Ovi thematic eMagazine - Issue #35: Justice vs. Judicature

Welcome to the 35th issue of the Ovi Thematic eMagazine, centered on a very contemporary global discourse: Justice vs. Judicature or 'Why the Best Laws Fail Under the Worst Men.'

The 35th issue of Ovi Thematic eMagazine theme, Justice vs. Judicature, was born from a concern that has become increasingly difficult to ignore, the growing distance between the idea of justice and the institutions created to protect it.

The intention was not to attack the law, nor to question the necessity of courts, judges or legal systems. Quite the opposite. The purpose was to examine what happens when one of democracy’s most essential foundations begins to show signs of weakness.

Justice is not merely a legal concept. It is a promise. It is the belief that decisions affecting human lives will be made with fairness, independence, and a commitment to principles greater than personal interest or political convenience. Judicature, on the other hand, is the human structure designed to carry that promise forward. It is where ideals meet reality and where the limitations, biases and ambitions of individuals can shape the outcome.

As you turn these pages, we invite you to join us in this urgent issue with thoughts, ideas and actions. Democracy is in very serious danger when justice does not work.

Of course this is Ovi and that also means that opinion articles, poetry, fiction and art would be part of the eMagazine as they have always been since the very beginnings.

So, with no further due, welcome to the new Ovi Thematic Issue

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Thanos Kalamidas

Paradise has reached capacity by Sidney Shelton

There is a peculiar irony in modern tourism. The very people who travel in search of paradise often help destroy the qualities that made it desirable in the first place. Mallorca, once celebrated for its Mediterranean tranquillity, picturesque villages and easy rhythm of life, has become the latest symbol of a problem spreading across Europe: when success becomes excess.

Thousands marching through the streets of Palma demanding limits on tourism and affordable housing are not protesting against visitors as individuals. They are protesting against an economic model that has steadily transformed their home into a commodity. Their message is less about holidaymakers carrying suitcases than about governments carrying decades of political complacency.

Tourism has long been sold as an unquestionable public good. It creates jobs, fills restaurants, keeps airports busy and generates tax revenue. Politicians proudly announce record visitor numbers as though every additional arrival is an automatic sign of prosperity. Yet there comes a point where quantity ceases to equal quality.

Mallorca appears to have reached that point. For many residents, the island no longer feels like their own. Housing prices have risen beyond what ordinary workers can afford. Apartments once occupied by families have become lucrative short-term rentals. Seasonal employment dominates local economies while permanent careers become scarcer. Young adults increasingly face the prospect of leaving the island where they were born simply because they cannot afford to live there.

This is not merely an economic failure. It is a social one. A city or island ceases to function properly when teachers, nurses, police officers, shop workers and hospitality employees cannot find homes within reasonable distance of their workplaces. Tourism may enrich investors, but communities depend upon people who remain after the holiday season ends.

The uncomfortable truth is that governments often encouraged this imbalance. They welcomed investment, approved hotel expansions, promoted cruise tourism and relaxed regulations around holiday rentals. Every new tourism record was celebrated. Few asked whether the island's infrastructure, water supply, transport network and housing market could absorb endless growth.

Now the bill has arrived. The demonstrations in Palma should not be dismissed as anti-tourist sentiment or dismissed as simple populism. Most residents understand tourism will remain Mallorca's economic backbone. They know restaurants, hotels, taxi drivers and countless small businesses depend upon visitors. What they increasingly reject is the assumption that tourism must always grow, regardless of the consequences.

Infinite growth is impossible on a finite island. Climate change only sharpens this reality. Water shortages, rising temperatures and environmental degradation place additional pressure on destinations already struggling with overcrowding. Beaches become congested. Historic neighbourhoods lose permanent residents. Traditional businesses disappear in favour of souvenir shops and luxury developments designed almost exclusively for temporary visitors.

The greatest danger is not that tourists will ruin Mallorca. It is that Mallorca could become a place where hardly any Mallorcans remain.

Europe is watching closely because Mallorca is not unique. Similar protests have emerged in Barcelona, Venice, Amsterdam and other destinations wrestling with the same dilemma. Each city faces different circumstances, yet the underlying question remains remarkably consistent: who should cities and islands ultimately serve, the people who visit them or the people who call them home?

Tourism is a privilege, not an entitlement. Beautiful places are not limitless resources to be consumed until they lose their identity. Sustainable tourism requires political courage to impose limits, regulate housing markets and prioritise residents over short-term profits.

Paradise does not disappear overnight. It erodes one holiday apartment, one overcrowded beach and one displaced family at a time. Mallorca's protesters are not trying to close their island to the world. They are asking something far more reasonable: that paradise should remain liveable for the people fortunate enough to have been born there.

Nuttley #50: Cinnamon Raisin Bagel #Cartoon by Patrick McWade

 

Nuttley is a comic strip with Nuttley as its protagonist.
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Sceptic feathers #133 #Cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

Cynicism with feathers on thin wires.

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The Michigan signal by Howard Morton

Abdul El-Sayed's victory in Michigan's Democratic Senate primary will inevitably be interpreted as more than the triumph of one candidate over another. In American politics, every primary becomes a national parable. A progressive wins in the industrial Midwest, and commentators declare the Democratic Party is moving left. A moderate prevails elsewhere, and the obituary for progressivism is hastily drafted. Reality is more complicated, yet Michigan may well represent an important warning for Democrats as much as for Republicans.

El-Sayed's victory demonstrates that the Democratic left has become more disciplined, more organised and more electorally credible than it was a decade ago. Progressive candidates are no longer merely protest figures challenging the party establishment. Increasingly, they are capable of building coalitions that unite organised labour, younger voters, minority communities and activists into formidable electoral machines. They have also become remarkably effective at turning authenticity into political capital, often outperforming better-funded opponents who rely heavily on expensive advertising campaigns.

That should concern Democratic centrists. If money alone cannot preserve the ideological middle ground inside the party, organisational strength and enthusiasm increasingly can. Yet there is a profound difference between winning a Democratic primary and winning a competitive statewide election.

Primary electorates are, almost by definition, more ideological than the general public. They reward conviction over compromise. Swing voters, however, tend to reward reassurance over ideological purity. This distinction has repeatedly shaped modern American politics. Parties often mistake internal victories for national mandates.

The danger for Democrats lies precisely here. The temptation will be to interpret Michigan as evidence that the party should lean even further into progressive economic policies, ambitious healthcare reforms, environmental activism and a more confrontational stance against corporate America. Such positions energise activists and volunteers. Whether they reassure suburban independents in Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, Arizona or Georgia is another matter entirely.

American elections are rarely won at the ideological edges. They are usually decided by voters who dislike both extremes. Republicans understand this arithmetic, even if they often fail to practise it themselves. Donald Trump has repeatedly demonstrated an unusual ability to combine populist rhetoric with selective moderation on issues that matter to working-class voters. His political coalition has expanded not because conservatives became more conservative but because enough former Democratic voters concluded that their cultural concerns mattered more than ideological consistency.

Should Democrats appear to drift further left, Republicans will seize upon every progressive proposal as evidence that the party has abandoned moderation altogether. Campaign advertisements almost write themselves. Every activist slogan becomes a weapon. Every controversial policy proposal becomes a national symbol, regardless of whether most Democratic candidates actually support it.

This does not mean progressive politics are inherently unelectable. Far from it. Many individual policies associated with the Democratic left enjoy broad public support when presented independently. Expanding healthcare access, reducing prescription drug costs, increasing investment in infrastructure and addressing economic inequality all poll well. The difficulty begins when these proposals become wrapped inside an ideological identity that many independent voters perceive as excessively activist or culturally polarising.

Perception often defeats policy. The Democratic Party therefore faces an old strategic dilemma wearing new clothes. Should it maximise enthusiasm among its most committed supporters or minimise resistance among persuadable voters? The two objectives occasionally overlap but frequently compete.

Michigan alone cannot answer that question. One state's primary electorate cannot predict the behaviour of millions of independent voters across dozens of competitive congressional districts. Nevertheless, symbolic victories matter because they influence internal party debates. Activists gain confidence. Moderates become defensive. The centre gradually shifts—not necessarily because voters demand it but because successful candidates redefine what seems politically possible.

Ironically, the greatest beneficiary of a leftward Democratic drift may not be the Republican establishment but Donald Trump himself. His political instinct has always been to present himself as the imperfect defender of ordinary Americans against ideological elites. Every Democratic move that reinforces this narrative strengthens his preferred battlefield.

Democrats should celebrate winning primaries. They should be far more cautious about believing that primary victories are synonymous with national consensus. Michigan may represent the future of Democratic activism. Whether it represents the future of American elections is a far more uncertain proposition. In politics, enthusiasm can win nominations. The centre still tends to decide governments.

The BOMBS That Changed the WORLD #Thoughts by David Sparenberg

At 8:15 on the morning of August 6^th, 1945, a single American bomber, a Boeing built B-29 named the Enola Gay, dropped the first atomic weapon over the Japanese city of Hiroshima.

An immediate blindly flash, an eyeball melting tsunami  of heat, followed by a mega-firestorm, engulfed the city. Hiroshima was not a significant military target. The atomic bomb was detonated as an unprecedented act of military state terrorism.

Instantaneously, between 100,000-200,000 people perished. Men, women, children, invalids, the elderly, doctors, nurses, priests, air raid wardens, common workers. People with gardens. Mothers with infants. Women giving birth….

Six days later, the second nuclear weapon used in history was dropped on the smaller industrial city of Nagasaki. The immediate death toll there exceeded 75,000 human beings. Both Little Boy and Fat Man, as the new bombs were nicknamed, were used against people of color.

The survivors of the Bombs, the hibakusha, burned, scarred, deformed, afflicted with radiation sickness, continued a life in death of pain, suffering, shame, guilt and inescapable nightmares.

For years a group of these gentle survivor-folk toured the world, always accompanied by a medical specialist, to warn governments and citizens against the criminal horror of nuclear holocaust. A party of these people had come from meeting with then President Jimmy Carter, and we shared a dinner at an American Friends Service Committee facility. The small and meek Japanese women who sat beside me, gifted me an iconic folded crane, an origami peace crane.

When I was 17 years old, I read John Hershey’s book HIROSHIMA. The first poem I ever had published, when barely turned 18, was a commemoration of the initial atomic bombing. The poem appeared in the premier issue of Dryad, a small literary magazine out of Silver Springs, Maryland, across the river from the Pentagon and White House.

Hersey’s book awakened and confirmed in me a pacifist instinct. Now on the eve of August 6^th, 2026 (and looking at the approach of another 9/11 and the continuing nuclear strategy of MAD, mutually assured destruction) I have remained true in my opposition to war and my unwavering conviction that nuclear war—threatening to eradicate human life and all bio-forms of the Earth—is as total as evil can become. And it is the finality shadow of our manmade event horizon of doom.

As of August 6, 1945, the wrath of God was rendered obsolete by the scientific technology of total war.

To this day, I do not share nor do I comprehend public numbness and the surrendering of the precious power of life to the weaponized politics of death. If you do not wish to discourse with me on the cause of this inhuman darkness, at least ask yourself Why?.

Why do we go on behaving and believing that what is given exhausts the possibilities of what can be? That how it is,  is the way it must be? That historical trauma andapocalyptic anticipation are imagination’s parameters and, to the despair of a viable humanity, the terminus is morally conditional?

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David Sparenberg is a humanitarian and eco poet, an international essayist and storyteller. He published four eBooks with OVI Books (Sweden) in 2025, one so far this years. He has just completed a play, political and contemporary but based in the traditions of German Expressionist Theatre, soon to be published and available for performance.  David Sparenberg lives in Seattle, WA in the Pacific Northwest of the United States but identifies as an Ecotopian Citizen of Creation.

The shadow over Hiroshima by Mathew Walls

Eight decades after Hiroshima became synonymous with humanity's capacity for instantaneous self-destruction, the world once again finds itself wondering whether a cornered nuclear power might conclude that the unthinkable has become merely another military option.

The comparison is uncomfortable, imperfect and deliberately provocative. Yet it refuses to disappear. Russia's war against Ukraine has become the defining military stalemate of our era. It has consumed staggering quantities of ammunition, men, equipment and political capital. It has rewritten Europe's security landscape while exposing the limitations of modern conventional warfare. Above all, it has become deeply personal. Vladimir Putin has invested not merely the prestige of his government but his own historical legacy in a conflict that was supposed to last days rather than years.

That changes the calculus. Wars are rarely at their most dangerous when armies are advancing. They become most unpredictable when leaders begin to believe they are running out of exits.

Desperation is one ingredient. Pride is another. The latter is often underestimated in modern geopolitical analysis because economists prefer statistics and generals prefer maps. Yet pride has started more wars than resources ever have. National humiliation, wounded prestige and the refusal to acknowledge failure have repeatedly pushed governments into decisions that appeared irrational from the outside but inevitable within the walls of power.

That is what makes the nuclear question impossible to dismiss entirely. The world has become accustomed to discussing nuclear weapons as instruments of deterrence rather than actual battlefield tools. They occupy strategic documents, diplomatic speeches and military exercises, existing almost as theoretical objects. Hiroshima transformed them into symbols so horrifying that their practical use became politically toxic.

But symbols lose their power when leaders convince themselves that circumstances are exceptional. Every generation believes its crisis is unique. Every government facing existential pressure believes history grants it exemptions.

That does not mean another Hiroshima is imminent. Far from it. The political, military and diplomatic costs of crossing the nuclear threshold would be almost unimaginable. Even a so-called tactical nuclear strike would shatter decades of international norms and introduce a level of uncertainty no government could confidently control. Escalation would cease to be an academic concept and become a terrifying chain reaction governed by fear, miscalculation and emotion.

The true danger is therefore not inevitability but normalisation. Each casual discussion about limited nuclear options chips away at the psychological barrier that has protected humanity since 1945. Every television debate treating atomic weapons as merely larger artillery pieces subtly reshapes public imagination. What once seemed absolutely impossible gradually begins to sound merely unlikely.

History teaches that this is precisely how catastrophes become conceivable. Perhaps the greatest lesson of Hiroshima is not the bomb itself but the mindset that preceded it: the belief that extraordinary violence could produce a decisive political solution. That temptation survives every generation because technology evolves faster than human nature.

Whether Putin ever reaches such a conclusion is ultimately unknowable. Dictators often operate inside informational bubbles where reality becomes increasingly distorted by loyalty and fear. The more isolated the leadership, the greater the risk that conventional logic no longer applies.

The frightening truth is that civilisation has never abolished the possibility of nuclear war. It has merely postponed it through restraint, mutual fear and a shared understanding that some victories would resemble collective defeat.

The question is not whether another Hiroshima is technically possible. It always has been. The real question is whether humanity's oldest political weakness, pride, can once again overpower its newest and most terrible wisdom.

Visas denied, boundaries drawn by Mary Long

There are diplomatic incidents that fade into the background noise of international politics, and then there are moments that reveal a much larger struggle over the rules of the democratic game. Brazil's decision to deny visas to two senior Trump administration officials belongs firmly in the latter category. Whatever one thinks of President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva or of his opponents, Brasília has sent a remarkably clear message: foreign governments are welcome to observe, cooperate and engage, but they are not welcome to shape the political narrative before voters have even cast their ballots.

The accusation levelled by Brazilian officials is especially striking because it is so familiar. They argue that the American delegation's stated interest in election integrity, religious freedom and freedom of expression concealed another objective altogether, to plant seeds of doubt about Brazil's electoral system before October's presidential election. Whether every detail of that accusation proves accurate almost becomes secondary. The fact that Brazilian authorities believed such interference was plausible says much about the reputation Washington has acquired during the Trump era.

For decades, the United States presented itself as the world's foremost defender of democratic institutions. It monitored elections abroad, criticised electoral abuses and encouraged peaceful transfers of power. Critics often accused Washington of hypocrisy, but the language of democratic legitimacy remained one of its most effective diplomatic tools.

That moral authority has steadily eroded. The aftermath of the 2020 American presidential election demonstrated how quickly confidence in democratic institutions can be undermined when political leaders repeatedly question results without convincing evidence. Since then, election scepticism has become not merely a domestic political tactic but an exportable strategy. Once doubt becomes a political weapon, it travels easily across borders.

Brazil knows this better than most. The country experienced its own bitter disputes over electronic voting and institutional legitimacy during Jair Bolsonaro's presidency. Brazilians witnessed how repeated allegations against the voting system, often unsupported by evidence, polarised society long before ballots were counted. Understandably, many now view any foreign encouragement of similar narratives as an attempt to influence political outcomes rather than protect democratic principles.

That is why the visa denial carries symbolism beyond simple diplomacy. It represents an assertion that sovereignty includes the right to defend not only borders but also public confidence in democratic institutions.

The irony is difficult to ignore. American officials once travelled abroad to reassure nations about democratic norms. Today, some governments fear those same visits may inject instability into their electoral processes. That reversal should concern Americans far more than Brazilians.

Supporters of the Trump administration will argue that discussing election integrity is entirely legitimate. Indeed, transparent elections should always welcome scrutiny. But there is an enormous difference between strengthening public trust and strategically weakening it before any evidence of wrongdoing exists. Democracies survive not because elections are flawless but because citizens believe disagreements will ultimately be resolved through accepted institutions rather than permanent suspicion.

Brazil has chosen caution over courtesy. Diplomatically, it risks criticism. Politically, it risks appearing defensive. Yet it has also drawn a line that many democracies may increasingly feel compelled to draw as misinformation and political theatre become international exports.

The larger lesson extends well beyond Brasília or Washington. Democracies cannot function if every election becomes a pre-emptive battle over legitimacy rather than a contest over ideas. Protecting the ballot box requires more than secure voting machines. It also demands resisting those who would persuade voters, before a single vote is counted, that only one outcome deserves to be believed.

Worming #134 #cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

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

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The empty plate economy by Virginia Robertson

There is a peculiar myth that refuses to die in America, that hunger belongs somewhere else. It belongs in war zones, in refugee camps, in countries ravaged by drought or dictatorship. It certainly does not belong in the world's richest economy. Yet increasingly, hunger has become one of the quietest and most damning features of modern American life.

When nearly one in four adults experiences household food insecurity, something has fundamentally broken. This is not merely about skipping lunch or tightening a grocery budget. It is about parents pretending they are not hungry so their children can eat. It is about elderly people choosing between prescription medicine and groceries. It is about workers holding down two or even three jobs while standing in food-bank queues on weekends. That reality should haunt every politician who proudly proclaims America's economic greatness.

The tragedy is that this crisis has steadily climbed the social ladder. Poverty no longer wears only the familiar face of chronic unemployment or homelessness. It increasingly resembles the cashier, the delivery driver, the school secretary, the healthcare assistant, the warehouse employee and even the office administrator. The lower middle class, once regarded as financially secure enough to weather economic storms, now finds itself one unexpected expense away from an empty refrigerator.

Inflation may have eased from its peak, but the damage it inflicted has not disappeared. Grocery prices remain significantly higher than they were only a few years ago. Housing costs continue consuming larger portions of household income. Insurance premiums, childcare, utilities and transport leave little room for families to absorb another increase in food prices. Even households with steady employment often discover that their paycheques simply do not stretch to the end of the month.

Supporters of President Donald Trump argue that broader economic indicators, investment and deregulation will eventually improve living standards. Critics counter that macroeconomic statistics mean little when millions of Americans cannot consistently afford basic necessities. Economic growth loses much of its political appeal when supermarket shelves remain full but shopping baskets remain half empty.

Whether one attributes today's hardship to decisions made during the Trump administration, to longer-term structural problems, or to a combination of both, one uncomfortable truth remains. Prosperity measured on Wall Street does not automatically translate into security on Main Street. Rising stock indices offer little comfort to families comparing the price of eggs, bread and milk before quietly putting one item back on the shelf.

Perhaps the most disturbing aspect of America's hunger crisis is how normal it has become. Food banks have evolved from emergency institutions into permanent pillars of community life. School meal programmes increasingly function not as educational support but as essential nutrition for millions of children. Churches, charities and volunteers have become unofficial components of the nation's welfare system, filling gaps that government policy has either neglected or accepted.

This normalisation carries profound political consequences. Hunger erodes confidence not only in economic policy but in democratic institutions themselves. Citizens who work hard yet cannot provide enough food for their families inevitably begin questioning whether the system still works for ordinary people.

The United States possesses extraordinary agricultural capacity, technological innovation and immense national wealth. It produces more than enough food to nourish its population. The persistence of widespread food insecurity is therefore not a failure of production but of priorities.

A nation should ultimately be judged not by the fortunes of its billionaires or the record highs of its financial markets, but by whether ordinary families can place dinner on the table without anxiety. When millions of working Americans are unsure where tomorrow's meal will come from, hunger ceases to be merely an economic statistic. It becomes a moral indictment of the society that allowed it to happen.

Care without impoverishment by Jemma Norman

Every British government eventually discovers that social care is the issue it cannot postpone forever. Politicians may campaign on taxes, immigration, housing or crime, but ageing has an inconvenient habit of ignoring election cycles. The growing number of older people requiring assistance with daily living is neither a left-wing argument nor a conservative talking point. It is simply the arithmetic of modern Britain.

That is why Andy Burnham's promise to pursue cross-party consensus while creating a National Care Service offering free personal care at the point of need deserves serious attention rather than immediate partisan applause or dismissal. The ambition is enormous. The question is whether Britain is finally prepared to acknowledge that social care should be treated as essential public infrastructure rather than a personal financial gamble.

For decades, governments have approached social care like a political landmine. Every administration agrees the system is broken, commissions another review, publishes another report and quietly retreats when confronted with the bill. Meanwhile, families become unpaid carers, savings disappear into care home fees and local authorities struggle to stretch shrinking budgets over expanding needs.

The result has been a postcode lottery where the quality and affordability of care often depend less on medical necessity than on geography, personal wealth and sheer luck.

A National Care Service seeks to challenge that logic. The principle behind free personal care is disarmingly simple. Nobody should fear financial ruin because growing old eventually requires help with washing, dressing or eating. Britain long ago accepted that healthcare should largely be available according to need rather than income. Extending a similar principle to personal care reflects an understanding that dignity should not become a luxury purchased only by those with comfortable pensions or valuable property.

Predictably, critics immediately ask the obvious question: who pays? It is a legitimate concern. Britain is hardly overflowing with spare public money. National debt remains substantial, public services continue to compete for limited resources and taxpayers have grown understandably sceptical of grand promises accompanied by vague funding mechanisms.

Yet the opposite question deserves equal attention. What is the cost of doing nothing? Families already shoulder enormous hidden costs through unpaid caring responsibilities, reduced employment opportunities and mounting emotional exhaustion. Local councils repeatedly divert resources to emergency interventions because preventative support is inadequate. Hospitals become clogged with patients who are medically fit for discharge but have nowhere appropriate to go. The existing system is not inexpensive. It merely disguises its costs by transferring them onto families, councils and the NHS.

Burnham's emphasis on cross-party cooperation may ultimately prove more significant than the policy itself. Social care reform has repeatedly failed because successive governments feared handing political ammunition to their opponents. Every proposal became another battlefield in Westminster's endless campaign rather than the foundation of a long-term national settlement.

If genuine consensus emerges, Britain could finally escape the cycle of ambitious announcements followed by quiet abandonment after the next election.

Of course, a National Care Service alone will not solve every challenge. Recruiting enough care workers, improving wages, maintaining quality standards and integrating services with the NHS remain formidable tasks. Structural reform without workforce reform simply creates another bureaucracy struggling to meet public expectations.

Still, the larger principle deserves support. A civilised society should measure itself not merely by economic growth or military strength but by how it treats those who become most vulnerable through age. Growing old should bring uncertainty about birthdays, not bankruptcy. If Britain finally chooses to guarantee dignity alongside healthcare, it will represent not simply another government programme but a statement about the country's values in the twenty-first century.