I've been struggling to write something new about the war in Iraq but failed to find any appropriate words. Despite everything we now know about the war, the U.S. occupation continues. While policymakers procrastinate and parse the finer points of withdrawing all U.S. troops, more flag-covered coffins relentlessly emerge from the bowels of giant wing-tipped hearses in Dover, Del.
Fifteen years ago, the super power that had once ruled over more than a fifth of the earth's surface collapsed in a conflagration of economic chaos and social upheaval. After all manner of frenzied reforms and adjustments, the entire economic and political apparatus of the USSR imploded in the process ushering in a whole new era of global politics.
Source: WW 4 Report
When Alvaro Noboa, Ecuador’s richest man, won enough votes during the October 15 first round of the presidential election to advance into the final runoff on November 26, rural and urban social movements throughout the Andean nation mobilized in a campaign against him. The prospect of the presidency falling into the hands of the Bonita banana magnate, notorious for the violent repression of workers’ attempts to unionize and even for the use of child labor on his plantations, sparked a nationwide mobilization by indigenous, environmental, youth, anti-militarist, and other social justice groups-not necessarily out of a belief in electoral politics, but in repudiation of Noboa’s neoliberal platform plans to establish free trade agreements with the United States.
Twenty five years ago black death-row prisoner and journalist Mumia Abu-Jamal was arrested for the murder of white Philadelphia police officer Daniel Faulkner and later convicted in a 1982 trial that Amnesty International has declared a "violation of minimum international standards that govern fair trial procedures and the use of the death penalty."
I am sitting before my uncle. His eyes rove over documents typed on an archaic machine with a wild menagerie of Vietnamese punctuation-- squiggles, dots, and tiny circles-scrawled in by hand with black ink. The thin onionskin paper of the documents crinkles audibly with the rise and fall of his breath. We are in a single-story, door-less box that serves as the local police station in
Professor Edzard Ernst, the