Captain Osama Shakman

In a forgotten corner of this world—caught between conscience and dust—I write, not as a politician or historian, but as a human being watching the world’s double standards through a window of thought.

Gaza is not just a place on the map. It is a loud, burning point in the cracked mirror of the world.

I wrote this article to reflect on the injustice I see—not with political words, but with the voice of someone listening for truth in a world where truth is often silenced, and justice is sacrificed for nuclear interests.

Dimona—the hidden monster in the Negev desert.
This nuclear reactor does not allow inspections, does not follow international law, and the UN dares not ask questions.
Dimona is not just a danger; it is a symbol of institutional hypocrisy.

When Israel started its nuclear program, the West didn’t react.
Washington didn’t blink. Paris didn’t move.
In fact, they supported it—just as ancient gods stayed silent while villages burned at their altars.

The West does not measure right and wrong—it measures power.
They are not afraid of uranium itself, but only of those who own it without their permission.

That is why Iran is punished, Korea is isolated, and Iraq was destroyed.
But Israel’s Dimona sleeps peacefully, protected by silence.

And then... there is Gaza.
Gaza has no nuclear weapons—only children wrapped in thin burial cloths, and mosques burning under the fire of those who claim to protect “freedom.”

In Gaza, no atomic bombs fall.
Instead, children raise their voices like sacred bullets of poetry.

The West sees Gaza as a “mistake.”
I see it as a cosmic story—standing against a moral system that weighs human life like profit and loss.

Gaza doesn’t need uranium.
There, the truth explodes every minute—without machines or technology.
The truth in Gaza is raw, painful, transparent… and often denied.

To those sitting on thrones built with smart bombs and foolish principles: You haven’t just lost your humanity—you have erased it.

How can you punish Iran but praise Israel’s nuclear weapons? How can you speak of peace while signing treaties with ink made from children’s blood?

In the end: I am not a politician. I am only a writer.
I write because the news does not speak for the clouds, the sand, or for Gaza.

I write to remind you:
Justice is not a weapon in the hands of the strong—it is a scale in the hands of the fair.

And if you ignore this truth, one day, your reactors and powers will be written in the language of ash.