#martyrs — Public Fediverse posts

Celebrate July 5: Especially this year.

"A New Initiative Aims To Honor America’s Martyrs ~ The choice of July 5th intentionally aligns with the anniversary of Frederick Douglass’ 1852 landmark speech, What to the Slave Is the Fourth of July?"

#5July #America #Martyrs #Heroes #Freedom #CivilRights #CivilLiberty #History #USA #News

https://www.blackenterprise.com/a-new-initiative-aims-to-honor-americas-martyrs/

Made a Mural of Me

I have walked streets where the walls remember
better than the governments do.

I have stood beneath the painted faces
of the disappeared, the assassinated,
the catechists, the campesinos,
the students, the mothers,
the ones whose names were spoken once with terror
and now are spoken with flowers.

I have seen their eyes in plaster and pigment,
their halos done in cheap color,
their mouths half open as if the wall itself
were still trying to tell the story
of what was done to them.

In Central America,
I learned that a wall can become a gospel
when the newspapers lie.
A wall can become an archive
when the official files are burned,
when the generals call murder peace,
when the empire calls bloodshed stability,
when the poor are told to forget
for the sake of moving on.

But the wall does not move on.

The wall says: here.
The wall says: this happened.
The wall says: this child had a name.
This priest had hands.
This woman had laughter.
This union worker had a mother.
This martyr did not die in abstraction,
did not perish as an example,
did not vanish into a sermon illustration.
They were flesh.
They were breath.
They were somebody’s beloved.

And I have seen it elsewhere too.

Not only there, where memory was brushed onto concrete
beneath the long shadow of rifles and oligarchs,
but here,
in this empire’s marble reach,
in this capital of speeches and signatures,
in neighborhoods of D.C. where color rises up
against erasure,
where the dead look down from brick walls
and ask the living what exactly we are doing
with the testimony they left us.

I have walked those streets too,
where murals bloom like wounds that refuse to close,
where every face says both remember
and why again?

That is the ache of it.

Because a mural is beautiful,
but it is also an indictment.

A mural is what happens
when grief runs out of sanctioned places to go.
When cemeteries are too quiet,
when courtrooms are too compromised,
when history books are too polite,
when churches would rather canonize the dead
than stand beside the threatened living,
someone climbs a ladder with paint
and says:
You will not make us forget.

And yet even that holy act contains a heartbreak.

Because every new mural is also a confession
that we have failed again.

We say we honor the martyrs.
We paint them large.
We ring them with light.
We write their names in careful letters.
We tell their stories to our children.
We call them seeds.
We call them saints.
We call them witnesses.

But if we must keep making more walls,
if there is always another name,
another mother,
another child,
another prophet with blood on their shirt,
another journalist, another dreamer, another body,
then our memorials are not only songs of praise.
They are laments.
They are accusations.
They are unfinished prayers.

I do not want a world
where we become very skilled
at decorating the aftermath.

I do not want justice outsourced to artists
because legislators are cowards,
because police departments close ranks,
because borders harden,
because markets consume,
because nations baptize their violence
and then ask poets to clean up the silence.

I am grateful for the murals.
God, I am grateful for them.
For the ones who paint the saints with brown hands
and tired eyes.
For the ones who make a wall preach.
For the ones who turn an alley into a liturgy.
For the ones who refuse the second death,
the death of being forgotten.

But I am tired of needing them.

Tired of standing before another radiant face
and knowing radiance came at the price of a bullet.
Tired of admiring the colors
while knowing the color had to cover over grief
too large for speech.
Tired of telling the story again
because the engines that made the story
were never dismantled,
only rebranded, relocated, repainted.

That is the terrible genius of empire.
It learns to tolerate memorials
so long as the machinery of martyr-making stays intact.

Put the face on the wall.
Name the school after the slain.
Hold the vigil.
Light the candle.
Share the quote.
Then fund the weapons.
Protect the system.
Discredit the witness.
Fortify the border.
Ignore the neighborhood.
Silence the poor.
And when the next body falls,
commission another mural.

No.

There is something obscene
about praising the courage of the dead
while refusing the cost of solidarity with the living.

There is something blasphemous
about loving Romero on the wall
but not listening to prophets now.
About cherishing painted martyrs in San Salvador
and neglecting crucified people in Washington,
in detention centers,
in poor towns,
in Black and brown neighborhoods,
in places where the state still knows how to kneel
on a neck,
how to disappear a future,
how to call a human being illegal
before making them dead in spirit.

So yes,
I have walked among the murals.
And yes,
they have taught me.

They taught me that memory is resistance.
That color can be a form of defiance.
That beauty can tell the truth
when official language becomes a mask for murder.
They taught me the communion of saints
sometimes looks less like stained glass
and more like chipped paint on cinder block.
Less like cathedral windows
and more like public walls under open sky.

They taught me that the martyrs are still speaking.
Not only from heaven.
From brick.
From alley.
From barrio.
From the side of a building everyone passes
on the way to work,
on the way to school,
on the way to forgetting.

And they taught me to shudder.

Because sometimes, standing there,
I have had the strange and terrible thought:

One day they could make a mural of me.

Not because I seek glory.
Not because I imagine myself noble.
Not because I think suffering makes a person pure.
But because in a world like this,
where truth still threatens power,
where solidarity still has a price,
where loving the crucified too closely
can still get you crucified,
any one of us who dares enough
might end up as paint.

Made a mural of me.

Put me on a wall with the others.
Give me a background of sunburst gold,
or deep blue,
or the red of blood transfigured into witness.
Paint my face calmer than I ever was in life.
Smooth out my fear.
Make me look brave.

But if you do,
let the mural say I did not want this.

Let it say I wanted fewer murals,
not more.

Let it say I wanted children to know these names
without needing to inherit their wounds.
Let it say I wanted nations to repent
before artists had to remember for them.
Let it say I wanted churches
to become sanctuaries of the endangered
instead of galleries of the already slain.
Let it say I wanted the wall
to go blank someday,
not from amnesia,
but from justice.

That is my prayer now.

Not that we stop honoring the martyrs.
Never that.
Paint them.
Sing them.
Tell them.
Teach them.
Write them in the streets and on the doors
and in the marrow of the young.

But also:
stop making so many of them.

Let there come a day
when the painters have to find another subject.
When the ladders lean against walls
for festivals instead of funerals.
When color is used for delight
and not only for defiance.
When remembrance is no longer emergency labor.
When the living are protected enough
that martyrdom becomes rare,
and rare enough
that every new death shocks us again.

Until then,
the walls will keep preaching.

And I will keep listening
with gratitude and grief,
with reverence and anger,
with hope cracked open but not empty.

Because every mural is a promise
the dead make to the living:

We are still here.
We are watching what you do next.
Do not honor us
by becoming connoisseurs of tragedy.
Honor us
by ending the thing that killed us.

And until that day,
the paint will keep drying,
and the faces will keep multiplying,
and the walls will keep learning names
they should never have had to learn.

And I will stand before them,
heart broken open,
thinking:

this wall should be empty by now.

Made a Mural of Me

I have walked streets where the walls remember
better than the governments do.

I have stood beneath the painted faces
of the disappeared, the assassinated,
the catechists, the campesinos,
the students, the mothers,
the ones whose names were spoken once with terror
and now are spoken with flowers.

I have seen their eyes in plaster and pigment,
their halos done in cheap color,
their mouths half open as if the wall itself
were still trying to tell the story
of what was done to them.

In Central America,
I learned that a wall can become a gospel
when the newspapers lie.
A wall can become an archive
when the official files are burned,
when the generals call murder peace,
when the empire calls bloodshed stability,
when the poor are told to forget
for the sake of moving on.

But the wall does not move on.

The wall says: here.
The wall says: this happened.
The wall says: this child had a name.
This priest had hands.
This woman had laughter.
This union worker had a mother.
This martyr did not die in abstraction,
did not perish as an example,
did not vanish into a sermon illustration.
They were flesh.
They were breath.
They were somebody’s beloved.

And I have seen it elsewhere too.

Not only there, where memory was brushed onto concrete
beneath the long shadow of rifles and oligarchs,
but here,
in this empire’s marble reach,
in this capital of speeches and signatures,
in neighborhoods of D.C. where color rises up
against erasure,
where the dead look down from brick walls
and ask the living what exactly we are doing
with the testimony they left us.

I have walked those streets too,
where murals bloom like wounds that refuse to close,
where every face says both remember
and why again?

That is the ache of it.

Because a mural is beautiful,
but it is also an indictment.

A mural is what happens
when grief runs out of sanctioned places to go.
When cemeteries are too quiet,
when courtrooms are too compromised,
when history books are too polite,
when churches would rather canonize the dead
than stand beside the threatened living,
someone climbs a ladder with paint
and says:
You will not make us forget.

And yet even that holy act contains a heartbreak.

Because every new mural is also a confession
that we have failed again.

We say we honor the martyrs.
We paint them large.
We ring them with light.
We write their names in careful letters.
We tell their stories to our children.
We call them seeds.
We call them saints.
We call them witnesses.

But if we must keep making more walls,
if there is always another name,
another mother,
another child,
another prophet with blood on their shirt,
another journalist, another dreamer, another body,
then our memorials are not only songs of praise.
They are laments.
They are accusations.
They are unfinished prayers.

I do not want a world
where we become very skilled
at decorating the aftermath.

I do not want justice outsourced to artists
because legislators are cowards,
because police departments close ranks,
because borders harden,
because markets consume,
because nations baptize their violence
and then ask poets to clean up the silence.

I am grateful for the murals.
God, I am grateful for them.
For the ones who paint the saints with brown hands
and tired eyes.
For the ones who make a wall preach.
For the ones who turn an alley into a liturgy.
For the ones who refuse the second death,
the death of being forgotten.

But I am tired of needing them.

Tired of standing before another radiant face
and knowing radiance came at the price of a bullet.
Tired of admiring the colors
while knowing the color had to cover over grief
too large for speech.
Tired of telling the story again
because the engines that made the story
were never dismantled,
only rebranded, relocated, repainted.

That is the terrible genius of empire.
It learns to tolerate memorials
so long as the machinery of martyr-making stays intact.

Put the face on the wall.
Name the school after the slain.
Hold the vigil.
Light the candle.
Share the quote.
Then fund the weapons.
Protect the system.
Discredit the witness.
Fortify the border.
Ignore the neighborhood.
Silence the poor.
And when the next body falls,
commission another mural.

No.

There is something obscene
about praising the courage of the dead
while refusing the cost of solidarity with the living.

There is something blasphemous
about loving Romero on the wall
but not listening to prophets now.
About cherishing painted martyrs in San Salvador
and neglecting crucified people in Washington,
in detention centers,
in poor towns,
in Black and brown neighborhoods,
in places where the state still knows how to kneel
on a neck,
how to disappear a future,
how to call a human being illegal
before making them dead in spirit.

So yes,
I have walked among the murals.
And yes,
they have taught me.

They taught me that memory is resistance.
That color can be a form of defiance.
That beauty can tell the truth
when official language becomes a mask for murder.
They taught me the communion of saints
sometimes looks less like stained glass
and more like chipped paint on cinder block.
Less like cathedral windows
and more like public walls under open sky.

They taught me that the martyrs are still speaking.
Not only from heaven.
From brick.
From alley.
From barrio.
From the side of a building everyone passes
on the way to work,
on the way to school,
on the way to forgetting.

And they taught me to shudder.

Because sometimes, standing there,
I have had the strange and terrible thought:

One day they could make a mural of me.

Not because I seek glory.
Not because I imagine myself noble.
Not because I think suffering makes a person pure.
But because in a world like this,
where truth still threatens power,
where solidarity still has a price,
where loving the crucified too closely
can still get you crucified,
any one of us who dares enough
might end up as paint.

Made a mural of me.

Put me on a wall with the others.
Give me a background of sunburst gold,
or deep blue,
or the red of blood transfigured into witness.
Paint my face calmer than I ever was in life.
Smooth out my fear.
Make me look brave.

But if you do,
let the mural say I did not want this.

Let it say I wanted fewer murals,
not more.

Let it say I wanted children to know these names
without needing to inherit their wounds.
Let it say I wanted nations to repent
before artists had to remember for them.
Let it say I wanted churches
to become sanctuaries of the endangered
instead of galleries of the already slain.
Let it say I wanted the wall
to go blank someday,
not from amnesia,
but from justice.

That is my prayer now.

Not that we stop honoring the martyrs.
Never that.
Paint them.
Sing them.
Tell them.
Teach them.
Write them in the streets and on the doors
and in the marrow of the young.

But also:
stop making so many of them.

Let there come a day
when the painters have to find another subject.
When the ladders lean against walls
for festivals instead of funerals.
When color is used for delight
and not only for defiance.
When remembrance is no longer emergency labor.
When the living are protected enough
that martyrdom becomes rare,
and rare enough
that every new death shocks us again.

Until then,
the walls will keep preaching.

And I will keep listening
with gratitude and grief,
with reverence and anger,
with hope cracked open but not empty.

Because every mural is a promise
the dead make to the living:

We are still here.
We are watching what you do next.
Do not honor us
by becoming connoisseurs of tragedy.
Honor us
by ending the thing that killed us.

And until that day,
the paint will keep drying,
and the faces will keep multiplying,
and the walls will keep learning names
they should never have had to learn.

And I will stand before them,
heart broken open,
thinking:

this wall should be empty by now.

Iran resolute to avenge late supreme leader, says Mojtaba, signals new phase for Strait of Hormuz – Firstpost

Mojtaba Khamenei on Thursday marked 40 days since late supreme leader’s death, calling attacks a “grave crime” and…
#NewsBeep #News #Headlines #ceasefireviolation #Iran #Israel #Lebanon #martyrs #MasoudPezeshkian #mojtabakhamenei #regionaltensions #revenge #StraitofHormuz #World
https://www.newsbeep.com/478537/

Europe’s Anti-Civilizational Drive: Why And How

Silly anti-civilizational propaganda claims that tariffs and blockade could persuade a death cult like the Shia to suddenly turn reasonable and friendly to democracy. Seducing the Shia was tried for 47 years, and by the best and brightest, and it did not work: there were bombs in Paris (the French president then prevented the media from saying the bombing plots originated in Iran), hundreds of French and US troops were killed in mass bombings (1983), etc. Iran financed massively terrrorist groups in Lebanon, Gaza, Yemen, Iraq, etc. And harbors Al Qaeda…

The Shia’s obsession is to surprise the West with nuclear 9/11s, and, after nuclear bombings some cities in the West, they would be elated to die as martyrs: the religion the Shia believe in, a hard core variant of Islam, tells them that killing all the Jews and dying as martyrs fighting for their God are the highest calling.

Bombing the Shia into the Stone Age is entirely feasible, safe and effective to prevent them from committing mass murder with nuclear weapons.

Aerial bombing was even done to Nazi Germany, and destroyed it as a functioning country… Although at the time, bombs were extremely inaccurate.

With the Shia, there is no alternative. The aim is not to destroy the missiles outright because they are the pretext for extending the bombing campaign until the true objectives are achieved.

The real aim of the bombing campaign is to destroy the Shia Defense Industrial Base. And if that is not enough to persuade them, then the DIL, Dual Industrial Base (not just the defense factories and steel mills, but also the power infrastructure).

This is also a warning to Chinese dictator Xi to stop his aggression in the South China Sea and threats against Taiwan. 

The sweet and soft method was tried by Obama with the Shia. Obama even gave them 50 billion dollars. It did not work. The Shia went on with a massive, state of the art, nuclear war preparation program.

The Shia even developed some weapons no other power has. And those weapons work: consider the destruction of that AWACS E3 plane on a distant taxiway (localized by Putin’s forces), or the double tap (second projectile in the hole made by the first) at the US embassy in Riyadh.

As with Shia ally Putin, only ultimate strength works.. This is more of a world war than anything else.

European leadership, which was pro-Putin for 23 years, is now showing its true color: betraying the civilizational heritage so that the greedsters presently in power can stay so indefinitely.

So far, in the last three decades, European leadership has betrayed Europe. Now European leadership insists on betraying the USA. It will not have any luck, because that would require too much of an assault against rationality. But the plutocratic propagandists are trying.

In the latest news from France the anti-civilizational government is putting professional anthropologists, philosophers (Michel Onfray), C News (French most watched media), and Charles Darwin on trial (for saying man was a great ape), while loudly propagandizing for… Islam (a reference to interior minister Nunez declarations in April 2026 which were as explicit as possible).

One may wonder how come the European leadership became so keen on devolution. The answer is simple: Europe was defeated in the Second World War, by the USA and its proxy, the USSR (to whom half of Europe was given at Yalta before going to make a deal with the Saudis at the Great Bitter Lake in Egypt).

A defeatist mentality was installed in Europe to make this submission easier and more permanent (The Absurd, so-called “Existentialism”, Pedocriminality, so-called French Theory). European plutocracy thrived under the US Plutocratic Deep State.

Then came Putin, who extracted wealth from Russia, sending it to European plutocratic oligarchic colleagues, and providing energy (energy procurement was outlawed or discouraged in Europe, to accelerate deindustrialization). 

An anecdotal demonstration of this: even after Putin started to invade Ukraine in 2014, France sent crucial military equipment for the Russian air force, missile and aircraft (while Trump was sending Javelin anti-tank missiles to Ukraine…)

The European elite has been used to living with Putin, welcoming his money, oil and gas, and hiding it in plain sight. Now they have a problem, because Ukraine, flush initially with US weapons (initially sent by Trump I), resisted Putin. The treacherous European leadership has now to do as if they resisted Putin: appearances are everything.

Meanwhile the European left realized that more and more of the electorate had enough with their masquerade (superficial socialism over-taxing the middle class while profiting the hyper wealthy). So they made an alliance with (pseudo-) Greens and Islamists. And here we are.

Deindustrialization is nothing new: the Roman Republic died that way. Right, it was mostly agriculture, but there was great replacement of Roman independent little farmers, the backbone of Rome, by giant agribusinesses manned by armies of slaves (one latifundia could have ten thousand slaves). That broke the back of the Roman middle class, which was the spine of the Republic. It was also a conspiracy and a plot, because, starting with Tiberius Gracchus, the full theory of what was going on was exposed. And there was deliberate will, on the part of the self-described “Optimates” (they were “optimal”) to destroy the middle class and the Centuriate Assembly (Rome’s direct democracy voting assembly). Actually the rage of the Senate against Caesar was caused by him overriding the Senate (where the Optimates ruled) to go directly to the Assembly when he was Consul in 59 BCE, and do what the Gracchi and their thousands of followers, over generations, could not do: redistribution of land.

Rome died of the deindustrialization. First the army got professional, then took power after horrendous civil wars. Then the decimated population got replaced by more placid middle easterners. In the end much of everything Roman collapsed and the Barbarians took over (fortunately the Franks had been prepared as a second foundation of Rome; yes they were armed farmers, like the original Rome, and they had learned to speak Latin).

The plutocrats though were happy: many of them stayed in power for centuries, even millennia. In the present Europe, many families in power have been that way for centuries. Paradoxically that system installed in its latest version by the USA after 1945, has now turned against the US, which needs an ally and discovers that Europe has LOST AGENCY.

Stay tuned, this is only beginning…

Patrice Ayme

https://www.europesays.com/fr/604461/ Trois Ornais reconnus martyrs du nazisme par Léon XIV ont été béatifiés à Notre-Dame de Paris #Actualités #béatifiés #brignoles #été #EU #europe #FR #France #Leon #martyrs #Nazisme #News #NotreDame #ornais #Paris #reconnus #RépubliqueFrançaise #xiv

https://www.europesays.com/fr/604355/ Trois Ornais reconnus martyrs du nazisme par Léon XIV ont été béatifiés à Notre-Dame de Paris #Actualités #béatifiés #caen #été #EU #europe #FR #France #Leon #martyrs #Nazisme #News #NotreDame #ornais #Paris #reconnus #RépubliqueFrançaise #xiv

Blesseds Denis and Redemptus: Missionary Martyrs

The least that any of us who has truly begun to serve the Lord can offer Him is our own life. Since we have given the Lord our will, what do we fear? It is clear that if someone is a true religious or a true person of prayer and aims to enjoy the delights of God, he must not turn his back upon the desire to die for God and suffer martyrdom.

St. Teresa of Avila
The Way of Perfection, ch. 12

Courage in Mission, Journey to Sanctity

On November 29, 1638, Blessed Denis of the Nativity and Blessed Redemptus of the Cross gave their lives as martyrs in Aceh, Sumatra. These Discalced Carmelite friars—one a former cartographer and naval commander, the other a soldier turned lay brother—exemplified the missionary spirit of Carmel.

• Blessed Denis of the Nativity (Pierre Berthelot): Born in Honfleur, France, on December 12, 1600, Denis distinguished himself as a cosmographer and pilot-in-chief for the Portuguese king. His cartographic expertise was renowned, and his works contributed significantly to Portuguese navigation and exploration. Despite his prominent naval career, Denis sought a higher calling. He joined the Discalced Carmelites in Goa in 1635 under the guidance of Father Philip of the Most Holy Trinity. Denis professed vows on December 25, 1636, and was ordained a priest on August 24, 1638.
• Blessed Redemptus of the Cross (Thomas Rodriguez da Cunha): Born around 1598 in Portugal, Redemptus served as a soldier before entering the Discalced Carmelites as a lay brother in 1615. Known for his humility and dedication, he became a trusted companion to Denis, offering steadfast support in their shared mission.

Both men transformed their worldly expertise into tools for evangelization, fully committing themselves to their Carmelite vocations.

The Mission in Indonesia

In September 1638, Denis and Redemptus were assigned to accompany Ambassador Francisco de Souza de Castro on a Portuguese diplomatic mission to Aceh. Denis served as a spiritual guide and maritime expert due to his knowledge of navigation and the Malay language​. However, the mission’s arrival on October 25, 1638, was shadowed by geopolitical tensions, with the Dutch East India Company (VOC), a rival of the Portuguese in the spice trade, reportedly influenced the Sultan of Aceh to betray the delegation.

Upon their imprisonment, Denis and Redemptus were subjected to relentless torture as their captors tried to force them to renounce their Catholic faith and convert to Islam. Denis became a source of strength for his fellow prisoners, depriving himself of necessities to aid others and encouraging them with words of faith and hope.

Redemptus was executed first, shot with arrows before his throat was slit. Denis, holding a crucifix, was martyred last, receiving a fatal sword blow that split his head.

The martyrdom of Denis and Redemptus was not solely a case of religious persecution. The mission to Aceh occurred at the intersection of faith and politics, with Portugal and the Dutch VOC vying for dominance in the Southeast Asian spice trade. Their deaths highlight the challenges faced by missionaries operating in politically charged environments, even today.

Faithful Witnesses

Denis and Redemptus were beatified by Pope Leo XIII on June 10, 1900, as the first beatified martyrs of the Discalced Carmelite friars. Their feast day on November 29 honors their courage, missionary zeal, and faithful witness to Christ. Their deaths remind us of the sacrifices made to spread the Gospel, even in hostile and complex circumstances.

Want a concise account of the mission and martyrdom of Blesseds Denis and Redemptus? Click below to listen to our podcast on YouTube and be inspired by their incredible story of faith and courage.

https://youtu.be/jPffLQdavoU

Catholic Church 1993, Proper of the Liturgy of the Hours of the Order of the Brothers of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel and the Order of Discalced Carmelites (Rev. and augm.), Institutum Carmelitanum, Rome.

Discalced Carmelite Postulator, Biografia di Dionisio della Natività, accessed 27 November 2024, https://www.postocd.org/index.php/it/biografia-dionisio-della-nativita.

Discalced Carmelite Postulator, Biografia di Redento della Croce, accessed 27 November 2024, https://www.postocd.org/index.php/it/biografia-redento-della-croce.

Wikipedia, ‘Pierre Berthelot (navigateur)’, accessed 27 November 2024, https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pierre_Berthelot_(navigateur).

Featured image: OpenAI DALL·E 2024, ‘Landscape illustration symbolizing Aceh, Sumatra,’ generated 27 November 2024.

#DenisOfTheNativity #Indonesia #martyrs #missionaries #Podcast #RedemptusOfTheCross #StTeresaOfAvila

"With army incursions and airstrikes deepening Palestinian resentment, Israel’s violent campaign in the West Bank is driving recruitment for militant groups."

By Fatima AbdulKarim, August 14, 2024: https://www.972mag.com/jenin-tulkarem-armed-resistance-israeli-repression/ @palestine 🧵

#resistance #PalestinianResistance #armedResistance #collectivePunishment #occupation #Jenin #Tulkarem #refugeehood #resentment #refugees #militancy #israelPalestine #Palestine #WestBank #terrorism #counterTerrorism #brutalization #Zionism #supremacy #israel #brutalisation #revenge #retribution #warOnPalestine #OPT #grievability #mourning #shaheed #martyrs #armedStruggle #repression #stateViolence #refugeeCamps #UNRWA

"With army incursions and airstrikes deepening Palestinian resentment, Israel’s violent campaign in the West Bank is driving recruitment for militant groups."

By Fatima AbdulKarim, August 14, 2024: https://www.972mag.com/jenin-tulkarem-armed-resistance-israeli-repression/ @palestine 🧵

#resistance #PalestinianResistance #armedResistance #collectivePunishment #occupation #Jenin #Tulkarem #refugeehood #resentment #refugees #militancy #israelPalestine #Palestine #WestBank #terrorism #counterTerrorism #brutalization #Zionism #supremacy #israel #brutalisation #revenge #retribution #warOnPalestine #OPT #grievability #mourning #shaheed #martyrs #armedStruggle #repression #stateViolence #refugeeCamps #UNRWA

"With army incursions and airstrikes deepening Palestinian resentment, Israel’s violent campaign in the West Bank is driving recruitment for militant groups."

By Fatima AbdulKarim, August 14, 2024: https://www.972mag.com/jenin-tulkarem-armed-resistance-israeli-repression/ @palestine 🧵

#resistance #PalestinianResistance #armedResistance #collectivePunishment #occupation #Jenin #Tulkarem #refugeehood #resentment #refugees #militancy #israelPalestine #Palestine #WestBank #terrorism #counterTerrorism #brutalization #Zionism #supremacy #israel #brutalisation #revenge #retribution #warOnPalestine #OPT #grievability #mourning #shaheed #martyrs #armedStruggle #repression #stateViolence #refugeeCamps #UNRWA

"With army incursions and airstrikes deepening Palestinian resentment, Israel’s violent campaign in the West Bank is driving recruitment for militant groups."

By Fatima AbdulKarim, August 14, 2024: https://www.972mag.com/jenin-tulkarem-armed-resistance-israeli-repression/ @palestine 🧵

#resistance #PalestinianResistance #armedResistance #collectivePunishment #occupation #Jenin #Tulkarem #refugeehood #resentment #refugees #militancy #israelPalestine #Palestine #WestBank #terrorism #counterTerrorism #brutalization #Zionism #supremacy #israel #brutalisation #revenge #retribution #warOnPalestine #OPT #grievability #mourning #shaheed #martyrs #armedStruggle #repression #stateViolence #refugeeCamps #UNRWA

"With army incursions and airstrikes deepening Palestinian resentment, Israel’s violent campaign in the West Bank is driving recruitment for militant groups."

By Fatima AbdulKarim, August 14, 2024: https://www.972mag.com/jenin-tulkarem-armed-resistance-israeli-repression/ @palestine 🧵

#resistance #PalestinianResistance #armedResistance #collectivePunishment #occupation #Jenin #Tulkarem #refugeehood #resentment #refugees #militancy #israelPalestine #Palestine #WestBank #terrorism #counterTerrorism #brutalization #Zionism #supremacy #israel #brutalisation #revenge #retribution #warOnPalestine #OPT #grievability #mourning #shaheed #martyrs #armedStruggle #repression #stateViolence #refugeeCamps #UNRWA

"In Jenin, brazen Israeli raids fuel fiercer Palestinian resistance"
by Mariam Barghouti (2024, February 27) for #972Mag: https://www.972mag.com/jenin-refugee-camp-israeli-raids-palestinian-resistance/

(to be followed)

#collectivePunishment #occupation #Jenin #refugees #militancy #israelPalestine #Palestine #WestBank #terrorism #counterTerrorism #Zionism #supremacy #israel #brutalization #Zionism #supremacy #israel #brutalisation #Zionism #supremacy #israel #brutalization #revenge #retribution #warOnPalestine #OPT #grievability #mourning #shaheed #martyrs

"In Jenin, brazen Israeli raids fuel fiercer Palestinian resistance"
by Mariam Barghouti (2024, February 27) for #972Mag: https://www.972mag.com/jenin-refugee-camp-israeli-raids-palestinian-resistance/ @palestine

#collectivePunishment #occupation #Jenin #refugees #militancy #israelPalestine #Palestine #WestBank #terrorism #counterTerrorism #Zionism #supremacy #israel #brutalization #Zionism #supremacy #israel #brutalisation #Zionism #supremacy #israel #brutalization #revenge #retribution #warOnPalestine #OPT #grievability #mourning #shaheed #martyrs

In "The Hunting of the Snark", Lewis Carroll (Reverend C.L. Dodgson) might have used the "Baker" as a reference to Thomas Cranmer.

In line 241 the Baker says: "You may charge me with murder..." I think that Carroll had mixed feelings about Cranmer.

#TheHuntingOfTheSnark | #LewisCarroll | #ThomasCranmer | #AnneBoleyn | #CatherineHoward | #JoanBocher | #AnnaCantiana | #martyrs

(https://snrk.de/page_we-are-all-of-us-weak-at-times/)

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#BraveWords
LINDSAY SCHOOLCRAFT Talks Solo Career And CRADLE OF FILTH In New Career-Spanning Video Interview
The Art Of Metal has shared a career-spanning video featuring former Cradle Of Filth keyboardist / backing vocalist Lindsay Schoolcraft. Check it out below. "Lindsay is a Juno nominated, multi-instrumentalist...

https://bravewords.com/news/lindsay-schoolcraft-talks-solo-career-and-cradle-of-filth-in-new-career-spanning-video-interview

#LindsaySchoolcraft #SoloCareer #COF #Bravewords #MetalMeltdown #TracksFromTheCrypt #Martyrs #CradleOfFilth #VideoInterview