The sound of selective silence by Thanos Kalamidas

There is a particular kind of silence in politics that speaks louder than any speech. It is not the quiet of uncertainty or the pause before careful judgment; it is the deliberate withholding of voice when a voice is most required. In recent days, that silence has echoed from the upper chambers of European leadership, and it has been impossible to ignore.

When Donald Trump issued rhetoric that many interpreted as a threat of catastrophic consequence against an entire civilization, one might have expected a chorus of immediate and unequivocal responses from global leaders, especially from those who claim to stand as guardians of democratic values and human rights. Yet from the European Union there was little more than a ...vacuum. No urgency. No moral clarity. Just a stillness that felt less like diplomacy and more like avoidance.

And then almost jarringly the silence broke. Within hours of Trump announcing a ceasefire with Iran, Ursula von der Leyen stepped forward with praise, her voice clear, present and conspicuously enthusiastic. The contrast was stark enough to feel theatrical. Where there had been hesitation before, there was now decisiveness. Where there had been restraint, there was now approval. It raised an uncomfortable question: what, exactly, prompts Europe to speak?

This is not merely about timing it is about consistency and more importantly, credibility. The European Union has long positioned itself as a moral actor on the global stage, a body that champions diplomacy, human dignity and the rule of law. These are not abstract ideals; they are meant to be the foundation of its identity. But values, unlike policies, cannot be selectively applied without consequence. When outrage is conditional, it ceases to be outrage at all, it becomes strategy.

Von der Leyen’s response or lack thereof, exposes a deeper fracture within the EU’s posture. It suggests that moral clarity may be subordinate to political convenience, that the calculus of response is guided less by principle and more by optics. To commend a ceasefire is, of course, not inherently wrong; peace is always preferable to escalation. But the absence of prior condemnation casts that commendation in a different light. It feels less like a commitment to peace and more like an eagerness to align with power once the immediate danger has passed.

European citizens, who are often told that their union stands for something greater than mere political coordination, are left to reconcile this dissonance. What does it mean to represent democratic ideals if those ideals fall silent at critical moments? What does leadership look like if it only emerges when it is safe or convenient or diplomatically advantageous?

There is also a question of responsibility. Leadership on the international stage is not only about reacting to outcomes; it is about shaping the moral framework within which those outcomes are judged. Silence, in that context, is not neutral. It is interpretive. It signals what is tolerable, what is negotiable, and what can be ignored.

In the end, the issue is not whether Ursula von der Leyen spoke; it is when she chose to do so and when she did not. That gap, measured in hours but weighted in meaning, reveals more than any official statement ever could. It is in that gap that trust erodes, that values blur and that the idea of principled leadership begins to feel like little more than a well-rehearsed illusion.


Peace talks or power play? By Timothy Davies

Diplomacy often fails quietly. Statements are issued, hands are shaken and the word “productive” is stretched beyond recognition. But sometimes failure arrives with a sharper edge, when both sides walk away not just without agreement, but with entirely different understandings of what was ever on the table. That appears to be the case with the recent U.S.–Iran talks in Pakistan, now widely described as a collapse. The real question is not whether they failed but why they were perhaps destined to.

From the American perspective the talks were framed as a pathway to de-escalation, reduce tensions, stabilize oil markets and avoid another flashpoint in an already volatile region. Iran, meanwhile, signaled openness to dialogue but repeatedly emphasized sovereignty, sanctions relief and mutual respect. These are not incompatible goals, at least not on paper. But diplomacy rarely unravels on paper; it unravels in assumptions.

What if the breakdown stemmed from a fundamental misreading? Reports and reactions suggest that Iran perceived the U.S. delegation, including Vice President JD Vance, as arriving not to negotiate peace but to dictate terms, terms that would effectively require Tehran to relinquish control over its oil leverage and accept constraints that touch the core of its sovereignty. If that perception took hold early, the talks were likely over before they began.

This is the enduring paradox of American diplomacy in the Middle East. Washington often believes it is offering stability, while its counterparts hear demands for submission dressed in the language of cooperation. The gap between those interpretations is not semantic; it is existential. For Iran, oil is not merely an economic asset, it is a strategic lifeline and a symbol of independence in the face of decades of pressure. To negotiate away influence over it is not compromise; it is capitulation.

The inclusion of a high-profile political figure like Vance may have compounded the issue. His presence signaled seriousness, but also domestic political weight. In Washington, that might translate to leverage. In Tehran, it may have reinforced suspicions that the talks were as much about projecting strength for an American audience as they were about finding common ground.

There is also the matter of venue. Pakistan, positioned as a neutral intermediary, offered a stage for dialogue but not necessarily the trust required to sustain it. Neutral ground cannot compensate for asymmetric expectations. If one side arrives seeking a ceasefire and the other arrives seeking structural concessions, neutrality becomes irrelevant.

None of this absolves Iran of responsibility. Its negotiating posture has long been rigid and its strategic calculus often prioritizes resistance over reconciliation. But effective diplomacy requires engaging with reality as it is, not as one wishes it to be. If the U.S. approach assumed that economic pressure had weakened Iran to the point of compliance, the outcome suggests otherwise.

The failure of these talks underscores a broader lesson: peace negotiations cannot succeed when one side believes it is negotiating terms and the other believes it is negotiating survival. That disconnect transforms dialogue into theater and theater into collapse.

What comes next is uncertain but troubling. Failed diplomacy rarely leaves a vacuum; it leaves resentment, hardened positions and fewer channels for communication. The risk is not just continued tension but escalation driven by misunderstanding rather than intent.

If there is a path forward, it begins with recalibration. Not concession, but clarity. Not pressure alone, but perspective. Because in the end, peace is not built on what one side can extract, but on what both sides are willing to accept without losing themselves in the process.


#eBook Arctic drilling crossfire by Zakir Hall

 

The stakes in Alaska are not local. They never were. What happens in the Arctic will reverberate through every latitude, in every nation, for every generation yet born.

This is the story of that reverberation and of the last great reserve on a changing earth.

The Arctic is no longer a frozen periphery. It is a front line. For centuries, the northernmost reaches of Alaska existed in the American imagination as a sublime and silent wilderness, a vast, white expanse where caribou migrated across frozen tundra and Indigenous communities followed patterns of life established over millennia.

Zakir Hall is a seasoned geopolitical strategist who views the world not as a map of static borders, but as a fluid chessboard of resource-driven tensions and shifting allegiances. His research specializes in the "geopolitics of the invisible," meticulously mapping how subaquatic data cables and satellite constellations have become the primary battlegrounds for modern sovereignty. When he isn't deciphering the nuances of Arctic trade routes, Zakir is known for his sharp wit and his stubborn insistence that the next great global conflict will be fought over lithium, not land.

Ovi eBook Publishing 2026

Arctic drilling crossfire

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Berserk Alert! #099 #Cartoon by Tony Zuvela

 

Tony Zuvela and his view of the world around us in a constant berserk alert!
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Walk the talk 26#006 #cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

The term “talk the talk, walk the walk” is a phrase in English
that means a person should support what they say, not just with words,
but also through action. Actions speak louder than words.

For more Walk the talk, HERE!
For more Ovi Cartoons, HERE!


Youth Revolutions in South Asia: Explaining Nepal’s Breakthrough and Bangladesh’s Setback By Habib Siddiqui

The political upheavals in South Asia over the past couple of years have revealed a striking generational shift. In Nepal, Gen Z activists and organizers achieved a peaceful electoral victory that reshaped the country’s political landscape.

In Bangladesh, the same generation—fresh from toppling the autocratic Hasina regime on August 5, 2024—entered the 2026 election with high expectations. The Awami League (AL)that ruled the countrysince 2008 by consolidating power through fraudulent means and repressions of political opponents, was banned from taking part in the polls. Pre‑election surveys suggested that the National Citizen Party (NCP), a youth‑driven movement, would perform strongly, especially in the 11‑party alliance with Jamaat‑e‑Islami (JI). The JI-led 11-party alliance was projected to secure at least half the seats, as young voters (18–37 years old) who make up 44 per cent of the electorate were likely to determine the outcome, along with undecided voters. Meanwhile, nearly 48 per cent of AL voters were shifting to the Bangladesh Nationalist Party (BNP), long tainted by corruption and dynastic politics.

However, the results defied expectations. The 11‑party JI–NCP alliance won a total of 77 seats: JI secured 68, NCP managed only 6, and the remaining seats went to smaller coalition partners.The BNP, in contrast, won a landslide 212 seats, giving it a two-thirds majority.Voter turnout was low, with only 59.44 percent of eligible voterscasting ballots. Many observers described the outcome as “election engineering,” while others suggested that AL supporters shifted their votes to the BNP, often viewed as the old regime’s B-team.

Yet even with these structural distortions, the central question remains: why did Nepal’s Gen Z succeed where Bangladesh’s Gen Z stumbled? And what lessons can Bangladeshi youth draw from Nepal’s example?

This essay explores three dimensions of the contrast: organizational strategy, political culture, and institutional environment.

1. Organizational strategy: Nepal’s cohesion vs. Bangladesh’s fragmentation

One of the clearest differences lies in how youth movements organized themselves.

Nepal: Unified, disciplined, and strategically patient

Nepal’s Gen Z activists spent years building networks across universities, civil society groups, and local communities. Their rise was not sudden; it was the culmination of:

  • Grassroots organizing that reached rural and urban voters alike
  • Clear messaging centred on anti-corruption, transparency, and generational renewal
  • Internal discipline, avoiding public infighting or factionalism
  • Strategic alliances that did not dilute their identity or autonomy

Crucially, Nepal’s youth movement understood that electoral success requires more than moral legitimacy. It requires infrastructure—polling agents, legal teams, media outreach, and voter‑mobilization machinery. They built these patiently.

Bangladesh: A movement without a machine

Bangladesh’s Gen Z, despite their revolutionary energy, lacked the organizational depth needed for a national election. Their success in toppling the Hasina regime created a sense of momentum, but not necessarily a durable political structure.

Several weaknesses became apparent:

  • NCP was new, untested, and organizationally thin
  • Alliance with JI overshadowed NCP’s identity, making it appear junior and dependent
  • Youth activists were more comfortable with protest politics than electoral logistics
  • Polling agents and vote protection mechanisms were insufficient, leaving them vulnerable to manipulation

Even if election engineering occurred, the absence of a robust electoral machine made it easier for opponents to exploit weaknesses.

2. Political culture: Nepal’s openness vs. Bangladesh’s entrenched partisanship

Nepal: A society ready for generational change

Nepal’s political culture has long been fluid. The monarchy’s fall, the Maoist insurgency, and repeated constitutional transformations created a public accustomed to political experimentation. Voters were willing to give young leaders a chance because:

  • Traditional parties had exhausted public patience
  • Youth leaders articulated a hopeful, forward looking narrative
  • The electorate saw generational change as a national necessity

In short, Nepalese society was primed for a peaceful youth takeover.

Bangladesh: A society polarized by decades of two‑party dominance

Bangladesh’s political culture is far more rigid. For over three decades, politics has been dominated by two dynastic parties—Awami League and BNP—whose rivalry shaped every institution, from bureaucracy to media to local administration.

Even after the fall of the Hasina regime, this entrenched polarization persisted:

  • Many voters defaulted to familiar party labels
  • Older generations distrusted new parties
  • Youth movements struggled to break through the BNP–AL binary
  • Religious, regional, and class divisions complicated coalition building

In such an environment, Gen Z enthusiasm alone could not overcome decades of political conditioning.

3. Institutional environment: Nepal’s fairer playing field vs. Bangladesh’s structural constraints

Nepal: Institutions allowed competition

Nepal’s electoral institutions—while imperfect—were relatively neutral. The Election Commission, judiciary, and media maintained enough independence to prevent large‑scale manipulation. Youth candidates could compete on a reasonably level field.

Bangladesh: Institutions still shaped by old regimes

Even after the fall of the Hasina regime, Bangladesh’s institutions did not transform overnight. Key challenges remained: the Election Commission’s credibility issues, local administration still influenced by old networks, media ecosystems shaped by decades of political patronage and mostly owned by oligarchs,a highly polarizedandfragile civil sphere, and security forces not fully neutralized.

Compounding these constraints was the fact that the bureaucracy—both administrative and military—remained largely untouched by the revolution. The old guard, many of whom had benefited from the system since at least 2008, continued to occupy key posts. Their presence created a stalemate environment that weakened the interim government and eroded public confidence. The Yunus‑led interim administration, headed by an 85‑year‑old figure with little appetite for sweeping reform, struggled to assert authority or deliver a credible election. With limited time to prepare, the 11‑party JI‑led alliance entered the polls with severe disadvantages. As many analysts observed, transformational change succeeds only when driven by committed agents of the revolution—not by hesitant caretakers or figures perceived as disconnected from the movement’s goals.

In such a landscape, a new party like NCP faced structural disadvantages that Nepal’s youth did not.

What can Bangladeshi Gen Z learn from Nepal

The contrast between the two countries offers several lessons.

a. Build long‑term organizational capacity

Revolutions create openings, but elections require machinery. Bangladeshi youth must invest in:

  • Local committees
  • Polling agents
  • Legal teams
  • Data analytics
  • Voter education campaigns

Without these, enthusiasm cannot translate into seats.

b. Maintain a distinct political identity

NCP’s alliance with JI may have diluted its appeal among secular youth and urban middle classes. Nepal’s youth movements succeeded because they remained unambiguously youth‑led.

c. Engage older generations, not just peers

Nepal’s Gen Z built cross‑generational coalitions. Bangladeshi youth must similarly persuade:

  • Rural elders
  • Women voters
  • Religious communities
  • Working class constituencies

A youth movement cannot win if it speaks only to itself.

d. Prepare for institutional resistance

Bangladesh’s youth must anticipate structural obstacles and develop strategies to counter them—through legal advocacy, election monitoring, and international observation.

e. Shift from protest to governance mindset

Toppling a regime is one skill; governing is another. Nepal’s youth demonstrated readiness to govern. Bangladeshi youth must articulate:

  • Policy platforms
  • Economic visions
  • Governance models
  • Anti-corruption frameworks

Voters reward clarity and competence.

Conclusion

The divergent outcomes in Nepal and Bangladesh are not simply stories of success and failure. They reflect different political cultures, institutional landscapes, and levels of organizational maturity. Nepal’s Gen Z triumphed because they combined moral legitimacy with strategic discipline. Bangladesh’s Gen Z, despite their courage and revolutionary spirit, entered the electoral arena before building the structures needed to protect their vote and project their message.

Yet the story is far from over. Bangladesh’s youth (aged 15-34 years), constituting roughly 55 per cent of the population, remain the country’s most dynamic force. If they learn from Nepal—by building durable institutions, cultivating broad coalitions, and preparing for the long game with a clear vision, mission, and roadmap—they can still reshape their nation’s future. Ultimately, the next chapter will depend on whether they can transform their movement into a political machine capable of winning not only the streets, but the ballot box.


Dr. Habib Siddiqui is a peace and human rights advocate with a distinguished career in operational excellence. He has successfully led Lean transformation initiatives across four major multinational corporations. His forthcoming book, Operational Excellence in the Process Industry: A Practitioner’s Guide to Lean Six Sigma, offers practical insights for driving efficiency and innovation in complex industrial environments.


A court out of step with science and humanity by Virginia Robertson

In a decision that feels less like jurisprudence and more like a regression, the U.S. Supreme Court has struck down Colorado’s ban on conversion therapy for minors, a practice widely condemned as ineffective, coercive and deeply harmful. The ruling does not merely erase a state safeguard; it sends a message that ideology may now outrank evidence and that vulnerable children can once again be subjected to discredited interventions under the guise of “therapy.”

Let’s be clear about what conversion therapy is and what it is not. It is not therapy in any meaningful clinical sense. It is not grounded in credible science. It is not endorsed by any major medical or psychological association. What it is, instead, is a collection of practices built on the premise that being gay, lesbian or bisexual is a defect to be corrected. That premise has been rejected for decades by the very institutions tasked with understanding human health and behaviour.

Yet the Court’s decision effectively elevates that rejected premise into something permissible, even defensible under constitutional protection. In doing so, it sidesteps not just scientific consensus but basic moral reasoning. When the state steps back from protecting minors, especially in matters of mental health, it is not neutral. It is complicit.

The defenders of this ruling will likely cloak their arguments in the language of liberty: parental rights, religious freedom and free speech. These are serious principles, deserving of protection. But they are not absolute, and they have never been interpreted as a license to harm. Society routinely draws lines when children are at risk, whether in medicine, education or basic welfare. We do not allow parents to deny life-saving treatment based on belief alone. We do not permit professionals to practice methods proven to cause harm. Why, then, should this be any different?

What makes this ruling particularly troubling is not just its outcome but its underlying implication: that sexual orientation is mutable, suspect, or in need of correction. This is not simply a legal stance; it is a cultural signal. It tells LGBTQ youth, already at higher risk for depression, anxiety and suicide that their identities remain negotiable in the eyes of the highest court in the land.

There is also a deeper institutional concern. Courts are not meant to operate in a vacuum of expertise. When decades of research, clinical data and professional consensus converge on a single conclusion that conversion therapy is ineffective and harmful, a decision that ignores that body of knowledge raises uncomfortable questions. Is the Court interpreting the Constitution, or is it selectively filtering reality through an ideological lens?

The damage of this ruling will not be abstract. It will be felt in therapy rooms where children are told they are broken. It will echo in households where parents, emboldened by legal validation, seek to “fix” what was never broken to begin with. And it will linger in the quiet, internal struggles of young people who are forced to reconcile their identities with a system that refuses to fully accept them.

History has a way of judging such moments with clarity that contemporaries often lack. This decision will likely be remembered not as a triumph of freedom, but as a failure of responsibility, a moment when the Court chose to look past both science and compassion.

The question now is not just what the Court has done, but what the rest of the country will do in response.


How To Convince An Addict To Get Help by Stan Popovich

There are many reasons why people who use drugs and alcohol do not get the help they need to overcome their addictions and other issues.

Some family members who see the people they love struggle may have a difficult time in getting them assistance.

As a result, here are seven suggestions on how to convince a person struggling with drugs and alcohol to get help.

1. A family intervention could work: The most popular way to get someone the help they need is to do a family intervention. This is when family members and an interventionist get together with the person to tell them how much they love them and that they need to get some assistance.  The person whose having a hard time listens and hopefully they become convinced to get the treatment they need.

2. Get an addiction expert to talk to the person: Another way to convince the person to get help is to get someone who is an expert on drugs and alcohol and have them do a one-on-one talk with the person who is struggling. This person should explain what will happen if they do nothing. This may help convince the individual whose having a difficult time to get some guidance.

3. Use the services of a former addict: Get somebody who used to battle addiction to talk to your friend who needs assistance. A person who used drugs and alcohol in the past could use their past experiences to try to reason with the person you know. He or she might be able to use their insights to convince the individual to seek treatment.

4. Find out why the person won’t get help: Ask the individual who is struggling to list the main reasons why they will not get assistance. It might take a few tries, however try to find out what is stopping your friend from getting treatment. Fear and frustration are huge factors for not getting help.

5. Address the reasons why the individual won’t get help: Once you get the reasons why he or she won’t go to rehab, the next step is to find the ways to address the fears the individual may have.  Addressing one’s fears and concerns may convince them to take some action that will get their life back on track.

6. Talk to the person instead of talking at them: Nobody wants to be lectured or yelled at. The person who is suffering is scared and they need help in overcoming their fears and resistance to getting some guidance. Treat others the way you would want to be treated if the roles were reversed.

7. You can’t manage your mental health all by yourself: Fear and anxiety can be difficult to manage and more than likely your friend will need some counseling. Many people think that they can overcome their mental health problems on their own. This is a mistake. A person should admit they have a problem and then seek treatment to start the recovery process.


Stan Popovich is the author of the popular managing fear book, “A Layman’s Guide to Managing Fear”. For more information about Stan’s book and to get some more free mental health advice, please visit Stan’s website at http://www.managingfear.com


Berserk Alert! #098 #Cartoon by Tony Zuvela

 

Tony Zuvela and his view of the world around us in a constant berserk alert!
For more Berserk Alert! HERE!
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Maples & Oranges #063 #cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

Taunting oranges in the midst of other fruity links,
constantly spreading the wares of their juicy gloom.

For more Maples & Oranges, HERE!
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When law Becomes a Weapon: The Licence to Kill by Javed Akbar

On March 30, 2026, the Israeli Knesset enacted a law imposing the death penalty exclusively upon Palestinians while exempting Israeli citizens. One cannot corrupt justice where justice, in any meaningful and equal sense, has long since ceased to exist. The world has condemned the measure—but condemnation now carries the weary cadence of ritual, not resolve.

The law was championed by Itamar Ben-Gvir, who reportedly celebrated its passage with champagne in the parliamentary chamber after it cleared by 62 votes to 48. “We made history,” he declared on social media, brushing aside mounting international calls for its withdrawal.

The responses have been swift, if not consequential. The Association for Civil Rights in Israel has filed an appeal before Israel’s Court. The Palestinian Centre for Human Rights condemned the measure as a legislative veil for extrajudicial killing. The UN Human Rights Office has urged its immediate repeal, citing clear violations of international law. Amnesty International described it as a “public display of cruelty, discrimination and utter contempt for human rights,” while the European Union expressed deep concern over its discriminatory character.

Alain Berset called it a “serious regression,” and Canada’s foreign minister, Anita Anand warned that, in practice, it systematically targets Palestinians, reinforcing a pattern that enables settler violence while further dehumanizing an already besieged people.

By reserving the ultimate punishment—death—for one people alone, the state crosses a threshold from discrimination into something colder and more deliberate: the codification of human worth along ethnic lines. It is a law that declares, without equivocation, that Palestinian lives are more expendable, their rights more conditional, their existence more easily extinguished.

Call it what it is: an apartheid law.

Yet even this legal brutality unfolds against a far darker horizon—the devastation of the Gaza Strip. There, amid shattered hospitals, flattened homes, and uncounted graves, a people endures what many across the world now describe as genocide. Entire families have been erased, a society reduced to rubble, a population trapped between siege and bombardment.

Shame on a statute that elevates inequality into doctrine. Shame on those who celebrate it. And shame, too, on a world that has watched the steady erosion of justice—and responded with little more than calibrated disapproval.

For Palestinians—dispossessed, displaced, and denied dignity since the creation of the Israeli state—this is no aberration. It is the latest chapter in a relentless continuum of injustice. That such a measure can be enacted with brazen confidence, even as proceedings unfold before the International Court of Justice, speaks to a stark and unsettling reality: power, unchecked, now presumes itself above the law.

This is not merely legislation; it is a repudiation of the very principles that sustain any claim to civilization. A law that assigns death along ethnic lines is not governance—it is moral collapse, formalized and enforced. No nation that enshrines such a doctrine can credibly invoke the language of justice, democracy, or human rights. It stands outside the bounds of civilized conduct, defiant not only of international law but of the most basic tenets of human conscience. Such a measure is not only indefensible—it is wholly unacceptable to any society that dares to call itself civilized.


Javed Akbar is a freelance writer whose opinion columns have appeared in Toronto Star and numerous digital platforms. He can be reached at: mjavedakbar@gmail.com


The sound of selective silence by Thanos Kalamidas

There is a particular kind of silence in politics that speaks louder than any speech. It is not the quiet of uncertainty or the pause befor...