Nestled in the heart of Lebanon blooms the skokaa rose that’s what we call it in the south. Delicate yet resilient. What distinguishes this rose is that it does not bloom in spring like others, but rather in harsh conditions between fall and winter. This rose grows between rocks, it protects itself and does not let anyone reach it, a testament to the adaptability and resilience. The skokaa, with its resilience and ability to thrive in challenging mountainous terrains, mirrors the enduring spirit and adaptability of Lebanon and its people.

Like this rose, there are many roses that protect themselves with thorns, making anyone who wants to get close to them think twice. By the laws of nature even to one of the simplest creatures, self-defense is a legitimate right.

You probably agree with everything I’ve said so far.. But when we speak about the sons of the south, the ones defending their land against Zionist occupation, self-defense becomes illegal. Bomb their hospitals. Bulldoze their homes. Silence their voices. Call them “terrorists” when they resist.

The right to resist against occupation is enshrined in international law (Geneva Convention (1949), Protocol I (1977)). History proves that Lebanese dignity was not won at a table in Washington, but through the resistance that forced a unilateral retreat of our occupier in 2000 without a single concession.

You cannot support a people without supporting their right to resist.

Clip from Wild Flowers: Women of South Lebanon

So many liberals, and even so-called leftists, expect the resistance to look more progressive, more honorable, more morally righteous, more like them. But that’s not reality. For decades, people in the West have been raised on Hollywood movies where the resistance is always pure and heroic. The savior is always morally perfect. The rebels are always noble.

Real resistance doesn’t work like that. Resistance doesn’t have to be morally perfect. It doesn’t have to match Western progressive ideals. It only needs one thing: a justified case against the occupier, the foreign invader, the actual villain. And the groups resisting empire, whether in Palestine, Lebanon, Yemen, Iran, or elsewhere, have the clearest case possible: they are defending their homes from foreign domination.

April 8th, 2026 — the day Israel launched what it called Operation “Eternal Darkness”. One hundred strikes across Lebanon in ten minutes, three geographic zones spanning 170 kilometers from Beirut’s southern suburbs to the Beqaa Valley to southern Lebanon.. One hundred and sixty bombs. No warning. 357 killed, 1,223 others injured. Entire families. Children. Journalists. Civilians shredded in crowded shopping areas & residential buildings during peak hours.

In the span of roughly 10 minutes, Israel created one of the bloodiest days in Lebanon’s history.

Israeli drones loud, low, & menacing continued hovering over the skies of Beirut after the attack. Psychological warfare.

What happened that day was no ordinary strike. It was a mass killing of unimaginable scale. The images of the innocent civilians stay with us; the scars are still fresh, still raw, & they will remain for a very long time.

People remained under the rubble for days, there are still people missing and a refrigerated container sitting outside of Rafic Al-Hariri Hospital holding 95+ unidentified bodies. DNA testing has begun, Identification is expected to take weeks.

“The goal is not accounting, It is to return to each victim their name, and to give their families the right to a farewell that ends the spiral of doubt.” - Hisham Fawwaz, Lebanese Ministry of Health official.

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They’re not just numbers they’re mothers, fathers, children, grandparents, sisters, brothers, friends, neighbors, nieces, nephews… They have names. They had futures. They had dreams and people who loved them.

Here are some of the families killed in the Black Wednesday Israeli attacks on Lebanon:

Don’t let the feelings you feel when you’re consuming this content go nowhere. This is not a spectator sport. We have to organize. If you’re not taking that first step, then you’re not going to get there. it’s possible to do, but it requires humbling yourself and approaching an organization and saying, “How can I help?” Not everyone can be on the frontlines — and that’s okay.

I find that when people hear the word like organized or activists, they think of like Fred Hampton, they think of Huey P. Newton, they think of political prisoners, they think of putting their life on the line, which are all possible. But you don’t have to invest fully or dive 100% into anything. It’s okay for you to not stay the entire march or the entire action. You went and showed up. That’s the point of action is to show your political support, not to stay the longest.

People stopped caring about Gaza when the so called “ceasefire” was announced, there is no ceasefire, Palestinians are still being killed by Israeli terrorists everyday. When we let Gaza die we let all of us die. We let Lebanon, Sudan, Iran, Congo, etc die. Whatever we allow to happen to them will inevitability be used on us. We’ve already seen it with ICE using IOF tactics. We have to keep fighting.

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Since October 2023, every morning, when I wake up, I do something that is harmful to my mental health, but essential. I grab my phone or my laptop and open social media. I’m haunted by the images of burning bodies, decapitated bodies, videos of mothers/fathers holding what’s left of their child in plastic bags, bodies under the rubble, people starving, people dying from the lack of healthcare.

I sometimes think I should mute everything or get off social media for my mental health. I feel absolutely helpless, and then I think about the people in Palestine, Lebanon, and Sudan and how it’s a million times worse for them.

Looking away is a privilege. Scrolling past the dead is a privilege. Continuing the life you live like nothing is happening is a privilege, a performance: either of moving on, or never having cared enough in the first place.

They are still dying, I want to scream. It is getting worse.

I cannot move on. I will not move on. Even if it means being angry forever, even if it means losing my mind, even if it means being the last person still watching when everyone else has fled. I can't, we can't. There's a genocide.

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