The world is my ballot box by Mathew Walls

Diplomacy used to have at least one elementary rule: you could have opinions about another country's politics, but you were expected to exercise enough discretion not to behave like an unelected campaign manager for its next election. Those days are apparently dead, buried beneath a mountain of presidential social-media posts, televised insults and politicians who believe that every foreign crisis is an opportunity to collect domestic applause.

Welcome to the global political soap opera, where the borders remain on the maps but the culture wars have gone international. Emmanuel Macron has warned against foreign political interference in domestic unrest, highlighting a problem that Western governments increasingly struggle to confront without tripping over their own hypocrisy. Because while European leaders complain about outsiders meddling in their affairs, American political figures have become increasingly willing to comment on European policies, endorse ideological allies abroad and insert themselves into arguments that properly belong to other countries' democratic processes.

Apparently, sovereignty is sacred until somebody discovers a foreign audience that might enjoy hearing them denounce its government. The old diplomatic distinction between expressing an opinion and actively interfering has become blurred by the machinery of modern politics. A president criticises a foreign government, praises an opposition movement or presents another country's domestic conflict as evidence for his own ideological crusade. Within minutes, the statement is circulating across social media, translated into competing political narratives and weaponised by domestic factions thousands of kilometres away.

The foreign leader gets a headline. The domestic politician gets ammunition. The public gets another episode of a series nobody remembers commissioning. And somewhere beneath the noise, actual diplomacy is quietly suffocating. There is nothing inherently wrong with leaders discussing human rights, democratic standards or policies that have international consequences. Silence can become complicity when governments commit abuses, undermine democratic institutions or threaten international security. The principle of non-interference must never become a convenient shield behind which authoritarian governments hide their crimes.

But there is a difference between defending universal principles and treating another country's political divisions as raw material for your own electoral theatre. The first requires consistency, evidence and a willingness to apply the same standards to friends and adversaries. The second requires little more than a microphone and an audience already convinced that everyone on the other side is evil.

Consider the absurdity. A European government struggles with protests over immigration, pensions or economic hardship. Instead of allowing the argument to develop through its own democratic institutions, foreign politicians rush to frame the unrest as proof that their ideological opponents have failed. One side announces the death of liberal democracy; another declares the imminent triumph of authoritarianism. Every demonstration becomes a geopolitical referendum, every parliamentary dispute a battle for civilisation.

Apparently, millions of people cannot simply disagree about taxes, public services or the direction of their country. They must be recruited into somebody else's grand ideological war.

This is how domestic politics becomes an international export industry. Donald Trump's approach to foreign political disputes illustrates the problem particularly clearly. His public interventions in European political debates have frequently blurred the distinction between traditional diplomatic engagement and the promotion of political positions that align with his own domestic agenda. European leaders, in turn, face the temptation to answer every provocation publicly, transforming disagreements that might once have been handled through diplomatic channels into an endless contest of televised defiance.

Neither side emerges with much dignity. The spectacle rewards confrontation, not resolution. And the greatest losers are voters, whose political choices increasingly become props in arguments conducted by leaders who do not live with the consequences of those choices.

Foreign interference is not always a secret operation involving stolen data, covert funding or manipulated information. Sometimes it is an open attempt to legitimise one political faction while discrediting another. Such interventions do not automatically determine electoral outcomes, but they can intensify polarisation, undermine trust and encourage citizens to view domestic opponents as agents of foreign ideological enemies.

The irony is extraordinary. Leaders who loudly defend national sovereignty can simultaneously undermine the sovereignty of others by treating their political systems as extensions of their own campaigns. Europe should resist this temptation without pretending that it is innocent of it. European politicians also criticise foreign governments, court sympathetic political movements and use international controversies to strengthen domestic narratives. No continent possesses a monopoly on hypocrisy, and no leader should receive immunity simply because the interference comes wrapped in familiar democratic language.

The answer is not diplomatic silence. It is diplomatic discipline: distinguish legitimate criticism from partisan intervention, expose covert interference wherever it occurs, and demand consistent standards from allies as well as adversaries. Sovereignty does not mean governments are entitled to escape scrutiny. It means citizens must retain the freedom to determine their political future without powerful outsiders attempting to dictate the terms of their debate.

The world has become interconnected. Its politics will inevitably follow. But interconnectedness is not an invitation to turn every country's electorate into a foreign leader's campaign department. If presidents want to campaign, they should campaign at home. If they want to defend democracy abroad, they should do so through principles they are prepared to uphold consistently.

The world has enough problems without importing somebody else's election circus. And if every national crisis becomes an international campaign advertisement, perhaps the most endangered border is no longer the one separating countries. It is the border between diplomacy and propaganda.

Not A Hamlet But A City #Poem #Narrative by Jan Sand

 

Alas, poor New York, I knew it well,
When FDR and La Guardia
Tried pulling us out of hell.
I grew up in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn
Shopped the pushcarts on Thirteenth Avenue
Where still warm Jewish Rye and smoked whitefish
Was so damned good it made me cry.
Where I saw and heard the roar
Of the Hindenburg dirigible as it flew by overhead,
And celebrated the Queen Elizabeth
And the Normandy that plowed the lower bay.
I played in Bliss Park when it was fiercely wild
Before it was sadly tamed by the WPA.
The great depression left many empty lots
Where houses once stood but were not disciplined by
Unimaginative architects but were permitted to indulge
In the random creative architecture of natural neglect,
An explosion of the wonders of delightful chaos that donated
Play areas far beyond the rigid nonsense of current playgrounds.

I remember well the tiny cemetery on Narrows Avenue
Where remained the few neglected graves of those who died
In the Revolutionary War were visited every Decoration Day
By old Civil War veterans in gratitude.
I recall the terror I felt to see Fredric March melt
From Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde at the local Loews theater
Where Chaplin, The Marx Brothers, and Eddie Cantor frolicked,
Along with King Kong, Frankenstein, as well as Dracula.

Times were tough, and mornings, along with the clang of the bay buoys,
I could hear the guy go by in his horse drawn wagon cry, ” I cash clothes”.
German bands of street musicians wandered through with saxophones,
Trombones and tubas to milk the listening windows of small coins,
And the hokey pokey horse and wagon sold ice cream and three cent cups
Of orange and lemon ices on ninety degree summer days that soften asphalt streets
That were repaired by monstrous puffing steam shovels and steam rollers.
Occasionally a squirrel would leap off the nearby telephone wires and scuttle
Down the long hallway from my bedroom to the kitchen to steal a breadcrust
And quickly retreat.

Evenings began on the radio with The Singing Lady followed by Uncle Don, Bobby Benson,
Jack Armstrong, Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, Orson Welles’ The Shadow,
And later, Jack Benny, Fred Allen and Bergan’s Charley McCarthy.
And all sorts of wonders from The Columbia Workshop such as Guy de Maupassant’s The Horla,
Which was so frightening I demanded a bright night light for weeks even though it was invisible.
Plus, of course, there was the Norman Corwin CBS delights to enliven our nights.
When there was a newspaper strike, Mayor LaGuardia read the comics on the radio for the kids.
Somehow, I missed that dramatic thunder where The Mercury Theater invaded New Jersey
With H.G.Wells’ octopods from Mars that over rode any fears of equally fictitious communist conquests.
I read, later, that some New Jerseyite had attacked a watertower, presuming it was Martian.

The poverty of those early days encouraged economic blossoming of second-hand establishments
That became second nature to us all. And when the bank foreclosed our Brooklyn house we absconded
To Manhattan, but before that departure in 1938, the family, plus the dog, Skippy,
Adventured to Florida in a second hand 1935 Cadillac convertible to celebrate our refugee status.
There was no money for hotels, so we slept in the car for the three-day trip and had a kerosine stove
Where my mother cooked our meals as we parked along the highway. We couldn’t afford new spare tires,
So we bought retreaded second-hand tires and we had blowouts each day to stop and change.

Finally, at Lantana north of Miami, a vital engine part failed, to hold us for almost a week until
A replacement for repairs arrived from Detroit, but this was no problem since the raw beauty of Florida
Was everywhere, a wild jungle with hordes of crabs, alligators, turtles and endless empty fabulous beaches.
Both my parents were watercolor artists, and every day was productive in new paintings of the sea and jungle.
Lantana was a mere few roadside houses, and every street was littered with thick outer shelled coconuts.
On the other side of the road was the service station for our car and the motel where we slept.
The beach was reached through the roadside jungle, across the Indian River, to the unending treasure.
Just above the tide line was an endless line of dried seaweed dried tubular sponges, shark eggs, sea beans,
Spectacular snail and colored mussel shells and, very occasionally, amongst the broken coral bits the shell of a paper nautilus.
My brother and I spent many hours rummaging through this treasure of infinite mystery.
The sea itself was warm and gentle to permit the rescue of bottles from its sandy bottom and beware
The Man O’ War jellyfish with their long stinging tentacles.

My parents had hoped to end the adventure in Key West, the terminal island of the island string
At the southern tip of Florida but the long drive through Key Largo determined them to turn back to New York.
But I will never forget that final turnaround point at the small bridge to the next island where we all left the car
To be astounded at the glorious brilliantly colored life of fish and living sponges and all sorts of exotic creatures
Tightly decorating that tiny, wonderful inlet, eighty-three years ago.

Manhattan was a search for some affordable worthwhile place to live and we were very lucky to end up
At 142 East 18 street in the oldest apartment house in New York City which had seven rooms and four working fireplaces.
The rent was about 70 dollars per month, and it was full of artists and writers.
My major experience as a kid then was the 1939-1940 New York World’s Fair where 1960 was the world of the future.
But nothing was said there about men on the Moon and computers were huge things,
Where IBM indicated 5 were enough for the entire world.
There was one rather huge idiot robot who clicked the fingers on one hand and counted up to five.
The biggest exhibition that was impressive was General Electric’s Steinmetz Hall.
Here bolts of man-made lightning scared the bejesus out of everybody.
General Motors had a very neat huge model of the road system of the future.
But the best part of those exhibits were that they were free.
Since we kids had little money, that was the most attractive feature.

* * * * * * * * * *

At the age of 18 I was inducted into The US Army Air Force in 1944 and hoped to qualify for flight training, The army had other ideas and I spent the bulk of my military time in training as a radar technician. After my discharge in 1946 New York and the country was in happy disarray at the war’s victory and the nation began its long climb into establishing its prime position of escape from the massive destructions of WWII and huge buildup of manufacturing and financial dominance as the result of the war effort. The end of the great depression’s deprivations permitted the middle class to benefit and take a substantial share of the new wealth. It took several decades for the wealthier sector to rid the country of the social advances gained by Roosevelt’s programs of labor advances under his New Deal but the fascinating qualities of the multicultural social relationships engendered by New York’s position as a port of entrance for immigration slowly surrendered to the immense power rise of the city as a major financial center. The long cultural democracy of my younger years of free entrance to the major cultural institutions such as the major museums and other cultural centers such as zoos and free concerts slowly vanished into the overwhelming powers of the wealthy and the totalities of the race for monetary wealth changed completely the face of the city that I had grown to love. The latter half of the 20th century erupted into the theater of immense political fears of potential wars so that lesser conflicts that resulted in the deaths of many millions of innocent victims has totally resulted into the general loss of the sense of the unity of humanity at the end of WWII into basically economic and financial conflicts that has left the planet of world hopes far behind and the old face of my New York has almost totally disappeared into a city captured by the small incredibly wealthy sector where the average family cannot even afford to rent an apartment adequate to their basic needs. My old wonderful 142 East 18 street was demolished in the 1950’s to be replaced by the standard huge anonymous apartment house and I live in a much more congenial place far, far away.

#eBook Navi Pillay: the architect of accountability by Thanos Kalamidas - Marja Heikkinen

 

Navanethem "Navi" Pillay stands as one of the most transformative figures in modern international jurisprudence and human rights. Over a career spanning more than five decades, the South African jurist has continuously dismantled barriers, reshaped global legal frameworks, and championed accountability for victims of grave abuses across the globe.

Pillay’s path toward becoming a globally recognized architect of justice began under South Africa’s apartheid regime. As the first non-white woman to establish a legal practice in Natal in 1967, she risked her livelihood to defend anti-apartheid activists, including political prisoners on Robben Island. This frontline experience with institutionalized injustice forged her unyielding commitment to the rule of law and equal rights.

Pillay's lifelong dedication to international law was recognized with the 2026 Nobel Peace Prize, honouring her exceptional leadership in ensuring that genocide, war crimes and crimes against humanity are brought to trial. From co-founding equality organizations to serving as chair of UN commissions of inquiry, Navi Pillay has proven that lasting peace can only be built upon the unshakeable foundation of justice, accountability, and fundamental human rights.

Ovi eBook Publishing 2026

Navi Pillay: the architect of accountability

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Me My Mind & I #25: Dumbell Peace Prize #Cartoon by Patrick McWade

 

A different way to check internal and external ...thoughts!
'Me My Mind & I' is a cartoon series by Patrick McWade.
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Worming #139 #cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

A family of worms and all their worm friends worming in new adventures.

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The Limits of Liberal Nostalgia: A Critique of Serge Schmemann’s Future of America By Habib Siddiqui

Serge Schmemann’s recent New York Times essay (The Old World Order Is Over. This Is What Could Come Next, dated October 18, 2026) offers a sweeping but speculative analysis on America’s global role in the aftermath of the Trump era. He sketches three possible futures for the United States and the world. It is an ambitious piece, drawing on conversations with foreign-policy thinkers and invoking historical analogies to frame the stakes of the present moment. Yet for all its breadth, the article suffers from conceptual imprecision, selective historical memory, and an overreliance on familiar liberal narratives that obscure more than they illuminate. A critical reading reveals an argument that is rhetorically compelling but analytically uneven, and one that ultimately underestimates the structural forces reshaping global politics.

A Framing Built on Nostalgia

Schmemann begins with a stark assertion: America has changed, and Donald Trump is the face of that change. He describes Trump as a president who “demeaned allies and courted autocrats,” and who sought to accumulate powers beyond constitutional limits. This framing is not inaccurate — Trump’s tenure has been marked by norm-breaking and institutional strain — but Schmemann treats Trump as both symptom and cause without clearly distinguishing the two. The article implies that Trump’s rise represents a deviation from an otherwise stable liberal democratic trajectory. Yet the political, economic, and cultural conditions that enabled Trump — polarization, inequality, institutional decay, and distrust of elites — long predate him.

By anchoring his narrative in Trump’s personality, Schmemann inadvertently narrows the scope of his analysis. The question is not whether America can “return” to its role as a global beacon of democracy once Trump is gone. The deeper question is whether the post-1945 liberal order was ever as stable, inclusive, or universally admired as Schmemann suggests. His essay assumes a golden age of American leadership that can be restored through renewed commitment to democratic values. But this assumption glosses over decades of contested U.S. foreign policy — from Vietnam to Iraq, from covert interventions to support for authoritarian allies, and most deplorably, Washington’s unwavering backing of Israel even as leading human‑rights organizations and international legal bodies have accused it of committing atrocities amounting to genocide in Gaza — all of which complicate the notion of America as a consistently principled global actor.

I. The Problematic Ideal of the “Shining City on a Hill”

In the “America Makes a Comeback” scenario, Schmemann imagines a future in which a law-abiding, globally minded president restores America’s moral authority. Europe welcomes the United States back as a trusted ally, Russia stabilizes after Putin’s departure, China surpasses the U.S. economically but cooperates peacefully, and the United Nations is revitalized. This is the most optimistic of his three visions, and it reads like a liberal internationalist wish list.

The problem is not the aspiration but the plausibility. Schmemann’s scenario assumes that American leadership is both necessary and sufficient for global stability. Yet the world he describes — multipolar, technologically disruptive, economically fragmented — cannot be governed by a single hegemon, even a benevolent one. The rise of China, the resurgence of Russia, the assertiveness of middle powers, and the erosion of Western dominance are structural shifts, not temporary deviations. They cannot be reversed simply by electing a more conventional American president.

Moreover, Schmemann’s invocation of America’s “new birth of freedom” echoes Abraham Lincoln but overlooks the uneven and contested nature of American progress. The expansion of rights has always been driven by social movements, not by presidential leadership alone. To suggest that America can reclaim its global moral authority through executive virtue is to misunderstand the sources of democratic renewal.

II. The Muddling Middle: A More Realistic but Underdeveloped Scenario

Schmemann’s second scenario, “We Muddle Along,” is arguably the most realistic. It envisions a world in which the United States remains powerful but no longer admired, China grows more assertive, alliances weaken, and global governance stagnates. This is not a dramatic collapse but a slow erosion of influence.

Yet even here, Schmemann’s analysis is incomplete. He attributes America’s diminished standing primarily to domestic polarization and inconsistent foreign policy. While these factors matter, they are not the whole story. The decline of U.S. influence is also driven by:

• Economic shifts: The diffusion of manufacturing, the rise of Asian markets, and the limits of dollar dominance.
• Technological disruption: The emergence of digital ecosystems not controlled by Western institutions.
• Demographic changes: Aging populations in the West and youthful, dynamic societies elsewhere.
• Ideological pluralism: The spread of governance models that challenge liberal democracy’s universality.
• Parallel multilateralism — The proliferation of non‑Western institutions such as BRICS+ and the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO), which increasingly coordinate global norms and economic frameworks without U.S. participation.
• Resource bottlenecks — Growing vulnerability in critical mineral supply chains, coupled with domestic fiscal constraints and mounting debt, which limit America’s ability to project power or sustain long‑term strategic commitments.
• Alliance hedging — Traditional allies pursuing strategic autonomy, from Europe’s defense integration to Gulf states’ multi‑alignment strategies, leaving the United States facing multi‑theater over‑extension without guaranteed coalition support.
• Asymmetric deterrence — The rapid proliferation of cyber capabilities, gray‑zone tactics, and low‑cost anti‑access/area‑denial (A2/AD) technologies that erode U.S. military dominance and empower smaller states and non‑state actors to challenge American influence at minimal cost.

Schmemann acknowledges some of these trends but treats them as background conditions rather than central drivers. His muddling scenario is persuasive, but it lacks analytical depth.

III. The Decline Scenario: A Familiar Dystopia

The third scenario, “Unchecked Decline,” is the darkest. Here, polarization paralyzes the United States, alliances collapse, China annexes Taiwan, AI runs amok, climate change wreaks havoc, and regional conflicts proliferate. This is a classic dystopian projection, and Schmemann uses it to warn against complacency.

Yet the scenario suffers from two weaknesses. First, it relies heavily on worst-case assumptions without explaining how they interact. For example, China’s annexation of Taiwan is presented as both a sign of American weakness and a trigger for global instability, but the geopolitical dynamics behind such an event are left unexplored. Second, Schmemann’s depiction of AI as a source of “rogue incursions and raids” feels more like science fiction than grounded analysis. The real risks of AI — algorithmic bias, surveillance, labor displacement — are serious but more mundane.

The decline scenario is rhetorically effective but analytically thin, relying on fear rather than structural reasoning.

IV. A Missing Fourth Scenario: A Post-American World

The most striking omission in Schmemann’s essay is the absence of a scenario in which the world adapts to a reduced American role without descending into chaos. He presents only three options: American restoration, muddling stagnation, or catastrophic decline. What he does not consider is a world in which regional powers, multilateral institutions, and transnational networks evolve new forms of governance that do not depend on U.S. leadership.

Such a scenario is not only plausible but already emerging. The European Union is developing autonomous defense capabilities. India and Brazil are asserting independent foreign policies. African nations are forming new regional blocs. Southeast Asia is navigating U.S.–China competition with strategic flexibility. These developments suggest a future in which global order is not defined by American primacy but by distributed leadership.

Schmemann’s failure to consider this possibility reflects a deeper bias: the assumption that America’s centrality is both inevitable and indispensable. This is not analysis; it is nostalgia.

Conclusion: A Thoughtful but Limited Vision

Serge Schmemann’s article is thoughtful, elegantly written, and grounded in genuine concern for the future of democracy. But its analytical framework is constrained by a longing for a liberal order that no longer exists. The world is not waiting for America to return to its former role. It is already moving on, reshaping itself through new alignments, new technologies, and new centers of power.

A more rigorous analysis would acknowledge that America’s future will be determined not only by its domestic politics but by structural global transformations that cannot be reversed by leadership alone. Schmemann’s scenarios are useful as provocations, but they fall short as predictions. The challenge is not to restore an old order but to understand — and shape — the new one.

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Dr. Siddiqui is a peace and human rights activist who is author of several books including: Democracy, Politics and Terrorism - America's Quest for Security in the Age of Insecurity(2008)

Ovi History #eMagazine #24: Black Thursday

 

On October 24, 1929, the New York Stock Exchange plunged into chaos as a record 12.9 million shares traded in a single day, later known as Black Thursday. A coalition of bankers, led by Richard Whitney, attempted to stabilize the market by buying large blocks of stock, temporarily reversing the crash and restoring prices to near pre-panic levels.

The temporary reprieve ultimately failed, as the market collapsed further the following week and stocks lost a third of their value within two weeks. The historian Richard Sylla noted that although the bankers tried to stop the panic, the intervention “ultimately failed to shore up the market”.

For this issue of Ovi History, a historical fiction short story from Lucas Durand and a new book review.

So, turn the pages and ...take cover.

Read the Ovi History eMagazine online HERE!
View, read it online or download it in PDF/epub format HERE!
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With the hope that you will read and learn from the articles,
so take cover and ...do read this historic chronicle

Thanos Kalamidas

Canada’s accidental gift by Timothy Davies

Sometimes history gives a country a gift wrapped in somebody else's arrogance. For Canada, Donald Trump's treatment of its northern neighbour may be one of those gifts. It is an extraordinary proposition: a president of the United States, governing the country with which Canada has built one of the world's deepest economic, military and diplomatic relationships, has managed to make Canadians reconsider assumptions that generations regarded as permanent.

The border suddenly looks less permanent. American trade access looks less guaranteed. Continental defence no longer feels quite so automatic. And the idea that Canada's prosperity can safely depend overwhelmingly on its southern neighbour has acquired a very different meaning.

Trump's tariff policies have been particularly revealing. Canada and the United States are not two distant economies occasionally doing business with each other. They are deeply integrated. Yet the trade relationship was subjected to escalating tariffs and uncertainty, forcing Canadian companies and governments to reconsider supply chains and markets. Statistics Canada reported that Canadian merchandise exports to the United States fell by 5.4% in 2025, while exports to countries other than the United States rose by 15.8%.

That is not economic liberation. It is economic adaptation under pressure. And adaptation is precisely where the unexpected Canadian dividend begins. For decades, Canada's geographic relationship with America encouraged a comfortable strategic assumption: why build every alternative when the world's largest economy, its most powerful military and its enormous consumer market sit immediately across the border?

Trump's confrontational approach has attacked that comfort. Suddenly, diversification is no longer an academic policy recommendation. It is survival insurance. Canadian businesses have been pushed to look elsewhere. Canadian politicians have been forced to discuss European, Asian and Middle Eastern markets with considerably greater urgency. Defence planners have stronger reasons to examine domestic capacity and partnerships beyond Washington. Energy policy increasingly has to consider whether Canada should develop more routes to international markets instead of depending so heavily on continental infrastructure.

Even Canadian national unity has acquired another dimension. Nothing concentrates a population quite like an external threat or the perception that a powerful neighbour is questioning the permanence of the relationship. The effect should not be exaggerated; Canada still contains serious regional and political divisions. Yet the October 2026 Alberta referendum, in which 76% voted to remain part of Canada, demonstrated substantial support for maintaining the federation even amid arguments over provincial autonomy.

There is an almost comic historical irony here. A president who speaks about making America stronger may be helping Canada discover the value of becoming less dependent on America. That does not mean Canada should abandon the United States. Quite the opposite. Geography will not disappear because politicians exchange threats. The countries share an extraordinary volume of commerce, infrastructure, intelligence, family connections and security interests. Canadian prosperity remains deeply connected to the American economy.

But friendship becomes healthier when dependence becomes smaller. That may be the most important lesson of the Trump era. Canada does not need to become anti-American. It needs to become more Canadian in its economic and strategic calculations.

The figures already show why. Although the United States remained Canada's overwhelmingly dominant trading partner, its share of Canadian merchandise exports fell from 75.9% in 2024 to 71.7% in 2025, while trade with countries outside the United States increased substantially.

The shift is hardly revolutionary. But it is psychologically revolutionary. For generations, Ottawa could assume that Washington was the dependable centre of Canada's external economic universe. Trump has made that assumption considerably harder to defend.

And perhaps Canada needed that shock. A mature country should not build its economic security around the permanent goodwill of any foreign president, not even the president of its closest ally. Today it is Trump. Tomorrow it will be somebody else. That is the point. Countries survive political personalities by building institutions, markets, alliances and capacities that are larger than personalities.

If Canada's response to Trump's pressure is greater trade diversification, stronger defence capacity, deeper relations with Europe and Asia, more resilient domestic industries and a renewed understanding of Canadian sovereignty, then the long-term result could be profoundly different from what Washington intended.

The irony would be magnificent. Trump wanted America First. Canada may have discovered Canada First. Not as nationalism against America, but as the overdue realisation that friendship is strongest when neither friend can casually threaten the other's existence.

And perhaps that is the best present Canada has received in decades: not because Trump intended to give it, but because his behaviour forced Canadians to discover what they should never have forgotten. A neighbour can be an ally. A neighbour can be indispensable. But a neighbour is still a neighbour.

Ghostin’ #138 #Cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

They are like neighbours we are aware of,
except we are NOT aware of and
they have absolutely nothing to do with Halloween.

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Green hypocrisy by Brea Willis

In Turkey, where COP31 will take place in November, environmental activists are facing arrests, prosecutions, intimidation and restrictions on peaceful protest. Apparently, the planet is welcome to discuss its future, provided its defenders do not make too much noise.

Human Rights Watch raised the alarm on October 13, warning that Turkish authorities were arbitrarily arresting and prosecuting people involved in environmental protests ahead of the summit. Its findings describe villagers confronting coal mining, residents opposing gold exploration, and activists subjected to police intervention and legal pressure. Some cases involve allegations that peaceful demonstrators were detained without proper legal process. These are not abstract diplomatic disagreements. They concern people defending their homes, land, forests and water.

And these are precisely the voices a climate summit should be listening to. Instead, the international community prepares another magnificent gathering of government delegations, negotiators, corporate representatives and political celebrities, complete with carefully choreographed speeches about sustainability and the future of humanity. There will be declarations, photographs, promises and probably enough recycled conference stationery to make somebody feel environmentally responsible.

Meanwhile, a villager standing between a mining operation and a threatened forest may discover that defending the environment is a much more dangerous occupation than delivering a speech about it. Welcome to the green hypocrisy industry. The problem extends beyond Türkiye. International institutions repeatedly depend on governments whose domestic practices contradict the values their international events are supposed to promote. The host receives prestige, global visibility and an opportunity to present itself as a responsible international partner. The organisers receive their conference facilities, diplomatic access and another opportunity to announce that multilateralism is alive and well.

Everybody gets a photograph. The people challenging destructive projects get handcuffs. Of course, hosting a major international conference does not require a government to possess a flawless human-rights record. If it did, finding suitable hosts would become considerably more complicated. Nor should climate diplomacy be abandoned because a host government behaves repressively. Climate change does not wait for democratic perfection, and international cooperation remains indispensable.

But there is a difference between engaging an imperfect government and allowing international prestige to become a convenient shield against scrutiny. The United Nations climate process cannot credibly demand that governments listen to scientific evidence while ignoring citizens who document environmental destruction on their own doorsteps. It cannot celebrate public participation in conference halls while communities outside those halls face intimidation for opposing coal mines, forest clearance or potentially damaging mineral exploration.

Climate policy is not merely a negotiation between ministries. It determines who breathes polluted air, who loses access to water, whose farmland disappears and whose community is sacrificed in the name of economic development. Local residents are not decorative extras in this story. They are often the first people to recognise the consequences of decisions made far above their heads. When authorities criminalise peaceful opposition, they do more than violate individual rights. They weaken the public scrutiny necessary to expose bad environmental decisions before the damage becomes irreversible.

And what does the international community do? It books the conference centre. This is where the hypocrisy becomes particularly infuriating. Governments routinely praise grassroots action when activists provide attractive photographs for climate campaigns. Young people holding banners make excellent publicity. Indigenous communities defending forests become inspiring symbols. Villagers protecting their water supply are celebrated in carefully selected speeches.

But when these people obstruct the comfortable narrative of economic progress, suddenly they are accused of disrupting public order. The activist is welcome as a photograph, not as a political participant. Turkey’s COP31 preparations should therefore be judged not only by the agreements negotiated inside the summit but also by whether environmental defenders outside it can exercise their rights without intimidation. International delegates should raise these concerns publicly and insist on meaningful guarantees for peaceful assembly, freedom of expression and civil-society participation.

The summit's organisers should make clear that access to international prestige does not mean immunity from scrutiny. Governments must not be allowed to use global conferences as public-relations machinery while treating domestic dissent as a security problem. And if that sounds politically inconvenient, good. Climate diplomacy is supposed to confront inconvenient realities. The planet does not need another polished declaration promising a sustainable future while the people protecting that future are being dragged away from their forests. It needs governments prepared to accept criticism, examine evidence and change destructive policies. It needs international institutions willing to defend the right of ordinary people to challenge powerful interests.

Most of all, it needs fewer ceremonies in which the language of environmental responsibility is used to conceal the absence of political courage. COP31 may produce important agreements. It may advance negotiations that genuinely matter. But no diplomatic achievement should exempt its host from questions about repression, and no climate agreement can fully claim legitimacy while peaceful environmental defenders are being silenced.

A green future cannot be built on a blackmail of fear. If governments want applause for protecting the planet, they should begin by protecting the people who dare to defend it. Otherwise, COP31 risks becoming another expensive exercise in diplomatic greenwashing: a global celebration of environmental responsibility, hosted by a government whose critics are being taught the price of speaking up.

The forests will not care how many delegates attended. The rivers will not applaud the final declaration. And the planet will certainly not be impressed by the photographs.

Economies without people by Zakir Hall

A nurse buys a one-way ticket. An engineer accepts a job abroad. A young entrepreneur closes a business before it has a chance to grow. A hotel owner searches desperately for staff while the electricity bill climbs faster than the price of a room. And somewhere in a ministry, an economist presents a colourful graph showing that the economy is growing. Welcome to the developing world, where economic growth increasingly risks becoming a statistical achievement in countries that are losing the very people expected to produce it.

Across many island economies and developing markets, the collision between skilled-worker emigration, labour shortages and stubborn energy inflation exposes the limitations of the traditional development model. Governments are encouraged to attract investment, stimulate private enterprise, modernise infrastructure and improve productivity. All perfectly sensible objectives. But they become exercises in economic fiction when the workforce disappears and the cost of keeping a business alive becomes unbearable.

An economy cannot manufacture prosperity out of PowerPoint presentations. Consider the predicament of a small island state. Its tourism industry needs chefs, technicians, cleaners, drivers, accountants and managers. Its hospitals need nurses and doctors. Its construction sector needs engineers and skilled tradespeople. Its emerging technology companies need programmers and digital specialists. Yet many of its youngest and best-educated citizens look abroad and see higher wages, better career opportunities, more reliable public services and a future less dependent on the next electricity-price shock.

Can anyone seriously blame them? Patriotism is a wonderful political commodity, particularly when politicians demand it from people whose salaries barely cover rent, food and transport. But patriotism does not pay a mortgage. National pride does not repair a failing electricity grid. And a minister's speech about retaining young talent becomes rather insulting when that talent cannot afford to establish an independent life at home.

People leave because staying has become an economic calculation they cannot justify. The consequences extend far beyond an employer's difficulty filling vacancies. When a country loses experienced workers, it loses institutional knowledge, professional mentors, future business founders and the people capable of training the next generation. Businesses delay expansion because they cannot recruit. Hospitals become overstretched. Schools struggle to retain teachers. Public investment in education increasingly benefits wealthier foreign economies that receive trained professionals without bearing the full cost of educating them.

The sending country pays the bill; somebody else collects the dividend. Then comes energy inflation, the second punch in this increasingly unpleasant economic boxing match. Small island economies often face particular vulnerabilities because they depend heavily on imported fuels, exposed shipping routes and limited domestic energy alternatives. When international energy prices surge, the consequences travel through electricity tariffs, freight charges, agricultural inputs, food prices and the operating costs of almost every private enterprise. Businesses cannot simply absorb every increase. They raise prices, reduce investment, postpone hiring or close their doors.

Workers respond by demanding higher wages. Employers insist that margins are disappearing. Consumers cut spending. Governments subsidise bills, frequently at considerable fiscal cost, while postponing the structural reforms that might reduce future vulnerability.

And around the merry-go-round we go. The cruel irony is that governments often respond to labour shortages by discussing immigration restrictions, training incentives or temporary recruitment schemes without confronting the conditions driving their own citizens away. Importing workers may be necessary, and migration can benefit everyone involved. But treating labour as a disposable input rather than a human population with legitimate expectations guarantees that shortages will keep returning.

The problem is not that young people have forgotten their national obligations. It is that too many governments have forgotten theirs. Traditional development strategies frequently assume that investment creates jobs, education supplies workers and economic growth eventually improves living standards. But these relationships are not automatic. Investment cannot generate sustainable productivity if firms cannot obtain reliable energy or recruit the people needed to operate their equipment. Education cannot build a competitive economy if its graduates regard emigration as the only credible career plan.

Development requires more than attracting capital. It requires making it possible for people to build worthwhile lives where they already live. That means investing in renewable energy and resilient electricity networks, improving vocational and technical education, supporting small businesses, strengthening public services and creating credible paths from training to decent employment. It means treating housing affordability, transport and childcare as economic infrastructure rather than inconvenient social expenses. It also means building relationships with emigrant communities that encourage investment, knowledge-sharing and voluntary return without pretending that people owe their governments a lifetime of economic sacrifice.

None of this is cheap. Neither is permanent dependence on imported energy, imported expertise and imported solutions. The private sector has responsibilities too. Businesses cannot demand loyalty from workers while offering poverty wages, insecure contracts and no prospects for advancement. Productivity must improve through better management, technology and investment, not through the endless fantasy that exhausted employees can somehow work miracles.

And international financial institutions must recognise that fiscal discipline without productive capacity can become a beautifully balanced road to stagnation. Cutting expenditure may improve a short-term balance sheet, but cutting the foundations of education, health and infrastructure can make an economy less capable of generating future revenue.

The ultimate question is whether developing countries want economies that merely attract investors or economies in which their own people can become investors, entrepreneurs, professionals and employers. Because a country that exports its brightest minds while importing increasingly expensive energy is not simply experiencing a labour shortage. It is exporting its future and importing the cost of its own dependence.

One day, the ministers may look at their impressive economic projections and wonder why prosperity never quite arrived. Perhaps they should look at the departures board instead.