📺🚨 We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for a message from reality. ⚠️💥
Look at the world right now. War crimes live alongside beauty tutorials. Starving children appear between travel vlogs. We witness everything, and nothing. The greatest horrors of our time are streamed onto our screens, and with the flick of a thumb, we scroll past them like they mean nothing. Never before have we been so aware of suffering, and yet so skilled at numbing ourselves to it. We are surrounded by evidence of horror, saturated with it, and yet, we are more detached than ever before.
We are scrolling through a genocide.
Not because we are evil. Not because we don’t care. But because the alternative is unbearable. Because to look is to feel. And to feel, in a world like this, is to be pierced by a grief so existential that it leaves you crumbling before your morning coffee. So we scroll. Numb. Hollow. Fragmented.
But we need to sit with what that means:
We are watching people—families, children, entire lineages—being eradicated in real time. And without even thinking, we move on to an influencer’s skincare routine or someone’s beach holiday in Positano. It is absurd. It is shameful. It is spiritual sickness disguised as self-preservation.
It is capitalism cloaked in humanitarian language. Neoliberalism dressed as democracy. Empire disguised as peace and progress.
This is a system that has colonised every part of us; our time, our nervous systems, our attention, our grief. A system that teaches us our voices don’t matter, our outrage is useless, our love is naïve. It says: stay asleep. Stay small. Let us handle it. But “us” is the most insidious group of decision-makers history has ever known. And “handle it” means fund it, justify it, erase it.
Let’s be clear: this genocide, like others before it, is aided by the wealthiest, most powerful governments in the world. The ones who wave banners of democracy and humanitarianism while signing off weapons deals and blocking ceasefire votes. The ones who speak of peace while fuelling war machines. The ones who can’t even say the word Palestine without a PR consultant on call.
And we, those of us watching from our safe homes, feel paralysed. Helpless. Angry. I get it. We donate, we protest, we scream, but the ones in power keep pressing “ignore”. It’s existential. What do you do when the world’s most powerful bodies enable the very atrocity you are begging them to stop?
You begin to question everything.
You start to understand that we don’t live in a just world, and maybe never did. That the foundations of this modern society were built not on love or truth, but on profit, conquest, domination. You realise that despite the mass outcry, nothing changes—because this system was never built to respond to morality. It was built to protect capital, not life.
And so yes, I understand why people scroll. I really do. To take in the full horror of this genocide, to really feel what’s happening, is to risk heartbreak so complete it could undo your ability to go on as normal. To realise that we are watching a people be systematically exterminated, and the world does nothing. That the sacred land of prophets, poets, and prayer might soon be bulldozed into Trumpian real estate. That children are being starved, bombed, and buried beneath rubble, while world leaders attend cocktail galas in honour of “peace talks”.
It is sickening.
And yet, scrolling past it is not peace.
It is numbing.
It is how fascism, capitalism, ecocide, apartheid, and spiritual death continue to thrive.
When you disconnect from others’ pain, you also disconnect from your own humanity. When you choose silence, when you look away, you become complicit in the illusion that this is acceptable. That this is just the way things are. That some lives are worth less than others. That never again applies only to certain people, in certain places, under certain flags.
Shame on the international organisations who do nothing.
Shame on the governments who fund this with taxpayer money.
Shame on us for scrolling past it.
Shame on us for closing our eyes.
Shame on the entire world for letting this happen.
And to those who say, “But I need to protect my peace”—I really do hear you. We are fragile creatures, and this world is relentless. But if your peace requires you to be blind to a genocide, is that peace or is it disassociation? And who taught you that was okay?
Today, it is Palestine. Tomorrow, it will be someone else. It always is.
And when they come for you, for your children, your land, your water, your voice—will anyone be left to stand beside you? Or will they scroll past too?
We are living through a collapse. A collapse of morality, of truth, of empathy. But that also means we are in a moment of choosing. Will we continue to let the machine dehumanise us? Will we keep believing that we are powerless?
Or will we remember?
That love is the strongest force we have.
That bearing witness is holy.
That solidarity is soul work.
That staying awake, though painful, is the only way we survive this together.
We may not be able to stop the bombs. But we must speak. We must mourn. We must resist. We must refuse to look away. We must remind each other that there is another way to live, and it does not look like this. And one day, when our children or our grandchildren ask us, “What did you do?”, perhaps we will have something to say.
Not just, “I felt sad”.
Not, “I reposted”.
Not, “Well, there was nothing that could be done”.
But, “I didn’t look away. I bore witness. I used my voice. I stayed human. I stayed connected to my fuckin soul.”1
Let that be our prayer, our protest, our promise.
Never again means never again for everyone.
Or it really means nothing at all.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
I can’t do much, but I can write this piece. My heart is broken.
Good writing, the meaning of justice is being enjoyed, at a time of unrealistic justice. God is teaching humans about the true meaning of justice in a subtle way, justice before the world, and justice before God. God's destiny is more correct, just need to interpret. I like this writing.
No, we scroll because we are cowards, not human enough to place our bodies between the bullets and their intended victims, too cowardly and unbelieving to shoot back at the perpetrators.