The war in Gaza is not just destroying buildings and lives—it's wiping out the region’s cultural memory. Artists are dying, archives are obliterated, customs are vanishing. In response, there's a stage show in Ramallah, “Taraweed Deir al-Balah,” trying to keep Gaza’s culture alive. The show uses dance, storytelling, and song to recall Gaza’s past richness—joyful weddings, ripe oranges, family gatherings—and to spotlight what’s now gone. The show’s creators want the world to remember that Gaza was more than just rubble and conflict; it was full of art, daily routine, and life. They stress that even though most of Gaza’s physical culture is lost, the spirit still fights on in music and memory.

Know what this is? Cultural genocide while the world gawks at headlines and can’t see past their own Frühstücksei. This is not just a war on some strip of land, this is erasure—wiping people clean off the map, history and soul first. And now look: young Palestinians are forced to learn about Gaza, not through traveling or tradition, but by sifting through ashes and trauma. It's criminal! Our so-called “international community” sheds some crocodile tears, issues a couple of stale press releases, and lets whole generations of artists, their voices, their legacy, just disappear. As if that’s some kind of Nebenwirkung, a little side effect! I call absolute nonsense—this ain’t accident, this is policy.

And don’t get me started on the “archiving”—sure, one woman tries to collect traces of what’s left, counting dead artists like tally marks on a prison wall. Digital archives for a living culture? Don’t make me laugh! You can’t bottle spirit up in a Google drive, mate. All these NGOs and bigwigs talking about “resilience”? Spare me. When everyone’s too scared to even post about Gaza without some algorithmic cop sniffing around, what kind of freedom is that? It’s all hypocrisy, and it stinks, like last week’s Rotkraut.

In Saxony we say, “Lieber ein Ende mit Schrecken als ein Schrecken ohne Ende”—better a terrible end than terror without end. But for Gaza, the horror never ends because powerful types want oblivion, not solutions. And still, ordinary people—artists, dancers, kids—cling to memory like life itself, turning oranges into songs, songs into stories, and stories into defiance. They’re the last barrier against total erasure, while the world hides behind comfortable lies. Open your eyes, Leute! Remember: those who erase culture today will come for yours tomorrow. That’s the raw, unfiltered truth. Verstehst?