Screenshot of tweet by Dr. Ezzideen, a Palestinian physician in Gaza. IT reads, "Yesterday, they brought in a child, seventeen months old. A boy, though too light, too still, too quiet to carry that word with any truth. His mother held him like one holds a memory, something fading. His limbs hung loose, soft, as if the will to resist gravity had long since been abandoned. He did not cry. He did not speak. He only looked past us with eyes wide open, searching for something that is no longer here.
She told us he had been walking. Once. Not long ago. His steps were unsteady, but full of promise. Then, eighteen days ago, he began to stumble. A few days later, he couldn’t stand. Now, he just points to his legs, not in pain, but in bewilderment. As if he knows something has left him. As if his own body has become a stranger."
Screenshot of the final paragraphs of a tweet by Dr. Ezzideen, a Palestinian physician in Gaza: Because the truth is unbearable: this child is not dying from a rare illness, or a sudden wound. He is dying from absence. From the steady erosion of what makes a life livable. From the spaces between explosions where the world forgets to look.
And this war, this war is not only in the noise. It is in the silence that follows. In children who forget how to walk. In mothers who run out of stories to tell. In fathers who cannot meet their sons’ eyes. There are no bandages for this. No injections for despair.
We wrote his name in our records. We tried not to tremble.
But, what medicine heals a world like this?
Our presence is needed.
The absence of attention and action against the genocide and state violence Palestinians endure must be challenged at every turn.
Take action: tinyurl.com/USCPRAct
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