I survived the Gaza genocide only to witness firsthand Western complicity

I write this from Paris, a city wrapped in blue and yellow. All around me, Ukrainian flags hang like moral badges pinned to French facades.

I arrived in this city just a few weeks ago as a survivor of the genocide in Gaza, leaving my country burning behind me. I had the privilege to be evacuated by the French government as a student admitted to a French university.

What first struck me about Paris, this so-called city of liberty, was its curated grief, sanctioned empathy, and decorated silence.

France mourns Ukraine loudly. Gaza, on the other hand, must be whispered. The Palestinian flag cannot be seen here. It is hidden, feared, criminalised. If you’re lucky, you find it painted in graffiti, a shy declaration of solidarity hastily sprayed like a secret.

Should I be surprised?

After all, France is a colonial empire that never dismantled itself, but only rebranded. From Algeria to Vietnam to Syria, France’s hands are stained with the blood of those who dared to resist it.

When France supported the Zionist movement in the 20th century, when it trained Israeli officers, when it helped militarise a settler-colonial state on stolen land, it wasn’t out of ignorance. It was out of solidarity, white solidarity, with another colonial project.

France condemned the Russian invasion of Ukraine within hours. It opened its borders. It cried on TV. It cancelled concerts and imposed sanctions. Why? Because Ukraine is white.

But when Israel flattens entire neighbourhoods in Gaza, when it bombs hospitals, starves children, cuts water, drops banned weapons, and grinds families into bone dust, France hesitates. It equivocates. It blames Hamas. It insists on “context”. It hands Israel even more weapons.