Published March 6, 2026

Scrolling as witness

Everyday, I look at the world through my phone screen.

A hand holding a phone showing an instagram post showing a woman in a protective vest reading "Press". On the phone, two older women have been handcuffed by a policeman. They wear shirts reading “let Gaza live” and “not in our name.” “Two elderly Jews are arrested for protesting. This is our Vietnam, I think to myself. I “like” this post. But I do not like it.”

An advertisement for shiny nails. “Rosewater nails are everywhere this summer.” “I blink at this ad placement. I hate everything. I look at my nails. They are gross. A screen of direct messages. “A young Palestinian guy is making food packages.” Image of a drink bottle. “I “like” the video” The guy responds, “Thank you so much for the support. We need $150 for the next week. Can you donate and share?” “Of course I donate. I do not repost. I do not know why.”

Headline, “DC residents drive out ICE.” “Finally something good, I guess? I have people in DC. I should check on them. (I do not.)” Post with tattoo flash, labeled “Palestinian designs.” “Oh look. A fundraiser and a new tattoo. I will do this. (I do.)” The phone screen scrolls endlessly, out of context clips of every kind one after another. “The subway interviews guy! He’s so funn– A six foot dino cat tree? It is pretty cute. $800? What the– Fuck. I made it this far without seeing the starving children. Ugh my heart. Dizzy.” A hand turns over the phone. “Phone down. Now.” “A video from earlier rings in my ears.”

A woman with long curly hair holding a microphone: “It’s not realistic to ask people to stop living their lives. But what are we doing with the privilege and freedoms that we have?” Square panel, shades of mountains or lightening sky in the background. Mollie sits at the bottom of the panel, tiny, phone on the ground next to her. “Deep breath. I look up. I remember that I am somewhere beautiful. I feel gratitude. I feel shame. I feel numb. But this doesn’t help anyone. I sit in it all.

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