Gaza is hell.
I thought I understood the situation on the ground. But I didn’t. Nothing can truly prepare you for this dystopia. What reaches the rest of the world is a fraction of what I’ve seen so far, which is only a fraction of this horror’s totality. Gaza is hell. It is an inferno teeming with innocents gasping for air. But even the air here is scorched. Every breath scratches and sticks to the throat and lungs. What was once vibrant, colorful, full of beauty, potential and hope against all odds, is draped in gray-colored misery and grime.
But how does one reckon with losing your entire family, watching and smelling their bodies disintegrate around you in the rubble, as you wait for rescue or death? How does one reckon with total erasure of your existence in the world – your home, family, friends, health, whole neighborhood and country? No photos of your family, wedding, children, parents left; even the graves of your loved ones and ancestors bulldozed. All this while the most powerful forces and voices vilify and blame you for your wretched fate. Genocide isn’t just mass murder. It is intentional erasure. Of histories. Of memories, books and culture. Erasure of potential in a land. Erasure of hope in and for a place.
