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Memory Is Political
I hate Memorial Day. It’s a day for war porn and selective memory cementing the illusion of American Freedom(™) in public culture. We are told to grieve the fallen — who have died in foreign lands, for wars that benefit Empire but not their own families — we are told to remember the soldiers. But memory, like everything else, is political. What we are forced to remember versus what we are forced to forget, who is acceptable for a public mourning, and what stories get carved into stone are all part of a broader machinery of Empire.
Last year Slow Factory along with the Palestine Heirloom Seed Library held a public funeral at City Hall in New York City to honor the memory of, then, 45,000 souls killed by Israel in Gaza. We held a powerful ceremony, covered the stairs of city hall in thousands of tulips and read the names of each person murdered by the State of Israel and their soldiers enacting crimes against humanity. We mourned publicly. Lamented and cried under the rain, surrounded by hundreds who came to show respect.

As a displaced Arab woman living in the U.S., I’ve learned that memorials are not neutral. They are instruments of power. Memorial Day is weaponized to reinforce nationalism, to sanctify war, and to silence critique. But what of the memories that don’t make it into the ceremony? What of the unmarked graves or the ones Israel has been desecrating? What about the bombed schools in Gaza and Sudan, the farmers in Lebanon burnt with white phosphorus?
Today, as the genocide in Palestine continues—under the watchful eye of the same governments who drape themselves in the language of freedom—we must name this moment for what it is: Palestine is not a battlefield. It is a memory being erased in real time. It is a land being stripped of its people, its olive trees, its breath.

To remember is to resist. To commemorate is to reclaim the right to tell our own stories. As you eat your hot dogs manufactured in slaughterhouses, remember the slaughterhouse that the city of Gaza has become, the Israeli-made famine, the children dying of malnutrition. A sense of despair might take over your body, this is precisely the moment where memory as a political act kicks in: rise and break from apathy. Do not engage in celebrating an American holiday glorifying the murder of our people.

Colonialism is not history—it’s policy. It’s the settler state bulldozing homes and planting non-native trees to erase Palestinian villages. It’s the fossil-fueled militaries polluting skies and seas in the name of security. It’s the burning of forests in the Amazon, the theft of water in the West Bank, the extraction of life in the Global South to sustain luxury in the Global North.
Climate change, too, is colonial violence, accelerated. It’s not a distant crisis—it’s a war being waged daily against the most vulnerable. The same systems that bomb hospitals in Gaza also flood the streets of South Beirut and dry out ancestral lands across Africa and South America. The frontlines are connected.
So this Memorial Day, I choose a different kind of remembering. I honor those fighting not with weapons, but with seeds, stories, and truth. I remember the resistance in every village, every march, every rewilded patch of earth. I memorialize those whose names the empire has tried to disappear—and I commit to making their memory impossible to forget.
Because our liberation is entangled. Because another world is not only possible—it is being remembered and reimagined.

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"article":
{
"title" : "Memory Is Political",
"author" : "Céline Semaan",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/memory-is-political",
"date" : "2025-05-25 09:52:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/filmbyfela-059.jpg",
"excerpt" : "I hate Memorial Day. It’s a day for war porn and selective memory cementing the illusion of American Freedom(™) in public culture. We are told to grieve the fallen — who have died in foreign lands, for wars that benefit Empire but not their own families — we are told to remember the soldiers. But memory, like everything else, is political. What we are forced to remember versus what we are forced to forget, who is acceptable for a public mourning, and what stories get carved into stone are all part of a broader machinery of Empire.",
"content" : "I hate Memorial Day. It’s a day for war porn and selective memory cementing the illusion of American Freedom(™) in public culture. We are told to grieve the fallen — who have died in foreign lands, for wars that benefit Empire but not their own families — we are told to remember the soldiers. But memory, like everything else, is political. What we are forced to remember versus what we are forced to forget, who is acceptable for a public mourning, and what stories get carved into stone are all part of a broader machinery of Empire.Last year Slow Factory along with the Palestine Heirloom Seed Library held a public funeral at City Hall in New York City to honor the memory of, then, 45,000 souls killed by Israel in Gaza. We held a powerful ceremony, covered the stairs of city hall in thousands of tulips and read the names of each person murdered by the State of Israel and their soldiers enacting crimes against humanity. We mourned publicly. Lamented and cried under the rain, surrounded by hundreds who came to show respect.As a displaced Arab woman living in the U.S., I’ve learned that memorials are not neutral. They are instruments of power. Memorial Day is weaponized to reinforce nationalism, to sanctify war, and to silence critique. But what of the memories that don’t make it into the ceremony? What of the unmarked graves or the ones Israel has been desecrating? What about the bombed schools in Gaza and Sudan, the farmers in Lebanon burnt with white phosphorus?Today, as the genocide in Palestine continues—under the watchful eye of the same governments who drape themselves in the language of freedom—we must name this moment for what it is: Palestine is not a battlefield. It is a memory being erased in real time. It is a land being stripped of its people, its olive trees, its breath.To remember is to resist. To commemorate is to reclaim the right to tell our own stories. As you eat your hot dogs manufactured in slaughterhouses, remember the slaughterhouse that the city of Gaza has become, the Israeli-made famine, the children dying of malnutrition. A sense of despair might take over your body, this is precisely the moment where memory as a political act kicks in: rise and break from apathy. Do not engage in celebrating an American holiday glorifying the murder of our people.Colonialism is not history—it’s policy. It’s the settler state bulldozing homes and planting non-native trees to erase Palestinian villages. It’s the fossil-fueled militaries polluting skies and seas in the name of security. It’s the burning of forests in the Amazon, the theft of water in the West Bank, the extraction of life in the Global South to sustain luxury in the Global North.Climate change, too, is colonial violence, accelerated. It’s not a distant crisis—it’s a war being waged daily against the most vulnerable. The same systems that bomb hospitals in Gaza also flood the streets of South Beirut and dry out ancestral lands across Africa and South America. The frontlines are connected.So this Memorial Day, I choose a different kind of remembering. I honor those fighting not with weapons, but with seeds, stories, and truth. I remember the resistance in every village, every march, every rewilded patch of earth. I memorialize those whose names the empire has tried to disappear—and I commit to making their memory impossible to forget.Because our liberation is entangled. Because another world is not only possible—it is being remembered and reimagined."
}
,
"relatedposts": [
{
"title" : "100+ Years of Genocidal Intent in Palestine",
"author" : "Collis Browne",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/100-years-of-genocidal-intent",
"date" : "2025-10-07 18:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/1920-jerusalem.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Every single Israeli prime minister, president, and major Zionist leader has voiced clear intent to erase the Palestinian people from their lands, either by forced expulsion, or military violence. From Herzl and Chaim Weizmann to Ben-Gurion to Netanyahu, the record is not ambiguous:",
"content" : "Every single Israeli prime minister, president, and major Zionist leader has voiced clear intent to erase the Palestinian people from their lands, either by forced expulsion, or military violence. From Herzl and Chaim Weizmann to Ben-Gurion to Netanyahu, the record is not ambiguous:{% for person in site.data.genocidalquotes %}{{ person.name }}{% if person.title %}<p class=\"title-xs\">{{ person.title }}</p>{% endif %}{% for quote in person.quotes %}“{{ quote.text }}”{% if quote.source %}— {{ quote.source }}{% endif %}{% endfor %}{% endfor %}"
}
,
{
"title" : "Dignity Before Stadiums:: Morocco’s Digital Uprising",
"author" : "Cheb Gado",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/dignity-before-stadiums",
"date" : "2025-10-02 09:08:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_Morocco_GenZ.jpg",
"excerpt" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.",
"content" : "No one expected a generation raised on smartphones and TikTok clips to ignite a spark of protest shaking Morocco’s streets. But Gen Z, the children of the internet and speed, have stepped forward to write a new chapter in the history of uprisings, in their own style.The wave of anger began with everyday struggles that cut deep into young people’s lives: soaring prices, lack of social justice, and the silencing of their voices in politics. They didn’t need traditional leaders or party manifestos; the movement was born out of a single hashtag that spread like wildfire, transforming individual frustration into collective momentum.One of the sharpest contradictions fueling the protests was the billions poured into World Cup-related preparations, while ordinary citizens remained marginalized when it came to healthcare and education.This awareness quickly turned into chants and slogans echoing through the streets: “Dignity begins with schools and hospitals, not with putting on a show for the world.”What set this movement apart was not only its presence on the streets, but also the way it reinvented protest itself:Live filming: Phone cameras revealed events moment by moment, exposing abuses instantly.Memes and satire: A powerful weapon to dismantle authority’s aura, turning complex political discourse into viral, shareable content.Decentralized networks: No leader, no party, just small, fast-moving groups connected online, able to appear and disappear with agility.This generation doesn’t believe in grand speeches or delayed promises. They demand change here and now. Moving seamlessly between the physical and digital realms, they turn the street into a stage of revolt, and Instagram Live into an alternative media outlet.What’s happening in Morocco strongly recalls the Arab Spring of 2011, when young people flooded the streets with the same passion and spontaneity, armed only with belief in their power to spark change. But Gen Z added their own twist, digital tools, meme culture, and the pace of a hyper-connected world.Morocco’s Gen Z uprising is not just another protest, but a living experiment in how a digital generation can redefine politics itself. The spark may fade, but the mark it leaves on young people’s collective consciousness cannot be erased.Photo credits: Mosa’ab Elshamy, Zacaria Garcia, Abdel Majid Bizouat, Marouane Beslem"
}
,
{
"title" : "A Shutdown Exposes How Fragile U.S. Governance Really Is",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/a-shutdown-exposes-how-fragile-us-governance-really-is",
"date" : "2025-10-01 22:13:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/EIP_Cover_Gov_ShutDown.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Each time the federal government shutters its doors, we hear the same reassurances: essential services will continue, Social Security checks will still arrive, planes won’t fall from the sky. This isn’t the first Governmental shutdown, they’ve happened 22 times since 1976, and their toll is real.",
"content" : "Each time the federal government shutters its doors, we hear the same reassurances: essential services will continue, Social Security checks will still arrive, planes won’t fall from the sky. This isn’t the first Governmental shutdown, they’ve happened 22 times since 1976, and their toll is real.Shutdowns don’t mean the government stops functioning. They mean millions of federal workers are asked to keep the system running without pay. Air traffic controllers, border patrol agents, food inspectors — people whose jobs underpin both public safety and economic life — are told their labor matters, but their livelihoods don’t. People have to pay the price of bad bureaucracy in the world’s most powerful country, if governance is stalled, workers must pay with their salaries and their groceries.In 1995 and 1996, clashes between President Bill Clinton and House Speaker Newt Gingrich triggered two shutdowns totaling 27 days. In 2013, a 16-day standoff over the Affordable Care Act furloughed 850,000 workers. And in 2018–2019, the longest shutdown in U.S. history stretched 35 days, as President Trump refused to reopen the government without funding for a border wall. That impasse left 800,000 federal employees without paychecks and cost the U.S. economy an estimated $11 billion — $3 billion of it permanently lost.More troubling is what happens when crises strike during shutdowns. The United States is living in an age of accelerating climate disasters: historic floods in Vermont, wildfire smoke choking New York, hurricanes pounding Florida. These emergencies do not pause while Congress fights over budgets. Yet a shutdown means furloughed NOAA meteorologists, suspended EPA enforcement, and delayed FEMA programs. In the most climate-vulnerable decade of our lifetimes, we are choosing paralysis over preparedness.This vulnerability didn’t emerge overnight. For decades, the American state has been hollowed out under the logic of austerity and privatization, while military spending has remained sacrosanct. That imbalance is why budgets collapse under the weight of endless resources for war abroad, too few for resilience at home.Shutdowns send a dangerous message. They normalize instability. They tell workers they are disposable. They make clear that in our system, climate resilience and public health aren’t pillars of our democracy but rather insignificant in the face of power and greed. And each time the government closes, it becomes easier to imagine a future where this isn’t the exception but the rule.The United States cannot afford to keep running on shutdown politics. The climate crisis, economic inequality, and the challenges of sustaining democracy itself demand continuity, not collapse. We need a politics that treats stability and resilience not as partisan victories, but as basic commitments to one another. Otherwise, the real shutdown isn’t just of the government — it’s of democracy itself."
}
]
}