Mourners hold a portrait of a students during a funeral ceremony for children, who lost their lives after a primary school in Iran's Hormozgan province was targeted in US and Israeli attacks, on March 3, 2026 in Minab, Iran.
As Another School Year Begins, Whose Children Do We Remember?
A child should not have to belong to our country, our community, or our side for us to recognize the value of that child’s life.
Summer passed. People traveled, went into nature, spent time with family, laughed, rested, and enjoyed life—and that is a good thing. Now school has started again, and children are walking back into classrooms with backpacks, excitement, and plans for another year.
But for many families, there is no return to normal.
Since the war in Iran began earlier this year, civilians have been killed, injured, displaced, and traumatized. Sometimes their stories reach us. Sometimes they barely break through the noise.
I still think about the girls’ elementary school in Minab, where more than 100 children were killed. They were children. Students. We call children “angels,” and then somehow their deaths become another statistic of war.
I will continue doing whatever is within my power—peacefully—to advocate, speak, question, educate, build bridges, and push back against the idea that one innocent life should matter more than another.
And now another story.
On September 1, a wedding celebration in southern Iran was struck. Families, women, and children were gathered there to celebrate a beginning. Instead, civilians were killed and dozens were injured.
A wedding.
Children.
Families.
Read those words again.
And yet stories like these can pass through the news cycle astonishingly quickly.
We have watched versions of this same human tragedy in Gaza, Sudan, Iran, and far too many other places. Different governments. Different conflicts. Different explanations. But ordinary people keep paying the price.
What a nasty world we are living in. Seriously, nasty.
What happens to us when war can be discussed in the language of “peace,” while dead civilians become “collateral damage”?
We are rightly taught: Never forget. We remember our national wounds. We remember the mornings when ordinary people left home and never returned. We remember atrocities and tragedies because remembering human suffering matters.
But “never forget” cannot be selective.
If we genuinely want a more peaceful world, remembrance must extend beyond nationality, religion, ethnicity, politics, and borders. A child should not have to belong to our country, our community, or our side for us to recognize the value of that child’s life.
And yes, I understand emotional exhaustion. Ordinary people become tired of war, death, images of suffering, and terrible news. Sometimes putting our heads in the sand feels like the only way to continue with our own lives.
I feel that exhaustion too.
But I keep coming back to something very simple:
Killing civilians is not peace.
Ignoring their deaths does not make their lives matter less.
And silence should never determine whose suffering the world is willing to see.
Politician, educator, community leader, friend—whoever we are—saying that we care about humanity and peace means very little unless, within whatever small sphere of influence we have, we are willing to protect those principles consistently.
So if you see me and ask, “How are you?”—this is part of my answer.
I am sad. I am tired. I am angry at how easily human suffering becomes normalized.
And while I sometimes want to put my own head in the sand too, I will continue doing whatever is within my power—peacefully—to advocate, speak, question, educate, build bridges, and push back against the idea that one innocent life should matter more than another.
No hatred. No revenge. No selective humanity.
Just the stubborn belief that peace has to mean something more than a word.s.
We are at a crossroads
This country and this world are at a monumental crossroads. US voters have an opportunity to beat back the forces of fascism and confront the billionaires who are rigging the economy, our media system, and our democracy, making it increasingly impossible for ordinary people to get by. We’re not just talking about the election. We’re talking about what must be done once these fascist elements are vanquished from power. We need a bolder set of solutions than what either major party has so far been willing to offer and a working-class movement ready to fight like hell for it. Trump didn't emerge from nowhere. The conditions that fueled MAGA authoritarianism were created by decades of radical neoliberal economic policies and a corrupt political system dominated by corporate interests. They slashed taxes on the super-rich, promising that the benefits would trickle down. They said giveaways to the corporate titans would make life more affordable for the rest of us. It was all bullshit. And when a bitter, betrayed populace searches for someone to blame, right-wing demagogues have little trouble finding scapegoats. People know when they're being lied to, but you won't hear any of this from the corporate media. Only independent journalism—powered and funded by people who believe in building a better world—can deliver truly trustworthy daily news. Our Fall Campaign is underway, and we need your help. To power our newsroom through the rest of the year, we need to raise $125,000 by midnight on October 31. So if you share our vision, please contribute whatever you can to sustain our work. |
Summer passed. People traveled, went into nature, spent time with family, laughed, rested, and enjoyed life—and that is a good thing. Now school has started again, and children are walking back into classrooms with backpacks, excitement, and plans for another year.
But for many families, there is no return to normal.
Since the war in Iran began earlier this year, civilians have been killed, injured, displaced, and traumatized. Sometimes their stories reach us. Sometimes they barely break through the noise.
I still think about the girls’ elementary school in Minab, where more than 100 children were killed. They were children. Students. We call children “angels,” and then somehow their deaths become another statistic of war.
I will continue doing whatever is within my power—peacefully—to advocate, speak, question, educate, build bridges, and push back against the idea that one innocent life should matter more than another.
And now another story.
On September 1, a wedding celebration in southern Iran was struck. Families, women, and children were gathered there to celebrate a beginning. Instead, civilians were killed and dozens were injured.
A wedding.
Children.
Families.
Read those words again.
And yet stories like these can pass through the news cycle astonishingly quickly.
We have watched versions of this same human tragedy in Gaza, Sudan, Iran, and far too many other places. Different governments. Different conflicts. Different explanations. But ordinary people keep paying the price.
What a nasty world we are living in. Seriously, nasty.
What happens to us when war can be discussed in the language of “peace,” while dead civilians become “collateral damage”?
We are rightly taught: Never forget. We remember our national wounds. We remember the mornings when ordinary people left home and never returned. We remember atrocities and tragedies because remembering human suffering matters.
But “never forget” cannot be selective.
If we genuinely want a more peaceful world, remembrance must extend beyond nationality, religion, ethnicity, politics, and borders. A child should not have to belong to our country, our community, or our side for us to recognize the value of that child’s life.
And yes, I understand emotional exhaustion. Ordinary people become tired of war, death, images of suffering, and terrible news. Sometimes putting our heads in the sand feels like the only way to continue with our own lives.
I feel that exhaustion too.
But I keep coming back to something very simple:
Killing civilians is not peace.
Ignoring their deaths does not make their lives matter less.
And silence should never determine whose suffering the world is willing to see.
Politician, educator, community leader, friend—whoever we are—saying that we care about humanity and peace means very little unless, within whatever small sphere of influence we have, we are willing to protect those principles consistently.
So if you see me and ask, “How are you?”—this is part of my answer.
I am sad. I am tired. I am angry at how easily human suffering becomes normalized.
And while I sometimes want to put my own head in the sand too, I will continue doing whatever is within my power—peacefully—to advocate, speak, question, educate, build bridges, and push back against the idea that one innocent life should matter more than another.
No hatred. No revenge. No selective humanity.
Just the stubborn belief that peace has to mean something more than a word.s.
Summer passed. People traveled, went into nature, spent time with family, laughed, rested, and enjoyed life—and that is a good thing. Now school has started again, and children are walking back into classrooms with backpacks, excitement, and plans for another year.
But for many families, there is no return to normal.
Since the war in Iran began earlier this year, civilians have been killed, injured, displaced, and traumatized. Sometimes their stories reach us. Sometimes they barely break through the noise.
I still think about the girls’ elementary school in Minab, where more than 100 children were killed. They were children. Students. We call children “angels,” and then somehow their deaths become another statistic of war.
I will continue doing whatever is within my power—peacefully—to advocate, speak, question, educate, build bridges, and push back against the idea that one innocent life should matter more than another.
And now another story.
On September 1, a wedding celebration in southern Iran was struck. Families, women, and children were gathered there to celebrate a beginning. Instead, civilians were killed and dozens were injured.
A wedding.
Children.
Families.
Read those words again.
And yet stories like these can pass through the news cycle astonishingly quickly.
We have watched versions of this same human tragedy in Gaza, Sudan, Iran, and far too many other places. Different governments. Different conflicts. Different explanations. But ordinary people keep paying the price.
What a nasty world we are living in. Seriously, nasty.
What happens to us when war can be discussed in the language of “peace,” while dead civilians become “collateral damage”?
We are rightly taught: Never forget. We remember our national wounds. We remember the mornings when ordinary people left home and never returned. We remember atrocities and tragedies because remembering human suffering matters.
But “never forget” cannot be selective.
If we genuinely want a more peaceful world, remembrance must extend beyond nationality, religion, ethnicity, politics, and borders. A child should not have to belong to our country, our community, or our side for us to recognize the value of that child’s life.
And yes, I understand emotional exhaustion. Ordinary people become tired of war, death, images of suffering, and terrible news. Sometimes putting our heads in the sand feels like the only way to continue with our own lives.
I feel that exhaustion too.
But I keep coming back to something very simple:
Killing civilians is not peace.
Ignoring their deaths does not make their lives matter less.
And silence should never determine whose suffering the world is willing to see.
Politician, educator, community leader, friend—whoever we are—saying that we care about humanity and peace means very little unless, within whatever small sphere of influence we have, we are willing to protect those principles consistently.
So if you see me and ask, “How are you?”—this is part of my answer.
I am sad. I am tired. I am angry at how easily human suffering becomes normalized.
And while I sometimes want to put my own head in the sand too, I will continue doing whatever is within my power—peacefully—to advocate, speak, question, educate, build bridges, and push back against the idea that one innocent life should matter more than another.
No hatred. No revenge. No selective humanity.
Just the stubborn belief that peace has to mean something more than a word.s.