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Reblogged from flyingfishbowlthing  498 notes
I know I'm ignorant, but can you please tell me what is the real and the causes of the gaza conflict?
Anonymous

fotojournalismus:

This is a great piece from New Yorker written by Rashid Khalidi, which I think worth reading, and take it as an answer to your question please. 

"What happens when you imprison 1.8 million people in a hundred and forty square miles, about a third of the area of New York City, with no control of borders, almost no access to the sea for fishermen, no real way in or out, and with drones buzzing overhead night and day — is that, eventually, the ghetto will fight back. It was true in Soweto and Belfast, and it is true in Gaza. We might not like Hamas or some of its methods, but that is not the same as accepting the proposition that Palestinians should supinely accept the denial of their right to exist as a free people in their ancestral homeland."

Read the rest here: “Collective Punishment in Gaza

Reblogged from blackestdespondency  5 notes

I am often drawn up in a spiral out of deep slumber, an irresistible force which makes me wonder where it hides itself. Is it diffuse feelings of guilt or an inextinguishable need to control reality? I don’t know. The only key thing is to make the night endurable with books, music, biscuits and mineral water. Worst are the ‘hours of the wolf’ in the small hours between three and five. That is when the demons come: mortification, loathing, fear, and rage. There is no point in trying to suppress them, for that makes it worse. When my eyes tire of reading, there is music. I close my eyes and listen with concentration and give the demons free rein: come on then, I know you, I know how you function, you just carry on until you tire of it. After a while the bottom falls out of them and they become foolish, then disappear, and I sleep for a few hours. By Ingmar Bergman (via blackestdespondency)

I love humanity but I wonder at myself. The more I love humanity in general, the less I love man in particular. In my dreams, I often make plans for the service of humanity, and perhaps I might actually face crucifixion if it were suddenly necessary. Yet I am incapable of living in the same room with anyone for two days together. I know from experience. As soon as anyone is near me, his personality disturbs me and restricts my freedom. In twenty-four hours I begin to hate the best of men: one because he’s too long over his dinner, another because he has a cold and keeps on blowing his nose. I become hostile to people the moment they come close to me. But it has always happened that the more I hate men individually the more I love humanity. By The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Who what am I? My answer: I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I’ve gone which would not have happened if I had not come. Nor am I particularly exceptional in this matter; each ‘I’, every one of the now-six-hundred-million-plus of us, contains a similar multitude. I repeat for the last time: to understand me, you’ll have to swallow the world. By Midnight’s Children, Salman Rushdie