One Out of Seventy-Six


I attended...took part in...took pictures at, a couple of events over the weekend. During an introduction of what this one-year anniversary meant to me and why this weighed heavily on my heart, I started talking and almost immediately cracked open emotionally. At that moment I realized that while I consume the non-stop horrors of the continued Palestinian genocide unfolding on my phone 24/7, it has been a one-way street. I consume. I have not talked about this; I do not talk about this. I do not verbalize and share my thoughts, the images I have seen, the people I have talked to, or what I feel at all. It has all been a unidirectional, high-speed, monorail of atrocities...daily. A good friend, a psychologist, reminded me some time ago that, for those of us following, we are not equipped to process the carnage and death that we see on our screens and standing on the beach Saturday morning it all became very apparent to me how much I have consumed and how deeply I feel it.

After Oct. 7th, I figured I had the same thoughts as a lot of Americans, ‘here we go again’. It was the Middle East and I, ignorantly, was not at all versed on the history of any portion of it. I did not know or understand the history, nor had I ever taken the time to even attempt to understand it. The Palestinian / Israeli “situation” was always portrayed as complicated, the region was always in some form of turmoil and something I never paid attention to because it was "over there." I have met a lot of people over the past few years that have become close friends, some of which have distinct cultural and religious backgrounds than a lot of New England, let alone this New England born white guy. These friends have given me perspective and space to ask questions and learn or maybe more appropriately unlearn what I thought I knew.

It started with a few images from Motaz Azaiza. I don't remember exactly who shared them, but they found their way into my social media feed. If you do not know or follow Motaz, he is a young Palestinian photojournalist documenting what was happening in Gaza. He left for medical treatment prior to the borders being completely shut and for his work, he received the 2024 Freedom Prize in Normandy France, after which Israel decried the award and asked that it be revoked claiming he was a terrorist sympathizer....because he was sharing the suffering and plight of his people. He has since been nominated for a Nobel Peace prize for his efforts and his advocacy work after evacuating Gaza. The first images that stopped me in my tracks were his. A young girl stuck, alive, within the rubble, pinned and unable to get out. Illuminated by a sole light, held in a hand alongside an oxygen mask, with a long exposure shot, Motaz captured her image. Then there was the single arm protruding from a destroyed home, the body that it was presumably attached to had been pancaked between two slabs of concrete. The image was simply two concrete slabs, an arm, and teabag hanging from a piece of rebar 18 inches away. Then there was the toddler being carried out of an ambulance, covered in concrete dust, one arm completely missing. She was carried, belly up, the unsupported weight of her head causing it stretch down towards the ground, eyes open. The death and destruction he captured was apocalyptic and I could not fully comprehend what I was seeing because none of this was being shown anywhere else, no major news networks or stations were covering this.

I sought out more accounts and more information. As the list of accounts I was following grew, the image of Samia Al-Atrash came across my feed. She was kissing her 2 y/o niece Masa, who was wrapped in a kafan for burial. The home of her sister, Samar, and her sister’s husband, Dr. Luay Khudair, along with their children Masa (2) and Lina (4) had been targeted and hit by an occupation airstrike. The explosion had martyred the entire family. Masa, having been propelled over their neighbor’s house by the force of the explosion, was the only one found in one piece. The image of Samia brings tears to my eyes ever time I see it. Samia's strength and love for her niece is something I am reminded of every time I see images of Palestinians. I connected with Samia over social media and talked to her. We exchanged voice messages while she was in Rafah, the sounds of quadcopters and drones were audible in the background as she sent messages at 2:00am. It often left me lying awake trying to comprehend hearing that sound while trying to sleep knowing the sounds only brought death, wondering if where she was staying would also be targeted and if I would hear from her again. Having to leave her brother and many others behind, she eventually made her way to Egypt with her cousin, Soha, where they currently reside. They are allowed to stay in Egypt, but are not allowed to work.

I have seen so many more images and videos over the past year, many of which I have not shared. A Palestinian father holding up his headless child after the tent camp they had evacuated to was his by an airstrike. Limp and lifeless children being carried through the streets to hospitals, a child being lowered from a destroyed structure with his or her skull wide open and no brain within it, children taking their last breath, some on hospital beds, others trapped in the bombed-out debris of what was once a home. I have seen men walking down roads only to be hit by airstrikes and instantly obliterated. The people suffering burns and amputations without anesthesia, a young Palestinian girl with her lower jaw blown off, cupping in her hand dangling flesh, attempting to talk to a doctor. Emaciated Palestinian children, children who have died of starvation, a product of the siege laid-out against the Palestinians. The horrors that the Palestinians have suffered and continue to endure with the world watching is unfathomable to me. Forcibly displaced again and again. They are bombed in designated “safe zones,” aid trucks are denied entry, water and food, tents, medicine, clothes, shoes, all luxuries.

At the beginning, I told myself I would not look away at what was happening. Now every time I look, the scenes become more horrific, the depravity of the actions taken against the Palestinians seems to have no limits and my country, the U.S., simply sits back to let their endless shipments of bombs level an entire culture and people, courtesy of a country founded in 1948 by the killing of 15,000 Palestinians and the displacement of some 750,000 others to make room for the Zionist project. Contrary to what is reiterated again and again, this was a land with a people and it still has a people. Despite the lack of coverage, the demonizing, and dehumanization, those same forces that killed and displaced the indigenous Palestinians 76 years ago, are still at work. Palestine at one time had a thriving, modern culture. You would find there all of the same amenities and features of any modern country, an airport, harbors, schools, history, a currency, and even immigration offices. The airport was bombed and destroyed many years ago. The universities are now gone, cultural sites, hospitals, schools, libraries, mosques, churches, homes, all gone, once again courtesy of the U.S. military industrial complex that seems to be the lifeblood of our economy. This is a systemic erasure of a people and their culture. This has been happening for 76 years.

Before 1948, Palestine was a diverse country filled with many cultures and religions, including Christians, Muslims, and Jews...living in peace. Palestine is not a terrorist state filled with Palestinians whose goal is to kill. This is a state filled with people who love as deeply as you and I, who practice a religion of love above all else. The Palestinians, like many other cultures throughout history, are struggling for a freedom, that they once had and was taken from them. Freedom from oppression, the freedom to walk the same streets as anyone else, to travel just as anyone else, the freedom to not be systematically raped and tortured, the freedom of self-determination, freedom from an apartheid system. This freedom is not won through peacefully protesting, those attempts have been met by snipers.


Freedom has always been a violent process.


This was only one year. One Out of Seventy Six.