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The Guardian
26 minutes ago
- The Guardian
Protesting over Gaza's starvation feels like screaming into a void – but we mustn't stop
The children die first. In conditions of starvation, their growing bodies' nutritional needs are higher than those of adults, and so their reserves are depleted faster. Their immune systems, not yet fully developed, become weaker, more susceptible to disease and infection. A bout of diarrhoea is lethal. Their wounds don't heal. The babies cannot be breastfed as their mothers have not eaten. They die at double the rate of adults. Last week, over a period of just 72 hours, 21 children died in Gaza of malnutrition and starvation. The path to death from starvation is a slow and agonising one, especially in a territory suffering shortages of not just food, but medicine, shelter and clean water. The total death toll from hunger surpassed 100 at the weekend; 80 of those were children. An aid worker reported that children are telling their parents that they want to die and go to heaven, because 'at least heaven has food'. Every single one of these deaths, and those that will come, is preventable. The World Health Organization described the starvation as 'man-made', but it is more than that. It is foreseeable and thus deliberate. Israel's siege on Gaza has blocked tonnes of aid from entering, or being distributed to those who need it, according to humanitarian organisations there. The 'tactical pause' of military operations for a few hours a day in three parts of the Gaza Strip to allow in some aid is a measure that does not ameliorate a crisis accrued over time. The starvation, long warned about, is the latest phase of a campaign almost two years long, for which words are now entirely inadequate. Genocide, ethnic cleansing, mass punishment – all these descriptions still somehow do not capture the lurid and varied ways in which Palestinians in Gaza are being killed: bombed in their homes, and in their tents, burned alive in their hospital beds, shot while queueing for food and now starved. It almost doesn't matter what it is called any more, because all you need to see to know that what is happening is a crime that requires immediate action is the bones of a child sticking out of its thin skin, while the food it needs is being blocked by Israeli soldiers. The time for justifications, arguing about semantics and hand-wringing over the 'complexity' of the conflict has long passed. The only question now is, how is it that the world cannot get Israel to allow a morsel of food into a starving civilian's mouth? How is this a government still not decisively cut off, sanctioned and embargoed? How is this a government, still, that David Lammy thinks he can 'urge' to do the right thing? The European Commission president, Ursula von der Leyen, posted on X calling the images from Gaza 'unbearable', and called for more aid to be let in and for Israel to 'deliver on its pledges'. This, and other EU social media statements, was described by an Oxfam official as 'hollow' and 'baffling'. Benjamin Netanyahu has proved, over and over, that he has no intention of complying with anything. Only last week, a minister said that 'there is no nation that feeds its enemies', and that the government was 'rushing toward Gaza being wiped out' while also 'driving out the population that educated its people on the ideas of Mein Kampf'. The truth is that there is no strategic goal for defeating Hamas, only constantly shifting goalposts, under a prime minister who has yoked his political survival to the indefinite extension of an assault on Gaza. And in the meantime, the escalating horrors and their relentless continuation unsettle and reconfigure the world. But the more the hard, cold core of support for Israel's actions is revealed, the more credibility and legitimacy drains away from it. The result is a head-on confrontation between political establishments and the public in a situation that is no longer manageable. The recent escalating rhetoric, for it is only that, from Keir Starmer is an indication that Gaza is now an issue that must be paid lip service to if it is not to further coalesce into a domestic problem for an already embattled government. But still, that rhetoric seems to be part of an elaborate game, in which everyone dances increasingly performatively around what needs to happen. That game is to maintain, no matter the violation, the tenability of Israel as a moral player, while pretending that when it transgresses it will be scolded back into compliance. The 'when' here is important. The players of this game are constantly inventing new beginnings, new red lines, new watersheds, which mean the necessary point of rupture with Israel is constantly moved to a new point on the horizon. Whether it is the killing of aid workers, the killing of those actually seeking aid, or now the starvation, each escalation of Israel's campaign seems to trigger a fresh wave of finger wagging. The result is a permanent moment of impending action, as threatened by Lammy. Action that never comes. And while we wait, the status quo is maintained in a holding pattern until the latest horror fades from our screens and front pages. Or Israel applies some temporary measure, such as its 'tactical pause' in the fighting, that does not address the fundamental conditions of siege, blockade and civilian killings. But protest, no matter how ostensibly ineffective, remains the only way any pressure can be applied on those who have the power to censure Israel in ways that are meaningful, by ceasing military and trade relations. Protesting might feel like screaming into a void, but even the little change we have seen – the pitifully few trucks of aid now rolling into Gaza – is down to the strain of that confrontation with the political establishment. What else public anger is capable of achieving can only be realised if it does not relent. The way that strain translates into something meaningful can be impossible to divine, because being subjected to these placatory ruses for almost two years has been enough to inflict a sort of cognitive injury. We are told by powerful politicians that things cannot continue as they are, and then, suddenly, it is another few months and things have not only continued but worsened. There is something genuinely mind-bending about it, something exhausting and scattering of resolve when it seems that finally, something seems to be shifting and sanity is prevailing, and then it doesn't. The purpose is to quieten the public through verbal laudanum, or distract it by the lowest-cost calls for recognising a Palestinian state. These are phantom wins, a grotesque exercise in crowd control, reputation laundering and public opinion management. Innocents are now starving to death. All that is not action is noise. Nesrine Malik is a Guardian columnist Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here.


The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
The voice of our own inner critic can be strong. How can we break free from the mental prison?
The Buddha was bold in his approach to human psychology. He described psychological suffering as pervasive and inherent to the human experience. Suffering is present not only in moments of loss and pain, but in how the mind contracts, shaped by past actions and entrenched habits. In this sense, we live in a mental prison of our own making with walls continually constructed and reconstructed largely out of conscious view. Thoughts, perceptions and feelings appear solid and true, and a relentless internal voice tells us who we are, what we ought to be and do and what the world must deliver. At its worst, our psyche can feel like 'a bad neighbourhood' that we might avoid walking through alone, to quote writer Anne Lamott. During such times, support, friendship and self-nurturing are crucial. But even outside more troubling mental states, the walls of our minds can limit the view. Sound familiar? It's no coincidence that in modern life, the pursuit of mental freedom has become mainstream – even commercial. Modern seekers are microdosing psilocybin, participating in ayahuasca ceremonies, experimenting with cognitive-enhancing supplements like nootropics, and trying biohacking techniques – cold plunges, saunas, sensory deprivation tanks to name a few. And then, of course, there are silent meditation retreats: two days, 10 days, 30 days, even three months. On these retreats, participants report glimpsing a reality beyond the known self, a shift so impactful it can redirect the entire course of their lives. In fact, many committed to Buddhist meditation speak of such moments as pivotal. While sudden breakthroughs can be transformative (particularly when integrated well), once the intensity fades, familiar anxieties return. The architecture of our inner world, temporarily dismantled, rebuilds itself. The Buddha might have recognised the yearning behind this search, but cautioned that while insight can arise spontaneously, the path is ultimately gradual and gentle, requiring ethics, restraint, mindfulness and mental persistence. We chase instant fixes, hoping the next practice or product will deliver, only to feel let down. Caught in this need for immediate release, we often avoid examining the quieter mechanisms that keep us trapped. One such mechanism is what modern Buddhists refer to as the judgmental or comparing mind – not to be confused with wise discernment. As our awareness deepens, we begin to see the extent to which we internalise rules, expectations, and criticism. The comparing mind isn't kind or reasonable. When triggered, it can be oppressive, self-flagellating and cruel. It can appear in the body as constriction and discomfort – a tightening of the jaw and chest, a sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach. Sometimes, it's so constant we only notice it when we pause and tune in. Western thinkers like Sigmund Freud and Michel Foucault explored how we internalise authority, self-police, and punish ourselves. Foucault described how we internalise the gaze of those in power, monitoring our behaviours, actions and even our thoughts. Freud referred to the 'superego,' which tames instinctual desires, but also devolves into shame and guilt; essential to social cohesion, he said, but when overactive, the cause of neuroses and mental distress. Buddhism recognises similar dynamics, albeit through a different lens. As a way to work with the inner critic, we are first invited to actively extend a spirit of non-harm toward all beings – this includes ourselves. This elicits an ever-deepening awareness of how we move through the world and treat others, as well as our own hearts, in the pursuit of mental liberation. Then, through meditative inquiry, we begin to see our punishing thoughts with greater clarity – their shape, origin and propensity. Shame and blame aren't repressed, but understood and, where possible, gently disarmed and pacified. What does this look like, practically? First, notice how it lives in the body and stays with it. Offer yourself some mercy. This is part of being human – a mind that grasps, compares, and cajoles. As calm returns, a small sense of freedom may emerge. Don't miss that. From here, trace what gave rise to the pattern: fatigue, an interaction, a memory or something else. Notice the belief or storyline the mind clings to. In other words, what is the sticky thought at play? In seeing this clearly, the mind may loosen its grip. Over time, and with continued observation, these habits may naturally dissipate. During a retreat, I once became struck by the cruelty of my thoughts. I hadn't noticed it in the rush of daily life, but in stillness, it hit me in a visceral way. Every time I meditated, my mind scorned me: I wasn't doing it well enough, this wasn't the practice for me, I was too sleepy, hungry, or ill-suited. I had a bad temperament, the voice said, and I might as well give up. Exhausted, I went to the teacher to report on my experience, and she said very directly, as if she already knew, 'it's remarkable how violent we can be to ourselves'. It's hard, this being human thing. But the Buddha's path, like many spiritual paths, is a hopeful one. It teaches us how to alleviate suffering through humility, curiosity and patience, rather than fighting fire with fire. To paraphrase the Buddha, 'hatred is never appeased by hatred … but by love alone'. With practice, the grip of the inner critic is released, and space for something else emerges. It may happen suddenly, but it's more likely to happen over time. As the punishing narrator recedes into the background, we access greater moments of mental release and ethical clarity. Then, one very fine day, we might walk straight out of the prison's doors, and as we do, we might realise the doors have been wide open this whole time. Dr Nadine Levy is a senior lecturer at the Nan Tien Institute. She coordinates its health and social wellbeing program and the graduate certificate in applied mindfulness


Cambrian News
2 hours ago
- Cambrian News
Record hepatitis testing in Wales as elimination efforts continue
According to the latest Blood Borne Virus (BBV) Annual Surveillance Report, Wales has seen an increase in hepatitis screening, diagnosis and treatment which is a positive sign in the journey towards the World Health Organization's 2030 elimination targets.