COMPETITION: An event in which there are more losers than winners. Otherwise it's not a competition. A society based on competition is therefore primarily a society based on losers.
— John Ralston Saul
June 21, 2010
June 14, 2010
Simon Wiesenthal Center wants to dig up ancient Muslim cemetery to build "museum of tolerance"
Click the title of this post to read the story.
June 12, 2010
Soccer balls met with tear gas
In Bili’in, Palestine, protesters played a soccer game near the Israeli barrier that divides the village, kicking several balls over the barbed-wire fence onto land still owned by villagers.
The Israeli soldiers fired several tear-gas canisters and then arrested six journalists, continuing to detain two of them. While people worked to put out the fires in an olive grove caused by the tear-gas bombs, soldiers fired on them.
Click on the title of this post for the story from Ma'an News.
The Israeli soldiers fired several tear-gas canisters and then arrested six journalists, continuing to detain two of them. While people worked to put out the fires in an olive grove caused by the tear-gas bombs, soldiers fired on them.
Click on the title of this post for the story from Ma'an News.
June 11, 2010
Video from the Mavi Marmara
Israeli Attack on the Mavi Marmara // Raw Footage from Cultures of Resistance
On the night of Sunday, May 30, showing a terrifying disregard for human life, Israeli naval forces surrounded and boarded ships sailing to bring humanitarian aid to the blockaded Gaza Strip. On the largest ship, the Mavi Marmara, Israeli commandos opened fire on civilian passengers, killing at least 9 passengers and wounding dozens more. Others are still missing. The final death toll is yet to be determined. Cultures of Resistance director Iara Lee was aboard the besieged ship and has since returned home safely.
Despite the Israeli government's thorough efforts to confiscate all footage taken during the attack, Iara Lee was able to retain some of her recordings. Above is raw footage from the moments leading up to and during the Israeli commandos' assault on the Mavi Marmara.
15 min. version:
Video of passengers attacking Israeli soldiers appears to be fake
Some astute observers of the Israeli video showing the passengers of the Mavi Marmara fighting back in the assault on their ship noticed that details of the ship in the video didn't quite fit those of the Mavi Marmara. Most obviously, the name of the ship should be prominent on the side of the deck where the filmed events are taking place, but it is absent in the Israeli video. (Click here for a ship-spotting photo of the Mavi Marmara and here as it was prepared for the flotilla) Click the title of this post to see comparisons of the ship in the video and the actual Mavi Marmara.
This is not to say that a small group of activists did indeed resist, injure, and capture some of the Israeli soldiers attacking their ship. But at least nine activists were killed (several are still missing). (Click here for video of soldiers beating and then shooting 19-year-old Furkan Dogan.) Whereas the injured soldiers were cared for and protected from further harm by the ship's passengers.
This is not to say that a small group of activists did indeed resist, injure, and capture some of the Israeli soldiers attacking their ship. But at least nine activists were killed (several are still missing). (Click here for video of soldiers beating and then shooting 19-year-old Furkan Dogan.) Whereas the injured soldiers were cared for and protected from further harm by the ship's passengers.
June 6, 2010
Children of All Ages Delighted by Enslavement of Topsy The Elephant
TUCSON, AZ—Cheers, laughter, and applause filled the big top tent at the Ringling Bros. Circus Saturday as children of all ages were captivated by the savage enslavement of Topsy the elephant. ...
[click on the title of this post to read complete story]
animal rights
[click on the title of this post to read complete story]
animal rights
Mrs Moonan, Nuvoletta, Cadwan, Cadwallon and Cadwalloner
Also residing under Mrs. Matchless's roof were the boarders of the establishment, of whom there were four - or five, depending on how one viewed that fifth lodger, who was something of a special case.
There was a Miss Rivers, a young woman of character and refinement. She had russety locks, a creamy face given to blushing, and quenched-looking bashful eyes, like a Little Bo-Peep in a nursery-book. Miss Rivers was partial to all things tortoiseshell - tortoiseshell combs, tortoiseshell spectacles, tortoiseshell hair-brushes, tortoiseshell handbags, tortoiseshell cats. She could have been a walking testimonial to the tortoiseshell trade, but she hardly ever went out. She had a small independence worth £120 per annum, with which she devoted herself to the consumption of novels and exotic teas.
There was a Mr. Kix, a narrow, peevish, old-maidish sort of mustached bachelor. Mr. Kix was a man who looked always on the worst side of things, a grouch who thought the world a very dark place and the town little better. And there was his exact opposite, Mr. Lovibond, a plump, pink, full-bodied personage with a clean chin, a ready smile, and a bald head. Mr. Lovibond, too, was a bachelor - irretrievably single - but unlike the grouchy Kix he was always happy, hardly ever peevish, certainly never old-maidish, which annoyed Mr. Kix no end. Despite their differences the two were often in each other's company, the better to remind the other of his imperfections. Both subsisted on the income from annuities, which made them easy and spared them the trouble and inconvenience of engaging in the work-a-day world.
Mr. Frobisher was the fourth lodger in the house. He was a dark man of some attraction, in a rangy, cagey sort of way. His age was no more than five-and-twenty, and he passed most of his time out of doors, though as to the nature of his avocation no one had the least clue. Like Mr. Kix, he had a mustache, one which well suited his flowing hair, lustrous eyes, and lean good looks. The youthful Frobisher was a newcomer to the house, and had yet to accommodate his habits to that regimen of predictability which guided the lives of his fellow inmates.
The special case to which we have made mention was the fifth and final boarder. This was a Miss O'Guppy, who unlike the regular boarders resided in the attic rooms with the servants. She was rather a quaint young woman, very delicate of face and limb, with a nervous constitution that was - not to put too fine a point on it - rather delicate, too. In short, there were some who thought her a little unhinged.
Miss O'Guppy was an accomplished violinist, or fiddler as she liked to say. She was in great demand in the front-parlor, where she often accompanied Miss Rivers at the cottage piano. An habitual reader of the cards, she believed she could divine the future and predict the fortunes of those who consulted her in this capacity. More than this she saw and heard things only she could see and hear, and claimed to remember what she called a "morning time" before her own birth, a sort of earlier life unlinked to her present earthly existence - which was partly the basis for some persons' thinking her mad.
There was a Miss Rivers, a young woman of character and refinement. She had russety locks, a creamy face given to blushing, and quenched-looking bashful eyes, like a Little Bo-Peep in a nursery-book. Miss Rivers was partial to all things tortoiseshell - tortoiseshell combs, tortoiseshell spectacles, tortoiseshell hair-brushes, tortoiseshell handbags, tortoiseshell cats. She could have been a walking testimonial to the tortoiseshell trade, but she hardly ever went out. She had a small independence worth £120 per annum, with which she devoted herself to the consumption of novels and exotic teas.
There was a Mr. Kix, a narrow, peevish, old-maidish sort of mustached bachelor. Mr. Kix was a man who looked always on the worst side of things, a grouch who thought the world a very dark place and the town little better. And there was his exact opposite, Mr. Lovibond, a plump, pink, full-bodied personage with a clean chin, a ready smile, and a bald head. Mr. Lovibond, too, was a bachelor - irretrievably single - but unlike the grouchy Kix he was always happy, hardly ever peevish, certainly never old-maidish, which annoyed Mr. Kix no end. Despite their differences the two were often in each other's company, the better to remind the other of his imperfections. Both subsisted on the income from annuities, which made them easy and spared them the trouble and inconvenience of engaging in the work-a-day world.
Mr. Frobisher was the fourth lodger in the house. He was a dark man of some attraction, in a rangy, cagey sort of way. His age was no more than five-and-twenty, and he passed most of his time out of doors, though as to the nature of his avocation no one had the least clue. Like Mr. Kix, he had a mustache, one which well suited his flowing hair, lustrous eyes, and lean good looks. The youthful Frobisher was a newcomer to the house, and had yet to accommodate his habits to that regimen of predictability which guided the lives of his fellow inmates.
The special case to which we have made mention was the fifth and final boarder. This was a Miss O'Guppy, who unlike the regular boarders resided in the attic rooms with the servants. She was rather a quaint young woman, very delicate of face and limb, with a nervous constitution that was - not to put too fine a point on it - rather delicate, too. In short, there were some who thought her a little unhinged.
Miss O'Guppy was an accomplished violinist, or fiddler as she liked to say. She was in great demand in the front-parlor, where she often accompanied Miss Rivers at the cottage piano. An habitual reader of the cards, she believed she could divine the future and predict the fortunes of those who consulted her in this capacity. More than this she saw and heard things only she could see and hear, and claimed to remember what she called a "morning time" before her own birth, a sort of earlier life unlinked to her present earthly existence - which was partly the basis for some persons' thinking her mad.
—Strange Cargo, by Jeffrey Barlough
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