: Michael Gove, "We can have green brexit to make sure that Britain is an environmental leader"

2024: "Dozens of triathletes suffer severe vomiting and diarrhoea with one 'throwing up blood' after swimming in UK river"

Never forget how they lied. They promised everything and delivered nothing. Why aren't these charlatans being prosecuted for the damage they have done to our country?

[Bumblebee Conservation Trust @BumblebeeTrust]

Your kindness can kill a bumblebee 💔

📢 Please share! Bumblebee queens are starting to emerge from hibernation. British weather isn’t always ideal and people with the best intentions can cause more harm good. Let’s change that.

🧵1/5

[ab d. roger @aliabdi]

how can people see pictures like this and then believe IOF propaganda that they are only targeting Hamas infrastructure? every single building until the horizon is destroyed

[Hind Khoudary @Hind_Gaza]

They found Hind killed in the car along with her family members.

[Owais 🇵🇸 @owaismusic]

"A 4-year old with a sniper bullet"

A sniper bullet!

[George The Poet 🇺🇬 @GeorgeThePoet]

12,000 is a lot of anything. But murdered children?

12,000 murdered children =

60/70/80,000 years of live unlived.

100,000 family members in mourning, if alive.

X,000 future families that will never exist.

All in 11 weeks.

[Steve Sosebee @Stevesosebee]

Everyday we ask our friends and colleagues in #Gaza if they’re alive. A simple text. Are you still alive. Today the silence from Izzeddin Nawasra was heartbreaking - He was murdered in an airstrike on his home in the Maghazi refugee camp last night. Here’s his story.
(Thread)

[Muhammad Shehada @muhammadshehad2]

Israel killed Prof. Refaat al-Areer, one of Gaza's most prominent writers, poets & activists who spent his life trying to get Gaza's voice to the outside world.

He was killed in a targeted airstrike on his sister's home that also killed his brother, sister & her 4 kids...