TEHRAN – They built the room together. America paid for the walls, the fake grass carpet, and the giant posters of Trump’s twenty-point plan. America flew in the logisticians who know how to move rice through war zones. America even invited a few Dutch and Emirati officers to keep up the pretense of multilateralism.

The mission statement for the Civil-Military Coordination Center (CMCC) was obscene from day one: monitor Palestinians in Gaza and pretend to feed the people that Israel had already deliberately starved into famine while ensuring Palestinians themselves were banned from the table, even from video calls Israeli officers kept cutting off.

Then the Israelis brought the cameras.

Not one discreet lens, but systematic, wall-to-wall recording of every American general, every British diplomat, every furious aside about how the “dual-use” list now bans pencils, paper, and water-purification chemicals while children need to survive.

According to The Guardian, when the U.S. commander of the base, Patrick Frank, finally marched in and demanded the filming stop, the Israeli military shrugged: everything is “transparent.”

The same shrug it gave when StingRays circled the White House, when hundreds of pounds of weapons-grade uranium vanished into Dimona, when Jonathan Pollard handed over the entire U.S. intelligence archive on Arab states, and was later served tea by Ambassador Mike Huckabee.

The cameras in Kiryat Gat are not a scandal. They are the signature on the genocide contract.

The ledger is merciless: NUMEC, krytrons smuggled by Hollywood-style, LAKAM’s decades-long technical robbery, Pollard, Kadish, AIPAC shuttling plans for waging war on Iran, Pegasus on State Department phones, StingRays outside the Oval Office.

Every time the same choreography: Washington mutters privately, Israel denies, Congress votes more money. The dog barks once, the tail wags harder, the bowl—and the bomb rack—gets refilled.

Yes, the dog spies too. The NSA owns Netanyahu’s phone the way it owns everyone else’s. But the asymmetry is grotesque: when Israel gets caught stealing the keys to America’s secrets, America apologizes for misplacing them and sends another $17.9 billion. When anyone else tries it, they get sanctions, drone strikes, and a color revolution before the sun comes up.

Some days, the genocidal tail looks downright monstrous for the dog, too. A regime that, with its lobby muscle—Adelson’s hundreds of millions, AIPAC’s war chests, instant smears of antisemitism—can buy Congress with a napkin, fire university presidents for tolerating “ceasefire” chants, brand dissent “antisemitism,” silence Americans, crown Pollard a hero with ambassadorial tea, and keep the deliberate USS Liberty massacre forever filed as “mistake.”

Other days, the dog can flex. One call can delay Iron Dome shipments, withhold JDAMs, steer Arab normalization, leak Mossad ops, feed Barak Ravid scripted lines about presidential “frustration,” or let a UNSC resolution pass.

Both these contradictory versions play their roles perfectly, keeping the machinery of U.S.-Israeli occupation, dominance, and genocide humming without a single missed beat.

That machinery runs on megadonor cash, freshman pilgrimages to the Wall, and the iron rule that one whispered “condition the aid” equals instant political death.

Every president since Eisenhower has felt the tug; most learn to call it love. And Gaza is where the leash becomes a garrote.

The cameras never stop rolling. Washington still pays for the film, the bombs, and the silence.

And two million Palestinians, deliberately starved, bombed, and now erased even from the video calls that decide their future, understand the only truth this “special relationship” ever tells its victims: the tail commits genocide, the dog reloads the bombs, and both swear it is self-defense.