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Digital illustration of the International Criminal Court building in The Hague. The image uses a limited palette of teal, turquoise, muted beige, and deep blue. The building’s modern glass facade is simplified into geometric blocks, and the foreground features a bold sign with the ICC’s logo and name in French and English. The overall effect evokes mid-century graphic design, with clean lines, high contrast, and a subdued, politically charged tone.
Gaza

When the Powerful Kill: Why Israel and Russia Get Away with War Crimes

The phrase “rules-based international order” has become a punchline. When Russia bombs a maternity hospital, it’s a war crime. When Israel flattens a refugee camp, it’s self-defence. The ICC pursues African warlords and Balkan generals with zeal—but stalls or retreats when the accused are allies of Washington or clients of London. The problem isn’t that international law exists. It’s that it doesn’t apply to everyone. War crimes are prosecuted not on the basis of what’s done, but who does it, and who they do it for.

Graphic in distressed orange, black, and olive green. The image shows ruined buildings silhouetted against a stark sky, with jagged barbed wire stretching across the foreground. The word “GAZA” appears in large, block letters at the top, evoking a sense of confinement, devastation, and resistance.
Ethnic Cleansing

This Is Ethnic Cleansing—Call It What It Is

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.

A grainy, vintage-style image depicting a dense urban skyline with mid-rise buildings. A large, dark plume of smoke rises ominously from the city centre, suggesting a recent explosion. The image is rendered in a washed-out, sepia-orange tone, evoking a 1968 protest poster aesthetic with high contrast and nostalgic texture. A mosque minaret is visible among the buildings, hinting at the city's Middle Eastern setting.
Book Review

A Requiem for Human Rights

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.

A vintage-style protest poster rendered in grainy halftone with a jaundiced beige and olive green palette. The image shows British soldiers in uniform, in a casual moment during a military inspection. Bold black text beneath reads: “SMILE FOR THE CROWN WHILE YOU OCCUPY THE STREETS.” The design evokes 1968 protest aesthetics with a stark critique of military presence and royal authority.
Imperialism

Who Is the Violence For?

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.

A digital illustration features portraits of Donald Trump and Alexander Dugin side by side, rendered in bold red, orange, and black tones. Trump appears stern in a suit and tie, his expression tense, with an American flag pin on his lapel. Dugin gazes forward with a solemn intensity, his thick beard and unkempt hair highlighted by radiating orange rays behind his head, evoking a dark, iconographic halo. The background is a deep red gradient, reinforcing the dramatic and ideological tone of the piece.
Alexander Dugin

Trump, Dugin, and the Eschatology of Reaction

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.
Imperialism

No One Is Above the Law—Not Even the SAS

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.

A stylised screen-printed poster, depicting a broken factory window set in a red brick wall. The shattered glass forms sharp, black jagged lines against a beige background, with thick black outlines and graphic shadows. The design uses bold, limited colours—red, black, beige—and a grainy, stippled texture to evoke the mood of militant industrial unrest.
Gaza

Terror Is a Word They Use to Stop You

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.

Book cover of "Murderland: Crime and Bloodlust in the Time of Serial Killers" by Caroline Fraser. The design features a monochrome photo of a man's face—partially obscured—with a superimposed industrial landscape and plume of smoke, blending the imagery of a serial killer with a polluted, foreboding environment. The title is in bold yellow text at the top, and the author's name appears at the bottom in yellow, noting her as the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of "Prairie Fires".

The Crazy Wall

Caroline Fraser’s Murderland dismantles the voyeurism of true crime by tracing serial murder not to aberrant monsters but to the poisoned infrastructures, institutional apathy, and cultural amnesia that made their violence possible.

Graffiti-style stencil painting of four California National Guard soldiers in riot gear, standing shoulder to shoulder with stern expressions. Each figure holds a baton and a large shield labelled 'CALIFORNIA NATIONAL GUARD'. The background is dark and distressed, with blood-red splatters and harsh shadows enhancing a menacing, authoritarian tone.

The Militarisation of Los Angeles and the Fascist Normal

The LA deployment is not a policing measure. It is a political theatre of domination designed to send a message: the state belongs to Trump, the military answers to Trump, and those who oppose him—activists, migrants, dissenters—will be met with force.

A dark, dystopian digital painting of heavily armed police in tactical gear and gas masks standing in formation along a smoke-filled, war-torn urban street. The scene is shadowy and oppressive, with glowing embers and twisted tree branches in the background, evoking a sense of militarised occupation and impending violence.

Let California Secede in Spirit

California is not a client state—if Texas can defy Washington to punish the poor, then California can defy Washington to protect them.

A stylised diptych poster On the left, a utopian scene of post-war British council housing: clean, mid-century low-rise flats with open communal space where children play and neighbours chat in a sunlit courtyard. On the right, a stark contrast—dilapidated, privately rented housing with cracked walls, broken windows, a decaying swing, and a large “FOR RENT” sign, evoking neglect, scarcity, and social decline. Both panels are rendered in red and beige tones, underscoring the ideological shift from collective provision to market-driven decay.

A Nation That Rents, and Rots

The British housing crisis is not a matter of scarcity but of structure—a system that treats homes as investment vehicles, tenants as revenue streams, and housing itself as a battlefield between capital and collective life.

A group of protesters march down a city street holding trans pride flags and placards. At the centre, a person holds a large sign reading: “THE THREAT OF TRANS PEOPLE IS A STATISTICAL ANOMALY! FACT: EHRC WANTS TO HUMILIATE TRANS PEOPLE. SUPREME COURT RULING DID NOT HEAR FROM ONE TRANS PERSON.” The crowd includes people of various ages and genders, with police officers visible to the left and Union Jack flags hanging in the background. The mood is serious but determined.

Correctional Politics and the Cruelty of Clarity

Trans people are not confused. They are not misled. They have not been lied to. They are responding, with dignity and resistance, to a sustained campaign of dehumanisation, spearheaded by a cross-section of legal hardliners, culture warriors, so called feminists, and opportunists.

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