The trillion-dollar mortification by Jennifer Stephenson

The emergence of the world's first trillionaire is not merely a business story. It is not a tale of innovation, entrepreneurial genius or the rewards of risk-taking. It is above all a mirror. And what that mirror reflects is not flattering.

Humanity has somehow arrived at a point where one individual can accumulate wealth on a scale that previous generations would have associated with kingdoms, empires, or mythology, while millions of people struggle to secure enough food, housing and medical care to survive. The contrast is so extreme that it almost escapes comprehension. A trillion dollars is no longer wealth in the ordinary sense. It is power, influence, and ownership concentrated beyond any rational social purpose.

The defenders of extreme wealth tend to retreat into familiar arguments. The billionaire created jobs. The billionaire built companies. The billionaire earned it. Yet these arguments avoid the central question. How much wealth can any one person reasonably possess before the accumulation itself becomes evidence of a system malfunctioning?

No one works a million times harder than a teacher. No one contributes a million times more value than a nurse. No one is a million times more essential than the sanitation worker who keeps a city functioning. The notion that a single individual can legitimately command resources greater than the economies of entire nations is not proof of meritocracy. It is proof of imbalance.

What makes the situation particularly disturbing is that it unfolds against a backdrop of visible hardship. Even in the United States, the richest nation in history, people sleep in cars, skip meals, ration medication, and work multiple jobs while remaining one emergency away from financial disaster. Food banks continue to serve growing numbers of families. Homeless encampments stand within sight of luxury developments. The same society that can generate trillionaires somehow struggles to guarantee basic dignity.

This is not an argument against success. It is an argument against excess.

A healthy economy should reward innovation, ambition, and entrepreneurship. It should encourage people to build companies and solve problems. But there is a profound difference between rewarding success and permitting the creation of fortunes so vast that they distort politics, public discourse, labour markets, and even democratic institutions themselves.

Taxation was never intended to be punishment. At its best, it is a recognition that extraordinary prosperity depends upon public infrastructure, legal protections, educated workers, and social stability. Those who benefit the most from that system should contribute proportionately to sustaining it.

The question is not whether billionaires deserve to pay more. The question is why societies have become so comfortable allowing wealth to pile upward without limit while basic human needs remain unmet below.

A trillionaire is not simply a wealthy person. A trillionaire is a warning light on the dashboard of civilization. The achievement may be celebrated in financial circles, but for everyone else it should prompt a far less comfortable conversation.

If one person can possess a trillion dollars while millions struggle to survive, the embarrassment does not belong to that individual alone. It belongs to all of us.

 

Twilight #Poem #Painting by Nikos Laios

 

In the twilight
The Earth is still,
The colours are soft,
And the night begins.

A new act,
A new play,
Full of drama,
Beautyand life.

Then the night
Comes and under
A canopy of stars
We live our brief
Shining moments
And the twilight dawns
And the earth is still
And the colours are soft
In the morning light
As another day begins,
Another day of life,
Another blessed day.

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With a digital painting from Nikos Laios

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Check Nikos Laios' eBOOK, HERE!

The rise of the two-screen audience by Felix Laursen

There was a time when watching a movie demanded complete attention. The lights dimmed, distractions disappeared and audiences surrendered themselves to the story unfolding before them. Today, however, a growing number of viewers are watching films and television shows with subtitles switched on while simultaneously scrolling through a phone, tablet, or laptop. It is a habit that would have horrified many directors a generation ago. Yet it has become one of the defining realities of modern entertainment.

The subtitle boom is often discussed as an accessibility success story, and it certainly is. But its popularity extends far beyond viewers with hearing difficulties. Millions now watch everything with captions because they are consuming stories in environments filled with interruptions. The television competes with notifications, text messages, social media feeds, online shopping, and endless digital chatter. Subtitles function as a safety net. They allow viewers to keep track of dialogue even when their eyes drift elsewhere.

This is not necessarily a sign of declining intelligence or shrinking attention spans. Rather, it reflects the way technology has reshaped daily life. People have become accustomed to processing multiple streams of information at once. The smartphone is no longer a separate device. It is an extension of modern existence. Expecting audiences to abandon it completely for two hours may be increasingly unrealistic.

The consequence is that storytelling itself is changing. Directors and producers may not love the reality, but many are adapting to it. Dialogue is becoming clearer and more direct. Key plot points are often repeated in different ways to ensure they are not missed. Visual storytelling remains important, but creators are also aware that many viewers may be listening as much as they are watching.

Television has arguably adjusted more quickly than cinema. Streaming platforms measure audience behavior with extraordinary precision. They know when viewers pause, rewind, abandon episodes, or binge entire seasons. As a result, many series now employ stronger hooks before commercial breaks or episode endings. The goal is simple: pull wandering attention back to the screen before it escapes entirely.

Even cinematography is feeling the impact. Fast-moving visual clues that might once have rewarded attentive viewers are sometimes balanced with more explicit explanations. Some directors are embracing bold visual styles, striking color palettes, and memorable imagery that can cut through the clutter of competing screens. If viewers are only looking up periodically, every glance must count.

There is, of course, a cultural cost. Movies were once among the few experiences that demanded sustained concentration. Great films often rely on subtle details, facial expressions, and visual rhythms that cannot be fully appreciated while simultaneously checking sports scores or responding to group chats. A divided audience inevitably experiences a diminished version of the art.

Yet lamenting the change will not reverse it. The two-screen audience is not a temporary phase. It is the product of a digital culture built around constant connection and endless information. The most successful directors will be those who recognize this reality without surrendering entirely to it. Their challenge is not merely to compete with the phone. It is to create stories so compelling that viewers eventually place the second screen face down and forget it exists.

That may be the ultimate measure of cinematic success in the twenty-first century.

2nd opinion! 26#10 #Cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

Seriously, a human hater self-centred agoraphobic in quarantine!
I think you’ll need a second opinion after this.

For more 2nd opinion, quarantined!, HERE!
For more Ovi Cartoons, HERE!

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An old squabble in new uniforms by Marja Heikkinen

Israel insists that its campaigns in Gaza and Lebanon are about security, not conquest. The stated objective is straightforward enough, destroy organizations that have spent years launching rockets, organizing attacks and openly declaring their desire to eliminate the Jewish state. After the horrors of October 7 many Israelis concluded that deterrence had failed and that merely containing militant groups was no longer an option. From that perspective, the war is not a geopolitical choice but a grim necessity.

Yet history has a way of intruding on military logic. The question hanging over the region is whether Israel is truly eliminating its enemies or merely participating in another cycle that has defined the conflict for generations. Terrorist organizations can be weakened, their leaders killed, their infrastructure shattered. Armies are very good at destroying things. They are often less successful at destroying ideas, identities, grievances and the political ecosystems that produce armed movements in the first place.

One does not need to romanticize Hamas or Hezbollah to recognize this dilemma. Organizations built around militancy frequently survive devastating losses. They mutate, fragment, rebrand, recruit new generations and return under different names. The Middle East is littered with examples of movements declared defeated only to reappear in altered forms a decade later. Military victory and political resolutions are not the same thing.

This is where another, a more uncomfortable question emerges. Critics of Israel argue that the war cannot be viewed separately from the broader issue of territory and settlement expansion. They point to the steady growth of Israeli settlements in the occupied West Bank and to statements by some nationalist politicians who speak openly about permanent Israeli control over Palestinian lands. To these observers, the conflict begins to resemble a familiar historical pattern, a stronger power defeating armed resistance while simultaneously expanding its footprint.

That accusation is fiercely rejected by many Israelis, who note that Gaza was not settled in the years leading up to the current war and that the immediate military objectives are directed at armed groups rather than territorial acquisition. They see comparisons to imperial expansion as simplistic and often blind to the genuine security threats Israel faces.

Still, perceptions matter in politics almost as much as facts on the ground. Every new settlement announcement, every provocative statement from an extremist politician, every image suggesting permanence where temporary security measures were promised, strengthens the argument of those who believe the conflict is about more than terrorism.

The tragedy is that both narratives contain elements that resonate. Israel faces real enemies committed to violence. Palestinians face a reality in which land, movement, and sovereignty remain deeply contested. Each side can point to evidence supporting its fears. Each side can produce a catalogue of historical wounds.

The result is a conflict trapped between military necessity and historical memory. Israel may succeed in severely damaging Hamas and Hezbollah. It may even achieve periods of relative calm. But if the underlying political questions remain unanswered, today's victory could become tomorrow's prelude.

History rarely repeats itself exactly. It prefers variations on old themes. The danger for everyone involved is that this war may eventually be remembered not as the end of a threat, but as another chapter in a story that neither side has yet figured out how to conclude.

My Johannesburg, many years ago, many moons ago Kite #Poem by Abigail George

 

I get into his car
There’s no invasion of Ukraine yet
No bombardment on Kyiv
No Zelensky in a bunker
No Russian tanks in Donbas
No drones flying overhead in a field
There’s no turning back
There’s no Palestine on the news
Or even in the newspapers
There’s no talk of the fall of Gaza or Gaza in ruins
No children’s bodies under rubble
No funerals in the what used to be city streets
No displacement
No school in a refugee camp
Or choir
Or musician with a string instrument
No refugee camps in Sudan yet
No just a dense sea of bodies, just black holes not yet
I get into his car
But I don’t know where I’m going
I have no idea where I’m going
Where he’s going to take me
I put my safety belt on
But I don’t feel safe
He doesn’t say anything
I don’t say anything
I put my hand on his knee
To steady myself
To get a grip on the situation
I’m in his car
I don’t know where I’m going
I wait for the robot to turn green
I focus on the woman
In the next car
Her child on the backseat
The child stares back at me
The dog pokes its head out of the
Window to get a better look
How did I get here?
Mandela is free
South Africa is a democracy
But I don’t feel free
What will my father say, think?
I’m in the man’s car. The man who is older,
in his late thirties or early to mid-forties
I don’t know where I’m going
I’m scared

#eBook: The Barricade and the Blackshirts by Ovi History

 

The Battle of Cable Street, Mosley’s Fascists, and the Day the East End Said No”
On the grey afternoon of 4 October 1936, two visions of Britain collided in the narrow streets of Stepney. One marched in black uniforms, saluting a leader who promised order, empire and the expulsion of Jews from the East End.

The other rose from cobblestones hastily torn from the road, barricades manned by Jewish tailors, Irish dockers, Communist firebrands and Labour councillors who, hours earlier, had been rivals. They found themselves standing shoulder to shoulder, armed with little more than chair legs, rotten vegetables and an electrifying conviction: They shall not pass.

Oswald Mosley, the First World War hero turned Labour MP turned fascist demagogue, had planned a triumphant procession through the heart of London's Jewish quarter. His British Union of Fascists, the Blackshirts, would cut a swathe through Cable Street, proclaiming ‘Britain First’ with the theatrical violence he had so admired in Mussolini.

But Mosley had miscalculated. The very poverty and overcrowding that had made Stepney fertile ground for his anti-Semitism had also forged a people unafraid of a fight.

Ovi History eBook
May 2026

Ovi eBook Publishing 2026

The Barricade and the Blackshirts

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William Butler Yeats: The Transition to Aquarius by Rene Wadlow

I have lived many lives.
I have been a slave and a prince.
Many a beloved has sat upon my knee
and I have sat upon the knee of many a beloved.
Everything that has been shall be again.
William Butler Yeats "Many a Beloved"

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) the Irish poet whose birth we mark on 13 June, along with his close colleague George Russell, who published under the name of AE, are the modern European poets most conscious of the transition within astrological cycles from the Piscean Period to the Age of Aquarius.

The concept that humanity is at the end of a 2000-year cycle and about to start a new dispensation at a higher turn of the spiral - the gyre as Yeats called the historic spiral - was  the framework within which he always worked.   Within the Age of Aquarius , there would be a coherence of politics and culture that was lacking in the Piscean Period which is symbolized by two fish going in opposite directions.

Yeats had written his understanding of historic astrological cycles in an early edition of A Vision published in only 600 copies in 1924 which he distributed to his friends who shared an interest in theosophical thought. He republished A Vision in 1937 in a fuller and more public version.  Yeats died in 1939 and had a sense well in advance of his approaching death.  The 1937 edition stands as his mature presentation of astrological cycles and their impact on human history. (1)

The concept of astrological cycles and their impact on history was developed for Western readers by Madame Helena Blavatsky, a founder of the Theosophical Society, especially in her major work The Secret Doctrine. In her later years, she lived in London, and Yeats served as the secretary of a group of advanced students formed into the Esoteric  Section.  Yeats was rather critical of the outspoken, cigarette-smoking habits of Madame Blavatsky and did not continue to be part of the "inner circle".  However, the astrological cycles remained the foundation of his vision of historical development.

The idea of astrological cycles is widely held in Asia. Its most wide-spread text is the Kalachakra, an Indian tradition now best known in its Tibetan form.  The Kalachakra (The Wheel of Time), while prediction of the future is not its aim, does indicate that at the end of a 1000-year cycle, around the year 2000CE, conditions would be created for individual evolution and enlightenment.  Each individual would have the possibility to reach the pinnacle of his evolutionary potential as within each individual there is a light which indicates the next steps to be taken for growth.

Annie Besant, who followed Madame Blavatsky as leader of the Theosophical movement was a student of the Kalachakra.  Her anti-colonial activities in India and Yeats' in Ireland were both closely related to the knowledge that the Piscean Period was coming to an end and that a colonial status was not an appropriate form for the start of the Age of Aquarius.

The Age of Aquarius was to be one of individual responsibility.  Therefore political decisions which set the framework of individual action must be taken as close to the individual as possible.  A colonial situation is a framework of irresponsibility.  Therefore Yeats was active in both cultural and political revival which led to the creation of the Republic of Ireland.  Yeats had hopes for a culturally renewed Ireland that could draw on the best of its popular traditions. As he wrote "We must hold to what we have that the next civilization may be born of our own rich experience."

The Irish Republic created in 1922  which he hoped would be a beacon of beauty seemed to him to have quickly deteriorated under the influence of narrow clerical leadership, an example of which was the head of the police who had criticized Irish dance gatherings as "orgies of dissipation, which in the present state of legislation the police is powerless to prevent." (2)

Although Yeats was elected to the Irish Senate, a more reflective body than the more political lower house, he largely rejected earthly politics, partly because he had spent much of his life developing a metaphysical system of cyclic patterns within history and also within individual  human lives.

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Notes

1) For a good overview of Yeats' interest in cycles see Harbans Rai Bachchan. W.B. Yeats and Occultism
(Delhi: Motilal Bandarsidass, 1965)

2) See D.F. Kesgh. The Vatican, the Bishops and Irish Politics, 1919-1939
(Cambridge University Press, 1986)

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Rene Wadlow, President, Association of World Citizens

Fika bonding! #123 #Cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

Fika is a state of mind and an important part of Swedish culture. It means making time for friends and colleagues to share a cup of coffee and a little something to eat.

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The voters’ inflation problem by Timothy Davies

Donald Trump did not merely make a controversial economic remark when he declared, “I love inflation.” He may have unintentionally revealed something far more troubling about the political moment America finds itself trapped in. The statement itself was startling enough. Inflation is not some abstract economic concept admired from a distance. It is the reason groceries cost more, rents rise faster than paychecks and families quietly remove items from shopping carts while pretending not to notice. Loving inflation is rather like loving potholes, root canals, or power outages. It is an odd affection to publicly confess.

Yet the remark raises a question that extends beyond Trump’s own understanding of economics. The more fascinating mystery is why millions of voters continue to embrace politicians who repeatedly demonstrate confusion, indifference, or outright contradiction regarding the issues affecting everyday lives.

For years, inflation has been presented as one of the defining political concerns in the United States. Candidates have campaigned on promises to defeat it, tame it, crush it, and rescue Americans from its effects. Political advertisements have depicted families struggling with rising prices. Speeches have been built around economic anxiety. Entire electoral strategies have depended on convincing voters that inflation is the enemy.

Then comes a statement like “I love inflation,” and the reaction among supporters often seems less like scrutiny and more like rationalization. Suddenly words do not mean what they appear to mean. Explanations emerge. Interpretations multiply. Context becomes elastic. What would be condemned as incompetence from a political opponent is transformed into genius, humor or strategic messaging when it comes from a favored leader.

This phenomenon is not unique to Trump, but he has elevated it into a political art form. His supporters are frequently asked to perform remarkable intellectual gymnastics. One day they are told tariffs will lower prices. Another day they are informed that tariffs may increase prices but are somehow still beneficial. Contradictions that would sink ordinary politicians become mere footnotes in the endless cycle of political loyalty.

At some point, the discussion stops being about Trump’s grasp of economics and starts becoming about the electorate’s willingness to suspend skepticism. Democracies depend on citizens who are prepared to evaluate leaders critically, even leaders they admire. When loyalty replaces analysis, accountability evaporates.

The danger is not that politicians occasionally say foolish things. Politicians have been doing that since politics was invented. The danger arises when obvious contradictions no longer matter. If a leader can praise inflation after years of condemning it, and supporters barely blink, then facts become secondary to identity. Politics transforms from a contest of ideas into a tribal exercise where consistency is optional and reality negotiable.

Perhaps that is the most unsettling aspect of the episode. The concern is not whether Trump fully understands inflation. Voters can decide that for themselves. The larger concern is whether enough Americans still expect coherence, honesty, and basic economic logic from the people seeking power.

A democracy can survive a politician’s careless words. It struggles when millions stop caring whether those words make sense at all.

Rebranding child labour by Virginia Robertson

Every year, World Day Against Child Labour arrives with the familiar declarations. Governments issue statements. Corporations publish carefully designed graphics. International organizations release reports filled with concern. Everyone agrees that children belong in schools, not factories. Everyone condemns exploitation. Everyone insists that progress is being made.

And yet, something strange has happened in recent years. Child labour has not simply survived. In many places, it has been rebranded. The old image of child labour is easy to condemn. A twelve-year-old working sixteen hours in a textile mill is a moral outrage few would openly defend. But modern societies have become remarkably inventive when it comes to finding new language for old practices. What was once exploitation can suddenly become “training,” “entrepreneurship,” “family contribution,” “workforce development,” or “career readiness.”

The vocabulary changes. The child remains at work. Across the world, economic pressures have intensified. Families struggle with rising costs, stagnant wages, and shrinking opportunities. Businesses face labour shortages and seek cheaper alternatives. Politicians speak constantly about competitiveness and productivity. Under such conditions, children begin to appear not as young people deserving protection but as untapped economic resources.

The transformation rarely happens openly. No politician stands before a podium and announces support for child labour. Instead, exceptions multiply. Regulations become flexible. Definitions shift. Age restrictions acquire loopholes large enough to drive delivery trucks through. What emerges is not the return of nineteenth-century factories but something more subtle: the normalization of children participating in labour markets under increasingly creative justifications.

The most revealing aspect of this trend is the language used to defend it. We are told that work builds character. We hear that young people need real-world experience. We are reminded that previous generations worked from an early age. These arguments often contain fragments of truth. Responsibility matters. Practical skills matter. Experience matters.

But there is a significant difference between learning responsibility and becoming economically necessary. A child helping occasionally in a family business is not the same as a child whose labour fills gaps created by economic policy, labour shortages, or corporate cost-cutting. The distinction matters because one is part of growing up while the other risks becoming part of someone else’s business model.

History demonstrates that child labour rarely expands because societies suddenly decide it is morally acceptable. It expands because adults convince themselves that current circumstances make it necessary. Economic necessity has always been exploitation’s most persuasive public relations agent.

That is why World Day Against Child Labour should be more than an annual exercise in self-congratulation. It should force uncomfortable questions. When laws are weakened, who benefits? When children enter workplaces earlier, who profits? When educational opportunities shrink while employment opportunities expand, what priorities are being revealed?

The danger today is not that societies openly embrace child labour. The danger is that they become skilled at disguising it. Exploitation wrapped in modern language remains exploitation. A loophole does not become ethical because it is legal. A marketing campaign does not transform necessity into opportunity.

Children deserve preparation for adulthood. They deserve responsibility, education, and practical experience. What they do not deserve is to become the shock absorbers of economic systems unwilling to confront their own failures.

The most effective defence of child labour has never been denial. It has always been redefinition. That is precisely why it deserves scrutiny whenever it appears wearing a new name.