Writers Jam

There are places in the world where silence feels heavier than sound. Gaza is one of them. Once, its streets carried the noise of children playing, their laughter tangled in the wind. Now, those same streets are lined with rubble and graves. The cries of orphans replace lullabies. The prayers of widows hang in the air, unanswered. Cities that once stood tall and proud are now nothing more than broken concrete and dust.

This is not war. War leaves room for survival, for treaties, for men to return home and rebuild. This…is something else. This is erasure. Relentless, deliberate destruction carried out by Israel. Homes are not falling empty. They are being bombed with families still inside. Children are not dying by accident. They are being targeted, their small bodies marked, their futures buried before they ever had a chance to bloom.

And what makes it unbearable is not just the cruelty itself, but the way the world learns to live with it. Dystopia is not some far-off story. It is here, right now, and it wears the mask of normalcy. Nations hesitate. Corporations profit. News anchors soften words. And you and I… we scroll past it, sip our coffee, continue our days as if nothing happened.

Gaza will not vanish in silence. It will live on in the memories of children whose names we never learned, in the blood that stains the soil long after cameras turn away. And one day, when history opens its ledger, it will not ask what was done to Gaza. It will ask what we allowed to happen.