This week, at the Presbyterian General Assembly, I discovered Twitter. Despite receiving a degree in communication and existing as a young person in the world, I have managed to largely avoid the world of hashtags and Twitter wars. Until now.
As human beings, we distance ourselves from things that are hard to look at. Not wanting to endure the heartbreak of a murdered child, of a ravaged home, of hundreds of prisoners, we put the occupation on mute.

I am guilty. We are all guilty. Palestinians living in the occupied territories do not get to ignore the daily violence and atrocities carried out against their people and on their land. Refugees living abroad do not get to sleep without worrying that in the morning they will hear of the death of a friend or relative, or the destruction of their former home.

Sitting in the committee meeting, refreshing the Twitter feed over and over, I watched the first raid on Ramallah happen virtually, in real time. I saw pictures of wounded Palestinians and trashed kitchens. I saw IDF soldiers standing guard outside of homes, schools, places of worship. I saw militarized trucks and construction vehicles rolling into the streets of Ramallah. I read the words of worry and fear attached to each photo.

The pictures on my Twitter feed were not hand-picked for me by news outlets. They were not accompanied with messages about the situation being “complicated” or calling for more “dialogue.” They did not speak of peace talks, closed-door meetings, or “giving it time.” They begged for a voice. They asked the world to notice. They called for change.