It is not…

Hello.

It is not anti semitic to oppose apartheid.

It is not anti semitic to oppose zionism, which stands for ethnic cleansing and brutal murder.

It is not anti semitic to condemn the ripping apart of small children bodies. Children who do not have air raid shelters or air raid sirens. Children who can be seen on video screaming in terror every time an airplane flies above their house. Children who can be seen in literal shreds.

I have seen children whose heads have been blown apart, pieces of their bodies hanging together by shreds of skin.

It is not anti semitic to oppose the strongest army in the middle east, to oppose a propaganda machine which imprisons the natives of a land in favour of white european settlers.

This is apartheid. It is happening again.

Why did we overcome Hitler, only to allow the trauma of a past generation to inflict horrendous crimes on a new one?

I support all Jews and condemn antisemitic attacks, but I condemn Israel severely. I condemn its propaganda. I condemn its war crimes on Palestinians, on their children, on their livelihood. I condemn its apartheid.

Enough is enough.

Why are people so afraid to speak out?

Because Israel and its propaganda has seeped into every part of our lives.

This is not a religious issue. If it was, Christian Palestinians would not be massacred along with their muslim brothers and sisters.

This is a human rights violation.

To say there are two sides is to be wilfully ignorant of the truth. The truth is that Israel has a 500,000+ army, an iron dome which deflects most attacks, while Palestine has nothing. Palestinian refugees cannot even return to the villages from which they were expelled, and Israeli law states that only people of Jewish religion can apply to build homes and can take over ‘abandoned’ land… land which Palestinians are not allowed to return to in the first place.

This is not a conflict or a clash. This is not an equal war. This is the same thing that happened in South Africa.

Wake the fuck UP.

Walk Away

Sounds so easy doesn’t it?

So why don’t people do it more often. Personally I think they darn well need to.

And in some sad and tragic and heart aching situations, they can’t walk away. Else they will get shot. And if they don’t walk away, they will still get shot. They will get shot because they have more melanin in their skin than those shooting them. They will get shot because people believe in stereotypes. They will get shot because the people who run the world don’t care enough, they will get shot because immorality is rife and society is breaking down.

I won’t say ‘spread love’ because that is what we are DOING. It’s not working. So many systems are flawed, and we are run by clowns.

I do, however, send my warmest wishes and condolences to the mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and children of those lost. I feel their misery, even though I cannot know how deeply it sets within them. I feel their pain and suffering and I want them to know that even though much of the world is harsh and cold and unfeeling, there are masses and masses of us out there who will speak out for them, who will keep shouting for justice until our voices are hoarse.

 

How not to murder a romance.

7ebe48e69c655cd30be46e7275723246

I want to write a romance (the younger version of myself would vomit at these words.. Sorry, younger Len. It had to happen) about a young boy and a young girl who are neighbours. They both have the attic rooms of their respective houses, and their windows are two dormer windows poking out of the same roof (semi-detached houses).

I wrote a screenplay about this for an assignment. I think the younger me resurfaced though and rained a vicious tantrum over this story, coating it in morbid drama. The young boy decided to kill the young girl, and he went about it in the most cruel way possible. There was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. No matter which way I tried to turn it, the act was inevitable.

He seemed so nice at first, did George. He was caring and sweet and so charming. Perhaps that was his downfall. I was sad that it had to come to that.

I think I am not cut out to write a decent romance.

I don’t want to write romance like the erotic fiction section in the library. I don’t want to write chick flicks either, about domestic goddesses and frenzied young ladies who ‘don’t believe’ in love until a handsome, dashing bad boy comes and whisks them away against their will and they can’t help falling for him.

I don’t want that.

I want to write a coming of age story about a small girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. A girl who meets all sorts of odd characters, not because she is a novel girl, a story book girl, but because she goes out of her way to talk to people, and learns that everybody is a character. A girl who leaves an impression wherever she goes, not because she is beautiful or possesses magic powers, but because her mind is a beacon; a vast ocean of imagination and creativity and intelligence.

I want her romance not to whisk her away, but to creep up on her playfully and poke her on the shoulder like an old friend.

I don’t want scenes of her doing intimate things, I want scenes of exploration and chatter. Scenes of life in ways we have never experienced.

I don’t want George to murder her. I want another young man to come along and steer her ship with her.

I want her to go back to her house and stand at her dormer window and look out at the city in the sunrise, her hair flying about everywhere. The Phenomenal Girl walks along the street, road reading, her hair decorated with an array of colourful cloths, her rainbow socks poking out over a pair of old boots, and she looks up to see my protagonist and waves her book at her. The Red Lady shakes her carpets out of her windows and calls out to my protagonist that it looks like rain today and not to let the sun deceive her. A man in a patchwork topcoat raises his hat to her, and waggles his bushy eyebrows. He can’t talk. I want the girl to look to her right at the empty dormer window next to hers.

I don’t want to know if they live happily ever after. I don’t want to know how many children they have. I just want to write about the connection between two fantastic minds. I want to know how the boy sees her fiery thoughts, and how he catches them before they escape. I want to know that the girl isn’t oblivious to love. I want her to welcome it

like,

an,

old,

friend.

I don’t want to know what she looks like, I want to know what adorns her mind.

Is she white? Is she brown? Is she yellow? Is she red? I don’t care. She is her. In fact, I don’t want any description of her features whatsoever.

Insert Feature Here.

She can be anybody you want. She can be you.

But how do I write all this without murdering her before the story has even begun!?!?

How To Be a Tolerator

In the face of blatant racism and cultural appropriation.

In the face of apartheid and illegal occupation.

In the face of brutal murder and genocide.

In the face of hatred and injustice.

In the face of cruelty and abuse.

In the face of persecution and mercilessness.

There is something so tantalising about life and hope. I haven’t experienced it as fully as I have read about it. Sometimes we tend to dramatise the things that happen to us, and think of them as bigger than they actually are.

We can overreact and respond to hatred with equal hatred, all of us throwing insults at each other over the protective screen that is the virtual world.

We think we have been treated unjustly from the safe comfort of our homes, the ceilings above our heads, curtains at our windows, food on our tables. And we might have been, it’s true. We each have our own stories. None of our stories are the same.

And it’s true that there are evil people hiding behind civilised masks, their words pouring like honey into the ears of all those who surround them, while they separate families and devastate society.

How can we be tolerators when the world around us is in chaos? How can we tolerate when those in power steal our lives and our rights, sitting in thrones of capital gained at our expenses?

How can we sit back and allow this brutal murder to just happen?