They didn’t choose where they were born.
Yet somehow, the world decided what they are worth.
In Palestine, and in so many forgotten corners of the earth, entire communities are treated as if they are less—less deserving of peace, of dignity, of investment, of life.
Not because of who they are, but because of where they exist.
We scroll past their stories.
We talk about infrastructure, politics, aid—as if we’re not talking about children, mothers, elders.
As if their humanity needs to be earned.
These are not just conflict zones.
These are homes. These are lives.
These are people.
How dare we look away.
How dare we decide their suffering is too complex to care about.
How dare we make them invisible.
They are not numbers.
They are not “them.”
They are us—born on a different street, under a different sky.
And they matter.
Even if the world tells them they don’t.
Let’s be the kind of humans who see.
Let’s be the kind who feel.
Let’s be the kind who remember—even when it’s easier to forget.
Because humanity is not a privilege. It’s a birthright.
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