I grew up reading The Hunger Games with a pit in my stomach. I remember staying up late, gripping the pages, devastated by the cruelty of it all. I saw images of children sacrificed for spectacle, entire districts starved and bombed into submission, the way fear and propaganda were weaponized to keep everyone obedient. One scene that haunted me for years was when Prim, Katniss’s little sister, is killed by a second-wave bombing while working as a medic. That moment broke something in me. Even as a kid, I understood how unforgivable that kind of violence was – targeting the helpers, the healers, the children.
When I later saw the movie, it still hurt – but I could already tell it was softened. Polished. Cleaned up for an audience that wasn’t supposed to feel too uncomfortable. And now, as an adult, I realize how true that pattern is outside fiction.
Because I’ve seen that same scene. Not on a screen, but in real life. I’ve seen photos of Palestinian children pulled from rubble. I’ve watched videos of medics bombed mid-rescue. I’ve seen mothers screaming for their children, journalists killed while reporting, families wiped out in a matter of seconds. I’ve seen the Capitol. And I’ve seen what happens when it has no shame.
What The Hunger Games didn’t show us (but what I’ve learned growing up in the belly of an empire) is that this kind of violence doesn’t need to be fictional. It’s real. It’s systemic. And it’s funded by people like us, whether we like it or not. The bombs dropped on Gaza have “Made in the USA” stamped on them. The surveillance tools used to imprison Palestinians in their own homes are developed, funded, and defended by the very same powers that told us The Hunger Games was just a warning – not a mirror.
Israel’s occupation of Palestine doesn’t just resemble Panem’s treatment of its districts. It exposes the lie that the so-called “developed” world is more humane, more moral, or more civilized. What’s happening to Palestinians right now is calculated, deliberate violence. It’s the state deciding that some lives are worth protecting, and others are worth erasing. And it’s the U.S. government backing that violence with billions of dollars, every single year – while calling itself a beacon of democracy.
I used to wonder how the Capitol could justify bombing children and call it peacekeeping. Now I see how easily an empire does it, as long as it controls the narrative.
The Peacekeepers in The Hunger Games are framed as security forces, but what they really are is an occupying army. They don’t “keep peace.” They enforce submission. They show up with weapons, beat civilians, surveil communities, and brutalize anyone who steps out of line. And once you’ve seen that kind of power in action, it’s impossible to unsee it.
I’ve seen it in the streets of this country. We all remember the recent protests in L.A. and across the U.S., where police unleashed tear gas and rubber bullets on crowds demanding justice for people abducted by ICE and police. I’ve seen it in the way ICE raids homes at dawn, ripping families apart under the guise of “law and order.” I’ve seen it in the way protest is criminalized while police and federal agents show up in riot gear like it’s a warzone. Just like the Capitol, the state wants obedience, not peace.
And I see that same logic magnified in how Israeli soldiers treat Palestinians. Kids are arrested, blindfolded, interrogated. Medics are shot. Journalists are killed. There are checkpoints at every turn. Entire communities are fenced in, monitored, and punished just for existing. And the people carrying out this violence call themselves defenders of democracy.
We’re told that these forces – the Peacekeepers, the police, the IDF – are there to protect us. But who is “us”? Because I know that when people resist in Palestine, they’re called terrorists. When people resist in the U.S., they’re labeled rioters. But when governments bomb hospitals and schools, it’s called defense.
The truth is, empire doesn’t care if you’re in District 12 or East L.A., Gaza or Atlanta. If you step out of line, if you organize, if you survive – you’re a threat. And they’ll use every weapon they have to try to silence you.
But here’s what The Hunger Games got right, and what every empire forgets: people don’t stop fighting. Even when they’re starving. Even when they’re grieving. Even when the whole world turns its back. The districts still rise. The people still resist.
I’ve seen that spirit up close. I’ve seen it in the quiet defiance of my community in Nashville. When ICE came to our city, we organized. We showed up. We spread the word, supported impacted families, and refused to let fear win. I see that same defiance in Palestinian youth risking everything to document the truth. In mutual aid groups who keep people fed when the system abandons them. In every protester who wears a mask not to hide, but to protect their people and keep going.
That’s what the Capitol will never understand. That even after everything, we still love each other. We still believe in freedom. We still sing. We still feed one another. We still refuse to bow.
The Hunger Games shaped how I saw the world as a kid. Now, as an adult, it helps me name the violence I was never meant to recognize and the resistance I’m proud to be a part of. This isn’t fiction anymore. This is now. And it demands more than just awareness. It demands that we pick a side.
If you feel overwhelmed, if you feel powerless… surprise surprise: that’s exactly how they want you to feel. But you’re not. None of us are. We have our voices. We have each other. And when we organize – across borders, across “districts” – we become impossible to control.
Let the Capitol hear us. Let Palestine be free.
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