while the shells were falling

You, like the trees,
were planted in place while the shells were falling.

— Najwan Darwish, 'The Shelling Ended'

I woke up to more shattering news of this latest imperialist hell. As I settle into a quiet, safe morning of caffeine and keyboard, far from the murderous herald of the bombs, my thoughts are on the warmongers who deal in death.

$679 billion.

$679 billion in revenue for top arms producers in 2024. An all time high. Drops of blood from Gaza, from Myanmar, from Ukraine, line the pockets of the shareholders. From rubble lined streets to Wall Street with quick and ruthless predictability.

I can’t stop thinking about how war is profitable in all its forms.

Destabilising the Middle East to sustain US imperialism and normalise Israeli apartheid.

Convincing vulnerable people who have been neglected and sidelined that sowing racist poison is a noble act of civic duty in a war for king and country.

Legitimising the profiling, detainment and abuse of civilians in the name of a war on drugs, on terror.

Justifying mass surveillance, spying and misuse of data.

They will try to convince us that this is done with our safety as a top priority, I know. That they are protecting the 'rules-based international order'. History repeats itself like a slow, monstrous merry-go-round.

My thoughts are on the warmongers, but they should be on the brave students and workers who lead revolutions. On the artists whose words and forms will endure long after they have left this world, to remind us what our governments did. On the children whose childhood is no more. On the parents, the grandparents, the cousins, the neighbours.

On the people, the people, the people.

listening: Baraye | Shervin Haijipour

reading: Monstrous Anger of the Guns: How the Global Arms Trade is Ruining the World and What We Can Do About It | The Palestine Laboratory: How Israel Exports the Technology of Occupation Around the World