Another night of horror in Gaza, another day of global silence
It was 4am when I stumbled out of bed, half-asleep, to get a glass of water - a simple, thoughtless act. As I reached for my phone, I hesitated. Checking it might keep me awake. I wish I had resisted.
The screen lit up. My feed was drowning in horror - again. Gaza. Another massacre.
At first, the numbers were uncertain. A hundred dead. Then 200. Then 300. But I knew. The number always rises. And this time, it wouldn't stop...350...400...450.
In just two hours, Israel had obliterated more than 450 innocent lives.
My head pounded. My chest tightened. A wave of nausea hit me as I stared at the images - bodies wrapped in white shrouds, children covered in dust and blood, fathers clutching their lifeless sons, mothers screaming into the night, their grief swallowed by the silence of a world that refuses to care. These are the kinds of images that should shake humanity to its core, but somehow, they never do.
Unending horror
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My hands trembled as I started making calls. It's what I always do when Gaza is under attack. It's what every Palestinian with family there does. We call. We check. We beg for an answer.
The West will justify the slaughter, twist reality, and dehumanise the victims. Palestinian lives will be belittled, erased - treated as if they do not matter
My heart pounded. The anxiety, the helplessness - it was back, like a wound that had barely begun to close before being torn open again.
No one picked up.
I tried again. And again. Still nothing. My stomach twisted into knots. Were they safe? Was their home still standing? Had the bombs reached them? The worst part is, I knew they had nowhere to run. There is no shelter. No safe zone. No escape.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, my mother answered. Her voice was steady, but I could hear the exhaustion beneath it.
"What can we do?" she said. "We are here. There is nowhere to run."
She had been trying to reach my sisters. No answer. My heart clenched. I tried calling them myself - nothing. I tried again - still nothing. The silence was deafening. And yet, somehow, I was expected to carry on with my day. To function as if everything were normal.
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But how can anything be normal when 450 people are massacred in a single night? When entire families are wiped out? When parents are left digging through the rubble with their bare hands, searching for their children? How can anything be normal when my people are being starved, bombed, and slaughtered - and the world still refuses to see us as human?
And as I sat there, staring at the rising death toll, I wondered - since it is such a staggering number of innocent lives lost - will I wake up to an email calling for a minute of silence in their memory? Will world leaders rush to condemn this crime? Will social media be flooded with solidarity? Will landmarks light up in the colours of the Palestinian flag? Will 10 Downing Street project our flag in mourning?
Of course not.
Instead, we will witness the silence of the complicit. The West will justify the slaughter, twist reality, and dehumanise the victims. Palestinian lives will be belittled, erased - treated as if they do not matter.
When will this stop? Gaza has been starved, its people deprived of food, water, and medicine - and now, they are massacred in their sleep. Bombs rain down on their homes, on the schools where they seek shelter, and on the hospitals where they fight to survive. Everything is being destroyed, and still, the world refuses to act.
Complicit world
How much more will it take?
How many more mothers will have to bury their children? How many more fathers will have to pull their babies from the rubble? How many more mass graves must be dug before the world finally opens its eyes?
We see it. We see the double standards. We see the hypocrisy. We see how Palestinian blood is cheap in the eyes of the world. And we see how the same governments that preach about human rights, about democracy, about the rule of law, are the same ones arming and defending our oppressors.
The injustice is unbearable. The cruelty is unspeakable. And it's not just Palestinians in Palestine who suffer this injustice. Speak about Palestine in the West, and you risk being arrested, deported, accused of terrorism and antisemitism, or even losing your job. The silencing is global. The oppression is global.
I do not know if my sisters are safe. I do not know if my family will survive the next air strike. I do not know how many more nights I will wake up to the news of another massacre.
But I do know this: no matter how much the world tries to silence us, we will not stop speaking. No matter how much they try to erase us, we will not disappear. No matter how much they try to break us, Palestine will live.
Even if the world refuses to see us - we are here. And we will not be forgotten.
Stop bombing us. Stop killing us. Stop erasing us. The world cannot continue to look away.
The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Eye.
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