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Like every authoritarian before him, Trump is working to co-opt news sources and control what the public sees and hears. Too many corporate outlets are bending the knee—but not Common Dreams. We will never be intimidated, and we will never compromise the core values that define our community: social justice, universal human rights, equality, and peace. Because we are funded by ordinary people like you, our editorial freedom is guaranteed.
A retail display of plastic Halloween skeletons is seen in Home Depot, Queens, New York.
Everything sold in the US—fear, death, darkness, and mass destruction—is handed to Palestinian children freely, but with real blood, real tears, and real destruction.
While walking through an American shopping mall, I was struck by many Halloween sections: plastic skulls, hanging ghosts, mock gravestones, jack-o’-lanterns with terrifying faces, and zombie costumes for children. Everything was crafted with care—for fun. Even private gardens and doorways were adorned with these symbols of fear. But the real shock came as I entered the halls of an international cybersecurity and technology conference. Some companies had installed dancing skeletons, singing skulls, and smoke-spewing props to attract visitors to their booths.
When I asked about it, they replied: “It’s October. People are getting ready for Halloween—with all its spooky decorations and traditions.”
Yet amid this polished spectacle, I couldn’t help but think of the children in Gaza. There, no costume is needed to experience horror. Everything sold here—fear, death, darkness, and mass destruction—is handed to them freely, but with real blood, real tears, and real destruction.
Halloween originated in Europe from the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, when people believed spirits returned to Earth at the end of harvest. Over time, it evolved into a global commercial event, with families spending over $10 billion annually on decorations, costumes, and candy.
On this day:Jack-o’-lanterns glow with grotesque faces.
Skulls hang from doors.
Children dress as the dead or the undead.
And horror is not celebrated—it is survived.
It is a cruel irony that the final week of October—when Halloween is celebrated—is also United Nations Disarmament Week (24-30 October), a time meant to promote peace. Yet since October 2023, more than 68,000 people have been killed in Gaza, including thousands of children. Over 170,000 have been injured, and nearly 2 million displaced. Hundreds have died from hunger and malnutrition, including more than 100 children.
These children, supposedly protected by the Convention on the Rights of the Child, found no shield from death or fear.
They do not ask for candy—they search for their families and friends, if they are still alive. Moreover, they search for water, food, medicine, and survival.
On Halloween, children fear the dark.
In Gaza, children live in darkness.
On Halloween, skulls are sold.
In Gaza, skulls are pulled from the rubble.
Where is the justice the world so proudly proclaims in its forums and conferences?
Where is the voice of international humanitarian law, created to protect civilians in war?
Where is the echo of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which promised dignity and equality for all?
What if the billions spent on Halloween were redirected to aid children in Gaza—and everywhere?
What if we replaced manufactured horror with real joy?
What if this occasion became a moment of global solidarity?
Instead of celebrating death, let us learn to end it.
Instead of decorating our homes with skulls, let us rebuild the homes that were destroyed.
Instead of fearing ghosts, let us stand with those who have lost their loved ones.
I wish Halloween—this year and every year—could become a celebration of mercy and love, not death and fear.
That jack-o’-lanterns would glow with messages of solidarity, not monstrous grins.
That our doors, gardens, and conferences would display the faces of children who lost their families and schools—not plastic skulls.
I wish we could redefine fear as a gateway to compassion,
And redefine celebration as a call for justice and human rights.
Halloween is not a holiday that must be canceled—but one that must be understood.
In a world where images of death are consumed as entertainment, we must restore humanity to the victims.
In a time when homes are adorned with skulls, perhaps we should adorn our hearts with mercy.
As Mother Teresa once said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
Children in Gaza do not need masks.
They need justice and a global conscience that does not turn away—and does not disguise itself.
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While walking through an American shopping mall, I was struck by many Halloween sections: plastic skulls, hanging ghosts, mock gravestones, jack-o’-lanterns with terrifying faces, and zombie costumes for children. Everything was crafted with care—for fun. Even private gardens and doorways were adorned with these symbols of fear. But the real shock came as I entered the halls of an international cybersecurity and technology conference. Some companies had installed dancing skeletons, singing skulls, and smoke-spewing props to attract visitors to their booths.
When I asked about it, they replied: “It’s October. People are getting ready for Halloween—with all its spooky decorations and traditions.”
Yet amid this polished spectacle, I couldn’t help but think of the children in Gaza. There, no costume is needed to experience horror. Everything sold here—fear, death, darkness, and mass destruction—is handed to them freely, but with real blood, real tears, and real destruction.
Halloween originated in Europe from the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, when people believed spirits returned to Earth at the end of harvest. Over time, it evolved into a global commercial event, with families spending over $10 billion annually on decorations, costumes, and candy.
On this day:Jack-o’-lanterns glow with grotesque faces.
Skulls hang from doors.
Children dress as the dead or the undead.
And horror is not celebrated—it is survived.
It is a cruel irony that the final week of October—when Halloween is celebrated—is also United Nations Disarmament Week (24-30 October), a time meant to promote peace. Yet since October 2023, more than 68,000 people have been killed in Gaza, including thousands of children. Over 170,000 have been injured, and nearly 2 million displaced. Hundreds have died from hunger and malnutrition, including more than 100 children.
These children, supposedly protected by the Convention on the Rights of the Child, found no shield from death or fear.
They do not ask for candy—they search for their families and friends, if they are still alive. Moreover, they search for water, food, medicine, and survival.
On Halloween, children fear the dark.
In Gaza, children live in darkness.
On Halloween, skulls are sold.
In Gaza, skulls are pulled from the rubble.
Where is the justice the world so proudly proclaims in its forums and conferences?
Where is the voice of international humanitarian law, created to protect civilians in war?
Where is the echo of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which promised dignity and equality for all?
What if the billions spent on Halloween were redirected to aid children in Gaza—and everywhere?
What if we replaced manufactured horror with real joy?
What if this occasion became a moment of global solidarity?
Instead of celebrating death, let us learn to end it.
Instead of decorating our homes with skulls, let us rebuild the homes that were destroyed.
Instead of fearing ghosts, let us stand with those who have lost their loved ones.
I wish Halloween—this year and every year—could become a celebration of mercy and love, not death and fear.
That jack-o’-lanterns would glow with messages of solidarity, not monstrous grins.
That our doors, gardens, and conferences would display the faces of children who lost their families and schools—not plastic skulls.
I wish we could redefine fear as a gateway to compassion,
And redefine celebration as a call for justice and human rights.
Halloween is not a holiday that must be canceled—but one that must be understood.
In a world where images of death are consumed as entertainment, we must restore humanity to the victims.
In a time when homes are adorned with skulls, perhaps we should adorn our hearts with mercy.
As Mother Teresa once said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
Children in Gaza do not need masks.
They need justice and a global conscience that does not turn away—and does not disguise itself.
While walking through an American shopping mall, I was struck by many Halloween sections: plastic skulls, hanging ghosts, mock gravestones, jack-o’-lanterns with terrifying faces, and zombie costumes for children. Everything was crafted with care—for fun. Even private gardens and doorways were adorned with these symbols of fear. But the real shock came as I entered the halls of an international cybersecurity and technology conference. Some companies had installed dancing skeletons, singing skulls, and smoke-spewing props to attract visitors to their booths.
When I asked about it, they replied: “It’s October. People are getting ready for Halloween—with all its spooky decorations and traditions.”
Yet amid this polished spectacle, I couldn’t help but think of the children in Gaza. There, no costume is needed to experience horror. Everything sold here—fear, death, darkness, and mass destruction—is handed to them freely, but with real blood, real tears, and real destruction.
Halloween originated in Europe from the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, when people believed spirits returned to Earth at the end of harvest. Over time, it evolved into a global commercial event, with families spending over $10 billion annually on decorations, costumes, and candy.
On this day:Jack-o’-lanterns glow with grotesque faces.
Skulls hang from doors.
Children dress as the dead or the undead.
And horror is not celebrated—it is survived.
It is a cruel irony that the final week of October—when Halloween is celebrated—is also United Nations Disarmament Week (24-30 October), a time meant to promote peace. Yet since October 2023, more than 68,000 people have been killed in Gaza, including thousands of children. Over 170,000 have been injured, and nearly 2 million displaced. Hundreds have died from hunger and malnutrition, including more than 100 children.
These children, supposedly protected by the Convention on the Rights of the Child, found no shield from death or fear.
They do not ask for candy—they search for their families and friends, if they are still alive. Moreover, they search for water, food, medicine, and survival.
On Halloween, children fear the dark.
In Gaza, children live in darkness.
On Halloween, skulls are sold.
In Gaza, skulls are pulled from the rubble.
Where is the justice the world so proudly proclaims in its forums and conferences?
Where is the voice of international humanitarian law, created to protect civilians in war?
Where is the echo of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which promised dignity and equality for all?
What if the billions spent on Halloween were redirected to aid children in Gaza—and everywhere?
What if we replaced manufactured horror with real joy?
What if this occasion became a moment of global solidarity?
Instead of celebrating death, let us learn to end it.
Instead of decorating our homes with skulls, let us rebuild the homes that were destroyed.
Instead of fearing ghosts, let us stand with those who have lost their loved ones.
I wish Halloween—this year and every year—could become a celebration of mercy and love, not death and fear.
That jack-o’-lanterns would glow with messages of solidarity, not monstrous grins.
That our doors, gardens, and conferences would display the faces of children who lost their families and schools—not plastic skulls.
I wish we could redefine fear as a gateway to compassion,
And redefine celebration as a call for justice and human rights.
Halloween is not a holiday that must be canceled—but one that must be understood.
In a world where images of death are consumed as entertainment, we must restore humanity to the victims.
In a time when homes are adorned with skulls, perhaps we should adorn our hearts with mercy.
As Mother Teresa once said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”
Children in Gaza do not need masks.
They need justice and a global conscience that does not turn away—and does not disguise itself.
