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And while this is happening while people are buried under rubble, while children freeze in tents, while entire families vanish overnight powerful men sit comfortably and present plans for a “New Gaza.”

Clean slides. Perfect buildings. Investment numbers. A future imagined without the people who are currently being erased.

They talk about peace while bombs are still falling. They talk about rebuilding while destruction is ongoing. They draw maps over land that is soaked with blood and call it hope.

The ceasefire is a lie.

What’s happening is ethnic cleansing, repackaged with the language of development and diplomacy. You cannot build a “new” city by destroying the people who belong to it. You cannot promise a future while actively killing the present.

This isn’t peace. It’s violence with better branding.

Today, three journalists were killed in a single airstrike.

Not soldiers. Not fighters. Journalists. People who believed that if they kept documenting, if they kept filming, if they kept writing, the world would eventually care.

In Gaza, telling the truth has become one of the most dangerous things you can do. Holding a camera is treated like holding a weapon. Every photo risks your life. Every report could be your last.

They had names. Families. People waiting for them to come home. They were not numbers, and they were not mistakes. They were silenced because truth is inconvenient, because images expose what statements try to hide.

When journalists are killed, it’s not just lives that are lost it’s evidence. It’s memory. It’s the last barrier between reality and denial.

…

Donations for GAZA

This donation campaign is for ANAS family. Not for strangers, not for a cause I’m distant from but for the people who raised me, the people I love, the people I’m terrified of losing.

They are in Gaza, trying to survive something no human being should ever have to endure. Constant bombardment, displacement, hunger, fear, and the feeling that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Every day is about staying alive one more night.

If you choose to help, you are not donating to an abstract crisis. You are helping real people with names, memories, and lives that matter to me more than anything.

If you can’t donate, please reblog. Visibility is sometimes the only protection we have left.❤️

This video shows ongoing, systematic demolitions in Gaza.

Homes are being destroyed, neighborhoods cleared, and entire areas wiped out even now, while a ceasefire is supposedly in place.

People are watching their houses disappear piece by piece.

Not during fighting.

Not in the middle of airstrikes.

But after everything, when they were told it was safe to breathe again.

The destruction didn’t stop.

It just became quieter.

These images show displacement tents set up right next to a heavily damaged building.

The building was hit before and is leaning, at risk of collapsing at any moment.

Families are living in these tents because they have no other place to go.

There are no safe areas left, no intact homes, no shelters to move to.

Leaving this spot doesn’t mean safety it just means being displaced again.

So people stay.

Not because they feel protected,but because this is the last option they have They sleep knowing the building beside them could fall.

They wake up hoping it doesn’t.

This is not temporary living This is forced survival.

Donate for GAZA

This donation campaign is for ANAS family. Not for strangers, not for a cause I'm distant from but for the people who raised me, the people I love, the people I'm terrified of losing.

They are in Gaza, trying to survive something no human being should ever have to endure. Constant bombardment, displacement, hunger, fear, and the feeling that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Every day is about staying alive one more night.

Hello, my name is Nadin. I’m from Gaza. I’m a graphic design graduate, a wife—and now, a mother.

I finished my design studies just before the war began. I had dreams of starting a small studio, of creating art that told stories. I used to think about colors and fonts and the future.

Then, the war came. And the future became something we tried to hold onto, moment by moment.

On October 22, 2023, I learned I was pregnant when a missile destroyed my husband’s family home, killing 25 members—his mother, siblings, nieces and nephews—entire branches of our family in seconds.

We were displaced twice. Everything was gone—home, safety, routine, rest.

A few weeks later, I gave birth to our daughter. There was no crib, no celebration—not even stillness. But she arrived, quietly and beautifully. In her eyes I saw something I hadn’t felt in weeks: life that still wanted to grow.

Now, our days are shaped by decisions that could dismantle the future we are trying to build together.

Today, Israel’s government is discussing plans for a full military occupation of the Gaza Strip, including Gaza City and southern regions. The stated aim: to eliminate Hamas and later hand governing control to allied Arab forces—not Israel—but with no clear path to peace or normalcy.

The humanitarian fallout is devastating. More than 61,000 Palestinians have died in this war; hunger and malnutrition are rising sharply. Hospitals in north Gaza have shut down, and 193 people have now died of starvation, nearly half of them children.

Aid remains blocked, water is scarce, and many risk dying of hunger or disease long before future promises arrive.

We Don’t Know What Comes Next There’s no clear path forward—only uncertainty for our daughter’s life and our ability to survive another day.

How You Can Help I’m asking for support—not for comfort, but for survival:

Help us meet basic needs so we can breathe, heal, and preserve a world for our daughter.

Support us as I try to stand again on my own feet—even a glimmer of stability matters.