Writing from the Death Throes of the Empire

What is there to say? 
It's been nine months and more than 75 years. Nine months and 75 years of death, dismemberment, wanton cruelty, starvation, privation, ethnic cleansing, and genocide. As the child of a Palestinian born in Palestine before 1948, I have spent most of my life fixated on themes of injustice, displacement, erasure and belonging.
And trauma, don't forget trauma. If you haven't read her work, look into Dr. Joy DeGruy says about Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome, or the volumes of work discussing the inherited trauma of North American indigenous people forced to undergo genocide, displacement, erasure and torture in residential schools: this shit doesn't just go away.
So, what is there to do? You know as well as I do: disrupt. Demonstrate, boycott, raise your voice. Educate yourself, and not just on Palestine and the roots of this genocide, but how all oppressed people are tied down with the same rope, from Brazil to DRC. Stop whatever small part of the machine you can from turning. And, if you can, write. Write to prove them wrong (they may have died, but we didn't forget), write to keep the memories alive, write to channel the power of our ancestors.
Hope is resistance.