It’s Not Personal. It’s Systemic
The annihilation isn’t personal. It is systemic.
Whether it was getting banned from social media platforms for sharing footage from Gaza. Or for calling out Islamophobia. Nothing extreme. Just witnessing. Just saying what I saw.
The platforms don’t want the truth. They want the narrative. Clean. Controlled. Palatable.
So they silence us. Keep the genocide sanitised for mainstream consumption.
A renewed cultural subjugation. My father watched this his entire life. From Bosnia to Afghanistan to Palestine. Chechnya. Kashmir. The persecution doesn’t end. It just changes platforms. Different decades. Same machinery. Same silence.
The news anchors frame ethnic cleansing as “conflict.” Massacre as “clash.” Genocide as “complicated.”
Back then, it was broadcasted on TV. Now it’s algorithmic suppression. Shadow bans. Account suspensions. The machinery of silence has evolved, but the purpose remains the same.
Keep the suffering invisible. Keep the oppressed voiceless. Control the story.
My father carried the weight of watching this happen. I’m watching the same cycle, decades later, with different tools but the same brutality. And then being silenced for simply sharing it, for bearing witness. This clarifies everything.
Palestine is the awakening.
Children’s bodies pulled from rubble. Hospitals bombed. Refugee camps obliterated. And when you share the footage, the raw, unedited truth, the platforms call it “violating community guidelines.”
Whose community? Whose guidelines?
Not mine. Not ours.
What does it mean for us? Is it only limited to a sense of solidarity? Without sacrificing social judgment?
Managing perceptions. At the cost of our own.
What about one for all and all for one. When they come for one of us, they come for all of us. That artificial divisions are tools they use to keep us fractured.
When one part suffers, the whole body feels it. This isn’t just spiritual poetry. It’s strategic survival. One body. One pain.
One-world.
The prophecies are warnings. Instructions. A blueprint for how to stand when everything around you tells you to kneel. What are you submitting to?
My father knew this. He lived it quietly. Carried it like strength when everyone else had learned not to.
This is the annihilation of societal norms. Of playing along. Of keeping your head down and your opinions palatable so you don’t lose access, don’t lose opportunities, don’t get labeled.
I’ve been labeled. Banned. Marked as a contrarian.
Good.
The platforms that silence truth aren’t platforms anymore. They are the enemy. The professional spaces that require you to stay silent are spaces of controlled thinking. These are the modern equivalent of social warfare.
I’m not afraid of being burned to the ground. Because the return on investment isn’t here. It’s not in followers, or professional advancement, or social acceptance.
This isn’t activism. This is accounting.
The return is the afterlife. The legacy. The hereafter. The only return that actually matters. The transcendent empirical truth: This life is the transaction. The hereafter is the settlement.
The oppressing forces reveal themselves. In abstract philosophy, the cultural judgment, in the hard calculus of narrative management.
You either sell your soul for temporary comfort, or you refuse. There’s no middle path that survives scrutiny.
What are you willing to lose for what’s right?
Understood instinctively. Never said explicitly, but life is demonstrating it. Choose integrity over wealth. Truth over comfort.
My struggles are nothing compared to the people in Gaza, in Palestine, in the subjugated areas throughout history. I’m not claiming equivalence.
I lost Instagram access. They lost their children.
But it’s the same system trying to silence both of us. The same machinery that crushes bodies there crushes voices here.
The materialist attachments that distract us from finding purpose. And if you think compliance protects you, you’re wrong. They’ll come for you too eventually. They always do.
The only question is: Will you have anything left worth defending by the time they arrive?
This is the annihilation. Not of me. Of the illusion.
The only metric that matters: When I die, can I face God and say I tried?
That’s it. That’s the whole calculation.
My father lived that calculation every day. Watching injustice. Feeling it. Carrying it. And still believing we could change things.
The algorithms look omnipotent.
They’re not.
They’re just code. Written by people. Serving power. Protecting capital. Enslaving all people.
And they’re terrified. That’s why they censor. That’s why they work so hard to keep status quo.
Because they know: If enough people stop playing along, stop staying “professional,” the whole structure collapses.
That’s the annihilation they fear. Not of bodies. Of compliance.
So here is my final take:
You choose. Either annihilate the delusion or the alternative is annihilating yourself.