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Behind the talk of “humanitarian cities” and postwar development lies a brutal truth: this is a plan to herd Palestinians into ghettos, fence them in, and call it aid. When Blair’s thinktank is on calls about a “Trump Riviera” in Gaza, you know the project isn’t reconstruction—it’s removal.
They say the Games are about unity, but what’s happening in LA tells a different story
What separates Hedges’s account from the usual war reporting is his refusal to speak in the language of balance. There are no “both sides” here. Gaza is not a tragedy. It is a crime. And history, in his telling, is not analogy but repetition. The Nakba never ended. The airstrikes are new; the logic is old. “We progress backwards,” someone has scrawled on a UN school wall. That line could be the book’s thesis.
This month, the British state made its position on violence unambiguous: while ex-generals and loyal newspapers led the charge, Parliament followed. The result was clear: Impunity for its own, criminalisation for its critics. In the same month it moved to quash investigations into war crimes in Northern Ireland, it voted to proscribe Palestine Action under terrorism law.
Trump is no longer a politician in Dugin’s hands. He is a prophet who fell short. But the prophecy lives on. That’s how Dugin works: he turns failure into myth, betrayal into destiny. Putinism becomes the sacred, Trumpism the fallen. Everything is wrapped in theology, because the politics (when you look closely) aren’t up to much. It’s not tradition he’s defending. It’s accelerationism with a whiff of incense.
The state demands loyalty from its killers, and contempt for those who ask why. To question the SAS is treated as heresy. To investigate them, as betrayal. But no one is above the law. Not even the men with night-vision goggles and state-sanctioned impunity. If the victims of British state violence are to be denied justice so that the myth of military virtue can remain intact, then we are not a democracy. We continue to be an empire that refuses to admit it.
You don’t have to like the tactics. But if protest that disrupts power is treated as terrorism, then the state has rewritten the definition to suit itself.
The Labour Party under Starmer has become a machine for silencing dissent. Abbott, Shaheen, Driscoll, and others have been smeared, blocked, or expelled. The party has moved right on immigration, welfare, protest, and Palestine — and done so proudly. Sultana’s resignation wasn’t a betrayal of Labour values. It was a defence of them. And if a new left party is to be more than symbolic, it needs more than moral clarity. It needs leadership. Corbyn remains the figurehead, but John McDonnell (articulate, disciplined, and trusted) is the one who could anchor this project. He may not want the crown. But that is exactly what makes him the right person to hold it.
Trump didn’t just return to NATO; he returned as “Daddy”—a role not earned through diplomacy, but conjured through spectacle. Baudrillard warned that when image overtakes reality, politics becomes performance. The bombs may have hit Iran, but the real strike was rhetorical. What mattered wasn’t destruction, it was the appearance of obliteration, the meme of authority, the myth of restored order. In the empire of simulation, the sovereign returns not with treaties, but with merch.
Labour won power by promising stability, but what it offers now is paralysis. It has no strategy to counter Farage, no defence against a Tory right fightback, and no imagination to confront the ecological and economic shocks coming fast over the horizon. While Reform sets the agenda and the left reorganises, Starmer retreats into technocratic caution. The government is not leading Britain—it’s managing decline, and doing it badly. Unless Labour finds the courage to confront the forces tearing the country apart, it risks becoming the caretaker of its own collapse.
Pankaj Mishra’s The World After Gaza is a searing indictment of Western complicity in Israeli aggression, exposing the ideological, economic, and political forces that have enabled the destruction of Palestine.
The work isn’t fake because it’s imaginary—it’s fake because it pretends to matter. We clock in, log on, file the forms, and call it a life.
Matt Goodwin’s claim that “London is over” isn’t analysis, it’s a panic attack in column form. Behind the talk of pints and train delays lies the same tired script the Mail rehashes every few weeks, just in time for its readers to rage over their cornflakes. Crime becomes a cipher for immigration, anecdote stands in for data, and the city’s diversity is framed as an existential threat. But what really offends Goodwin isn’t decline—it’s that London no longer looks or sounds like him.
Alexander Dugin’s latest polemic is not political analysis but fascist sermon—an apocalyptic blueprint in which nuclear war is both inevitable and desirable. Cloaked in the language of sovereignty and tradition, it is a call to arms for a new ideology of holy Russian power. What begins with Fordow ends with the end of humanity. And for that reason alone, it demands scrutiny—not celebration. You listening, tech bros?
The next state to cross the nuclear threshold won’t be doing anything new. It’ll be following the path Israel already took—building the bomb in secret, shielded by silence and strategic utility. The real precedent was set decades ago in the Negev. That’s the hypocrisy at the heart of the so-called international order: one bomb is a threat to civilisation, the other a pillar of it. This isn’t about non-proliferation. It’s about who gets to own the apocalypse.
What looks like autobiography is really a sermon: suffer, obey, reproduce, and vote accordingly.
To Jeff Bezos, Venice is just a stage set: a curated backdrop for the brand—and a wedding venue on the side.
Under Trump and Stephen Miller, extraordinary rendition has been refashioned for domestic use—not to fight terrorism, but to disappear the vulnerable. There are no warrants. No charges. No destinations. Just men in unmarked vans, masked and armed, taking people who often never come back. This isn’t immigration enforcement. It’s the logic of the War on Terror—secret transfers, indefinite detention, legal disappearance—turned inward. The spectacle is the point. The fear is the policy.