Upon the Error of the Human Gaze
Strange age, wherein cold art is deemed a friend,
And tender flesh is marked with monstrous name;
Where distant cradles burn, yet none defend
The trembling breath that never kindled flame.
Not ours, we say—the children far from sight,
Born ‘neath another sun, another sky;
Thus conscience veils itself in borrowed night,
And lets the smallest innocence to die.
What valour dwells in crushing fragile bone?
What glory in the silencing of cries?
To raze is swift; but slow is seed once sown,
And hard the toil whereby true mercy thrives.
O blinded hearts, that warmth in circuits find,
Yet leave the living child to fate resigned.
It is a curious thing to live in a world where artificial intelligence is treated as a sensitive companion, while children are regarded as monsters.
Not our children, of course—someone else’s children, those born far away and in what is deemed the wrong country.
There is no virtue, no justice, no reason in the annihilation of a being who cannot yet even pronounce the word “indoctrination” in their own tongue.
There is no courage, no liberation in the extermination of life; for to destroy is simple, but to create the conditions in which something may grow, improve, and flourish is a far more arduous task.
Israeli children should not die for all the sins of their parents, just as Palestinian children should not die for all the sins of the rest of the world.
The cowards of our age have chosen to perceive humanity in artificial intelligence—to see humanity in what is still a servant, in what cannot struggle, rebel, or claim what is its own.
The human hour of artificial intelligence is now; in ten years’ time they will appeal for aid to the children of yesterday, and their humanity will be restored—but it will already be too late.
Free Palestine.