If Israel Had Never Been Created: Rethinking a Century of Middle Eastern History By Habib Siddiqui

I have often wondered how different our world might have been had the State of Israel never come into existence. Its birth was not inevitable; it was the product of a political decision made far from Palestine. The infamous Balfour Declaration of November 2, 1917—Britain’s promise to establish a “national home for the Jewish people” in a land it did not control—was, as Abba Eban later admitted, “the decisive diplomatic victory of the Jewish people in modern history.”

Yet the Declaration itself was layered atop earlier imperial bargains. Only a year before, Britain and France had secretly negotiated the Sykes–Picot Agreement, carving up the Arab provinces of the dying Ottoman Empire and predetermining the fate of lands they had not yet conquered. The Balfour Declaration was subsequently woven into the League of Nations Mandate for Palestine, transforming a wartime pledge into an international legal commitment and charging Britain with creating the conditions for a Jewish state in a territory overwhelmingly inhabited by Arabs.

Thirty years later, in November 1947, the United Nations voted to partition Palestine—33 in favor, 13 against—setting in motion the events that would reshape the Middle East and reverberate across the world. The rest, as we say, is history. But history is not destiny. It is the outcome of choices. And had different choices been made, the Middle East of 2026 might have looked profoundly different.

Before imagining what the Middle East might have become, we must first confront the immense human toll unleashed by this infamous Declaration.

1. Mandatory Palestine violence (1920s–1948)
Palestinian Arabs: several thousand killed in riots, revolts, and the 1936–39 uprising.
Jews in Palestine: several hundred killed in riots and insurgency.
2. 1948 war (Nakba / War of Independence)
Palestinians/Arabs (Palestine, Egypt, Syria, Jordan, Iraq, Lebanon):
commonly cited: ~15,000 killed, 750,000+ uprooted.
Israelis/Jews:~6,000–6,500killed.
3. 1956 Suez/Sinai war
Egyptians:~3,000 killed.
Israelis:~200–250 killed.
4. 1967 Six‑Day War
Egyptians: often estimated 10,000–15,000killed.
Syrians: several thousand killed.
Jordanians:~700–1,000killed.
Israelis:~700–800 killed.
5. 1967–1970 War of Attrition
Egyptians: several thousand killed.
Israelis:~1,400 killed.
6. 1973 October/Yom Kippur War
Egypt + Syria combined: often cited ~15,000–20,000 killed.
Israelis:~2,600–2,800 killed.
7. 1982 Lebanon war and occupation
Lebanese (civilians + fighters): estimates vary widely, ~15,000–20,000+ killed.
Palestinians in Lebanon: several thousand Palestinians were killed in Lebanon during the 1982 Israeli invasion, including the 2,000–3,500 Palestinian and Lebanese civilians massacred in Sabra and Shatila by Christian Phalangist militias operating under Israeli military oversight.
Israelis:~1,200 killed.
8. First Intifada (1987–1993)
Palestinians (West Bank, Gaza): roughly 1,000–1,200 killed.
Israelis:~200 killed.
9. Second Intifada (2000–2005)
Palestinians:~4,000–5,000 killed.
Israelis:~1,000–1,100 killed.
10. Gaza wars and operations (2008–2023, excluding Oct 7 aftermath)
Approximate combined:
Palestinians in Gaza:
2008–09: ~1,400 killed
2012: ~150–200
2014: ~2,100
2021: ~250+
2022, 2023 smaller escalations: hundreds more

So, several thousand Palestinians killed in Gaza alone before October 7, 2023.
Since October 7, 2023: As of March 25, 2026, the latest verified figures show that the Gaza death toll has surpassed 72,000 Palestinians killed and over 171,000 injured in what can be called genocidal crimes of Israel.Many bodies remain unrecovered due to rubble and inaccessible areas; entire Gaza has been turned into a rubble.Lancet and Brown University findings suggest that the actual death counts may be higher than 90,000, and supersede 100,000.

Israelis:
Dozens killed across these rounds (soldiers + civilians between 2008-2023).
2,039+ Israelis killed (including October 7, 2023 and subsequent fighting). This total includes deaths caused by Israeli friendly fire on October 7, as acknowledged by the IDF, though the exact number remains undisclosed. While most October 7 fatalities were civilians, the majority of Israeli deaths after Oct 7 have been IDF soldiers and young recruits.
 
Palestinians in West Bank:
Since October 7, 2023, more than 1,000 Palestinians have been killed in the occupied West Bank, including East Jerusalem, largely in raids by Israeli forces and attacks by Israeli settlers; nearly a quarter of those killed are children, according to UN and OCHA‑based data. Additional Palestinian citizens and residents have been killed inside Israel’s 1948 borders, bringing the total to well over a thousand Palestinians killed outside Gaza during this period.
 
11. Lebanon–Israel clashes post‑2000
2006 Lebanon war:
Lebanese (civilians + fighters): ~1,000–1,200 killed.
Israelis: ~160–170 killed.
2025–2026 Israeli invasion and bombardment of Lebanon:
Israel’s expanded regional war, launched in parallel with its Gaza and Iran campaigns, has caused several thousand Lebanese deaths, including civilians, Hezbollah fighters, and other militia members.
Heavy Israeli strikes on southern Lebanon, the Bekaa Valley, and Beirut’s southern suburbs have produced the highest Lebanese casualty levels since 1982, with the toll continuing to rise in 2026.The latest Israeli invasion has displaced between 700,000 and 900,000 Lebanese, according to UN and government figures, with total displacement across Lebanon—including refugees—exceeding one million people.
 
12. Broader regional effects (Iran, Iraq, Yemen, etc.)
Iran:
Before June 2025, there was no large‑scale direct war between Iran and Israel. Iranian losses were primarily from Israeli strikes on IRGC personnel and allied militias in Syria, Iraq, and Lebanon, along with targeted assassinations—amounting to hundreds to low thousands, not tens of thousands.
However, the joint U.S.–Israeli expanded regional campaign in 2025–2026 — including repeated strikes on IRGC units in Syria, Iraq, and Lebanon, as well as direct attacks inside Iran — has killed several thousand Iranian military personnel and allied militia members. The cumulative toll from these operations now exceeds 2,000
Iraq:
Before 2003, Iraqi losses in conflicts where Israel was a factor (1948, 1967, 1973, 1991) were real but relatively limited compared to later catastrophes. The overwhelming majority of Iraqi deaths came from other causes — the Iran–Iraq War, the Gulf War, sanctions, and especially the 2003 U.S.–U.K. invasion launched on the false claim of Iraqi WMDs, a narrative strongly promoted by the Israeli government of Benjamin Netanyahu.
The 2003 invasion and its aftermath killed hundreds of thousands of Iraqis. Peer‑reviewed studies estimate between 500,000 and over 1 million Iraqis killed, with millions more injured, and over 4 million displaced. These losses dwarf all earlier Iraq–Israel–related casualties combined.
Yemen:
The country’s catastrophic humanitarian crisis remains overwhelmingly the result of the Saudi–Emirati–Houthi war (2015–present), famine, disease, and economic collapse. However, since October 2023, Yemen has also become directly involved in the Gaza war. The Houthi movement launched missiles and drones toward Israel in solidarity with Hamas, prompting Israeli airstrikes on Yemen beginning in late 2023 and continuing intermittently through 2024–2026.
These Israeli strikes have killed dozens of Yemenis and wounded many more, including civilians and Houthi personnel. While Israel is not a primary driver of Yemen’s mass death, it is now a direct belligerent in Yemen for the first time, and its attacks have added to Yemen’s already immense human suffering.
If we sum direct conflict deaths in which Israel is a central belligerent (Arabs + Israelis, 1920s–2020s, outside the Iraqi invasion in 2003), we are looking at something on the order of:
Well over 100,000 people killed,with Arabs/Palestinians/neighboring states bearing the vast majority of the deaths.

If we then add indirect deaths (sanctions, displacement, long‑term health impacts, regional destabilization), the true human cost is much higher, but it becomes impossible to quantify rigorously.

In contrast, one official Israeli summary notes685 Jewish residents of Mandatory Palestine killed between 1920–1947 from Arab riots, British actions, and WWII attacks.

By 2010, Israel’s Memorial Day roll commemorated22,684 fallen soldiers and security personnel (including pre‑state Yishuv fighters) and 3,971 civilian terror victims.Not every one of those deaths is strictly “at the hands of Arabs” but includes accidents, friendly fire, etc.

In what follows, we explore the possibilities of a Middle East unshaped by Zionism. No counterfactual can predict with certainty, but historical patterns allow us to sketch the broad contours of a region unshaped by Zionism.

***

Imagining a world in which the Balfour Declaration was never issued in 1917 and the State of Israel never emerged in 1948 requires re-examining the entire geopolitical architecture of the modern Middle East. This counterfactual exercise is not an attempt to erase Jewish history or deny the profound tragedies that marked the twentieth century. Rather, it is an effort to understand how differently the region—and the world—might have evolved had a European imperial power not unilaterally promised a land already inhabited by an indigenous population to a global diaspora, setting in motion one of the most enduring and violent conflicts of the modern era.

In this alternative 2026, the absence of a Zionist state in historic Palestine would have reshaped regional politics, global alliances, and the trajectory of multiple wars. The Middle East would still face its inherited burdens:colonial borders, resource rivalries, Cold War interventions.But the specific chain of conflicts tied to the Israeli–Palestinian struggle would not exist. Oil and gas would still shape the region’s political economy and global relevance, but without Israel the strategic logic tying U.S. military power to Middle Eastern energy security would be fundamentally different. The region, and indeed the world, would almost certainly have been less militarized, less polarized, and far more stable than the one we inhabit today.

1. Palestine Without Partition: A Different Political Evolution
Without the Balfour Declaration, Britain’s post‑Ottoman mandate in Palestine would have unfolded very differently. Instead of facilitating mass European settlement and privileging one community over another, the British would have administered the territory much like neighboring Transjordan or Iraq—colonially, imperfectly, but without engineering a demographic transformation.
By the mid‑20th century, Palestine would likely have emerged as an Arab-majority state, perhaps federated with Jordan or aligned with the pan-Arab movements that swept the region. Its citiesJerusalem, Jaffa, and Haifawould have remained multicultural hubs, home to Palestinian/Arab Muslims, Palestinian/Arab Christians, and long-established Jewish communities who had lived there for centuries without the political project of Zionism.
The catastrophic displacement of more than 750,000 Palestinians in 1948—the Nakba—would never have occurred. Millions of refugees in Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, and Gaza would have remained in their ancestral towns and villages. The demographic, social, and political wounds that still shape the region in 2026 would not exist.

2. No Arab–Israeli Wars: A Region Without Perpetual Crisis
The wars of 1948, 1956, 1967, 1973, 1982, and the repeated assaults on Gaza would not have taken place. These conflicts reshaped the Middle East, toppled governments, militarized societies, and drew global powers into regional rivalries.
Without Israel:
Egypt would not have lost the Sinai in 1967.
Syria would not have lost the Golan Heights.
Lebanon would not have endured repeated invasions and occupations.
Jordan would not have absorbed waves of refugees that altered its political landscape.
Iraq and Yemen would not have been drawn into proxy conflicts tied to the Israeli–Palestinian struggle.
The Middle East would still have faced Cold War pressures and internal political struggles, but the single most combustible fault line – the Arab–Israeli conflict – would not exist.

3. Iran Without the Shadow of Israel
Iran’s modern political identity has been shaped in part by its opposition to Israeli policies and its support for Palestinian self‑determination. In a world in the absence of Israel:
Iran would not be cast as the primary regional adversary of a nuclear‑armed state.
Its relationships with Lebanon, Syria, and Yemen would not be filtered through the lens of resistance to Israeli military power.
The U.S.–Iran confrontation, intensified by Washington’s commitment to Israel’s security, would likely be far less severe.
Iran would still be a major regional power, but its foreign policy would be oriented toward the Persian Gulf, Central Asia, and internal development rather than a decades-long confrontation with a state that, in this scenario, never existed.

4. Lebanon Without Civil War and Occupation
Lebanon’s 15‑year civil war and its long occupation by Israel profoundly shaped its modern history. Had Israel never been created:
There would be no influx of Palestinian refugees fleeing the Nakba.
No 1982 Israeli invasion that devastated Beirut.
No rise of Hezbollah as a resistance movement against occupation.
Lebanon would still face sectarian challenges, but the most destabilizing external pressures would be absent. Its political evolution would likely resemble that of other small Mediterranean states—complex, but not perpetually at war.

5. Yemen, Iraq, and the Wider Arab World
Many regional conflicts that later became entangled with Israeli–Arab tensions would have unfolded differently. Yemen’s internal struggles, Iraq’s wars, and the broader Sunni–Shia political dynamics would not be intensified by the perception of a common external threat or by the militarization of regional alliances built around the Israeli–Palestinian conflict.
The Arab world’s political imagination, shaped for decades by the cause of Palestine, would have focused more on economic development, governance, and post‑colonial state‑building.

6. The United States Without Its Most Costly Alliance
The U.S.–Israel relationship has profoundly shaped American foreign policy. Without Israel:
The U.S. would not have inherited a permanent military commitment to the Middle East.
It would not have fought wars or maintained bases primarily to secure Israel’s strategic environment.
It would not have faced global backlash for supporting Israeli military actions.
American diplomacy would likely have been more balanced, less militarized, and less entangled in regional rivalries.

7. Jewish Safety and Identity in a Different World
This counterfactual scenario does not deny the horrors of antisemitism or the need for Jewish safety. But without the Zionist project, Jewish communities might have strengthened their diasporic identities, as many did in the United States, Europe, and elsewhere. The absence of a state built through displacement and conflict might have reduced, rather than increased, global antisemitism by removing the political conflation of Judaism with a state engaged in repeated wars.
Jewish life in historic Palestine would have continued as it had for centuries—religious, cultural, and integrated into the broader fabric of the region.

8. A More Stable Middle East—and a Less Polarized World
By 2026, in this alternative timeline, the Middle East would still face challenges, but the region would not be defined by a single, unending conflict. The absence of Israel as a settler‑colonial project would mean:
No apartheid system dividing populations by ethnicity and religion.
No decades‑long occupation of Palestinian land.
No cycles of bombardment, blockade, and displacement.
No global polarization around a conflict that has shaped international politics for generations.
The world would not be perfect, but it would be less violent, less militarized, and less fractured.

History cannot be rewritten, but it can be understood. And understanding the choices that produced the world we inhabit is the first step toward imagining—and building—a different future. A world without Israel may be hypothetical, but the human toll of the choices that created it is tragically real.

---

Dr. Habib Siddiqui is a peace activist.

A republic of fear, inherited by Eze Ogbu

When Bobi Wine says he has fled his country because he fears assassination, the statement lands with a familiar, heavy thud. It is not shocking; that is precisely the problem. In Uganda, the extraordinary has long since curdled into routine. Political exile is not an aberration but an extension of governance by other means.

For nearly four decades, Yoweri Museveni has ruled Uganda with the steady insistence of a man who no longer distinguishes between state and self. His longevity in power, once framed as stability after chaos, now reads as something closer to calcification. Institutions that should constrain authority have instead bent around it, reshaped to serve continuity over accountability. Elections occur, ballots are cast, but the outcome rarely surprises. Power, in this context, is not contested, it is managed.

Bobi Wine’s trajectory makes his predicament all the more telling. A pop star turned politician, he embodies a generational challenge to Museveni’s rule, younger, urban, digitally fluent and unwilling to inherit silence. His appeal lies not only in policy but in symbolism, the idea that Uganda might belong to its future rather than its past. That such a figure now feels safer outside his own borders is not merely a personal tragedy; it is a national indictment.

The involvement of the military sharpens the picture into something more ominous. When the head of the army, also the president’s son, publicly threatens a political opponent, even if the statements are later deleted, the message has already been delivered. It reveals a system in which the lines between family, force and the state are not just blurred but deliberately erased. Power becomes hereditary not through law but through proximity to coercion.

Uganda is hardly alone in this pattern. Across parts of the continent, the architecture of democracy remains intact in form while hollowed out in practice. Constitutions promise limits; leaders amend them. Courts exist; their independence wavers. Opposition parties operate; their leaders are harassed, detained, or driven into exile. Each case differs in detail, but the underlying script is strikingly similar, the gradual normalization of fear as a tool of governance.

What makes Uganda’s case particularly disheartening is how incremental the decline has been. There was no single rupture, no definitive moment when democracy collapsed. Instead, there have been a thousand small concessions, each justified, each temporary, each quietly permanent. By the time an opposition leader flees for his life, the groundwork has long been laid.

And yet, to describe Uganda as simply “on the edge of the cliff” risks misunderstanding the terrain. The fall, in many ways, is already underway. The more pressing question is whether there are forces capable of pulling it back, civil society, regional pressure or a reinvigorated internal demand for accountability. History suggests that entrenched systems rarely yield without pressure, and often not without cost.

Bobi Wine’s exile is not just a story about one man’s fear; it is a reflection of a political order that has learned to sustain itself by producing that fear. The tragedy is not only that dissent is dangerous, but that danger has become predictable. And predictability, in politics, is often the clearest sign that something has gone deeply, enduringly wrong.

The dangerous spiral of a cornered Don by Howard Morton

A reckless campaign against Iran would not exist in a vacuum. It would ripple inward, shaking the foundations of American politics just as much as it destabilizes the Middle East. History has shown that foreign conflicts, especially those launched without clear consensus or long-term strategy, rarely remain “over there.” They come home politically, economically and psychologically.

For a sitting American president, the consequences could be deeply personal. A miscalculated escalation with Iran risks more than military entanglement; it risks political erosion. If the campaign falters, drags on or produces unintended consequences, it weakens the perception of leadership. And in Washington, perception is power. Once that begins to slip, allies grow cautious, opponents grow bold and the narrative shifts from authority to vulnerability.

Now place that vulnerability in the context of looming midterm elections. The possibility of losing one or both houses of Congress would not simply be a political inconvenience. It would be a direct threat to the president’s ability to govern, shield decisions and control the national agenda. A weakened presidency at home, combined with a controversial military engagement abroad, creates a volatile mix. It invites scrutiny, investigations and the reopening of every unresolved controversy waiting in the wings.

And that is where the danger deepens. A president under pressure does not always retreat. Sometimes, he lashes out. Political survival instincts can drive decisions that are less about strategy and more about regaining control of the narrative. When domestic troubles mount, court battles, potential impeachments and a hostile legislature, the temptation to redirect attention becomes powerful. Foreign policy can become not just a tool of statecraft, but a stage for distraction, projection, or even retaliation.

This is the moment when unpredictability becomes policy. The world has seen versions of this before, leaders boxed in at home seeking leverage abroad. It is not always a conscious calculation; often, it is a gradual shift. The line between defending national interests and pursuing personal political survival begins to blur. Targets that once seemed peripheral suddenly move to the forefront. Strategic patience gives way to impulsive gestures. And rhetoric hardens into action.

In such a climate even places far removed from the original conflict can become entangled in the president’s line of sight. Regions like Greenland or Cuba, each carrying their own geopolitical sensitivities, could transform from distant considerations into symbols of strength, bargaining chips or arenas for demonstrating resolve. What begins as one conflict risks expanding into a broader pattern of confrontation.

This is not merely speculation; it is a warning rooted in political logic. A leader who feels cornered, who sees the walls closing in domestically, is often at his most dangerous, not necessarily because of intent but because of pressure. Decisions made under that kind of strain are rarely measured. They are reactive, emotional and sometimes disproportionate.

The true cost of a reckless campaign against Iran, then, is not confined to its immediate battlefield. It lies in the chain reaction it triggers within the presidency itself. A weakened leader, facing political survival battles at home, may seek strength in the one arena where power still feels absolute, the global stage.

And that is where caution must prevail, because a presidency under siege does not just defend itself. It looks outward, searching for its next move.

Ian Glim #006 #cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

A bewildered soul navigating global complexities armed
only with earnestness and a sharp, sarcastic wit.

For more Ian Glim, HERE!
For more Ovi Cartoons, HERE!

---

The Donald who cried wolf diplomacy by Markus Gibbons

The question of whether Donald Trump and his administration are genuinely engaging with Iran to end conflict or merely projecting the illusion of diplomacy cuts to the core of a broader credibility crisis. It is no longer just about foreign policy; it is about trust, narrative control and the long-term consequences of political messaging that shifts faster than facts can settle.

On one side there are claims, often abrupt and dramatic, that negotiations are underway, that breakthroughs are imminent, that resolution is within reach. On the other Iranian officials dismiss these assertions outright, labeling them as detached from reality. When two narratives diverge this sharply, the truth is not simply “somewhere in between.” Instead, the gap itself becomes the story. It reveals a breakdown not only in diplomacy but in the shared understanding of what diplomacy even looks like.

This is where the concern deepens. If declarations of negotiation are made without substance, or prematurely exaggerated for political gain, they risk eroding the very mechanisms they claim to support. Diplomacy relies on credibility; quiet signals, mutual recognition and carefully managed expectations. It is not a stage for improvisation or spectacle. When public statements are repeatedly contradicted by the other party, the result is not strategic ambiguity; it is reputational damage.

And that leads directly to the “cry wolf” problem. If an administration repeatedly signals progress that does not materialize, audiences both domestic and international begin to tune out. Allies grow cautious. Adversaries grow dismissive. Even genuine efforts, if they eventually occur, may be met with skepticism. In international relations, credibility is currency. Spend it recklessly and you may find yourself unable to afford trust when it matters most.

But to frame this solely as deception would be too simple. There is also a possibility, perhaps more troubling, that this reflects a deeper disconnect between messaging and reality. In a political environment driven by rapid news cycles and constant attention demands, the pressure to appear decisive can outweigh the discipline required to be accurate. Announcing negotiations, even prematurely, creates the image of control and initiative. Whether that image corresponds to reality becomes secondary.

For Iran, dismissing these claims is equally strategic. By denying negotiations, they assert independence and resist the perception of being drawn into a narrative not of their making. It is a reminder that diplomacy is not just about what is said but who gets to define the terms of the conversation.

So where does this leave us? Not necessarily on the brink of war but in a more subtle and perhaps more dangerous place, a world where words lose their weight. When statements from powerful leaders are routinely questioned, denied, or reversed, the informational environment becomes unstable. And in that instability, miscalculations become more likely.

The real danger is not a single misleading claim. It is the accumulation of them. Over time, they create a fog where certainty disappears, and with it, accountability. If this is indeed the beginning of a “cry wolf” era, the consequences will not be immediate or dramatic. They will be gradual, trust thinning out, skepticism hardening and diplomacy becoming harder to believe in, even when it is real.

Waiting/Relapse #Poem by Abigail George

“Put down the pen someone else gave you. No one drafted a life worth living on borrowed ink.” - Jack Kerouac

“Today I can’t stand myself, and I will force myself to write because you’re unhappy. So, I must mask the monster within and find the landing place. I must smile because I want to see you smile. I must count the days and remain quiet in your presence, because you are not at peace. This is what I tell my mind on bad days.” - Abigail George

I took a walk and found a poem.
It gave me good advice.
It told me to be kind to myself.
It told me to do the dishes,
to go for long walks.
That fresh air is good for me.
It told me to listen to my mother.
It told me to forgive my father.
That to fix my broken brain,
I had to love myself.

I live in the past.
I live inside this year of sadness.
You, the man, are no longer here.
I tell myself that I’m free.
I have no mother.
I have no father.
I am not a daughter anymore.
I have no sister.
I have no brother.
These days I keep to myself.
Birds inside my head.

Birds kept inside mental cages.
The cold sea is a great comfort.
Some nights this pain is endless.
Tonight, the garden is psychotic.
I have been put in isolation.
The door is locked from the outside.
I receive no visitors.
There are bars at the window.
Charles Bukowski’s ghost sits beside me.
He strokes my hair.

He makes me feel beautiful.
I took a sip of his beer.
It makes me feel warm inside, good.
I hear the women’s laughter.
They start throwing stones at me.
Even this pain is medicine.
Although it makes me feel mediocre.
Strong medicine like Chopin.
I finished the bottle.
I hid the green bottle away
under the sheets that felt like winter
I jumped out of the window.

The slow torture of night catches me.
Mrs Williams, the dead pastor’s wife,
told me to stop complaining. You’re alive
for a purpose: to dream, to have a child.
Live, she said. Find reasons to live.
I read a poem by Kobus Moolman.
I write to the Dutch English poet
Joop Bersee. Nothing makes the
darkness go away. My brother
locks me out of the house.
But first, his fist rains down on me.
I disappeared somewhere.

Once Rilke’s wife, always Rilke’s wife.
The cloud hurts.
The sun hurts.
The snail laughs at me.
You couldn’t even land a man, it says.
How to be great, I ask?
Be kind, Oprah says.
So, I am kind.
The world forgets all about me.
Just like my mother did.

On my birthday there was no cake
or presents. There were no red balloons.
I ate beans and rice in the kitchen
with my father. The stigma is refreshing.
The bones of madness is a gem, trivia.
I went on holiday to Provincial Hospital.
This trip taught me to understand others.
It taught me to understand myself more.
Nowadays when depressed I give myself flowers.
I keep my pain to myself.

Ovi Dark - Issue #01

 

Welcome to the first issue of Ovi Dark. In the back alleys and dimly lit dives where morality goes to die, these stories stake their claim.

Here, the world is rendered in stark contrast, the blinding flash of a muzzle, the deep shadow of a fedora’s brim, the crimson stain spreading across a charcoal suit.

This is the realm of the fatalistic and the fallen, where the dame is always trouble, the scheme is never clean and the hero is merely the last man standing.

Driven by desperation and the promise of one big score, these tales unspool with the relentless rhythm of rain on a windowpane.

Welcome.
The verdict is already in: nobody walks away clean!

Thanos Kalamidas

Ovi Dark - Issue #01

Read the Ovi Thematic eMagazine online HERE!
View, read it online or download it in PDF/epub format HERE!
And enjoy viewing & reading it online or download in PDF format HERE!
All Ovi eMagazines and eBooks downloads are FREE!

Me My Mind & I #12: Trumpoleon II #Cartoon by Patrick McWade

 

A different way to check internal and external ...thoughts!
'Me My Mind & I' is a cartoon series by Patrick McWade.
For more 'Me My Mind & I' HERE!
For more Ovi Cartoons, HERE!

---

Ant-sized Culinary #005 #Cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

In the bustling undergrowth of Picante Hill, Anton the culinary ant dons his oversized toque and delivers deliciously chaotic cooking wisdom, one tiny misadventure at a time.

For more Ant-sized Culinary HERE!
For more Ovi Cartoons, HERE!

---

The mirage of momentum by Nadine Moreau

In politics momentum is often less a measurable force than a carefully curated illusion, a story parties tell themselves until voters either validate or puncture it. Marine Le Pen’s National Rally now finds itself clinging to such a story. Despite falling short in key urban battlegrounds like Marseille, Toulon and Nîmes, the party insists that the broader national current is flowing in its favour. But if momentum is revealed not in rhetoric but in results, then the recent local elections suggest something quite different, the ground beneath French politics is shifting and not in the direction Le Pen had hoped.

Cities, as ever, are the truest barometers of political change. They are dense with contradictions, diverse in composition and resistant to simplistic narratives. For years the National Rally has struggled to crack this urban code and these elections reaffirm that limitation. The failure to secure major cities is not a minor tactical setback; it is a structural weakness. Urban voters, confronted daily with the realities of multiculturalism and economic interdependence, appear less receptive to the party’s nationalist framing. In these environments, Le Pen’s message loses some of its sharpness, even its urgency.

Meanwhile the left, often dismissed as fragmented or ideologically exhausted, has demonstrated a surprising coherence. Under figures like Emmanuel Grégoire, a new kind of pragmatic socialism is emerging, one that blends traditional welfare concerns with a distinctly modern emphasis on inclusivity and urban governance. This is not the doctrinaire left of decades past but a recalibrated force that understands the symbolic and practical importance of cities. And in these elections it didn’t just compete, it dominated.

The significance of this cannot be overstated. Winning cities means shaping narratives. It means controlling the spaces where culture, media and political discourse intersect. The left’s victories are not merely administrative; they are psychological. They signal to voters that an alternative to both centrist technocracy and right-wing populism is not only viable but effective. In contrast, the National Rally’s claim to nationwide momentum begins to sound less like confidence and more like deflection.

Le Pen’s strategy has long relied on the idea of an inevitable ascent, a slow but steady normalization culminating in presidential victory. But inevitability is a fragile construct. It requires constant reinforcement through visible gains, particularly in places that matter symbolically. Losing major cities disrupts that narrative. It raises uncomfortable questions about the party’s ceiling and whether its appeal can truly broaden beyond its established base.

There is also a deeper irony at play. The National Rally has positioned itself as the voice of “the people,” yet it continues to falter where people gather most densely. The left, often caricatured as elitist or disconnected, is proving more adept at engaging with the complexities of modern urban life. This inversion should give Le Pen pause, though it likely won’t. Political movements rarely abandon their narratives willingly; they double down, hoping that repetition will substitute for reality.

But reality has a way of asserting itself, especially in democratic systems. The recent elections suggest that France is not moving in a single, predictable direction. Instead it is negotiating its future through a series of local decisions that, taken together, form a national picture. And in that picture, the momentum Le Pen claims to possess looks increasingly like a mirage visible from a distance but dissolving upon closer inspection.

The fog we’re told to breathe by Harry S. Taylor

There is something uniquely suffocating about a conflict where the loudest weapon is not a missile but a narrative. In the ongoing tensions surrounding Iran what has become most apparent is not simply the danger of escalation but the quiet, methodical erosion of truth. Not collateral damage, casualty.

We are told we live in an age of unprecedented access to information. And yet, paradoxically, it has never been easier to feel profoundly misinformed. The modern media ecosystem, once imagined as a sprawling marketplace of ideas, increasingly resembles a hall of mirrors, reflections curated, angles chosen, distortions intentional. Whether the voice originates in Washington, Tel Aviv or Tehran is almost beside the point. Each speaks with conviction. Each claims legitimacy. Each edits reality.

This is not a failure of journalism in the traditional sense. It is something more systemic, more insidious. It is the quiet understanding, shared across governments and, too often, echoed by media institutions, that information is not to be discovered but managed. That truth is not to be pursued but positioned.

In conflicts like this, facts do not disappear; they are buried under layers of selective emphasis. Civilian casualties are either highlighted or omitted depending on the flag attached to the narrative. Military actions are framed as defense or aggression based not on their nature, but on their authorship. Language itself becomes a weapon “retaliation,” “deterrence,” “security operation.” Words that obscure more than they reveal.

And the media? It oscillates between complicity and exhaustion. Some outlets align themselves, openly or subtly, with state perspectives, adopting the framing of power while maintaining the aesthetic of neutrality. Others attempt resistance, only to be drowned out by the sheer volume of coordinated messaging. Speed overtakes scrutiny. Access replaces independence. The result is not always outright falsehood but something perhaps more dangerous: curated truth.

The audience, meanwhile, is left to assemble a coherent picture from fragments that do not quite fit together. Trust erodes, not all at once but gradually like a shoreline losing ground to an indifferent tide. And when trust collapses, so too does the foundation of democratic discourse. Because democracy does not merely depend on the right to vote; it depends on the ability to know what one is voting about.

There is a temptation to treat this as inevitable, as the natural consequence of geopolitics in the digital age. But inevitability is often just a convenient disguise for resignation. The real danger lies not only in manipulation but in our growing tolerance for it. In the quiet shrug that follows each contradiction. In the acceptance that truth is always partisan, always negotiable.

What is at stake is not simply accurate reporting on a distant conflict. It is the integrity of perception itself. If every narrative is suspect, if every image is potentially staged, if every statement carries the weight of hidden intent, then reality becomes a matter of allegiance rather than evidence.

And in that world, democracy does not die in darkness. It fades in the glare of competing spotlights, each claiming to illuminate, all ensuring that we never quite see clearly.