Awareness is our strongest weapon. Only through it can we confront the patriarchal mindset embedded in media and culture, and dismantle this intellectual and social tragedy that has exhausted us all.

Our future begins at a school desk where a young girl sits, carrying her bag and smiling. Women’s education is not a luxury; it is life. A society that leaves its daughters uneducated chooses to live in darkness, while a society that opens schools for them builds a path toward justice, freedom, and progress.

Recognizing women’s right to be central voices in memory and justice is not a feminist luxury, it is a condition for survival. For the wombs that have become archives of life and death are the ones telling the world: We are here... and we will not be erased.

Gazans face shameful international silence. Journalists are killed, aid is blocked, while major capitals release only tepid statements of “concern.” This silence only strengthens Gazans’ determination to make their voices heard, as if to say to the world: If you won’t listen, we will force you to see.

Even the roads cry out, “I am suffering.” Once green, they are now barren deserts. Trash heaps have found their place along the way. You hold your breath to avoid the stench, yet it seeps into your lungs through your skin, making you nauseous. Sewage flows beside you; you try to dodge the splashes, to keep your clothes clean, but your face can’t hide its disgust, disgust at everything, at being part of the suffering, at the state of a land your heart will never get used to.

I’ve often wondered why the world’s problems seem like an endless maze. When we think about climate change, fear grips us; when we hear about migration, our anxiety deepens. Yet upon reflection, it becomes clear that these issues are not isolated,  they are interwoven threads in a single fabric that shapes our world and challenges us to rethink what social justice truly means.

A closer look at these programs reveals that “dialogue” is no longer a search for truth, but a covert marketplace for negotiation. Every sentence carries a clause from a hidden contract; every word comes with an unspoken ceiling. Even silence—the space between words—betrays what cannot be said, exposing the limits of the game.

By Shatha Barhoush In a time when pens are asked to paint rainbows, I find myself unable to decorate reality with false colors. I am not...

Why is the Arab Spring absent, the squares filled with chants for freedom, the people who paid with their blood for dignity? Why do we not teach the story of Gaza, writing a new epic every day, or Syria, torn apart by the fangs of Bashar al-Assad’s regime?

The Nepalese youth demonstrated that true revolution requires a complete generational and moral break from the past.