Contrast the courage of this journalist, and the hundreds of other journalists murdered by Israel to the cowardice and betrayal of journalists by the @PressClubAust with their constant pandering to the Israel lobby.

So Trump signed a deal with the Iranians but is refusing to release its terms for days. Best bet is that he knows they are a massive defeat and is trying to set a completely false narrative by flooding the airwaves with misinformation for as long as possible.

I was 8 and my mum said I was a good dancer and I should dance whenever I wanted. The next day we went to the war memorial for Remembrance Sunday and I danced to the Last Post. That was the day I learned that parents don't mean what they say.

Russians are far worse than any barbarian hordes in history. They just damaged one of the holiest shrines of Ukrainian Orthodoxy, the Dormition Cathedral (Uspensky Sobor), built in 1078, Kyiv Pechersk Lavra, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. We will never forgive Russia😡Never🤬

The European mind understands it perfectly. This is what imperial decadence looks like: public institutions converted into branded spectacle, civic memory replaced by adrenaline theater, and the People’s House turned into a content backdrop for regime propaganda. The joke is not that Europe cannot comprehend it. The joke is that America no longer recognizes what it is becoming.

Short report from Hermel, which is situated in the northeast of Lebanon, approximately 3 hours from Beirut.

Sportsmanship #Türkiye #Socceroos #FIFAWorldcup 🏆 ✊🏾✊🏽✊🏿✊🏻✊💛💚❤️❤️🤍🤍🤍🤍

This bloke should start a political party!

They don't let you take your Bluetooth speaker into the Sunshine Aldi any longer I'm aaaaangry

A head can be sewed back on, an unkind tweet can’t be unsent. Let that sink in. Do better.

What Happens When Reality Becomes Negotiable?

This is Orson Welles talking about his friendship with Ernest Hemingway. Imagine if people were still this articulate.

Instead of "monitoring the situation" or being "gravely concerned" we're now throwing money at the Israel/Palestine conflict?

If I recall correctly, there was good reason for LTCOL Jeanes’ exasperated facial expression here! Aussie troops had only just landed at Labuan that morning and he was a busy man in charge of a tough job! Some considered this particular VIP visit amidst battle a “media stunt”.

RT @ixchella: Ein Witz, der angeblich in der Ukraine kursiert: Putin stirbt und kommt in die Hölle. Wegen guter Führung darf er ein paar Ta…

No, sweetie. Donetsk was a city of a million roses when its own Ukrainian flag flew above it. Back then, it was also the fastest-growing and most rapidly prospering city in Ukraine -- home to what was the finest regional airport in Eastern Europe, one of the world's best football stadiums, a state-of-the-art railway terminal, and one of the cleanest, best-maintained cities in the region. Its elites were running Kyiv, and every time I visited Donetsk as a student, riding the famous trolleybus Route No. 2 through the city, I was amazed by how many new office buildings were appearing, how much money was flowing into the city, and how many international companies were opening their doors there. Fifteen years ago, to us kids from Donbas, Donetsk felt like the center of the universe because it had everything one could possibly dream of. It was a young city of universities and libraries, where the overwhelming majority of boys and girls from across Donbas went to study, including those from my own small hometown an hour away by bus. Names like Liverpool or Detroit Rock City may mean nothing to you, but our Ukrainian Donetsk was a city of great rock clubs and unforgettable concerts. We traveled there to see Western bands perform. We bought rock merchandise at the legendary Right House store near Krytyi Market. Scorpions, Rihanna, and Beyoncé performed at the famous Donbass Arena. Schoolchildren from across Donbas were bused in to watch Shakhtar Donetsk matches. The city even had a famous monument to The Beatles. It was a city where we sang songs on guitars in its beautifully maintained parks and along the Kalmius embankment before heading out to buy the famous "green Donetsk burgers." Our older friends moved there after graduation, formed rock bands, recorded full albums, and held wedding celebrations in the squares around Donbas Arena. We traveled there to visit the legendary Radio Market in search of films, music, and books. And then you arrived. And you turned the wealthiest, most prosperous Ukrainian city into a piece of shit. You deceived many of its people with sweet promises of Russian oil-fueled prosperity broadcast from television screens, but what you brought instead was war. You transformed a thriving city into a criminal wasteland ruled by ethnic gangs from Russia, into a kingdom of Stalinist terror straight out of the 1930s, complete with torture chambers in the infamous Izolyatsia prison camp. You turned the magnificent Donetsk Airport into lifeless gray rubble, while the vast stands of Donbas Arena have spent a second decade slowly being reclaimed by weeds instead of hosting Champions League finals and Metallica concerts. You swept away an entire generation of the city's men through your forced mobilization and threw them against Ukrainian machine guns until there were barely enough people left to keep basic municipal services running. Because of you, prosperous Donetsk became a withered desert without reliable water, because your war destroyed the canal system that carried water from the Siverskyi Donets River into Donbas. For years now, people have lived with chronic water shortages and have been reduced shitting into plastic bags forever. You dragged Donetsk back like seventy years in time. You turned it into a depressed backwater, devoid of hope and future. Even ten years ago, tens of thousands of people, the most active, the most talented, the most entrepreneurial, fled the city and found refuge in Kyiv and elsewhere in Ukraine. Many of them still remember our Donetsk with tears in their eyes, the Donetsk that existed before the arrival of the "Russian World." You transformed it into something that even my pro-Russian acquaintances are shocked to see when they return after years of occupation. It was you who trampled the million roses of our Ukrainian Donetsk into shit beneath the tracks of your tanks and the boots of your death troops, turning them into a foul swamp of death and despair. And that stain will forever remain on the conscience of fascist Russia, which brings nothing but destruction, decay, and death wherever it goes.

Yahudi İzleyici: (ağlayarak) Konuşmanız sırasında Yahudilere yönelik birçok kez Nazi benzetmesi yaptınız. Bu son derece incitici. Bu, Nazi rejimi altında gerçekten acı çekmiş olan insanlar için çok aşağılayıcı. Norman Finkelstein cevap veriyor: — Bu tavra artık saygı duymuyorum. Gerçekten duymuyorum. Bu timsah gözyaşlarından hoşlanmıyorum ve onlara saygı da duymuyorum. (Dinleyicilerden alkışlar ve yuhalamalar yükselir) — Yabancı bir dinleyici kitlesi önünde "Holokost kartını" oynamaktan hoşlanmıyorum ama şu an kendimi buna mecbur hissediyorum. Rahmetli babam Auschwitz'deydi. Rahmetli annem Majdanek toplama kampındaydı. Ailemin her iki taraftan da tüm üyeleri katledildi. Annem ve babam Varşova Gettosu Ayaklanması'na katıldılar. — İşte tam da annem ve babamın bana ve iki kardeşime öğrettikleri dersler nedeniyle, İsrail'in Filistinlilere karşı işlediği suçlar karşısında sessiz kalmayacağım! Onların acılarını ve ölümlerini kullanarak; İsrail'in her gün Filistinlilere karşı işlediği işkence, vahşet ve ev yıkma suçlarını meşru göstermeye çalışmaktan daha aşağılık bir şey düşünemiyorum! — Bu yüzden artık bu gözyaşlarıyla sindirilmeyi veya baskılanmayı reddediyorum. Eğer zerre vicdanın olsaydı, burada döktüğün o gözyaşlarını Filistinliler için döküyor olurdun!

Memo to the people telling me I’m a terrible fella for saying I will recommend a vote only to candidates who will change the Sex Discrimination Act and ban puberty blockers: don’t waste your time. My hide is far too thick to worry about your criticisms of me. Instead tell Labor and the Greens they must change their unfair and anti-democratic gender policies.

November 1971. Chiswick, West London. Erin Pizzey is 32 years old. She is not a lawyer. Not a politician. Not a doctor. She is a woman who talked Hounslow Council into lending her a cold, rundown building on Belmont Road — a former community hall — for almost nothing. Her original plan was modest. A warm room. A cup of tea. Somewhere for mothers with young children to simply get out of the house. Then the door opened. A woman stood in the entrance. She was covered, head to foot, in bruises. She was holding two small children. She was shaking. She didn't want tea. She needed somewhere to hide. Erin let her in. She didn't turn her away. She didn't tell her to call the police. Because Erin had already called the police. They told her the same thing they told every woman in Britain at the time: they could not enter a private home over a "domestic dispute." That was the law. The home was private. What happened inside it was a family matter. When Erin contacted a female civil servant to report what she was seeing, the response was astonishing. The woman told her flatly: "There wasn't a problem of battered wives until you made one." Erin put down the phone. Then she went back to her residents and made sure they were fed. Within weeks, 40 mothers and children were sleeping in four tiny rooms. No funding. No staff. No legal authority. She didn't stop. By 1973, word had spread through quiet whisper networks — one woman telling another, "There is a place. Go to Chiswick. She won't turn you away." That same year, Erin hosted the first National Women's Aid Conference in the UK. Women from across Britain arrived, and they all recognized the same thing at once: what she had built needed to exist everywhere. In 1974, the council set a maximum of 36 residents. At peak times, 150 women and children were living inside those walls — sleeping on floors, on chairs, in hallways. The building smelled of cooking, fear, and something else entirely: relief. Erin was taken to court for overcrowding. She appealed all the way to the House of Lords. She kept the doors open the entire time. That same year, she wrote a book. Scream Quietly or the Neighbours Will Hear. It was the first published account of domestic violence in British history. It used real stories from real women inside the shelter. Overnight, a problem that had no official name was on front pages from London to New York. The movement spread. Refuges opened across the UK. Then Australia. Then Canada. Then the United States. The pattern she created in four small rooms in West London — no blueprint, no permission, no funding — had been replicated in hundreds of shelters across the Western world. MP Jack Ashley stood up in Parliament and said: "It was she who first identified the problem, who first recognised the seriousness of the situation and who first did something practical." She was ranked 14th in a poll of the 100 women who shook the world. She was awarded the Italian Peace Prize. She received a CBE. The charity she founded — Chiswick Women's Aid, which became Refuge — grew into the largest domestic violence charity in the United Kingdom, with over 460 employees and an annual income of more than £33 million. Erin Pizzey passed away on October 4, 2025, aged 86. She never stopped. It all began with one woman, one borrowed building, and an absolute refusal to say no. Forty women and children showed up with nowhere to go. She made room. Share this if you believe one ordinary person, refusing to look away, can build a shelter that holds the whole world. Follow us Lost in Yesterday

This unqualified bore says his secondhand opinions are “not up for debate.” Yes they are. At a university all opinions are up for debate. If you cannot defend your opinions rationally, either they are indefensible or you are too stupid to defend them. In either case you have no right to force them on students who have expressed their wish to attend a lecture by doing so. thetimes.com/uk/education/ar…