🌈Ranibow Sprimkle🌈

it is incredibly frustrating to see the non-response from westerners to what is arguably the worst natural disaster in recent memory. when the ukraine-russia war broke out, it was on everyone's blogs. everyone--at least on my dash--was trying to spread awareness of the humanitarian crisis. but now?

fucking crickets.

absolutely nothing.

this earthquake has already claimed 20k confirmed lives. it has only been 5 days. most wrecks have not been excavated yet.

we need all the help we can get, but not a single fucking person is doing anything to help spread the message. people who proudly put the ukrainian flag in their display names or in their bios are nowhere to be seen now. the influencers youtubers and tiktok micro-celebrities who shared donation posts and ukrainian refugee testimonials daily are dead silent now. why? why do you only care when the people dying are somewhat like you? do we need to be whiter to deserve your attention? or more christian? do we not deserve your energy as is? are we, turks and syrians, not humans?

im so fucking sorry if donation posts don't fit your blog's aesthetic or if the news are just so fucking draining for you. every single one of you motherfuckers living in the west should be ashamed of yourselves for how differently you are treating us versus how you treated ukrainians when the war broke out.

if this happened in any western country you'd all be making infographics on how to donate or help.

right now the only reason why people on my dash are devastated is because the rhythm guitarist from my chemical romance had a haircut.

all of you need to be doing better.

do better.

If you didn’t hear about us, we must be heard now. Reblog just once, everyone.

I forgot to add these

Lastly, you all are hypocrites

I remember tumblr losing its mind when bbc commenter mentioned white skin vs brown skin regarding Ukraine war. But now I didn’t even see Turkey or Syria trend on tumblr all day

Fuck all

original post

no, we will not stop posting this. our friends, our volunteers, our family members are dying.

we’ve already donated. have you?

One of the most powerful moments I experienced as an ancient history student was when I was teaching cuneiform to visitors at a fair. A father and his two little children came up to the table where I was working. I recognised them from an interfaith ceremony I’d attended several months before: the father had said a prayer for his homeland, Syria, and for his hometown, Aleppo.

All three of them were soft-spoken, kind and curious. I taught the little girl how to press wedges into the clay, and I taught the little boy that his name meant “sun” and that there was an ancient Mesopotamian God with the same name. I told them they were about the same age as scribes were when they started their training. As they worked, their father said to them gently: “See, this is how your ancestors used to write.”

And I thought of how the Ancient City of Aleppo is almost entirely destroyed now, and how the Citadel was shelled and used as a military base, and how Palmyran temples were blown up and such a wealth of culture and history has been lost forever. And there I was with these children, two small pieces of the future of a broken country, and I was teaching them cuneiform. They were smiling and chatting to each other about Mesopotamia and “can you imagine, our great-great-great-grandparents used to write like this four thousand years ago!” For them and their father, it was more than a fun weekend activity. It was a way of connecting, despite everything and thousands of kilometres away from home, with their own history.

This moment showed me, in a concrete way, why ancient studies matter. They may not seem important now, not to many people at least. But history represents so much of our cultural identity: it teaches us where we come from, explains who we are, and guides us as we go forward. Lose it, and we lose a part of ourselves. As historians, our role is to preserve this knowledge as best we can and pass it on to future generations who will need it. I helped pass it on to two little Syrian children that day. They learnt that their country isn’t just blood and bombs, it’s also scribes and powerful kings and Sun-Gods and stories about immortality and tablets that make your hands sticky. And that matters.