• Left of East- An Introduction

    In the summer of 2013, I embarked on a solo backpacking adventure across Northern Michigan. With no one to talk to along the way, my journal became a powerful and necessary companion. I wrote journal nearly every day, sometimes many times a day, to capture the events and insights of my time on the trail […]

  • One Cry Fix All

    My submission to The Moth Detroit StorySLAM topic: “Blood Sweat and Tears” When you go through a difficult time in your life, your body naturally deals with it by going into shock. This is a beautiful response because it allows you to go on with your life and get through every day when you’re not […]

  • A Real New Yorker

    They say you’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve cried in public.

  • CH@NGE

    The mathematical symbol for change is a neat little triangle Δ. I can remember drawing it on my notebook with a pencil. The teacher told us what it meant, and we took her work for it, but I wondered why, if we were describing change, did my pencil end up back where it started. There has […]

  • Light on Blight

    I grew up in a sweet, serene, safe community: a bastion of purity in small-town Michigan. We had no world-class issues. The police blotter in the local paper was comedically innocent: “raccoon topples garbage can,” “local man double-parks van.” But not too far away, trouble loomed large. Detroit, with its towering tombs was a shame to […]

  • On Solitude

    People, like deer and celebrities, tend to cluster amongst themselves. Anytime you should encounter a sitcom star, be still! Lower your gaze. Chances are good that his Emmy-winning girlfriend and the whole supporting cast will come trundling after.

Hope Came True

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I calculate I’d probably thrown up about 20,000 times by then. Say, average three times a day for twenty years- some long stretches with none, some long stretches with more, so let’s just call it an even 20,000.

We were on our way to our nephew’s birthday party. A small little family gathering at the farm stand with pumpkins and hay bales and doughnuts, and my sister Nikki broached the topic. “I can tell you’re not good.” she said, or something like that, something to cut through the lie that I would have used if she had instead asked me a question. I had been especially annoying that day. A bit manic in my pursuit of food, a bit manic in my attempt to misdirect my large family from noticing how much I’d eaten, falsely nonchalant as I slipped off to the bathroom and then downright obnoxious upon my return, as I forcefully inserted myself into the conversation, as if to prove I was part of it all along. I had never been gone.

She saw through my fakery all the way down to my hurt. It humbled me to realize how my behavior wasn’t just isolated to the physical acts of eating and uneating, how it made me annoying and unmanageable and unreachable. From that lowly place, Nikki gave me a beautiful gift- her hope. She told me that she believed I could get past this. She truly meant it. She painted the picture for me. She believed in me. Even though she had known me as her sister utterly stuck in bulimia for most of her life, she genuinely believed I could get past it.

We sat in the parked car and I fell apart in a storm of sobs, completely undone. I hadn’t known this, but I realized that I had no hope of my own. Through all the years of trying and failing, I had lost any hope that I was capable of true change. I had brought my illness into all the things I hoped would change me- marriage, and pregnancy, and motherhood. But I was listening. I was allowing myself to believe what she was saying, I was letting that hope in and letting it take root. Maybe even watering it a bit. Sarah joined in and they piled it on. The beautiful image took shape, I allowed the possibility that, just maybe, I had vomited for the last time.

After I recovered (enough) to show my face, we left the car, we played, we sang “Happy Birthday.” The kids played, I felt that exhaustion that follows a really good cry.

I needed to run to my car to get something for my son. I jumped down from a hay bale into the parking lot and must’ve been looking down because BAM! I smashed the bridge of my nose against a horizontal metal bar that I didn’t even see. I hit it so hard that deep bruises soon formed around my eyes. Humbled again.

From that tender place, I made my way into another phase of abstinence. For those first few difficult days, my ghoulish black eyes were a welcome reminder of that powerful day. I didn’t mind being marked, I wanted to believe that conversation went deep enough to change me. I strung the days together, one by one, and found my hope growing in kind.

It was a month later that I discovered I was pregnant, again, and my heart swelled with pride- and hope- that this new life was began from a safe, healthy place.

In retrospect, I have come to believe that true hope is the most powerful instrument of change. I am deeply grateful to my sisters for believing in me and for giving their hope when I had lost mine. I stumbled a few more times after that day, but I am proud to say that I am celebrating over 800 days of recovery, that each day of my daughter’s life has been part of this new chapter, and that today, I sincerely believe that this streak will take me through the rest of my days.

When I celebrate my nephew’s birthday, I celebrate this lesson. If you have hope: share it, speak it, give it away. You just might make it so.

My hope came true! My hope came true!

Each day is new, my hope came true.

My hope came true! My hope came true!

And yours can, too, my hope came true. 

 

Rocks on the Beach

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I’m bothered by how,

in the presence of an endless horizon bottled by boats, a distant lighthouse and hazy clouds,

beside a slow throbbing mass of beautiful blue water clear enough to reveal thousands of rounded stones nestled in its sand,

where walkable beach stretches for mile after mile and bay after bay,

some people look only at their feet

searching for rocks of some particular value or esteem,

which they smuggle into the darkness of their pockets, or toss into reusable totes with aching seams to be stashed in garden beds back home, or left there, forgotten

once the reality of their lack of popular importance is understood.

I’m bothered that we don’t know how to interact with this place except to take from it.

Probably, we all want to build, to organize, to share, to receive.

Probably, we want to know how special those rocks really are, and all they can do. But we don’t.

I’m comforted by my children,

whose only instinct upon finding a stone is to pick it up and throw it as far as they can,

to learn the shape of its splash, the sound of its greeting to the water,

or just to feel the release of sending it off again, and again, and again.

Perfect Avocados

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When someone is really unwell, expectations drop, but as a person reaches their potential, we demand more from them. I guess my Mark should have taken it as a compliment that I expected so much of him.

My farther-in-law, Mark, spent about forty years as a heroin addict and, when he finally got clean, he worked hard to stay there. “Change the channel,” he’d say, when an unwelcome thought came along, and he’d drop and do fifty pushups or jump on ol’ hateful, his elliptical. Recovered addicts like to say that their disease is doing pushups in the parking lot. Mark was doing more. He looked like that ripped old guy in the in-flight magazine, without the white hair. He did a burpee for each year of his life when he turned 73. His fitness was a phenomenon, but the real miracle was that he was alive at all. How many times did he overdose? Drive like a maniac? Get shot at? For most of Mark’s life, his family never expected he would outlive his addiction. Mark’s first wife, Sandy, left him finally when she could no longer tolerate sharing a home or a future with someone so wholly unreliable. My husband, Jeff, and his siblings got a second chance at a stable home through their new-step dad, Gary, but never stopped wishing for Dadio to be there for them in the way they needed and deserved.

The curse spared Jeff and Jana, but their big brother, Jason, was not so fortunate. It may have been genetics, or maybe Jason took the brunt of the broken home, but he had a hard time. He struggled to hold down a job, a relationship, or money, and he was often in trouble. When Jason’s fiance overdosed and died, everyone was heartbroken- and also terrified for Jason’s safety. Thirty-five years after the nuclear family broke apart under the strains of addiction, it assembled again in hopes of arresting its spread. Mark, Sandy, Jason, Jeff, and Jana were together again, trying to pick up the pieces of Jason’s troubled life. Mark was uniquely qualified to help navigate the recovery community, and Jason was admitted to the very rehab center where Dadio worked. 

But Jason checked out early to attend our wedding and to cash a big check he had coming, and he never went back. We watched and waited for the savings to run out, hoping he would outlive his disposable income. Maybe then he would hit bottom, maybe then recovery would stick. But the same day Jason called Sandy begging for rent money, he took a fatal dose of heroin: a different kind of bottom.

Once again, Mark stepped up. He made the brutal medical decisions, handled Jason’s meager possessions, and arranged a natural burial. There was a bitterness in Mark’s helpfulness. If only Jason could’ve outlasted his demons, too.

Jason’s death was a tragedy, and it revived so much of the unresolved pain from the years Mark spent in the wilderness. What chance had Jason had with a dad like that? Mark lamented: “I told Jason to never use alone!” Pretty good advice, but he could’ve done without the last word.  Continue reading →

Summer Babies

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Oh my summer babies!
Oh naked bodies and sticky tummies!
Oh tan-lined bug-bit scraped-up skin!
Oh bike rides before breakfast!
Oh snacking in the garden!
Oh berry walks and stained hands, faces, toes!
Oh front porch thunderstorms!
Oh wet curls!
Oh firefly bedtime!
Oh, how my babies love summer!
Oh how I love my summer babies!

Making Amends in a Broken World

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Witnessing the genocide in Gaza has been so eye-opening for me. I did not know how corrupt our county was and I did not know how corrupt the world was. And I should have known, but I didn’t. Surprise means I believed a lie. And the lie that I believed is that we can do bad, and somehow become good without ever facing our wrongs. That is not to say we cannot do good, or that there is nothing to be proud of, or that we are irredeemable, but time and good intentions alone can never heal our wrongs.

Do you know about the Twelve Steps? I really love them. I think they represent the best invention to ever come out of the United States. It’s a path to recovery from addiction- a difficult process that someone is only likely to do only after they have hit bottom and become desperate. It’s a way out. The most tangible part of the steps is the process of making amends- going through each of the people or parties you have wronged, and making right. Cleaning up your side of the street, it’s said.

I really want America to run the 12 steps in itself. Looking at the ongoing genocide in Gaza, this sham of a ceasefire, and all that led to it. Looking at the horrors going on in Sudan, the entrenched power systems represented by both these crises. Looking at our own country, the return to codified racism, the removal of legal residents, citizens, and asylum seekers from this country, the terrifying lack of visibility we have to detention and prison centers, the ICE raids on brown skinned people.

Why should we expect any better from our country? Continue reading →

The People’s Conference for Palestine

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Detroit made me proud last week- I was able to attended the People’s Conference for Palestine, here in my own city. What a wonderful experience to be surrounded with clear-sighted people full of hope, despair, information, ideas and plans. I will share some of what I took away from it for myself and for those who weren’t there (but note videos available on youtube!).

Quotes from the Keynote: Gaza is the Compass

 

Mahmoud Khalil: 

“They want to silence us. And honestly, it would be much easier and safer for me to remain silent, but silence is not an option, it should not be an option. I will not remain silent in the midst of a genocide. I will not be silent when my people are being starved and massacred. And I will continue to keep the focus on Palestine and its liberation.“ 

Mohammed Mustafa:

“Why is baby formula banned in Gaza? Why is feeding a child considered a threat? Why are incubators, ambulances, hospitals- the very lifeline of life- turned into targets of war? When did milk become a weapon? When did bread become contraband? When did saving a child’s life become a crime? Gaza is the only place in the planet where nourishing a baby is treated as an act of resistance. The only place where medicine itself is put on trial. The only place where life itself is seen as a danger. And the world accepts this in Gaza. And it tells every oppressor ‘you may criminalize survival itself, and no one will stop you.'”

“There is no comfort in standing up for Gaza, there is only pain. In this you may lose your job, you may be imprisoned, you may illegally bonded, you may lose your reputation. You will be vilified, you’ll get death threats. But think about what we call sacrifice: we fear losing a title, a paycheck, a platform, while the people in Gaza are losing their homes, their families, their children and their very lives. We count the cost of speaking, yet they are paying the price of silence with their blood. Courage is not the absence of fear, courage is knowing the cost. Courage is feeling the fear and courage is still standing where humanity demands you to stand.”

“Gaza is the moral compass. The question is not whether it points true, the question is whether we have the courage to follow it and the conviction to act before it’s too late.”

Abu Baker Abed

“Journalism in Gaza is genocide documentation. ”

“Since I was a kid that was exposed to western culture because I wanted to learn English, I was naive probably to believe what they were writing in books about western culture, that its always saved or maintained human rights for every human being across the globe in terms of national laws. But when I grew up I realized that all of this was a mere facade. That human rights were only for certain categories of people, not for all people.”

“In Gaza, we always wanted to say the truth, no matter what the cost was, although we were not protected. We talk about horror stories and unbearable anecdotes that everyone has every single day. Moments before the live TV I had to see my cousin killed in front of my eyes with his son. Doing the report, going to the funeral, bury his body, and after that, go back. ”

“As because this is Anais Al Sharif hall where we must really honor his memory, the sacrifices he has taken since day one it’s been truly unbearable since he left us and the news has been quite suppressed. …That’s why I really left when I left Gaza four months ago, because I faced the same threats. …We for many months during this genocidal assault in the strip- we sacrificed our lives we sacrificed our families. I remember the words of my mother before I left Gaza all the time at night before the dawn prayers she would say ‘I just wanted to check on you because I thought you were bombed.’ And my sisters would say, whenever they heard a quadcopter over the house they would say ‘This is coming for you and to kill you.’ Everyone doing their duty is a target, is being criminalized. ”

Other Takeaways

Chris Smalls, the labor organizer who spearheaded the unionization of Amazon workers and who was recently part of the Freedom Flotilla. Even if I hadn’t heard his words, I would have been moved by his sheer essence. He embodies courage. He reminded me it isn’t nice to be nice in the face of evil. He spoke of the extreme deficit of action among labor unions when it comes to this genocide. He reminded us of the local manufacturing forces creating the parts, the machinery, the weapons that commit genocide each day. Jobs, paychecks and economies depending on complicity for sustenance. It reminded me that we need to do more than denounce, we must envision and create alternatives. What can those factories make that would create rather than destroy? Who will be the one to retool those factories for another line of products?

Linda Sarsour shared a letter written to her unborn grandchild, a lovely letter that she said helped her find her voice because, so often lately, words fail her. I was struck by the courage of her closing line that “Palestine will be free in my lifetime.” The difference between “someday” and “someday soon” was tangible.

I had tears in my eyes when the stage filled with children. I don’t even remember much of what they did or said, but the symbolism alone- of survival, of vitality- was beautiful, and sad.

 

Actions You Can Take

Actions:

Spend:

Don’t spend:

  • Global strike for Gaza- no spending every Thursday
  • Boycott, divest, strike

Join an Organization:

It’s Not Complicated

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What lies do you believe?

Identifying and refuting the lies we have internalized is a very dry powerful exercise. It is the path to change entrenched behavior, to create new realities, and to liberate our minds. Here are some lies we have absorbed about the genocide in Gaza.

It’s complicated

There are overt lies, and there are implicit ones, which can be much harder to see. One of the most insidious lies buried in the propaganda about Palestine is the idea that this issue is complicated. So many people think differently, the history is so long, the names unfamiliar, the leaders and factions and characters always changing, it’s hard to really know what’s what. Right? Wrong.

At its core, this issue is easy easy easy. In fact, strip it back. Unlearn the adjectives, the religious identities, the mental images you carry of the people on each side. Think of what you know about how much food you need in a day. Think of what you believe about who and what should not be targeted in war. Think about how easy it should be to be able to say that children should not be shot and people should not be starved and entire cities should not be destroyed. It’s very easy.

the barrier to entry is a low as your gut

That’s the thing, you don’t need to know anything about the details to know that genocide is wrong, mass starvation is wrong, bombing civilians journalists historical schools is wrong. There is actually no context that could change that fact. That’s the good news.

The propaganda wants you to believe more information is needed: “We need to look into that incident when the hospital was bombed, we need to investigate further why the ambulance workers were executed, that journalist was suspected Hamas.” All of these types of comments are intellectualizing and they are very effective at interrupting your gut response which is to be appalled, which is to cry out in dismay. If you are willing to delay your denunciation, it may never come. Another day, another horror, and we don’t yet have all sides to the story on today’s atrocity, so better not speak up.

It took me far longer than it should have to consistently speak up about the genocide in Gaza. I regret my silence and I recognize that I am the one who muzzled myself, for fear of treading on this “complicated” issue.

I’m still not an expect and I’m still speaking up because I know wrong when I see it.

Of course you can and should learn more. Reading, learning and understanding are particularly important when people, their histories, and their stories are being intentionally erased. But don’t wait to speak up, the barrier to entry is a low as your gut.

There is no hope.

This is a tough one. Who am I to say that a people so repressed should sustain hope? What hope can there possibly be when the world holds the door open for Israel to further their illegal, barbaric murderous campaign day after miserable day?

I lay my head in a home on land that was stolen through genocide 2 centuries ago. I know that erasure can have a terrifying permanence. But we must imagine, we must hope, and we must believe. We are sacrificing far more than the lives of Palestinians if we can’t even imagine their generation, a generation after genocide, a world where truth matters, where life is valued, and where the majority opinion matters.

Hopelessness guarantees one outcome. Hope at least creates the possibility of another.

The moral arc of the universe bends toward justice.

Yes, this is a lie. To trust that history will not repeat, that moral evolution is guaranteed, is to be extremely naive. Yet this idea is so appealing and so powerful that we tend to believe it even if we don’t know we do. I’ll admit that I literally did not know that humans could and would act in such depraved ways, and that the world order would facilitate it. I truly did not know. How could I have been so blind, since I know the history of the genocide against indigenous people in this county, the holocaust and other man-made horrors? I must have subconsciously believed that humanity was improving.

Here’s the thing: morals don’t bend. People have to bend them, and they can go bend either way. This means that hope is justified, but it demands effort. We as a society of people who still value human life must think, and organize and work to amass the collective energy required to reach that critical velocity that breaks us out of the status quo and sends us into a new orbit, a new arc.

 

 

“We must never succumb to nihilism. We must always maintain revolutionary optimism. We must always continue to organize. Always continue to agitate. because the quicker we can create enough insurmountable pressure that causes the American State to recalculate its double suicide pact with Israel, the quicker we can save as manhy Palestinian lives as possible.”  Hasand Piker

Let’s “Steelman” the Justification for Genocide

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It’s impossible not to be exposed to the propaganda of justification for the ongoing genocide in Gaza, and the broader occupation in Palestine. Sometimes an argument seems strong, but you have only to lean in to see that most arguments to explain this occupation actually imply their opposite. Let’s steelman a number of the claims thrown out in support of Israel’s destruction of the Palestinian people and see where our logic takes us.

“Hamas takes aid intended for civilians.” 

You believe Hamas is taking aid away from people and you’re mad about that. In which case, you want people to be fed, and you oppose starvation. In which case you should demand that the UN aid organizations be allowed to resume their work, that they not be bombed and targeted, that the hundreds of trucks lined up at the border be allowed in, that the Rafah border be opened, that the Freedom Flotillas enter, that Doctors should be allowed to bring extra food to their colleagues and patients aren’t malnourished. On the other hand, in you’re ok with the aid being cut off, then why would you be upset by the purported divergence of aid by Hamas. Is it wrong for aid to be diverted from people or not? 

“Hamas uses human shields.” 

You believe that Hamas uses human shields and you’re mad about that. Who do you imagine those purported human shields to be? This is obviously a reference to Palestinian civilians. If you are upset that their lives would be endangered in this way, you should be equally mad about IDF using human shields and you should be proportionally incensed about 60,000 civilians [known] dead, the systematic bombing of civilians, and the starvation of an entire population. On the other hand, if you’re ok with these civilian deaths, they why would you be upset by Hamas’ purported use of human shields? Are their lives precious or are they not?

“The hostages must be returned.”

You want the Israeli hostages held by Hamas to be released? In which case you were happy with the ceasefire which successfully returned dozens of hostages, in which case you should be angry with Israel for refusing to move to the second stage of the ceasefire, and for continuing to place other “priorities ” above their safe return, for continuing to bomb the very places that they are held, and for continuing their siege, which inevitably leads to their starvation, along with everyone else within Gaza. The ceasefire is the only method by which those hostages were returned at scale, it provided the pathway for all to be returned, and it was broken by Israel. They want the hostages to remain so they can sustain their justification for this occupation, genocide, ethnic cleansing- talk about human shields! And once again, if you oppose the capture of civilians as prisoners and hostages in war, you should be proportionately incensed about the 10,000 Palestinian hostages held by Israel. On the other hand, if you’re ok with Israel breaking the ceasefire and failing to accept the terms provided to them by Hamas, again and again, you must not prioritize the return of those hostages. 

“It’s not a genocide” 

You immediately reject the term, because it is unfathomable that Israel is targeting civilians, is intentionally destroying a nation of people. Yet so many people justify the barbarity of the occupation by insisting that Hamas does not think Israel should exist. In which case you acknowledge that it is possible for people to want others not to exist. You are more inclined to believe their words of denial rather than their explicit actions. You unknowingly justify genocide in fact on the basis of an alleged genocide in thought.

Look at the facts. The homes, hospitals, schools targeted. The sheer body count. The language of the Israeli. Genocide is not a thought crime, it is a crime of action. The Israeli army’s own database recently revealed they estimate “at least 83% of the Gaza dead are civilians.” Their true estimate is closer to 90%. Trust the data. Trust the facts. The civilians are the target. This is genocide.

“All news from Gaza is propaganda.” 

You shut off your sympathy for two million people being tortured every day by telling yourself that the news from Gaza is untrue. You tell yourself these must be biased portrayals. If this were true, then you would encourage and allow non-Palestinian journalists to enter, to document, and to exit alive. If you want a different portrayal than the one provided by the only witnesses, allow more witnesses. Israel has murdered 274 journalists, and counting, since October 7, 2023. Most of the time, Israel will claim the journalists were Hamas. Civilians with active social media accounts are also targeted.  Understand that Israel does not want any witnesses, the issue is not the identity of those reporting but the act of reporting itself. 

“October 7 was so horrific, this is necessary.”

You feel that “nothing justified October 7th but October 7th justifies everything.” You believe the attack was so horrific it warrants any and all response, however disproportionate, however many lives are bombed, starved, sniped or scourged in the process. Be so afraid of this logic. We once decided as a society that even if bad things are done, we should be bound by certain terms of engagement NOT to starve, NOT to ethnically cleanse, not to target schools, hospitals, schools, civil workers, journalists, aid workers, civilians. When you cite atrocities of Hamas as justification for genocide, you erase the line between soldier and civilian. Those international laws setting rules of engagement a dangerous precedent to set, especially for us as civilians of a county whose leader’s actions have been (and continue to be) so harmful. The notion that all Palestinians should be accountable for the actions of Hamas sets a terrifying precedent. Should your life and mine and my children’s be taken in compensation when American politicians commit atrocities? I shudder to think. Let he whose elected officials have not sinned cast the first stone.

 

Ultimately, we can only engage so much in debate. There are many whose minds are closed, and others who don’t even mean what they say, but keep tapping at the consciousness of the people around you, see which of the jenga pieces have some give, and don’t shy away from the discussion. All roads lead to truth, all logic leads to condemnation of atrocities, consciousness leads to humanity

Why Gaza Matters

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Genocide is being committed in Gaza: deliberate, effective, ruthless, evil intentional killing of humans of all ages and identities whose only crime is to be Palestinian. The entire population is the target, the casualties are not collateral damage, but successful targets. Israeli soldiers are dropping the bombs but we are complicit, this is “our” genocide. 

The public is finally waking up to this horrific tragedy, but this issue still lies within the spectrum of ambivalence to bipartisan support, which mean we are getting further, not closer, to a resolution. So, even though the true face of this horror is clear to me, I understand that it might not be clear to you, so I am attempting in this writing to explain why Gaza matters, and why it should matter to you too.

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Unimaginable Violence– Gaza’s citizens are being bombed on a daily basis- violently murdered and rendered into pieces. With bombs dropped at an unparalleled pace, in one of the most densely populated areas on earth, with direct intention of causing maximum harm. There is no pretense of targeting Hamas, the civilians are the point, the children are the targets. Sources say that in the first six days after October 7, 2023, Israel dropped approximately 6,000 bombs on Gaza, nearly the same number as were dropped by the US in Afghanistan in all of 2019, the peak of the US war there. In the first year after October 7, 2023, Israel dropped more bombs on the tiny Gaza strip than were dropped in all of World War II in Dresden, Hamburg, London combined. Drones murder survivors of bombings by shooting those who try to attend to the injured and deceased. They drive bullet after bullet into the heads of children. They smite men trying to bring morsels of food back to their starving families. Soldiers and mercenaries conduct daily massacres of those seeking food from the utterly dystopian depraved “Aid” centres, where “warning shots” are fired into the flesh of unarmed malnourished near ghosts who risk all for a few calories of nutritionally sparse rations. Fishermen are murdered for trying to catch food. A child is smited for daring to sit on the sea wall and look out into the world beyond. Journalists, bloggers, poets, content creators are bombed, along with their families, for daring to reveal what they have witnessed. These are the daily ceaseless cruelties of the boundless violence of this siege.

 

An entire society is being dismantled. Remember the image of the soldiers standing atop a massive pile of buffalo carcasses? As much as you may wince, you intellectually understand the strategy, the diabolical checkmate that the rotting food source represented. The destruction of all forms of infrastructure, water sources, medical care, housing, education, religious sanctuary, agriculture, and any sort of food source is the Israeli strategy, meticulously executed. In the absence of any medical treatment, thousands die from treatable injuries. Doctors perform amputations, c-section, and other procedures without anesthetic. Can you even begin to imagine? I truly cannot. I try to and I cannot. My brain does not go there, but this is real. This is real.

 

Forced Starvation. Starvation is murder. Starvation is torture. Right now, every single one of what once was two million Palestinians living in Gaza is being subjected to torture by virtue of the fact that they are being subjected to man-made famine. Babies, toddlers, children, teens, young men and women, old men and women, pregnant women, fetuses, all are starving, many have already perished. Parents are forced to watch their children die first. But. The food is there. It lies packaged in idled vehicles hovering at the border. The humanitarian workers are there. Those trained in the distribution of aid, real aid, are ready to serve, but are barred entrance. They and the organizations they represent are rightly afraid that they too will be martyred if they dare attempt to render aid. It is so important to emphasize the intentionality of this. 

 

The Israeli propaganda says that Hamas is stealing aid, which is absolutely meritless and is nothing more than a line to buy time.  If they were truly concerned with the consequences of food being diverted, they would allow more food, not less. Why can’t visiting doctors bring in any extra rations? Why can’t the Freedom Flotilla bring in baby formula? Why was Israel limiting the calories entering Gaza well before October 7?. Remember the buffalo and you have your answer.

 

The Intent. Each of these deadly sins described above are terrible of their own accord, but it is so important to underscore the intentionality underlying them. This is not famine borne of flood or drought. This is not collateral damage resulting from the targeting of an evil militant. This is not depravity in isolation with no witnesses. This is genocide before our eyes. This is us, as a collective, as a county, as a globe, adding our weight to drive the knee into the neck of an nation as it flutters and flails for breath. Each second we are silent is a second too long for another innocent life.

 

Our complicity. There are many tragedies around the world, and many people suffering on a daily basis, but the crucial difference is that the US is actively underwriting this massive crime against humanity. Without consistent US funding, Israel would not be able to impose such total control over Gaza, they would not act with impunity in the West Bank, Lebanon, Syria, Yemen and Iran. US funding is directly paying for these actions, and is reinforcing to the rest of the world that they may not oppose Israel’s actions without risking retaliation from the United States. Our country has spent at least 22.76 billion in military “aid” since October 7, 2023. Understand, therefore, that this is our war. There is no pretense of international law or human rights, our continuous financial support also confirms to Israel that our support is truly unconditional. 

 

Like many Americans, first exposure to the concept of genocide came from a steady diet of post-war freedom-fighter grade-school novels that taught me of the Holocaust and the glorious liberators of my countrymen. Even when I gained a more nuanced understanding of US and World History, I still not expect that an equally reprehensible evil might be repeated in my lifetime, and I naively thought that, if it did, my country would be on the right side of it.

 

There is so much more to this story that I am not equipped to relay, but there is just one more tragedy I have to name, which is the shame of having done not nearly enough when so much more courage, clarity, and action was needed. We get to live, but we have to live with ourselves. That is why we have to write, and speak, and donate, and make phone calls, and vote, not because we are under the impression that change will be easy or will come soon enough for those whose lives are on the line daily, but because our own humanity requires it. 

What If?

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What if it were true? 

What if a genocide was being committed during your lifetime, 

By your so-called allies, with your so-called leaders’ blessing,

paid for by your own money?

What if the people you empathize with were perpetrating it? 

Just imagine that for a second, what if?

If that were indeed true, ask yourself- what would it take for you to believe that it were true? What evidence would you require? 

Is there anything at all that would convince you?

How many voices, how many videos how many statistics, how much common sense?

How many images cages for food, bombed tents, burning hospitals, living skeletons, dead skeletons would tip the scale?

How many journalists killed, how many doctors testimony, how many United Nations votes?

How many days of deprivation?

We did only be the passing of time? How much time?

Would it help if your granddaughter showed you a chapter from her textbook once this become history?

Will you wait for the arithmetic as an entire nation is placed in concentration camps: former population – incarcerated = death toll?

What number are you looking for, give or take?

If there is truly nothing that will change your mind, what does that tell you about yourself?

It seems you prefer to believe what you believe then to believe the truth. And I pity you.

But if there is still a spark in you. If there is something that could convince you, then you have a job to do. 

Seek it out, find out. 

Prove to yourself that your mind is still yours and take your heart along too.