In the thrum of the streets across this vast, sprawling country, the pulse of protest beats a somber rhythm. It’s a symphony of defiance, a testament to the spirit of the young, the bold, and the restless. From the concrete avenues of New York to the wind-swept corners of San Francisco, the voices rise—a chorus not bound by age or creed, but united in a pursuit for peace.

Among them, young Jewish protesters raise their banners high, their slogans echoing through the march. "To be anti-Zionist is not to be antisemitic!" they declare, reshaping the narrative with every step they take. In their eyes, the glint of determination; in their hearts, the hope for understanding. Yet, whispers thread through the crowd, insidious and slicing, claiming these peaceful warriors fuel the fires of hatred, that their cries for justice render some spaces less safe.

But let's talk about safety, about sanctuary. Imagine, if you will, young Ahmed—a figment, perhaps, or maybe not. Ahmed finds no solace on the besieged streets of Gaza. Nor does he in Rafa, a “safe zone.” When the sirens scream, where does Ahmed hide? His world is one of rubble and wrath, where the sky rains steel and the ground trembles with terror. Can you see him? His eyes wide, darting, searching for a haven that remains stubbornly elusive.

How does Ahmed feel, knowing the night may bring buildings crumbling like brittle bones around him, while pundits pontificate on the nuances of international policy from their cushioned studios? How does he feel, when the very concept of a 'safe place' is as alien as the food not allowed in while truck after truck is turned away?

We stand here, arguing over who feels unsafe at a protest, while Ahmed's tomorrow is a question mark smeared in smoke and sorrow.

Yes, discuss, debate, and disagree—for this is the essence of democracy. But as we wield our words like weapons, let us not forget the Ahmed’s of the world. For them, safety is not a debate—it's a desperate dream.

So, protest, yes. Raise your voice, yes. But remember, in our quest for what's right, let's not lose sight of what's real—there are no safe places in a world that chooses conflict over conversation, and warfare over wisdom.

In the thrum of the streets across this vast, sprawling country, the pulse of protest beats a somber rhythm. It’s a symphony of defiance, a testament to the spirit of the young, the bold, and the restless. From the concrete avenues of New York to the wind-swept corners of San Francisco, the voices rise—a chorus not bound by age or creed, but united in a pursuit for peace.

Among them, young Jewish protesters raise their banners high, their slogans echoing through the march. "To be anti-Zionist is not to be antisemitic!" they declare, reshaping the narrative with every step they take. In their eyes, the glint of determination; in their hearts, the hope for understanding. Yet, whispers thread through the crowd, insidious and slicing, claiming these peaceful warriors fuel the fires of hatred, that their cries for justice render some spaces less safe.

But let's talk about safety, about sanctuary. Imagine, if you will, young Ahmed—a figment, perhaps, or maybe not. Ahmed finds no solace on the besieged streets of Gaza. Nor does he in Rafa, a “safe zone.” When the sirens scream, where does Ahmed hide? His world is one of rubble and wrath, where the sky rains steel and the ground trembles with terror. Can you see him? His eyes wide, darting, searching for a haven that remains stubbornly elusive.

How does Ahmed feel, knowing the night may bring buildings crumbling like brittle bones around him, while pundits pontificate on the nuances of international policy from their cushioned studios? How does he feel, when the very concept of a 'safe place' is as alien as the food not allowed in while truck after truck is turned away?

We stand here, arguing over who feels unsafe at a protest, while Ahmed's tomorrow is a question mark smeared in smoke and sorrow.

Yes, discuss, debate, and disagree—for this is the essence of democracy. But as we wield our words like weapons, let us not forget the Ahmed’s of the world. For them, safety is not a debate—it's a desperate dream.

So, protest, yes. Raise your voice, yes. But remember, in our quest for what's right, let's not lose sight of what's real—there are no safe places in a world that chooses conflict over conversation, and warfare over wisdom.