A whole generation reduced to a fridge magnet.
I post about faith. Genocide. I post about my mother. Baby killer. I post about a Sunday with my dog. Fucking zionist.
Three words. That's the whole inventory. An entire generation handed free schooling, free libraries, free internet, and it came out the other side with a vocabulary the size of a fridge magnet.
You haven't read a book on it. You haven't read the post. You watched a nineteen-second video with drums under it, and now you're a Middle East analyst. Define zionism. Without Google. Without checking what the guy above you wrote.
Silence. Every single time.
And where were you otherwise? Assad gassed children in Ghouta. Sudan is starving as we speak. The Uyghurs sit in camps. Christians are cut down in Nigeria by the thousand. Not one watermelon. Not one hashtag. Not one of you lost a night's sleep. The dead only count when they arrive with a filter and a trending sound. You mourn on cue and forget when the algorithm turns.
That isn't compassion. It's fashion.
And let's talk about your contribution. Zero donated. Zero hours given. Zero risk taken. You have never once created an uncomfortable silence at a dinner table. Your greatest personal sacrifice for Palestine was the evening you spent typing abuse at a 52-year-old woman on the internet instead of doing literally anything else with your life.
You call it resistance. It's a hobby. It's somewhere to put everything you won't look at in yourselves.
And notice what happens when someone asks one direct question. No answer arrives. Volume arrives. Capital letters, uglier words, more of you at once. You need thirty people before you dare write one sentence. Alone you dare nothing. You wouldn't say a word to me in a room and you know it. You need a screen, an alias and a crowd before your voice shows up at all.
That isn't courage. It's a herd running because the front of it ran.
And the worst part isn't that you're aggressive. It's that you're boring. Completely predictable. I can write your comment before you do. I can spell your typos. You've become a macro. An autoreply with a flag in the bio.
You don't have a position. You have a reflex.
So stay away, or say something you actually thought of yourself. One sentence. Just one.
I won't hold my breath.