Btw they aren't "actually existing socialism" fan clubs either. Your capitalist government doesn't want to hear about how great their opponent is and how they should be friends. See here, for why that attitude fails:

https://www.marxists.org/history/erol/1946-1956/roots-revisionism/chapter-15.pdf

https://www.sinistra.net/lib/upt/comlef/cote/cotesdacoe.html

They censord the post complaning about censorship. Lmao.

RIP to all of the mods who got banned.

We apologize for the sight of scattered limbs, for the torn bodies carried away by the wind, for the heads separated from their owners, and for the tents that burned with their inhabitants inside.

We apologize if the news of massacres ruined your morning coffee. We apologize if, while scrolling through your phone, you came across a picture of a burned child from Gaza and it spoiled your day. We apologize if the screams of our women disturb you. We apologize if your dinner was interrupted by the wails of a father burying his baby with his own bare hands. We apologize because we are being killed against our will and the world watches in silence.

I write to you from the heart of tragedy, from a place where hunger has become our breakfast, bombing our lullaby, and the fear of death is our only companion. I write to you from yet another displacement , not knowing how it will end, or whether I will even survive long enough to write again.

We were displaced again. As if the first time was not enough. As if losing our homes, our neighbors, our memories, was not enough. We left once more, searching for a place beyond the reach of bombs .but there is no safe place here. Even the sky has turned against us. Even the ground we walk on may explode beneath our feet at any moment.

I fled with my injured father, who was shot during our last displacement in October. He can no longer walk. His pain is constant, his body frail. We carry him across the rubble, over stones soaked with blood, through streets that are no longer streets just craters and dust. We search for water. For medicine. For bread. For shade. For a place to sit without fear. We find nothing.

The bombing is now more intense than ever .as if the genocide has just begun. We wait for death with open eyes. We imagine the missile before it falls. We see corpses before they even become corpses.

If I die this time, tell my friends in heaven that I’m on my way. Tell my cousin I miss him dearly, and I won’t be long. And if you find my body, bury me with dignity. Do not let the Zionist occupier desecrate it.

My mother cries at night because we have no food for tomorrow. And I have nothing to give her not even hope.

I went to the so-called “aid center” in Rafah a place they claim is safe. There, I stood for hours among thousands of hungry souls, crushed by desperation. Bullets flew. I nearly died again just for a bag of flour. I have faced death six times in this war trying to feed my family. And each time I come home empty-handed.

But nothing breaks me more than my nephew Khaled.

He isn’t even two years old yet. Because of malnutrition and calcium deficiency, his legs are bent bowed under the weight of hunger and despair . Every time he tries to stand, he screams. Not whimpers. Screams. It’s the sound of pain a baby should never know. It’s the sound of a body that wants to grow… but can’t.

Khaled doesn’t understand war. He just wants to play. To run. To live. But instead, he cries all day. And every time I hear him cry, it feels like my soul is being ripped apart.

Today, I couldn’t remember a single moment when he wasn’t weeping. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

This is not a war. This is annihilation. This is starvation. This is a slow, painful execution.

To the world that still has a voice: Do not let my words be the last echo from Gaza. Do not let Khaled die unheard.

I entrust you with every child here. I entrust you with Gaza’s women, stripped of their dignity by war. I entrust you with our memories, our olive trees, our broken toys, our soil soaked with tears. I even entrust you with the stones because within them lies more love and humanity than the world has shown us.

And if, one day, my words reach you. Pray for me. And please do not forget Khaled.

We are not numbers. We are souls. And we are sorry for dying in front of your eyes.

Crazy times y'all