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Reclaiming Language
Marwan Kaabour’s Queer Arab Glossary & the Power of Words

AFEEF: Using your own glossary, which phrase describes you best? Aka how do you identify?
MARWAN: It would be unfair of me to choose only one, so I’m going to go with a couple. I identify as a ṭubjī, which is used in Lebanese dialect in the same way as faggot. Ṭubjī comes from Turkish Ottoman and refers to the person whose job is to operate a cannon. I also identify as Shawwaya, which is Arab for grill rack, and is used in Moroccan and Tunisian to refer to a gay man who is versatile, because just like meat on a grill rack, you’d need to flip him over every now and then!
AFEEF: Other than the phrase you identify with, what were other favorites that you learned in the process?
MARWAN: I love all the words that refer to water, like sāyiţ (Palestinian; watered down); qāyiso-l-mā’ (Morrocan; has been touched by water); māyi‘ (Kuwaiti; liquid); markhūf (Tunisian; loose or swaying); amongst a few others. These words are itended to belittle men who are effiminate or gay, by highlighting the way they sway while walking, or the fact that they have “limp wrists”. Despite the derogotary connotation, I find the use of water as a metaphor to refer to queer people as deeply poetic and beautiful. Just like water, queerness is a limitless, boundless, ever-changing and morphing thing.
AFEEF: Why is documenting queerness in the Arabic speaking world important to you?
MARWAN: Understanding one’s own history, whether on a micro personal scale or a macro national/international scale, allows one to learn and grow. Otherwise we end up getting stuck in versions of the truths that lack much needed context and nuance. As a queer Arab person, I found it difficult to find accessible records and literature that I saw myself in. As someone with experience and skill in storytelling and visual communication, I decided to take matters into my own hands. So I started Takweer [Kaabour’s online platform], and that allows me to better understand myself and how queer Arabs are situated across our own history. It also allows the queer Arab community to engage with the project, which contributes to community-building and re-enforcing the bonds that exist between our sense of queerness and Arabness. I also hope it adds much needed complexity to the dominant eurocentric notion of queerness.

AFEEF: What gave you the idea for this book?
MARWAN: Takweer is an Instagram page I created that serves as an ever-expanding archive of queer narratives in Arab history and pop culture. The knowledge that I accumulate in my research and the exchanges I have with the page’s followers also serve as a space for new ideas to develop and be fully realized. I would often come across queer Arabic slang during my research, or would spot it in the comments or in the DMs by Arabic-speakers who spoke different dialects from my own. Generally speaking, I have always been interested in language and the multifaceted nature of language and meaning, so I started to develop a curiosity exploring the entire linguistic landscape surrounding queerness in the Arabic-speaking region. In the spring of 2020 I put a call-out on Takweer, asking the page’s followers to submit words and terms used to identify someone who is queer (or perceived as queer). I expected a few dozen responses, but I ended up compiling a few hundred entries insead. That’s when I knew I needed to dedicate more time to develop this project properly.
AFEEF: What was the methodology? How did you make this thing come together?
MARWAN: The project was collaborative and participatory at every stage. The research process was in three phases: The submissions phase, whereby Takweer followers (and others who were made aware of the call-out) would submit words and terms they are familiar with in their own dialect. I then collated and categorized the submissions across an extensive spread sheet. This was followed by the interview phase, where I would have one-on-one interviews via Zoom or in-person with a group of people from of the Arabic-speaking countries. The interviewees varied in age, socioeconomic class, locality and in the way they identified across the queer spectrum. I would go through the list of the collated entries with each person and discuss its use, familiarity, meaning, etc. Each interview would inform the descriptions as it would either confirm, negate or add to the existing text, and by doing so adding additional context and nuance. Finally, in the editing phase, I invited Suneela Mubayi to come on board as the glossary’s editor. Suneela’s incredible knowledge of the Arabic language and queer histories allowed her to add much-needed historical, linguistic and cultural context to each entry.
It was important for the methodology to be organic and participatory to best reflect the fluid nature of the subject matter: dialect and queerness. There are several examples of existing slang glossaries and queer slang glossaries, but to my knowledge this is the first project to use such a methodology.

AFEEF: Tell me about the illustrations and what role they serve?
MARWAN: As soon as I decided on creating a printed glossary, I knew I wanted it to be illustrated, just like the old glossaries I used to come across as a child. It’s one thing to illustrate a bird species or a chair, but it’s another to visualize abstract concepts like a Dudaki (Iraqi dialect; wormy one; derogatory term to refer to gay people) or a Nagafa (Egyptian dialect; chandelier; refers to a flamboyant and/or effeminate man). That gave us the chance to imagine these queer characters, who are joyful and at ease with their sense of queerness. I immediately thought of Haitham Haddad’s brilliant skill in creating beautifully complex and relatable characters in his art. The brilliant illustrations Haitham produced allowed us to populate the queer Arab imaginary with these wonderfully eclectic characters that can open up the space for us to dream.
AFEEF: What compelled you to include essays?
MARWAN: An earlier iteration of the project was just an illustrated glossary. When I started exploring the idea of publishing it as a book, I wanted the findings of the glossary to be expanded on and given more dimensionality. I also wanted to open up the space for additional voices from across the Arabic- speaking region, and whose perspectives and experiences are different to mine. The glossary is a record of the lexicon surrounding our queerness, and the essays provide us tools to think through the themes that the glossary explores: queerness, dialect, Arab identity, language, etc. and each essay does that in a uniquely thought-provoking way.

AFEEF: What do you hope people take away from this work?
MARWAN: I hope queer Arabs are able to take pride and learn from a project that centers their experience and humanity at its core. I hope queers in general get to widen their perspectives on a non-eurocentric experience. I hope the general Arab public gets to see queer people as an inseparable part of the fabric of Arab communities, and not some kind of foreign import. I hope Westerners who claim to care about Arabs are able to see how queer and Arab identities have co-existed since the dawn of time, and despite our challenges, we are proud of being Arab. I hope linguists learn from the creativity and wit of queer Arab slang. And I hope for the world to see our humanity, with all of its facets and contradictions, in the face of the zionist death machine that wants to annihilate us.
AFEEF: What have you taken away from this work?
MARWAN: I learnt that nothing is singular. Whether its queerness, language, gender, slang, Arab, etc. these are all notions that encapsulate a multitude of meanings, interpretations, contradictions and experiences. Attempting to overly define or limit any of them would ultimately lead to their demise. Accepting these multiplicities, and allowing for things to change and constantly morph is what keeps life exciting and rewarding.

Marwans Kaabour’s “Queer Arab Glossary” is a first-of-its-kind survey of the language used around queerness in the Arab world, bringing together more than 300 words and terms used to refer to queer people across the spoken Arabic dialects. It also includes essays by eight leading Arab queer artists, academics, activists and writers, which situate the glossary in a modern social and political context. The book has beautiful, witty illustrations that make the journalistic masterpiece come to life. Marwan sat with EIP to explain how the Queer Arab Glossary is a powerful response to the myths about queer people in the Arab world.
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{
"article":
{
"title" : "Reclaiming Language: Marwan Kaabour’s Queer Arab Glossary & the Power of Words",
"author" : "Marwan Kaabour, Afeef Nessouli",
"category" : "interviews",
"tags" : "Arabic, queer",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/marwan-kaabour-queer-arab-glossary",
"date" : "2024-12-11 14:33:00 -0500",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/marwan-kaabour-4.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "AFEEF: Using your own glossary, which phrase describes you best? Aka how do you identify?MARWAN: It would be unfair of me to choose only one, so I’m going to go with a couple. I identify as a ṭubjī, which is used in Lebanese dialect in the same way as faggot. Ṭubjī comes from Turkish Ottoman and refers to the person whose job is to operate a cannon. I also identify as Shawwaya, which is Arab for grill rack, and is used in Moroccan and Tunisian to refer to a gay man who is versatile, because just like meat on a grill rack, you’d need to flip him over every now and then!AFEEF: Other than the phrase you identify with, what were other favorites that you learned in the process?MARWAN: I love all the words that refer to water, like sāyiţ (Palestinian; watered down); qāyiso-l-mā’ (Morrocan; has been touched by water); māyi‘ (Kuwaiti; liquid); markhūf (Tunisian; loose or swaying); amongst a few others. These words are itended to belittle men who are effiminate or gay, by highlighting the way they sway while walking, or the fact that they have “limp wrists”. Despite the derogotary connotation, I find the use of water as a metaphor to refer to queer people as deeply poetic and beautiful. Just like water, queerness is a limitless, boundless, ever-changing and morphing thing.AFEEF: Why is documenting queerness in the Arabic speaking world important to you?MARWAN: Understanding one’s own history, whether on a micro personal scale or a macro national/international scale, allows one to learn and grow. Otherwise we end up getting stuck in versions of the truths that lack much needed context and nuance. As a queer Arab person, I found it difficult to find accessible records and literature that I saw myself in. As someone with experience and skill in storytelling and visual communication, I decided to take matters into my own hands. So I started Takweer [Kaabour’s online platform], and that allows me to better understand myself and how queer Arabs are situated across our own history. It also allows the queer Arab community to engage with the project, which contributes to community-building and re-enforcing the bonds that exist between our sense of queerness and Arabness. I also hope it adds much needed complexity to the dominant eurocentric notion of queerness.AFEEF: What gave you the idea for this book?MARWAN: Takweer is an Instagram page I created that serves as an ever-expanding archive of queer narratives in Arab history and pop culture. The knowledge that I accumulate in my research and the exchanges I have with the page’s followers also serve as a space for new ideas to develop and be fully realized. I would often come across queer Arabic slang during my research, or would spot it in the comments or in the DMs by Arabic-speakers who spoke different dialects from my own. Generally speaking, I have always been interested in language and the multifaceted nature of language and meaning, so I started to develop a curiosity exploring the entire linguistic landscape surrounding queerness in the Arabic-speaking region. In the spring of 2020 I put a call-out on Takweer, asking the page’s followers to submit words and terms used to identify someone who is queer (or perceived as queer). I expected a few dozen responses, but I ended up compiling a few hundred entries insead. That’s when I knew I needed to dedicate more time to develop this project properly.AFEEF: What was the methodology? How did you make this thing come together?MARWAN: The project was collaborative and participatory at every stage. The research process was in three phases: The submissions phase, whereby Takweer followers (and others who were made aware of the call-out) would submit words and terms they are familiar with in their own dialect. I then collated and categorized the submissions across an extensive spread sheet. This was followed by the interview phase, where I would have one-on-one interviews via Zoom or in-person with a group of people from of the Arabic-speaking countries. The interviewees varied in age, socioeconomic class, locality and in the way they identified across the queer spectrum. I would go through the list of the collated entries with each person and discuss its use, familiarity, meaning, etc. Each interview would inform the descriptions as it would either confirm, negate or add to the existing text, and by doing so adding additional context and nuance. Finally, in the editing phase, I invited Suneela Mubayi to come on board as the glossary’s editor. Suneela’s incredible knowledge of the Arabic language and queer histories allowed her to add much-needed historical, linguistic and cultural context to each entry.It was important for the methodology to be organic and participatory to best reflect the fluid nature of the subject matter: dialect and queerness. There are several examples of existing slang glossaries and queer slang glossaries, but to my knowledge this is the first project to use such a methodology.AFEEF: Tell me about the illustrations and what role they serve?MARWAN: As soon as I decided on creating a printed glossary, I knew I wanted it to be illustrated, just like the old glossaries I used to come across as a child. It’s one thing to illustrate a bird species or a chair, but it’s another to visualize abstract concepts like a Dudaki (Iraqi dialect; wormy one; derogatory term to refer to gay people) or a Nagafa (Egyptian dialect; chandelier; refers to a flamboyant and/or effeminate man). That gave us the chance to imagine these queer characters, who are joyful and at ease with their sense of queerness. I immediately thought of Haitham Haddad’s brilliant skill in creating beautifully complex and relatable characters in his art. The brilliant illustrations Haitham produced allowed us to populate the queer Arab imaginary with these wonderfully eclectic characters that can open up the space for us to dream.AFEEF: What compelled you to include essays?MARWAN: An earlier iteration of the project was just an illustrated glossary. When I started exploring the idea of publishing it as a book, I wanted the findings of the glossary to be expanded on and given more dimensionality. I also wanted to open up the space for additional voices from across the Arabic- speaking region, and whose perspectives and experiences are different to mine. The glossary is a record of the lexicon surrounding our queerness, and the essays provide us tools to think through the themes that the glossary explores: queerness, dialect, Arab identity, language, etc. and each essay does that in a uniquely thought-provoking way.AFEEF: What do you hope people take away from this work?MARWAN: I hope queer Arabs are able to take pride and learn from a project that centers their experience and humanity at its core. I hope queers in general get to widen their perspectives on a non-eurocentric experience. I hope the general Arab public gets to see queer people as an inseparable part of the fabric of Arab communities, and not some kind of foreign import. I hope Westerners who claim to care about Arabs are able to see how queer and Arab identities have co-existed since the dawn of time, and despite our challenges, we are proud of being Arab. I hope linguists learn from the creativity and wit of queer Arab slang. And I hope for the world to see our humanity, with all of its facets and contradictions, in the face of the zionist death machine that wants to annihilate us.AFEEF: What have you taken away from this work?MARWAN: I learnt that nothing is singular. Whether its queerness, language, gender, slang, Arab, etc. these are all notions that encapsulate a multitude of meanings, interpretations, contradictions and experiences. Attempting to overly define or limit any of them would ultimately lead to their demise. Accepting these multiplicities, and allowing for things to change and constantly morph is what keeps life exciting and rewarding."
}
,
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{
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"category" : "screenings",
"tags" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/eip-screening-neptune-frost",
"date" : "2025-07-12 16:00:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/netune-frost-movie-poster.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Join us on Saturday, July 12 for a special screening, followed by an exclusive Q&A with the directors of Neptune Frost. Part of our member screening series, tune in live or anytime in the next 24 hours, from anywhere in the world!",
"content" : "Join us on Saturday, July 12 for a special screening, followed by an exclusive Q&A with the directors of Neptune Frost. Part of our member screening series, tune in live or anytime in the next 24 hours, from anywhere in the world!Multi-hyphenate, multidisciplinary artist Saul Williams brings his unique dynamism to this Afrofuturist vision, a sci-fi punk musical that’s a visually wondrous amalgamation of themes, ideas, and songs that Williams has explored in his work, notably his 2016 album MartyrLoserKing. Co-directed with the Rwandan-born artist and cinematographer Anisia Uzeyman, the film takes place in the hilltops of Burundi, where a group of escaped coltan miners form an anti-colonialist computer hacker collective. From their camp in an otherworldly e-waste dump, they attempt a takeover of the authoritarian regime exploiting the region’s natural resources – and its people. When an intersex runaway and an escaped coltan miner find each other through cosmic forces, their connection sparks glitches within the greater divine circuitry. Set between states of being – past and present, dream and waking life, colonized and free, male and female, memory and prescience – Neptune Frost is an invigorating and empowering direct download to the cerebral cortex and a call to reclaim technology for progressive political ends."
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{
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"author" : "Céline Semaan",
"category" : "essays",
"tags" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/socialist-girl-summer-demonize-socialism-why-spell-breaking",
"date" : "2025-07-03 22:00:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_SocialistGirlSummer.jpg",
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"content" : "As the founder of Slow Factory, I design everything you see—every typeface, every framework, every campaign. I don’t outsource the vision. I shape it. And I started Slow with one goal in mind: to rebrand socialism, justice, and environmentalism—not as niche causes, but as cultural movements essential to our survival. Design isn’t just about aesthetics. It’s about power. And I use design as a tool to imagine, demand, and build better worlds.For nearly a century, the United States has spent billions of dollars, media bandwidth, and educational muscle to ensure one thing: that the word socialism would strike fear in the public imagination. That’s not because socialism failed. It’s because socialism threatens power—especially the kind of power that hoards land, labor, and life for profit.But something is shifting. The re-election of Assemblymember Zohran Mamdani in New York—an openly socialist organizer who unapologetically defends tenants, workers, and Palestinians—marks a rupture in that narrative. A new generation no longer flinches at the word. They embrace it. They are building it. They are winning.But before we can move forward, we must understand what we are up against.A Propaganda Empire Built on FearFrom Cold War cinema to first-grade civics books, socialism was rendered as the enemy. Not because it endangered democracy, but because it questioned private property, militarism, and capitalism’s sacred cow: unlimited profit.The U.S. government, backed by its capitalist elite, responded with a sweeping cultural war. The Red Scare and McCarthyism turned union leaders, civil rights activists, and artists into traitors. The FBI surveilled and imprisoned people for organizing against poverty and racial capitalism. Hollywood blacklists sanitized storytelling and sold capitalist mythology as aspirational truth. CIA coups, from Chile to Iran to the Congo, dismantled democratically elected socialist governments because they dared to nationalize oil, land, and education. This wasn’t a fear of failure. It was a fear of redistribution.Why the Spell Is BreakingCapitalism made big promises. But it delivered gig work, burnout, debt, climate collapse, and endless war. A growing number of people—especially Gen Z and Millennials—aren’t buying the myth anymore.According to Pew Research (2023), 70% of younger Americans support some form of socialism.Mutual aid groups, public power campaigns, and tenant unions are taking root in cities across the U.S.And politicians like Mamdani, Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, Summer Lee, and others are bringing these values to governance—publicly, unapologetically.This isn’t a rebrand. This is a return. A remembering.Designing LiberationDesign has always been political. It’s a tool used by empires—and also a tool of resistance. Every successful propaganda campaign used design to criminalize solidarity and glorify capitalism.Mid-century posters showed socialism as monstrous: Stalin as an octopus devouring the planet. Red flags engulfing American homes in flames. Inspectors peering through windows. These visuals weren’t neutral. They were weapons.But today, we’re flipping the frame.As a designer, I use visual culture to demystify and disrupt these fear-based narratives. We design not just what we see—but how we see. And when we shift that perspective, we make new futures possible.My work at Slow Factory has always been about this: telling stories rooted in care, equity, and ecological justice. Whether through open education, cultural programming, or climate justice campaigns, I’m reprogramming what power looks like—and who it belongs to.Zohran Mamdani and the Future of StorytellingMamdani’s victory isn’t just electoral. It’s cultural. He won while calling for an end to genocide in Gaza, organizing with workers instead of corporations, and speaking openly about the harms of capitalism and imperialism.He won while the establishment poured millions into defeating him.His win is proof: the old script is wearing thin.Reclaiming the Word, Reclaiming the WorldSocialism has always been about care—public housing, free healthcare, universal education, the right to rest and exist without fear. These are not fringe demands. These are the bare minimum for a livable planet.The villain was never socialism. The villain was the empire that told us we didn’t deserve care unless we could afford it.We are entering the Possible Futures era. And it’s being led by people who no longer fear justice—but are terrified of its absence.Designing that future means unlearning propaganda and replacing it with stories of survival, resistance, and imagination. We must reclaim the visual language of dignity—transforming symbols of domination into frameworks for liberation.We don’t just need to rebrand socialism.We need to remember it.And redesign everything."
}
,
{
"title" : "Who’s Profiting from Genocide? What Francesca Albanese’s Report Reveals—and Why It Matters for the Climate",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "essays",
"tags" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/profiting-from-genocide-what-francesca-albanese-report",
"date" : "2025-07-02 18:33:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Francesca_Report.jpg",
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"content" : "Let’s be clear: genocide is never just a military operation. It’s an economy.This week, UN Special Rapporteur Francesca Albanese released a groundbreaking report—“From the Economy of Occupation to the Economy of Genocide” naming dozens of global corporations complicit in and benefitting from Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza. The report makes what many of us have long known impossible to ignore: multinational corporations are not just “doing business” with Israel—they are profiting from displacement, resource theft, and mass death.And it’s not just harming people. It’s killing the planet.Albanese’s report lays out how corporations across defense, tech, finance, construction, and agriculture are directly enabling Israel’s assault on Gaza. This is not indirect. This is not abstract. These companies are not passive observers—they are profiteers. Weapon Manufacturers like Lockheed Martin, Elbit Systems, Boeing, BAE Systems, and General Dynamics are supplying the bombs raining down on hospitals and refugee camps. Tech Giants like Google, Amazon, Microsoft, IBM, and Palantir provide the cloud computing, AI surveillance, and targeting software that power Israel’s military intelligence. Construction Firms like Caterpillar, HD Hyundai, and Volvo provide bulldozers used to demolish Palestinian homes—often paid for with public funds or foreign aid. Hospitality Platforms like Booking.com and Airbnb list vacation rentals on stolen Palestinian land, laundering settler colonialism into leisure. Financial Institutions including BlackRock, Barclays, Citigroup, JPMorgan, and Deutsche Bank fund Israeli military bonds and invest in all the above sectors. 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And we need to cut the cord.Elbit Systems, an Israeli weapons manufacturer, supplies drones and surveillance tech to police at the U.S.-Mexico border—and to ICE.HP and Google provide AI and cloud infrastructure for the Israeli military while also marketing themselves as “green tech” leaders.Chevron and ExxonMobil continue to fund and extract from the Eastern Mediterranean, leveraging Israel’s military occupation to secure infrastructure.This is greenwashing meets genocide—a deadly symbiosis between environmental harm and militarized violence.What This Means for UsThis moment calls for more than statements. It calls for a total redefinition of what sustainability means—because there is nothing sustainable about silence in the face of genocide.If you are a brand, an artist, a designer, a policymaker, a curator, or a student: you are being called in. Your work, your budget, your institution may be entangled—knowingly or not—with the companies Albanese has exposed. Now is the time to do the work.What We Must Do—Now1. Follow the MoneyStudy the companies listed in Albanese’s report. If you work with—or fund—any of them, ask questions. Divest. Cut ties.2. Demand Institutional AccountabilityMuseums, universities, nonprofits, and sustainability conferences are often quietly sponsored by companies profiting from Israeli apartheid. Push for transparency. Refuse complicity. Call it what it is.3. Connect the StrugglesThe fight for Palestinian liberation is not separate from climate justice. This is all one system: extraction, occupation, militarization, profit. As we say often: everything is political—because everything is connected.4. Build and Invest in AlternativesMutual aid, abolitionist design, food sovereignty, fossil-free infrastructure, and Indigenous stewardship—these are not just buzzwords. They are the way forward. Center Global South leadership. Fund frontline communities.5. Say PalestineRefuse the pressure to sanitize. Refuse the pressure to stay neutral. In the face of genocide, neutrality is complicity. If your liberation practice does not include Palestine, it is incomplete.A Propaganda Crisis, TooThese companies aren’t just selling tools of war—they’re shaping narratives. They sponsor art exhibitions, climate conferences, design summits. They greenwash occupation and brand apartheid as “security innovation.”The most dangerous lie today is that “sustainability” can coexist with genocide. It can’t.No climate justice without Palestinian liberation. No sustainable future while apartheid is profitable.So What Can We Do?DivestCampaign for your workplace, university, or city to divest from the companies named in the report. Check your retirement funds. Audit your donors. Pull the receipts.ExposeIf your favorite brand or cultural institution is collaborating with Amazon, Palantir, or Caterpillar—say something. Publicly. Email them. Call it what it is: complicity.Cut the Narrative LoopRefuse to use language that normalizes occupation: “conflict,” “both sides,” “retaliation.” This is genocide.Build AlternativesSupport community-owned energy, Palestinian agricultural cooperatives, and local solidarity economies. Join land back and degrowth movements—they are connected.Organize for PolicyPush for legislation that bans military trade with apartheid regimes and prohibits companies from profiting off human rights abuses.Tell the Truth, ConsistentlyUse your platform to amplify the names, the facts, the systems. Share this report. Write your own version. Make the invisible visible.The Link Between Genocide and Climate HarmWe can’t talk about genocide without talking about resource theft, land colonization, and environmental destruction. The same weapons being used to bomb hospitals and schools in Gaza are being manufactured by companies who also profit from climate collapse—polluting ecosystems, propping up fossil fuel economies, and creating the conditions for displacement that militarized borders are then built to contain.We must hold the line. Genocide is not inevitable—it is designed. And anything that is designed can be dismantled. If we want to build a just, livable future, we must start by divesting from the machinery of death—and investing in life.Let this be the beginning."
}
]
}