Arab monarchies of Persian Gulf

Relics of barbarism, handwriting on the wall

By Webster G. Tarpley?Sat Aug 18, 2012 PressTV

Anti-regime protesters stage rally in Saudi Arabia?s coastal town of Qatif on July 8, 2012.
Anti-regime protesters stage rally in Saudi Arabia?s coastal town of Qatif on July 8, 2012.

The Arab monarchies that emerged under British auspices from the wreckage of the Ottoman Empire have always represented an anachronism, in sharp contradiction to the whole direction of modern history and human progress elsewhere in the world. Continue reading “Arab monarchies of Persian Gulf”

A Secret Plot in Syria

An illustrated account of the 1949 coup?possibly CIA-assisted?that plunged the country into decades of political turmoil.

By?|Posted Wednesday, April 4, 2012, at 7:45 AM ET

They rise in unison

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Earlier this month as we drove along the 6th of October Bridge in Cairo, my friend Gamal reminded me that below the surface the cauldron was boiling. That things could flare any minute. That he was certain, the US and it’s puppet Mobarak could not keep the lid on the public any longer. With Egypt following Tunisia’s path, it is no longer impossible to dream that the end of the US supported tyrants is near.

Ken is a former U.S. Marine who served in the 1991 Gulf War and subsequently spoke out about the use of depleted uranium as a “crime against humanity” and the US military using soldiers as “human guinea pigs” with experimental drugs that were directly linked to Gulf War syndrome. He is also a social entrepreneur utilizing direct action marine conservation, he is more widely known for leading the human shield action to Iraq and as a survivor of the Israeli attack on the MV Mavi Marmara in which he participated in “defending the ship” and “disarming two Israeli Commandos”. On January 7, 2004, O’Keefe burned his US passport in protest of “American Imperialism” and called for US troops to immediately withdrawal from Iraq. He replaced his US passport with a “World Passport”, subsequently proclaiming himself a “Citizen of the World” with ?ultimate allegiance to my entire human family and to planet Earth.” His is also legal citizen of Ireland and Palestine citizenship.

About a dozen members of a pro-Islamic human rights group and a leftist party hold a joint protest in a show of solidarity with protesters in Egypt, outside the Egyptian embassy in Ankara, Turkey, Jan. 28, 2011. The large banner reads: "Yesterday Tunisia, today Egypt" The placards read: "Egyptian people will! Revolution and Freedom!"

An Egyptian anti-government activist kisses a riot-police officer following clashes in Cairo, Jan. 28, 2011. Tens of thousands of anti-government protesters poured into the streets of Egypt Friday, stoning and confronting police who fired back with rubber bullets and tear gas in the most violent and chaotic scenes yet in the challenge to President Hosni Mubarak's 30-year rule.

The Poverty Line

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sleeping during revolution
Revolution ? Pablo Bartholomew
The Poverty Line
Tarapodo Rai

I was poor. Very poor.
There was no food to quell my hunger
No clothes to hide the shame of my naked body
No roof above my head.
You were so kind.
You came and you said
‘No. Poverty is a debasing word. It dehumanizes man.
You are needy.’
My days were spent in dire need.
My needy days, day after day, were never-ending.
As I grew weaker
Again you came.
This time you said.
‘Look, I’ve thought it over,
“Needy” is not a good word either.
You are destitute.’
My days and my nights, like a deep longing sigh,
Bore my destitution.
Cowering in the burning heat,
Shivering in the cold winter nights,
Drenched in the never-ending rains.
I went from being destitute to greater destitution.
But you were tireless.
Again you came.
This time you said
‘There is no meaning to this destitution.
Why should you be destitute?
You have always been denied.
You are deprived, the ever deprived.’
There was no end to my deprivation.
In hunger and in want, year after year,
Sleeping in the open streets under the relentless sky
My body a mere skeleton
Was barely alive.
But you didn’t forget me.
This time you came with raised fist
In your booming voice, you called out to me.
Rise, rise the exploited masses.
No longer did I have the strength to rise.
In hunger and in want, my body had wasted.
My ribs heaved with every breath.
Your vigour and your passion
Were too much for me to match.
Since then many more days have gone.
You are now more wise, more astute.
This time you brought a blackboard.
Chalk in hand, you drew this glistening bright long line.
This time you had really taken great pain.
Wiping the sweat from your brow, you beckoned me.
‘Look. See this line.
Below, far below this line, is where you belong.’
Wonderful!
Profusely, Gratefully, Indebtedly, I thank you.
For my poverty, I thank you.
For my need, I thank you.
For my destitution, I thank you.
For my deprivation, I thank you.
For my exploitedness, I thank you.
And most of all, for that sparkling line.
For that glittering gift.
O great benefactor!
I thank you.
Translated from Bangla by Shahidul Alam.