By Violet Graff

The definition of juxtaposition is, the fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect. When I think of this contrast, I think of black and white, dead flowers and white snow, or things such as kind versus upset. Those are great examples of privilege, thinking of colors, nature, and basic emotions. But, what about those who are living out in the areas where the media does not care, or in other words, ”does not reach”. Are there such clean and gentle examples of juxtaposition? No, because they don’t have the privilege of innocence. Instead, their examples of juxtaposition would be filled with death in the human form. Such as blood, warm and bright, on the dirty, cold, sidewalk, spilling freely, and yet, that isn’t shocking or new.
Maybe they would use their family as an example, maybe that would be more positive? No, it is not, however the white bags their bodies are zipped up in are an interesting example. The white and the dead, one representing life, unstained, and pure, yet it’s wrapped around the loss of life. The loss of babies, children, parents, and relatives, wrapped in the color of the snow, the white of surrendering flags, the color of the blanket they were first wrapped in when they entered this world. Maybe that’s poetic, maybe even the perfect ending, but endings are soothing and natural. This is not natural, this isn’t calming, or anywhere near the end of the book. This is a forced ending. No questions answered, no goodbyes, just zipped into a bag and placed in the dirt. That is not fair.
Why do I get to think of flowers, and them, the dirt? What separates us? Why does it separate us? Even in these questions, I have the privilege of knowing my death would be remembered. I would get a gravestone, a coffin, and I would be remembered by name and face from two towns over. The children, adults, and infants in Gaza do not have this, they are taken in mass graves, and shamed by the public. Why is there a choice of which children get to be remembered? We clearly aren’t as “progressive” as we say we are.
There’s children standing in front of the cameras crying and yelling for help.They know that no one seems to care. When they think of juxtaposition (given they are even old enough to know), they might turn to look at themselves. Their shirts, pink, blue, green, and teal, saying things such as “shine bright” and “princess” are covered in blood and dirt. That is contrast, to take something pure, the basic phrases that appear in my baby books and slather them with blood, and stain them with horror that can never be erased.
Juxtaposition; a contrast of life and death, the citizens of Gaza think of themselves, and their lives, and yet some will still point the blame at them. That’s privilege, to be able to point your own finger at someone else, and be chosen as the truth, even if you’re pointing at the bloody and the dead.

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I wrote this for Gaza. My heart, strength, and warmest feelings go out to them.