Irish solidarity with Palestine is a heartbreaking and bittersweet thing to consider in the middle of a genocide, in the approximate season of Saint Patrick’s Day.

I am celebrating my amateur genealogist’s claim to a little potato famine era immigrant heritage by listening to Hozier and drinking beer and whiskey and getting up on a soapbox for a second.

The starvation of an entire population as a weapon against civilians in warfare is a despicable move for any nation, let alone a nation whose people were starved to death in concentration camps and ghettos. We said never again, or don’t you remember?

Offerring famine relief as bait for an ambush to attack innocent children looking for food is despicable.

I am disgusted by the US supplying the weapons and the bombs for the military that flattened cities and then air dropping cold rations out of the sky onto the refugee camps that  would not have existed if our country hadn’t kept vetoing a ceasefire at the UN.

A man sit himself on fire and died of his injuries and asked that his ashes be scattered in a Free Palestine but the protest which has stuck with me the most is the man who filled the streets of a city in the Netherlands with thousands of pairs of children’s shoes but the photos of the shoes were not in black and white they were in color they were taken yesterday.

Around the world people who are using their platforms to speak up are being disciplined at work, told to be quiet, arrested.

It should not be socially questionable to speak up in opposion to a fucking genocide.

Never again means never again and it doesn’t matter whose families are the gods damned target.

I guess I’m going to step down off my soap box, for now.