Seeing My Children In The Children Of Gaza

The genocide will be televised. They want you to watch

Israel killed journalist Mohammed Alaloul’s children, then America buried them under even more rubble of lying headlines. If this doesn’t radicalize you, you’re not feeling correctly.

I’m travelling through the Middle East with two young children and it’s hard enough. I’m in airplanes, while Gazans are being bombed by them. We’re regularly given food and water, while Gazans have supplies cut off or bombed. My heart breaks when I think of the Palestinian people, bombed and besieged by modern militaries, and being slandered by mass media. I don’t just hope they survive this, I hope they fucking win.

I feel such an impotent fury, watching an open genocide. It hits me in my most intimate moments. When I’m giving my children water, when I feed them, when I tuck them into bed at night. These are precisely the moments denied to Palestinians, indeed, these are the moments the White Empire actively destroys.

This is the horror that the White Empire is making the world witness — locking over 2 million people in a cage, cutting off food, water, and medicine, and then bombing it with more force than their other war crime, Hiroshima. I experience their terrorism as a parent, but it is no less terrifying to imagine as a completely able-bodied man who still doesn’t want his body painfully destroyed, nor to witness his family and friends killed all around him. I just feel the unrelenting trauma-television as a father, every…