"If there is any reason for our existence, at least it should be our capacity to inform about a story while it is happening, in a way that nobody can say: "We did not know, nobody had told us anything"
~Robert Fisk

© International Solidarity Movement
I don't know if pain can destroy or fortify, I only know that pain changes everything. I also know that the recollection of such suffering shall remain, has to remain in my memory. At the beginning of the Israeli aggression, the first days of last July, I had promised myself not to forget the names of the children that were killed, those who I photographed horrified in the nightmare's morgues in Gaza under fire.
In that moment I didn't know that it would be impossible to keep that promise. More than 500 names of children, destroyed by bombs should be now pronounced by my voice, one by one. However, I do not forget, I can not nor want to forget.
The crimes and brutality do not deserve forgetfulness nor forgiveness, only rage. An unmitigated rage that drives us to act, to fight to prevent that their murders go unpunished, so that death won't be in vain, even though the death of children always is. They are gone, we cannot bring them back to life, but we can, have to punish their executioners.It is 10 am and several drone's fire impact onto a house in Deir Al Balah while a Bulldozer recovers the remains of a family, buried under a one-ton bomb dropped by a F-16, those that leave craters, smoke and smell of death, where before were homes, affections, dreams, lives.
The ambulance fills with wounded persons in seconds, a man enters carrying a small body of a child about six or seven years old, the boy lacks the right calf, his foot is hanging from a tendon or a shred of skin, I don't know, I don't want to look, but I do.
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