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A vintage-style halftone illustration in red, beige, and black shows a chaotic political rally scene displayed across five devices: an old CRT television, a tablet, and three smartphones. The central image on each screen depicts former President Donald Trump being escorted by Secret Service agents through a crowd of supporters. The distressed, grainy texture and muted tones evoke a 1968 protest aesthetic, emphasising media saturation and political spectacle.
Donald J Trump

Death of the Real

The bullet missed, but the image hit. And it’s the image that rules now. Trump, mid-stumble, hand to ear, flanked by agents in suits. It has already been cropped, filtered, multiplied. Not just a moment, but a message: the strongman under fire, the martyr made live. The spectacle doesn’t distract from the violence; it packages it. Sells it. Projects it across TVs, phones, and tablets until belief hardens into doctrine. This is what power looks like in the age of algorithmic memory: not stability, but survival on camera.

A graffiti-style poster on a textured off-white, slightly stained wall reads in bold red hand-painted letters: “BRITAIN DOESN’T NEED RESTORING IT NEEDS REBUILDING — FROM THE GROUND UP, BY AND FOR THE MANY.” The paint appears uneven and dripping in places
Britain

The Fantasy of Restoration: A Polemic Against Rupert Lowe

MP Rupert Lowe peddles a fantasy of lost greatness to mask the failures of those who’ve ruled and ruined this country. The problem isn’t immigration or identity. It’s inequality, privatisation, and a political class that sold off the future for short-term profit. You want courage? Try telling the truth about power.

Book Review

The Bulletproof Messiah: On Butler by Salena Zito

Butler isn’t really about politics. It’s about belief. The bullet didn’t just graze him; it made him sacred. The messy contradictions of 2016 are gone. What’s left is atmosphere, myth, and the story of a man who bled on stage and got up again. The faithful took it as a sign. This isn’t reporting. It’s scripture. A gospel for a leader who survives everything, and so, must rule.

A red baseball cap with white block letters reading “THE CUTS BEHIND THE CAP” on the front panel. The image has a grainy, vintage texture in beige and muted tones. The cap appears slightly worn, set against a distressed background suggestive of aged paper or fabric.
Donald J Trump

The Cuts Behind the Cap: Trumpism’s War on Its Own Base

Trump promised to protect the safety net. Instead, he signed a law that slashes Medicaid, imposes work requirements, and purges the rolls by design. His supporters still cheer, not because the cuts help them, but because the performance does. The cap says “Make America Great Again.” The policy says: you’re on your own.

A graphic poster with a textured, warm brown background. At the centre is the BRICS 2025 logo: a stylised, symmetrical burst of colourful triangles forming a tree-like shape, using vivid red, orange, yellow, green, and blue tones. Beneath the logo, bold black text reads “BRICS,” followed by “BRASIL 2025” and the Portuguese phrase “SUL GLOBAL INCLUSIVO E SUSTENTÁVEL.” The overall design evokes a mid-century political aesthetic with modern international symbolism.
BRICS

When Principles Are Selective: BRICS, the Global South, and the Silence on Ukraine

BRICS condemns the bombing of Gaza and strikes on Iran with the language of international law, civilian protection, and sovereignty. But when it comes to Ukraine (a country invaded by one of its founding members) the silence is deafening. This isn’t a blind spot. It’s the logic of bloc politics. BRICS positions itself as a voice for the Global South, an alternative to Western hypocrisy, but it has its own double standards. Anti-imperialism loses its meaning if it only runs one way. The emerging multipolar order may be less Western, but it is not necessarily more just.

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.

The Bulletproof Messiah: On Butler by Salena Zito

Butler isn’t really about politics. It’s about belief. The bullet didn’t just graze him; it made him sacred. The messy contradictions of 2016 are gone. What’s left is atmosphere, myth, and the story of a man who bled on stage and got up again. The faithful took it as a sign. This isn’t reporting. It’s scripture. A gospel for a leader who survives everything, and so, must rule.

A red baseball cap with white block letters reading “THE CUTS BEHIND THE CAP” on the front panel. The image has a grainy, vintage texture in beige and muted tones. The cap appears slightly worn, set against a distressed background suggestive of aged paper or fabric.

The Cuts Behind the Cap: Trumpism’s War on Its Own Base

Trump promised to protect the safety net. Instead, he signed a law that slashes Medicaid, imposes work requirements, and purges the rolls by design. His supporters still cheer, not because the cuts help them, but because the performance does. The cap says “Make America Great Again.” The policy says: you’re on your own.

It depicts five heavily armed and masked Border Patrol agents in tactical gear standing in and around the open sliding door of a white van. The central figure’s vest prominently displays a yellow badge with the words “BORDER PATROL.” The image has a rough, stencilled texture and a distressed background, evoking a dystopian, authoritarian atmosphere.

Spectacle at the Tool Aisle

The ICE raid at Home Depot isn’t law enforcement. This is performance of sovereignty. Armed agents posing in camo and Kevlar to detain migrant day labourers is not about public safety, but about staging dominance. It’s capitalism enforcing its border through spectacle: a theatre of control, broadcast from a retail car park, where labour is criminalised and militarism is aestheticised. This isn’t about stopping migration. It’s about punishing poverty and reassuring power.

A dark, oil-painted 1950s-style illustration titled “Daddy’s Home” shows a stern, scowling man resembling Donald Trump standing in a doorway, holding a briefcase. He wears a black suit with a red tie and looms under dramatic lighting. To his left, a woman looks frightened, covering her mouth with her hand. In the foreground, a young boy with a furrowed brow glares angrily. The mood is tense and ominous, evoking themes of authoritarian return and domestic dread.

Daddy’s Home: Trump, NATO, and the Spectacle of Power

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.

A square-cropped image featuring the bold black text "THE SAMSON OPTION" in all capital letters on a cream background. The second "O" in "OPTION" is stylised with the upper half containing the Israeli flag and the lower half the American flag, symbolising the book’s geopolitical focus

The Bomb in the Basement, the Bomb in the Mountains: Israel, Iran, and the Nuclear Hypocrisy of the West

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.

A stencil-style, red monochromatic illustration split vertically into two scenes. On the left, three masked or hooded figures—one wearing a tactical vest—stand beside a Ford SUV. On the right, outside a Home Depot store, two shoppers push a trolley while another stands nearby. The entire image is rendered in a bold red on a beige background

Rendition Comes Home

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.

A large black-and-white graffiti mural of a young Mike Tyson is painted on the side of a red brick building in New York. The mural shows Tyson before his face tattoo era, capturing his youthful intensity with a stern expression and strong jawline. His name, “MIKE TYSON,” appears in bold white capital letters beside the portrait. The building features classic urban architecture with fire escapes, giving the scene a gritty 1980s New York atmosphere. A streetlamp stands in the foreground, adding to the mural’s dramatic presence.

The Beast in the Bleachers

Mike Tyson was never just a boxer—he was a system made flesh. Mark Kriegel’s Baddest Man understands this: it’s not a redemption tale but an anatomy of spectacle, where a traumatised boy from Brownsville is forged into a global icon of violence, repackaged as entertainment, and finally rebranded for profit