The inhumanity of those standing with Israel in the genocide of Gaza ....

may they and theirs suffer the same torment as they wish and condone on the Palestinians of Gaza.
Nothing, absolutely NOTHING can ever be used as an excuse to kill innocent women and children. NOTHING.


Jon Snow writing at Channel4:
Gaza is not just about them, it’s about us, too

She lay in my arms. Just weeks old, a tiny baby. Her Palestinian father had just handed her to me at the infernal steel border building at the exit of Gaza into Israel. She did not cry. She just looked at me with her beady, dark eyes.
Her father was trying both to open her pram, and steady his wounded wife in her wheel chair. Their luggage was scattered at the final entry gate as if just thrown through it.

We shared no common language, it had just seemed inevitable that as the only other able-bodied human in this absurd transit room, I should care for the baby.

I know not their story, nor how, alone seemingly, they were the only Palestinians, in that brief half-hour of Israeli aerial ceasefire, to have been allowed across.

But holding this girl baby connected me again to the wardfuls of small children so brutally smashed by this odious war. Connected me too to the ever-present reality that the average age in Gaza is 17 and that a quarter of a million are children are, like the babe in my arms, small children.

I could see the young Israeli IDF guards peering at me through the steel room’s bullet-proof glass. They were the same women who, from another glass window, had barked commands at me though a very public address system.

 “Feet apart!” they said. “Turn! No, not that way – the other!” Then, in the next of five steel security rooms I passed through - each with a red or green light to tell me to stop or go – a male security guard up in the same complex above me shouted “Take your shirt off - right off. Now throw it on the floor… Pick it up, now ring it like it was wet” (it was wet, soaked in sweat).

From entering the steel complex until I reach the final steel clearing room where I held the baby, I was never spoken to face to face, nor did I see another human beyond those who barked the commands through the bullet-proof windows high above me.

Finally, even a little reluctantly, I handed my little bundle of humanity back to her father. At that point, the nicest of Israelis, a British-born captain greeted me by name and then moved straight to the aid of the arriving Palestinians...............