The streets of Gaza no longer hum with the familiar sounds of everyday life. Since October 7, 2023, they have resonated with the sounds of destruction, followed by a silence so profound it feels almost physical-an absence that suffocates words before they can even form. Trapped within Gaza's crumbling walls, we live inside a storm in which language itself has broken down. Simply put, we are losing our very ability to speak. I don't mean that metaphorically. It's all too real.
Any new technology created for the purpose of human connection also creates an opportunity for novel forms of missed connection: the envelope returned to sender, the unanswered phone call, the forlorn voice mail. We replace face-to-face interaction with layers of mediation, each with its own chance of breakdown. The fear of losing touch is rooted in human nature; in eleventh-century Japan, women of the imperial court fretted in the hours following a tryst, as they waited for the customary morning-after poem from their lover.
1. You rarely come home early. The gap between you two is widening. 2. You turn down your spouse's sexual advances. Soon he/she will get tired. 3. You are always busy. Your spouse is learning not to include you. 4. You don't reply to your spouse's text messages or phone calls. Your spouse will stop bothering 5. You don't involve your spouse in your decisions. Your spouse will let you do you.
Emails and memos circulating last summer expose a total communication breakdown inside Oakland's public school system, with principals in the dark about the risks to students and district officials unclear on the status of remediation.