*The Basket is Empty: Tigray's Agony and the Betrayal of the Salt-Lickers*
The dust of Tigray is no ordinary dust. It is the pulverized remains of homes, the ash of burned crops, the dried blood of the abandoned. Five years. *Five years.* Children have been born in makeshift shelters who have never known a wall without bullet holes. Grandparents have died under tarpaulin roofs, whispering the names of villages erased from maps. And still, the siege tightens. Still, the genocide continues – not with the blunt roar of artillery alone, but with the silent, suffocating weapons of starvation, denied medicine, and a calculated, international indifference. Tigray bleeds, not just from wounds, but from betrayal. The world sees the skeletal frames flickering in dim footage. It hears, distantly, the statistics – millions displaced, thousands starved, healthcare annihilated. But it struggles to grasp the *soul* of this catastrophe. It struggles to grasp the depth of the betrayal that compounds every physical wound. For woven into the fabric of Tigray's suffering i...