I understand the impetus behind the counting of children and female casualties. The killing of innocents in Gaza by Israel’s war machine is a crime. But Palestinian men are victims of Israeli state terrorism too. Let’s not repeat the logic of the war on terror, where only children and women can be victims but men (including boys over 15, sometimes 13) are always suspects and thus somehow they share in the blame of their own death. This is the gendering of the War on Terror: our men and boys are inherently dangerous and are merely the potential for violence encased in human flesh.
Furthermore, every woman who lives and loves and loses and struggles within Israel’s military occupation and siege is a revolutionary. You do not have to pick up a gun in Gaza to be a revolutionary or an “enemy” of Israel. You just have to be alive and to insist on living. After all, isn’t that point of settler colonialism? ”
— Maya Mikdashi (via globalwarmist)
“ 8 stages of genocide are like 5 stages of grief in that they are not completely linear & sequential. Israel’s denial has always been there. ”
but a genocide is always only acknowledged as a genocide after it is completed, after it is too late
As a Palestinian, it must be made clear: we have a voice of our own and we do not need people to speak on our behalf, we are not mute and we refuse to be silenced. Therefore, it’s crucial to understand that by taking a position to speak on behalf of the Palestinians one is also committing the act of silencing Palestinians. If you want to show solidarity, then act as an echo rather than a voice for the call of liberation and justice.
"Neighbors gathered on the roof of a family’s home in Gaza, hoping Israeli pilots would refrain from bombing the house once they saw the number of people on the roof. Israeli pilots bombed the house just now, committing a massacre. In Gaza solidarity means offering your own body to protect your neighbor’s house because your body is your last and your only line of defense. These are the people of Palestine." - Mahmoud Mroueh
“ oppression is not a feeling. reducing it how to a community ‘feels’ they are being treated minimizes the violences that are enacted upon them, makes structural injustices a matter of perception of individual acceptance or rejection of oppressive conditions. oppression creates feelings, definitely. it creates trauma, internalized conflict, dissonance, confusion. but oppression is not a feeling. ”
— Ngọc Loan Trần, quoted in this fabulous Black Girl Dangerous article. (via androphilia)
(Source: slowdisaster, via processedlives)
“ I don’t have the language for this substratum of violence we refuse to name as such. I don’t mean the non-rape-rape, the assaults that don’t result in bruises. This article is not a repetition of the now-cliché reminder that most rape isn’t a stranger jumping out of the bushes. I mean the texture of 20-something heterosexual sex in America, the insidious habits and habituations that look exactly like violence except, somehow, we’ve decided they aren’t violent.
— That bad (via brutereason)
We chalk it up to awkwardness, or kink, or just plain old misogyny that is so commonplace and inevitable that resisting it would be like protesting the weather. I find that friends who have been raped before and named that for what it was are no more willing to insist upon the inexcusability of this excused category. Nor are the organizers, the feminists with boots on the ground and the right vocabulary at the tip of their tongues. A woman is only allotted so much anger in her life. In crossing that limit she is rendered hysterical and invisible all at once. What is bad enough to cash your tokens? We’ve decided that if it isn’t what we call violence, we will count our blessings and take it like a woman. (“Women are afraid that men will kill them.”)
The ubiquitous negotiations and morning-after bruises and disappearing condoms aren’t what we talk about when we talk about sexual violence. ”