4/ We can march. We can write. We can rage. We can circulate the photographs of murdered children. And afterward, we can return to our homes with the feeling that we have done something. I do not suggest that these acts are worthless. Nor do I deny the very real sacrifices that so many people have made. But what does it mean for Maryam’s photograph to reach millions of people if her most basic needs remain unmet? What does it mean for the entire world to hear our cries if those who hold power can disregard them without consequence? I fear that our dissent has too often become a means of making life with what we oppose bearable, rather than a means of bringing it to an end. We have acquired the freedom to say “no” at the top of our lungs, without anyone being compelled to listen. I will try to help Maryam’s uncle find someone willing to provide for her treatment and care. And I hope that anyone capable of offering meaningful assistance will contact me. But I do not want these words reduced to an appeal for one child. Charity cannot substitute for justice. And saving Maryam cannot absolve us of the responsibility to demand an end to the killing of other children. I do not want Maryam to become another photograph that millions have seen, wept over, and then abandoned, leaving her alone to live through all that remains of her tragedy. And I do not want our dissent to become merely another way of learning to live with a world we were supposed to be trying to change. #SurvivalTestimony #NAZA

Thread: Two days ago, Israeli warplanes bombed an apartment in Gaza. A woman named Reem Awad was burned to death before the eyes of her little daughter, Maryam, who was not yet four years old. Perhaps you have seen the video of Maryam lying on her bed, watching the flames consume everything around her, including her mother. I keep wondering what a little girl of four could possibly think at such a moment. Did she call for her mother? Did she wait for her to get up and carry her away from the flames, as mothers always do when their children are frightened? Did she wonder why her mother would not come to her anymore? I do not know. And I wish no child had ever been made to discover the answers. It is terrible enough to think of a person burning to death. But to think of a little girl watching her own mother burn, unable to do anything, is more than my heart can understand. Maryam’s father was killed at the beginning of the war. She has no brothers or sisters. Now she has no mother either. At an age when a child should still be learning the simplest things about life, Maryam must somehow learn to live without the person who was meant to keep all the frightening things in the world away from her. And the last thing she saw of that person was her death.