23/07/2025
This has been my view for the past three days.
I’ve watched countless soon-to-be parents pull up to the hospital — dads with anxious, excited smiles and mums moving with that familiar mum to be shuffle through the front doors, ready to meet their babies. I’ve seen new families emerge, cradling their tiny bundles of joy, carefully fastening them into car seats, surrounded by flowers, balloons, and the love of those waiting at home.
What an incredible privilege it is to witness this kind of joy. And yet — my heart breaks.
While this miracle unfolds here, I can’t stop thinking about the opposite happening elsewhere — right now. Where people are starving, not by chance, but by design. Where they’re punished for simply needing food and water. Where medical care, dignity, and even life itself are denied.
Over the weekend, I got poorly from an infection. Within 12 hours, I was admitted to the hospital, given everything I needed to recover — tests and scans to determine why i'm poorly, suitable medication, food and drink and care from the wonderful nurses. All for a simple infection. I’ll be fine, as I always say, “I’ll live.” I say it with such certainty. Yet elsewhere, they are being handed a death sentence for simply existing. Because in Gaza, they are not living — they are barely surviving, if at all. Not because help doesn’t exist, but because it’s being kept from them. As deliberately as our wonderful NHS cares for the sick here in the UK, the Israeli government denies the people of Gaza and Palestine the same treatment with such harrowing precision.
It doesn’t make sense. It shouldn't make sense.
