This is a simple yet holistic explanation of what westerners call “the middle east crisis” and it’s enough to show why you shouldn’t condemn Hamas, actually you should join the side of Palestine to be a normal human, not a criminal.

Listen here:

https://odio.ai/audio-article/cfbeb51805176a76

The full script:

It’s a long story to tell, but if you are curious enough, you well ask for more…
Buckle up as we hit the rewind button all the way back to the 18th and 19th centuries, a time when factories were popping up like viral TikTok dances and the world was their stage. Imagine the globe as a giant Monopoly game, with Europe scooping up properties. They had a serious craving for stuff like cotton and rubber, trading routes, and they looked to other nations’ land with sunshine aplenty and labor to spare to satisfy their industrial munchies.

As these factory-fed nations chomped down resources, colonial hotspots turned into drive-thrus for raw goods and ended up with the short end of the stick, forced to buy back the bling in the form of fancy products. It was like a colossal buy one, get one free deal, but only one side was scoring the freebies. This gear-up in making stuff also meant playing hardball in the world’s marketplaces and power halls. It was like a game of “who can build the fastest, sell the most, and make a truckload of cash,” all while keeping a poker face about the messy side effects.

Speaking of messy, let’s chat about those Westphalian vibes. When countries started pumping out good, they drew lines on the map faster than a pro gamer’s strategy plan. The Industrial Revolution didn’t just churn out gadgets and gizmos; it pumped up the volume on national pride and put countries on the map – literally. They marked their turf, set up rules, and started the first-ever VIP club for countries called “sovereignty.” So, while these nations were busy lifting weights in the economy gym, they were also flexing their muscles to show who’s boss of their newly drawn backyard.

Now, as we tune back into today, we see that this historical hustle set the stage for the world we swipe through. It’s the legacy of the factory whistle that still echoes in the way we buy, sell, and selfie. That’s the scoop on the Industrial Revolution, a saga of power-ups, plot twists, and the shaping of our global neighborhood.
Jumping right back into the action, let’s zoom in on Napoleon of France, the OG influencer with a master plan to shake up the trade scene. His eyes were on a new trade highway, but there was a catch: the British had a stronghold over Cape Town, the turnpike of ocean traffic. So, what’s a strategic mastermind to do? Napoleon drops a pin in Egypt, dreaming of a shortcut that could change the game — the Suez Canal.

He storms into Egypt like it’s Black Friday, aiming to pave the way for this trade revolution. But wait, there’s more! He sets his sights on Palestine, thinking it’s the perfect pit stop on his route to trade domination. But here’s the twist — conquering Palestine was a level up Napoleon couldn’t cheat code his way through. Despite his best stratagems, his troops got served a slice of humble pie, and his dreams of controlling this critical crossroad slipped through his fingers like sand from the dunes of the Sahara.
So, get this – in a twist that’s more unexpected than a plot twist in a season finale, Napoleon, who wasn’t exactly a fan of the European Jews (to put it mildly, the man had some serious anti-Semitic vibes), suddenly pitches an idea straight out of a Silicon Valley playbook: a startup nation in Palestine for the Jews. Yeah, you heard that right.

It’s like the guy who can’t stand comic books deciding to invest in a comic con. But why? Napoleon was playing 4D chess here, trying to undermine British influence by offering European Jews a new homeland. This move was less about liking his chess pieces and more about the strategic advantage they brought to the board.

Despite his personal prejudices, Napoleon was ready to roll out the red carpet in Palestine, betting on the European Jews to be his ace in the hole. He thought he could rally them to his cause, boosting his Eastern front against his rivals. But, like a viral app that never makes it past beta, this idea didn’t take off.
Fast forward to the mix-master himself, Henry Viscount Palmerston, British bigwig extraordinaire. Now, Palmerston wasn’t exactly passing the love around when it came to the Jewish community either, yet he spins the same track Napoleon scratched. Why? He’s got an eye on the grand prize: keeping the Arab world from syncing up into a supergroup under Muhammad Ali Pasha’s lead vocals.

So, Palmerston remixes Napoleon’s old tune, thinking it’ll be the next big hit to keep the Arab world dancing to a different beat. It’s a classic case of ‘keep your friends close and your rivals on a different playlist.’ These historical headliners were laying down tracks with major side-eye, trying to drop the beat on unity and keep the power charts to themselves.

In 1916, the Sykes-Picot Agreement wasn’t just a pact; it was a blueprint for the future Middle East, crafted in the smoky back rooms of war-torn Europe. This secret treaty between Britain and France, with Russia nodding along, carved up the Middle Eastern territories of the faltering Ottoman Empire like a cake divided among reluctant attendees of a diplomatic banquet. Each slice of land was allotted to prevent any single Arab state from becoming too powerful. The new borders were drawn in such a way that each emerging state would find itself lacking in one essential aspect or another—be it water, fertile land, or sea access. It was a strategic move to ensure a balance of weakness, so no state could fully stand on its own without looking over its shoulder or knocking on the doors of its European creators for assistance.

Then came the Balfour Declaration in 1917, adding a layer of complexity to the already tangled Middle Eastern situation. Authored by Arthur Balfour, the British Foreign Secretary, the declaration signaled support for the establishment of a “national home for the Jewish people” in Palestine. It was a move that, on the surface, appeared to support Jewish aspirations but was also steeped in the politics of the time. The British, keen on securing their interests in the region and winning favor amidst the turmoil of World War I, saw this as a way to gain a strategic foothold. The declaration served multiple masters; it was a nod to Jewish lobbyists, a wartime strategy, and yet another move in the great game of imperial chess.

The resulting states from these agreements were designed with inherent limitations—strategically deprived of one essential element or another, ensuring dependence and divisiveness. Ports, resources, and fertile lands were allocated with an eye to keeping the states divided and manageable. This division was a deliberate attempt to create a geopolitical landscape that would prevent the emergence of a unified regional power. It was a landscape where every state had something but no state had everything, a recipe for both interdependence and perpetual friction.

Alright, let’s hit the rewind and track the journey of the Jewish presence in Palestine, stitching together a timeline that spans centuries and is as complex as the coding behind your favorite video game.

In 1799, the stage is set by none other than Napoleon Bonaparte. Though he’s not exactly a poster boy for tolerance, he plants the seeds for what he envisions as a strategic move—proposing the establishment of a Jewish state in Palestine.

Fast forward to 1832, and we see the British statesman Viscount Palmerston reviving Napoleon’s earlier notion. Palmerston’s motive isn’t rooted in a fondness for the Jewish people but rather in the geopolitical chess game of the era, aiming to ensure that the Ottoman Empire’s control over the region doesn’t go uncontested.

Come 1865, Britain steps up its game with the Palestine Exploration Fund (P.E.F.). Officially, it’s all about archaeology and understanding biblical lands, but between the lines, it’s also about staking out the geopolitical landscape, a Victorian-era reconnaissance mission.

The plot thickens in 1886, as waves of European Jews start to make their way to Palestine, a move driven by a mix of Zionist aspirations and the harsh realities of life in Europe, where they faced relentless persecution.

Then, boom! 1917 hits, and the Jew hater Lord Arthur Balfour drops his declaration like a hot new track, promising a national home for the Jewish people in Palestine. This move coincides with the gradual crumbling of the Ottoman Empire, which had ruled the region for centuries.

Under British rule, starting from 1918 onward, the landscape of Palestine is marked by tension and transformation. The British, holding the mandate for Palestine, implement policies ensuring the local Arab population remains under-armed. They enforce strict controls on weapons and ammunition, laying the groundwork for an imbalanced power dynamic that will have lasting implications for the region.

Rolling through the historical records, we hit another pivotal character in our saga: Theodor Herzl, a man with a vision that was as bold as it was controversial. Not particularly religious himself, Herzl became the unexpected flag-bearer for a movement that would turn the tide of history.

Herzl, struck by the virulent anti-Semitism of Europe, saw the writing on the wall. In 1897, he spearheaded the First Zionist Congress in Basel, Switzerland, which was sort of like the Woodstock for Jewish nationalism, minus the music and mud. The assembly wasn’t just a gathering; it was Herzl’s launchpad to market the idea of establishing a Jewish state, a concept that at the time wasn’t on the top of the charts.

Backed by some serious players on the European political scene who were keen on the idea for their own strategic reasons, Herzl began a campaign that was part PR blitz, part diplomatic schmooze-fest. He was selling a dream, a safe haven for Jews, in a land that was, to many Jews at the time, more of a historical footnote than a daily thought.

Herzl’s idea of Zionism wasn’t an instant hit. He had to deal with a mix of enthusiasm, indifference, and outright opposition from various Jewish communities, not to mention the complicated attitudes of the European powers. But through the power of persuasion, political maneuvering, and the unsettling rise of anti-Semitism, the notion of a Jewish state began to gain traction.

As the world stage was set for the cataclysmic showdown of World War II, the plot surrounding the future of a Jewish state thickened like the plot of a spy novel. The stakes were sky-high, and the players—both on and off the battlefield—were making moves that would reshape the Middle East and the world at large.

In this high-tension backdrop, Jewish paramilitary groups like the Haganah and Irgun were not just training for self-defense. They were also wheeling and dealing in the shadows, ensuring that no matter who ended up on top when the dust settled, their aim for a Jewish state wouldn’t just be a footnote in history.

Now, here’s the kicker: the leaders of the warring world powers, Hitler and Churchill, were no friends of the Jews. Hitler’s anti-Semitism was the dark heart of the Nazi regime, leading to the unthinkable horrors of the Holocaust. Churchill, while fighting against the Nazi regime, also had a dark record when it came to Jewish people.

Despite the hostility, the Jewish groups played the long game, negotiating with every power player they could. They understood that the endgame of WWII would be about more than just who won the war; it would be about who held the cards in the peace that followed.

When the guns fell silent and the world took stock, a new titan emerged on the global scene: the USA. Stepping into shoes that once belonged to the British, the Americans took up the mantle of international peacekeeper and power broker. In the reshuffled deck of international relations, the USA would become a crucial supporter of the “Jewish” quote end quote state’s creation.
As the British Mandate of Palestine neared its turbulent end, the atmosphere was electric with tension, and the actions of the Zionist militias added a volatile charge. They were determined to challenge British authority, which they saw as a roadblock to their dream of a Jewish homeland.

These groups, such as the Haganah, Irgun, and Lehi, sometimes took their fight to extreme lengths. They launched a series of terrorist attacks, targeting the Palestinian unarmed Arabs, and even the British administrative and military infrastructure. One of the most notorious was the bombing of the King David Hotel in Jerusalem, the headquarters of the British administration, by the Irgun in 1946.

In another tragic episode, the Haganah attacked a ship, the SS Patria, in 1940. The ship was carrying Jewish immigrants whom the British planned to deport to Mauritius. The Haganah intended to disable the ship to prevent it from leaving the port, hoping that the passengers would be allowed to stay. However, the operation went catastrophically wrong, and the ship sank, resulting in the loss of over 200 lives of Jews. This is why Arabs mostly use the term Zionism when they label their enemy.

These actions were part of a larger strategy to pressure the British to lift immigration restrictions and ultimately to leave Palestine. The British, for their part, were increasingly caught between the Zionist aspirations, the Arab population’s resistance, and their own post-war challenges.

The cumulative effect of these militant operations was significant. They contributed to the British decision to refer the Palestine problem to the United Nations, leading to the 1947 UN Partition Plan and, eventually, the end of British rule. This tumultuous period set the stage for the birth of Israel and the subsequent Arab-Israeli existential strugle that would shape the Middle East for decades to come. The militant campaigns of the Zionist militias remain a deeply contentious chapter in the history of the region, illustrating the painful birth pangs of a so-called nation.

In the year of 1948, a somber and painful chapter unfolded in the annals of Arab and Palestinian history, known as the Nakba, an Arabic word for “catastrophe” that entered many dictionaries now. As the British Mandate came to an end and the State of Israel was declared, the land braced for further turmoil. Various Zionist militia groups, including the Haganah, Lehi, Irgun, and the Stern Gang, embarked on a campaign to kill and expel Arabs. With miner but brave resistance of the unarmed natives, along with the little help that was offered by sister Arab conflicting countries.

In towns and villages across the nascent state, these militias engaged in a tragic series of acts against the Palestinian Arab population, the natives of Palestine. Reports and testimonies from that time witness massacres that took place in locations such as Deir Yassin, among countless others, striking terror into the hearts of the local populace. The intent, as recorded by historians, was to be to push Palestinians to leave their homes, a tactic that resulted in a mass exodus of Palestinian Arabs from the territory.

The aftermath saw the militias and incoming settlers moving into the homes and lands that had been vacated, amid the chaos and the mourning of those who fled. It was a period marked by loss and displacement for Palestinians—a time when the fabric of entire communities was torn apart, leaving a legacy of sorrow and unresolved grievances that have echoed through the decades.

So, let’s zoom into Gaza, a patch of land by the Mediterranean that’s been making headlines for decades, but its story? It’s deeper than the deepest bass drop. This isn’t just a strip of coastal territory; it’s a mosaic of generations, of memories of a time and place that many have only heard about in stories from their elders.

The heartbeat of Gaza is unique; it thrums with the lineage of those from Jaffa, Ramla, and countless other towns and villages that now exist only in the pages of history or in the whispered tales of grandparents. These places, once vibrant with life, were emptied in the turmoil of 1948, their Arabic names replaced with new Hebrew ones, as the map was redrawn, and the land took on a new manufactured identity.

The people who made their way to Gaza carried with them nothing but the keys to homes they hoped to return to and the memories of neighborhoods that were scrubbed off the map. They set up camp, thinking it was just for a while, but those tents became homes, streets, and eventually, a city that buzzed with the lives of those who couldn’t go back.

Fast forward through the years, and Gaza’s population swelled with the descendants of these displaced families. They grew up under the shadow of a history that’s as complex as a network of ancient underground tunnels. The stories of Jaffa’s orange groves, Ramla’s markets, and the many villages that dotted the Palestinian landscape are the folk tales of Gazans, a testament to their resilience and their connection to a past that’s both cherished and mourned.

Today, Gaza stands as a testament to endurance and survival, where the past isn’t just history—it’s personal. It’s the story of a people holding on to their heritage, even as the world around them continues to shift like the sands of the very beaches that outline their enclave. This is Gaza, a place where every street corner, every market stall, and every face tells a story of displacement, hope, and the undying human spirit.
After the dust settled from the war of 1948, Gaza didn’t just become a patch of coastal land; it came under Egyptian administration. It wasn’t annexed, but Egypt held the reins, becoming a sort of guardian, but one that never fully adopted its ward. The Gazans, many of whom carried the legacy of lost homes from across the breadth of Palestine, now found themselves under a new regime, yet the Egyptian rule was more like a caretaker arrangement, leaving the residents in a state of limbo, citizens of nowhere.

Meanwhile, the West Bank walked a parallel path, but this time under the Hashemite crown of Jordan. Jordan accepted many Palestinians as Jordanian citizens and managed the West Bank as an area of its own, folding the local Palestinian population into the Jordanian fold. This move, recognized by some and rejected by others, intertwined the fates of the West Bank’s residents with that of their Jordanian neighbors, until both were occupied in the war waged by the Zionist entity “Isreal” in 1967.

As history marched on, these territories would once again find themselves at the heart of the struggle for Palestinian self-determination, a struggle that is as much about the land as it is about the identity of the people who call it home.
…

The borders of the Zionist entity seem to have a life of their own, always on the move like a pop-up street artist that never stays in one spot.

Israel, since its establishment, has been like that one player in the game who’s not quite ready to call it a day when the timer goes off. Official borders? More like suggestions, as far as some of their strategies have shown. Their military campaigns have zigzagged across the map, leaving historians and political analysts reaching for their erasers and redrawing lines.

Take the Battle of Karameh in Jordan, for instance. In 1968, Israel rolled up its sleeves and went in, thinking they’d score an easy win. But Jordan, with a little help from their friends, said, “Not today!” and Israel had to hit the reverse button. That day, Karameh became more than a town; it became a symbol of resistance.

Then there’s the story of the Sinai Peninsula, which reads like a game of capture the flag. In 1967, Israel swept into Sinai like it was having a Black Friday sale. Egypt, not too thrilled about this, had to wage a war on the 6th of October 1973 to get it back.

But wait, the plot thickens. The scene shifts to Lebanon, where the story takes a darker turn. The Israelis, on the trail of Palestinian factions, weren’t about to let international borders slow their roll. Things got real and the Zionists occupied the South of Lebanon to kill the last Palestinian resistance, for instance in Qana, not once, but twice. In 1996 and again in 2006, the skies fell dark, and the ground shook with the sorrow of what happened there. These chapters are tough to get through without a lump in your throat because.

And let’s not forget the time Israel lent a helping hand to some Lebanese ultra-nationalists, sparking a horror show that no one wants on their Netflix queue. That was in Tal Azza’ter in 1976. It was a brutal reminder that when politics and ideology take the wheel, humanity is often left clinging to the bumper.

This history is like the most intense season of your favorite political drama, except it’s all too real, and the stakes are higher than any cliffhanger episode. As the credits roll on each incident, the lines on the map might shift, but the stories etched into the lives of those involved remain, unaltered and unforgettable.

Venturing back to the West Bank and zooming in on Gaza, we’re looking at a slice of the world where the daily grind is more than just a tough commute or a bad cell signal. For the Palestinians calling these places home, life presents a gauntlet of challenges that would leave the rest of us reeling.

Imagine this: You’re living in a place where the tap might run dry because someone else controls the water. Electricity isn’t something you can count on; it’s a luxury that flickers on and off like a faulty streetlight. Now, picture discovering there’s treasure beneath your feet – gas and oil, the black gold everyone’s scrambling for. But there’s a twist – you can’t get to it because the neighbor’s already called dibs on it.

This isn’t the plot of a dystopian movie; it’s the reality for many Palestinians, especially in Gaza. They’re living on a land rich in resources, yet they’re locked out of the bounty by blockades and politics. It’s a life where each day is a puzzle, figuring out how to make ends meet when even the most basic needs are tangled up in a web of controls and restrictions.

The situation is more than a talking point; it’s about the dignity of daily life, the right to flip a switch and know the lights will come on, the ability to quench your thirst without wondering if the water will stop. It’s about looking at the sea, knowing there’s wealth beneath its waves, but being powerless to tap into it because those resources have already been claimed.

For the people of Gaza and parts of the West Bank, these aren’t just inconveniences; they’re monumental hurdles that they face with a resilience that’s nothing short of heroic. It’s a testament to the human spirit’s tenacity, the unwavering ability to keep going against the odds. But it’s also a call to the conscience of the world, a reminder that there are lives behind the headlines, dreams beyond the checkpoints, and hopes that rise above the hum of generators.

This story isn’t just about the struggle; it’s about the unyielding courage to live, to thrive, and to hold onto hope when hope itself seems rationed. It’s about the Palestinian people and their indefatigable quest to carve out a life of dignity under circumstances that many of us can hardly fathom.

As we continue to trace the contours of Gaza’s recent history, it’s a narrative punctuated by the deep reverberations of conflict. The enclave, often described as one of the most densely populated areas on the planet, has seen its skies torn apart by the roar of bombs more times than should ever be considered normal. In episodes of violence that have escalated into full-scale confrontations, thousands of lives have been lost, and the scars of these events have marked the land and its people indelibly.

Among the most harrowing of these chapters was the Great March of Return in 2018, a series of protests that saw Gazans marching to the border fence, demanding the right to return to homes their families had fled or been expelled from in 1948. The imagery is stark and haunting: unarmed protestors, children among them, facing off against one of the most advanced military forces in the world.

Reports from the ground and international observers painted a grim picture of the events that unfolded. Snipers positioned on the other side of the fence responded to the mass demonstration with lethal force, resulting in the deaths and injuries of many, including children. The world watched as footage and testimonies emerged of protestors, some as young as teenagers, being shot by snipers, leaving many permanently disabled, their futures altered in a flash of gunfire.

These incidents, particularly the wounding of children and the deliberate targeting of limbs, drew widespread condemnation and raised serious questions about the mentality of Zionist gangs called an Army. The protests, which carried on for months, became emblematic of the asymmetry of power and the desperation born from a protracted conflict that seems to cycle through periods of violence with devastating regularity.

The narrative of Gaza is not just one of conflict; it is also about the unyielding resilience of its people. Amidst the rubble of bombings, Gazans have time and again risen to rebuild, to educate their children, to celebrate weddings, and to mourn their dead with a profound sense of community and solidarity. Yet, the repeated bombings and the harrowing events at the border have left deep wounds that go beyond the physical; they are etched in the collective memory of a people who continue to seek a semblance of normalcy in a situation that is anything but normal.

In a world that spins on the axis of sound bites and scrolling news feeds, there are moments that command a pause, a deeper look into the chapters of a story that’s been unfolding for generations. October 7th became one of those moments, etched into the collective consciousness of many in the Arab world.

On this day, the Palestinian resistance pierced through the barriers that separate the occupied territories from the lands known internationally as Israel. It was a bold move, a statement made not with words but with actions that reverberated across the region. The operation resulted in the capture of Israeli soldiers, a high-stakes gambit aimed at prying open the doors of Israeli prisons.

The goal? To bring home Palestinian prisoners serving sentences that boggle the mind—hundreds of years stacked upon each individual, numbers so staggering they eclipse lifetimes. These prisoners, held in conditions widely criticized by human rights organizations, became the human currency in a negotiation as old as the conflict itself.

For many Arabs and supporters of the Palestinian cause, the day was marked with a sense of triumph. It wasn’t just about the tactical success of the operation; it was the symbolism of reaching across an impenetrable divide and tipping the scales, if only for a moment. It was a demonstration of resolve, a message that despite the layers of defense and the might of a military superpower, the spirit of resistance could not be quelled.

Celebrations erupted, not in endorsement of conflict, but in recognition of a perceived victory amid decades of losses and setbacks. It was a moment that said, even in the face of what many Palestinians experience as a dehumanizing occupation, hope and resistance could still find a way.

This moment is a chapter in the ongoing narrative of a land and its people, locked in a struggle where joy, sorrow, resilience, and despair are intertwined. It’s a story that demands understanding the past to grasp the present’s complexities. It’s a reminder that beyond the headlines are human stories, calls for dignity, and the unending quest for a future where peace is more than a fleeting dream.
Now Gaza is under an aggressive brutal attack, for a political reason! As the prime minister of Israel, Netanyahu, is trying to gain time off being brought to court for misusing his authority and reciving bribes. At least 10000 people is being brutally killed, and Israeli owned American jets is bombing hospitals and schools, under the protection of USA. While the president of the United States is explaining his support of Israel by saying: It’s a smart investment!
Now Gaza need you to do whatever you can to cease fire and let the humanitarian aid of food, medical supplies, water in Gaza strip NOW! This is what it takes to look in the mirror and still see a human.