Thread by @InfiniteWorm

WORMSIGNAL MEDIA | OFF-DEAD

WITNESS ONLY

This is not resistance.
By J.C. Marshall

Let this be the record:

We watched it happen.

That’s what history will say.
Not that we didn’t know.
Not that we were fooled.
Not that we were powerless.
But that we saw it—in full color, in real time—and chose comfort over fire.

We knew.
We knew when the bombs fell.
We knew when the babies died.
We knew when Gaza went dark and the voices didn’t come back.
We knew they starved.

And we did nothing that stopped it.

We are not the resistance.
We are the ones who cried on camera at most and hit “subscribe.” at least.
We are the ones who knew the names of the dead and still paid taxes.
We are the ones who watched livestreams of ethnic cleansing and called it “complicated.”

We are the spectators of genocide.
And that is the truth we carry whether we like it or not.

They told us The Nazis would come with jackboots.
With salutes. With flaming torches.

That we’d know.

But it didn’t.
It came with lattes.
With livestreams.
With sponsored content.
With blue checks.
With vibes.

It came dressed as “content.”
It came quoting “both sides.”
It came wrapped in Zionist PR and American cowardice, in the voice of presidents, prime ministers, podcasters, and cowards.

Lives streamers, YouTubers, TikToks and Twitches.

That was your “resistance.”

You want to talk about guilt?

You think crying for Gaza is enough?
You think donating $20 clears your soul?
You think marching once a year earns you a clean record?

No.

You are not clean.
You are not absolved.
You are not innocent.

You, reading this. Writing it.

You are living.
They are not.
That is the only truth that matters.

This is not about you or I.
But your silence made it about you.
Your hesitation. Your neutrality. Your comfort.
Your fear of saying “genocide” out loud.

And together we built a machine that kills truth with politeness.

That makes murder look like defense.
That calls resistance “terror.”
And you, in your good intentions, helped me oil it.

Let’s call it what it is:

We watched Palestine die.
And we held a funeral of hashtags.
#Sadge

We called ourselves allies.
But allies bleed.
Allies burn.
Allies get blacklisted and exiled and thrown in cells.

We are not even allies.

We are archivists.
We are bystanders.
We are the ones taking notes as the sky caves in.

Rest assured though a UN report will be written!
It will be long. It will be thorough.
It will name every war crime.
And it will rot, unread, on a shelf.
Because the truth is worthless without consequences.

The truth needs teeth.
The truth needs fire.
The truth needs you to fucking SCREAM.

“This ends here. Not in my city. Not on my watch. Not again.”

But you didn’t say that.
Not when it counted.

You’re Holy Diver (fuck ozzy).

And so now, here’s all you have left:
The witness.

You are the witness to the murder of a nation.
And you will live with that.
Forever.

You will tell your children, if you have them,
that you saw the tanks.
You saw the starvation.
You saw the bodies.

And you said,

“I reposted it though.”

This is not resistance.

Do not mistake your sadness for action.
Do not mistake your guilt for justice.
Do not mistake your name being intact as proof of your righteousness.

Resistance is not survival. Resistance is sacrifice.

And if you’ve sacrificed nothing—
then you are not resisting.

When it comes for you—
When the storm hits your street,
when the boot lands on your neighbor’s neck,
when the fascist smiles with a local badge instead of a foreign flag—

That is your moment.

And you better meet it.

No more “raising awareness.”
No more “building coalitions.”
No more “trying to understand both sides.”

That is the moment you raise hell.

Because if you missed Palestine—
you don’t get to miss yourself.

You were not the resistance.
But you could become it.
The next time.

If there is one. Lol.