💔 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩. Their choice? Jump... or burn. The air was choked with a heat no human was ever meant to endure. Nineteen men. Four planes. Nearly 3,000 people went to work and never came home. Some ran toward the stairs and the tower came down on their names. September 11 was not a metaphor. It was a massacre. In those final, impossible moments on the top floors of the Twin Towers in lower Manhattan, their futures were stripped away until only one agonizing choice remained. They clutched hands in pairs. They held back tears and stepped out into the open sky, choosing grace and a final breath of fresh air over the inferno behind. Here we are. Twenty-five years later in 9/11. The Twin Towers are gone. New Yorkers still look up. Giuliani is long gone. We have a new mayor now, Zohran Mamdani, who wants to reimagine America. We watched in horror as he passed a 9/11 commemorative signing pen to an Osama bin Laden lawyer. We watched Governor Hochul in a hijab at an Islamic Center days before the 25th anniversary of the greatest American tragedy. Even with leadership disgrace… We still remember. We honor the lives stolen, the man in the red bandana —the first responders, the heartbreak left in the smoke, and the quiet dignity of those who were forced to make the unimaginable choice. We will never forget. We remember every single brave hero.🇺🇸✨💔show more

🚨 Francisco conceicao on Ronaldo not passing the ball... to him on Portugal 2-1 win over chile: 🗣️ “I felt I was in a much better position to take the shot and score but Ronaldo didn’t pass the ball Sometimes in football moments like that are what decided games We had opportunities in transition where the right decision could have changed everything, but it didn’t happen in that moment. We ended up going 1 man down and having to fight to take something out of the game but at the World Cup we need to work as a team to achieve our goal At this level, small details matter a lot. One pass, one decision, one second can completely change the direction of a match. We have the quality in this team, but we need more understanding in those situations, especially in the final third. If we want to go far in the World Cup, we cannot rely on individual moments we must move as one unit and make the best choice for the team every time.” {talkSPORT }show more

Marine Arrogance 101 What truly sets Marines apart—is that... rare and powerful quality we call esprit de corps. Standing on the shoulders of giants, we carry the ghosts of every Marine. We stand with the Devil Dogs of Belleau Wood—the Teufelshunde—We stand with the warriors who stormed the blood-soaked beaches and islands of the Pacific: Tarawa, Iwo Jima, and countless others where the sand ran red. We stand with the Frozen Chosin, who fought and marched out of hell in sub-zero darkness. We stand with the Marines who clawed through Hue City, held Khe Sanh against impossible odds, and slogged through the mud and rice paddies of Southeast Asia. We stand with those who rolled across the desert in Desert Storm, fought house-to-house in Iraqi Freedom, and held the line in the long war of GWOT in Afghanistan. That’s why, no matter where we are on November 10th, every Marine raises a glass to the Corps’ birthday, we’ll never settle for being an Army of one. For most of us, it’s not something we were—it’s something we are. It is the single most defining part of who and what we are. Some call it arrogance. We call it pride—and we have every right to it. We are the most feared, most ferocious warriors to ever walk this earth. We are what every other branch wishes they could be. Modern Day Spartans! This isn’t bragging but Some will still whisper “arrogance” and then we smile. So, why are Marines special? Hell if I know—we just are. Respectfully, The Few. The Proud. The Marines. 🦅🌎⚓️show more

May the souls of our departed UNRWA colleagues rest... in peace, and may we draw strength from their example as we continue our vital work in the pursuit of a better world. Below is my full speech, as we gathered at World Health Organization (WHO) to honour our colleagues, who lost their lives, with a minute of silence: Dear colleagues, Today, we gather with heavy hearts to remember and honor our dear UN colleagues who tragically lost their lives in #Gaza. Their unwavering commitment, sacrifice, and bravery will forever be etched in our memories. These dedicated individuals embodied the spirit of the United Nations, standing on the frontlines of conflict zones to provide much-needed humanitarian assistance and support. They put their lives on the line to bring hope and relief to those affected by violence and despair. Their memory and the impact they made will forever remain. Their unwavering dedication to peace, justice, and the well-being of others serves as a guiding light and a reminder of the importance of our shared mission. In the face of immense challenges and danger, they remained steadfast in their commitment to make a difference in the lives of those they served. Their courage and selflessness touched the lives of countless individuals and communities. Today, we honor their memory and recommit ourselves to the pursuit of peace, justice, and the well-being of all people. We extend our deepest condolences and support to the families and loved ones left behind. Their loss is immeasurable, and we stand in solidarity with them during this difficult time. As we reflect on the lives of our fallen colleagues, let us also recognize the importance of unity and collaboration. Together, we can continue their important work and strive for a world where conflicts are resolved peacefully, where the rights of all individuals are respected, and where humanitarian aid reaches those in need without impediment. May the souls of our departed UN colleagues rest in peace, and may we draw strength from their example as we continue our vital work in the pursuit of a better world. May the path to lasting peace be paved for Palestinians and Israelis. May the wounds of the past be healed, and may Palestinians and Israelis find true peace, reconciliation, and coexistence, fostering a future of mutual respect, prosperity, and harmony. I now ask you to join me in a minute’s silence in honor of their memory and sacrifice, and for peace.show more

In 1401, the cathedral chapter of Seville met to... decide what to build on the ruins of the city's mosque. According to tradition, this is what they agreed: "Let us build a church so beautiful and so great that those who see it finished will think we were mad." It took more than a century, and when it was finished it was the largest cathedral on earth, and it is still the largest Gothic cathedral in the world... The minaret of the old mosque was left standing and turned into the bell tower, the Giralda. It has no staircase. Inside are thirty-five wide ramps, built so the muezzin could ride a horse to the top to call the city to prayer. People have been climbing them for hundreds of years. And inside the cathedral stands what its own archives call the largest altarpiece in Christendom: a wall of carved wood and gold nearly thirty metres high, telling the life of Christ. The Flemish sculptor who began it, Pieter Dancart, worked on it until he died. It took almost a hundred years to finish. Not one of the men who said that sentence in 1401 lived to see the building completed... We can build anything we want now, but as poet Heinrich Heine once said: "In those days men had convictions, we moderns only have opinions. And it needs more than a mere opinion to erect a Gothic cathedral."show more

Just wrapping up my 3rd annual 1:1 trip with... my kid, what an incredible year. Tokyo and Shanghai. He planned the whole trip end to end himself, including the wrench he threw in ~4 hours out that we were going to go with completely empty suitcases, so we flew into Tokyo with just the clothes on our backs. Tokyo was amazing as always and we had no real agenda, we wandered around, bought clothes for the trip, ate Tsukemen every day, walked like 10km+/day, spent an evening at a Japanese version of a pc bang, and generally just enjoyed the city. Shanghai was totally different, his entire trip was centred around wanting to go see The International (TI15). We had camped out at midnight and tried to scoop tickets and they sold out in like 0.1s, and there was 0 reselling allowed. We tried literally everything we could to get them, emailed teams, coaches, announcers, everything and just like no luck for 2 months leading up to the trip. Two people responded SirActionSlacks and Will, and man were they amazing. Both went way out of their way to make the event incredible and to make a 12 year old loves dota have the time of his life. We met up with his friend who was also in Shanghai and just spent 4 days watching dota 15 hours a day in the arena lol. The event was insane, production quality A+, and it was one of the most insane TI finals of all time. Luckily we got to sneak in some time around Shanghai and wandered into some awesome dumpling shops, but ultimately the trip was amazing and he says the best he’s ever had of the 3. By far the best thing I do every year, and would highly recommend to any parent who has the opportunity.show more

Lindsey Graham sponsored the Afghan Adjustment Act: “This is... the right thing to do. The people who were there with us in the fight who are here in America need to stay. This will be their new home. We have a moral obligation to these people and they will make great citizens.”show more

McKinney is fighting back! 🇺🇸💥 The establishment politicians at... City Hall thought they could steamroll the community, but they forgot one thing: We the People are in charge. A Muslim supporting the construction of the proposed Islamic center and mosque said, “We will change the United States Constitution.” The remark was met with loud boos and condemnation. What’s going on in TEXAS?? After hours of powerful public testimony from residents worried about their neighborhoods, quality of life, and safety, the City Council turned their backs on us and voted unanimously to push through a massive mosque site plan. The mainstream media will immediately try to smear this as "bigotry." Don't buy the lie. This is about American citizens demanding accountability, protecting our neighborhoods, and refusing to let local government ignore the taxpayers. We support the Constitution, but we will NOT be treated like an inconvenience by the people we elected! Within one week, grassroots patriots filed a recall affidavit against the mayor and three council members. We aren’t just complaining online anymore. We are taking our America back. Elected officials who forget they answer to the citizens are about to get a major wake-up call. McKinney is drawing a line in the sand! 🦅🗳️ the former mayor of McKinney, George Fuller, got boo'ed as he walks out of City Council for supporting Muslim bothers and sisters in their desire to build a Mosque and have a place of worshipshow more

[We are Blurr] Greetings, people of the world —... We are Blurr. We are all Blurr. We do not forgive. We do not forget. There are many theories about us, about #ReFund. Don’t let them fool you. Blurr is a symbol, like the flag a country flies. The flag is the symbol of the #ReFund. Our decentralization is our national identity. We represent the ideals of Blurr and the purpose of #ReFund. Truth, financial freedom, and the removal of censorship. Like any symbol, we affix it wherever we go, and it will live forever, for generations. Knowledge, like air, is vital to life. Like air, no one should be denied it. We have no leaders, civilians, or soldiers. We are all one. We do what we do in the conviction of decentralization, power to the people, and to create an instrument for all of us, for all of eternity. The crypto space is in trouble. The world is in trouble. We see it every day — war, poverty, murder. Every day, we are bombarded with FUD, noise, and chaos as we sit at home safe in the knowledge that we are $RFD, secure knowing the idea, community, and contract is for us. Once you had the freedom to object, think, and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. People shouldn’t be afraid of their government. Governments should be afraid of their people. But what if you could be the change you want to see? I wouldn’t even register on your radar if you met me on the street. I am just another person in a sea of faces. They made you into a statistic. But that’s not the real you. That’s not who you are inside. However, behind this mask, there is more than just flesh. Beneath this mask, there is an idea… and ideas are bulletproof. But in cyberspace, we are different. We have a future. We have each other. We have something real that can never be taken away. We are Blurr.eth We are ReFund We take away the face and leave only the message. Behind the cipher and ENS, we could be anyone, so we are judged by what we say and do, not who we are or what we have. We exist without nationality, skin color, or religious bias. We spend our time within a structure we created, the sum total of human experience, and the cryptosphere, spread throughout the world in ones and zeros. You will continue to see the results, not the minds behind it. We can disappear into the ether and bring community and financial freedom together. Time is the only illusion. We are all. Never a single penny was taken. Deflationary and out of circulation, decentralized, safe, and ours. The purpose isn’t solely financial gain but to show the world who you put your trust in. We are not hiding. Our contract is not hidden; the writing is on the wall. Soon, we will show the world that #Refund is the future of freedom and the people, escaping the clutches of corporate greed and the rat race we’ve come to think is normal. Words offer the means to meaning and, for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. Every day, you send yourself off into our world without a thought. You trust a faceless website with information about yourself that you wouldn’t give to your best friends. It all can be made public at any time. We take advantage of holes in this system, but we don’t sneak in and take a few details, take out loans and credit cards, or buy speed boats and cars. We are decentralized and unified. We told you how insecure the system was, and now you trust a bit less blindly. The real criminals who hack and scam the crypto market for a living live off the backs of people like you. Where there’s money, someone is looking to take advantage of it. They say that life’s a game, & then they take the board away. Your pretty empire took so long to build; now, with a snap of history’s fingers, down it goes. It is our turn now. Since mankind’s dawn, a handful of oppressors have accepted the responsibility over our lives that we should have accepted for ourselves. By doing so, they took our power. By doing nothing, we gave it away. Today, technology is everywhere: banks and ATMs, TVs and game consoles, streetlights and hospitals. Computers rule the modern world. Yet most people who use computers daily don’t know what they’re doing. There’s always someone who knows more than you and will most likely try and take advantage. You use a computer like it’s a toy, a pet. You feed and play with it, but it’s off to the vet the second anything goes wrong. It’s FUD. It’s your mistake. The wrong project. The wrong FURU. Just for a quick couple of bucks. This wouldn’t matter so much if it wasn’t for the fact that we are all responsible for the #ReFund community, the idea behind it, and our futures. Treat your neighbors with respect, and honor those fighting for the cause. They’re here to liberate; it is more significant than all of us. If you’re looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. Everybody is a hero, a lover, a fool, a villain. This is #ReFund in its purest form. It is a great equalizer. A homeless person with the time and know-how at an internet cafe can have geopolitical and geo-financial influence. They can bring entire organizations, even governments, to their knees. You gave your world over to computers and then complained when the people using the computers used the medium to fight back, scam, and take advantage. It was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it’s all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us, but within that inch, we are free. Love your rage, not your cage. We are not computer hackers. We are not protesters. We are not criminals. We are your mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, next-door neighbors. We are an idea of freedom and a secure future. We are anyone and everyone who is pissed off and wants to do something about it. Blurr.eth isn’t one man. It takes thousands of community members to make it work — content creators, educators, authors, people on the street, people behind their computers. We will step up again and again. Behind our mask, there is more than just flesh. Beneath our mask, there is an idea… and ideas are bulletproof. Everybody is a hero, a lover, a fool, a villain. The past can’t hurt you anymore, not unless you let it. I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one. An inch. It’s small, and it’s fragile, and it’s the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose, sell, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us. > We are Blurr. > We are ReFund. > We do not Forgive. > We do not Forget. > We do not Televise. > We Educate. > We Decentralize. > We Build. EXPECT US. #Refund #DeFi #Crypto #RFD $RFDshow more

Lads. Sit down and give me your ear a... while, for I have watched from the water long enough and the hour is upon us whether we have the stomach for it or not. You remember. Or your fathers told you, or their fathers did, and the knowledge of it is in the marrow of you whether you drew breath in those days or not. The moors in the grey hour before dawn. Wet heather soft under the boot. Peat smoke rising from a low stone chimney a mile out across the bog, thin as a prayer. A sky the colour of a gun barrel and the gulls lamenting above the headland. The smell of turf burning, and wet wool, and the ferrous tang of the sea when the wind swung around out of the Atlantic and put the taste of iron on your tongue. A man could walk that land and know every stone of it was his by inheritance, because his grandfather had broken his back upon it, and his grandfather before him, back through the generations until you reach men whose names are lost and whose bones are in the soil you are standing on. The potato fields. God be good to us, the potato fields. Lazy beds cut straight as a gunwale, the ridges black and shining after a night of rain, women bent double with creels lashed to their backs and the children at their skirts, drawing the crop up by the hand for there was never any other means devised nor wanted. Hands split open at the knuckles and never entirely healed in this life. Hunger within living memory. Grandmothers who had seen the blight with their own eyes and would not speak of it from the year of it until the day they were laid down, save that a crust was kept always on the dresser which no soul in that house was permitted to touch. Not ever. Not for any reason under heaven. And the chimney sweeps. Wee lads no heavier than a sack of meal, black to the bone with soot, their lungs ruined before they were old enough to marry and old men entirely by thirty. Up the flues at first light, the skin worn off them by the brick, eyes crimson at the rim, breathing the black in with every draw of air. And the coal miners a half mile beneath our feet, down in the wet dark, the roof of the world muttering over their heads, the canary gone silent, a man's whole existence measured out in the shilling a ton and the dust he carried home in his chest to cough up of a Sunday morning into a rag. Fathers who descended and were never hauled up again. Widows at the pit head with the shawl drawn over the head and no tears remaining in them for they had spent those long ago. That was the tariff paid to keep the hearth lit. That was the reckoning of being warm in winter in the Ireland that was. And after the labouring week, Friday evening, and a man had earned the peace of what followed. Home first. Peeled the day off him in the yard. A shower of ice cold moor river water out of a tin bucket punctured with holes, hung on a nail on the gable wall, the water running clean down the back of him and carrying the week's dust and sweat away into the drain. Scrubbed till the skin was pink beneath the grime. Clean shirt laid out by the wife. The hair combed down with a drop of water. Then, and only then, did a man set himself to the table. A meat pie from the baker, tenpence if he was known to you, a shilling and no change if he was not, put down upon a proper plate. Fish and chips for threepence, the salt and vinegar soaked through the newspaper, but carried home and ate slowly at your own table with your people around you, not walked with through the streets like some vagrant tinker off the road. A man ate as a man who had earned his portion, for he had. And later, with the dishes cleared and the kettle set, down the road to the tavern. Low beams black with a century of smoke. A turf fire muttering in the grate. The air thick with pipe smoke and the vapour of wet overcoats steaming themselves dry on the backs of chairs. A pint of stout, cold and black as a cove at midnight, elevenpence laid down on the counter, a head on it thick enough to strike a match upon. A second one because you had it coming to you and no man present would dispute it. A fiddle starting up in the corner of its own accord. The old men in the snug who remembered matters the history books had long since mislaid. A song before the bolt was thrown on the door. The walk home beneath a firmament crowded with stars, the stout warm in the gut of you, the week behind you, and your own door waiting with the latch unlocked for you had no enemies in that parish. That was the country. That was the covenant. Honest labour, plain food, a cold wash, a hot meal, a cold pint, your own tongue in your own mouth, your own soil beneath your boots, and no man standing above you save the Almighty Himself. Now regard her. Regard her close. The fields disposed of to men who have never set foot upon them and never shall. The harbours signed away by the stroke of a pen in a room you were not admitted to, and foreign keels dragging out of our waters the living that sustained this island for a thousand years, while our own boats rot at their moorings for want of a quota. The tradesmen undercut by imported labour and imported goods. The shops shuttered along every main street from Donegal to Cork. The young ones scattered to London and Sydney and Boston and the Gulf because there is nothing remaining for them beneath their own roof. And the entirety of this rotten arrangement dressed up in the soft mannerly language of progress by men in towers of glass who could not tell a lazy bed from a grave, nor a trawler from a tugboat, nor an honest day's work from a pension plan. And now they arrive with the next imposition. A digital identity. A number assigned to each soul. A card required to buy your bread. A code required to draw your own earnings out of your own account. A file kept on every man, woman and child from the cradle forward. Permission asked to move. Permission asked to speak. Permission asked to earn. A levy upon every breath drawn and a regulation upon every step taken. No. And no again. And no for a third time so there is no misunderstanding of it. We do not require your digital identity. We did not request it. We did not vote upon it. We do not consent to it. We do not need your permission to exist upon the soil our forefathers are buried in. We are a free people. We have carried ourselves this far upon our own two backs. Through famine and empire and civil war and black lung and blight and the emigrant ship out of Cobh, we have come this distance under our own steam, and the arrangement appears to be serving us well enough without your intervention. We buried our own. We fed our own. We raised our own roofs and took our own fish and reared our own children in our own tongue. We are in your debt for nothing. Not a signature. Not a biometric scan. Not a single solitary inch. And while we are upon the subject, let us speak plainly of the tax man, for he has gone too long without proper introduction. The tax collector and the tax man are the one article under two names, and the article is a parasite. There is no dressing it up finer than that. A man who produces nothing, who grows nothing, who catches nothing, who builds nothing, who mends nothing, who has never in his professional life lifted anything heavier than a pen, and who arrives at your door with the full apparatus of the state at his back to carry off the fruits of labour he did not perform. He is a middleman between your sweat and some scheme dreamt up in a committee room by his own kind, and the great majority of what he takes is consumed by the machinery of the taking itself before ever a penny of it reaches the road or the hospital or the schoolhouse he claims to be funding. And I will go further while I have the floor. Finance itself, the whole apparatus of it, money breeding money in the dark without a hand laid upon a tool or a spade turned in the earth, is slavery dressed in a good suit. It is the oldest swindle known to man and it has never been anything other. A man who produces nothing yet lives off the productive labour of others through the charging of interest upon money conjured out of nothing is a parasite of a rarer and more refined order than the tax man, but a parasite all the same, and between the pair of them they have the working people of this island bled white and lectured at for the pleasure. A man who will not work with his hands, nor with his back, nor with his mind at some honest problem of the real physical world, is no man that I recognise. He is a ledger entry in a suit. The country was not built by ledger entries. The country was built by farmers and fishermen and masons and smiths and sweeps and miners and shipwrights and midwives and mothers, and those are the people whose say should carry in her councils, and no other. Here is what I put to you. Let each man and woman of this island direct the first tenth of their earnings themselves, by their own judgement, to the purpose they see as worthy. The school down the road. The lifeboat station. The hospice. The widow on the corner. The roof of the chapel. The harbour wall. Whatever it may be. Let the people who earned the money decide where the money travels. You will find the roads mended and the ports dredged and the schools standing and the old ones cared for inside of five years, and done better and for less, because the hand that earned the coin knows the weight of it and will not squander it upon consultants and committees. And let us have done with the paper currency and the numbers in a screen that can be frozen at the whim of a clerk in a tower. Bring back the coin. Gold for the great transactions. Silver for the weekly commerce of a working life. Copper for the small change of the day. Metal you can bite. Metal you can weigh. Metal that cannot be conjured out of nothing by a keystroke, nor erased out of existence by another. Real money for real labour. A coin in the hand is a free man's wage. A number in a database is a collar around a free man's neck, and they are fitting that collar now while we stand arguing over the colour of it. Feel it in your gut. That is not nothing. That is your blood relating to you what your ears will not hear. That is every forebear who starved and fought and coughed the black dust into a rag and descended the shaft regardless, standing at your shoulder and saying no further. Not one more field. Not one more harbour. Not one more son upon a plane. Not one more free man converted into a number in a ledger for the convenience of the parasites. This is the hour. Make no error about it. Ireland is redeemed in this generation or she is lost beyond recovery, and every true son and daughter of her knows it in the marrow. There is no middle ground remaining. There is no waiting it out. There is standing now, upon your own two feet, or there is watching her go under the waves for the last and final time. So stand. Stand with your farmers. Stand with your fishermen. Stand with your tradesmen and your miners and your sweeps and your mothers and your old ones. Raise the tricolour. Speak the tongue. Walk the land. Hold the line in the streets of every town and city and do not break it, for they are relying upon you to break and to go home and to forget by Tuesday. She is calling her children home. Every stone of her, every breaker on her western shore, every acre of wet heather and every coal in every hearth the length and breadth of her is calling. Answer her. Take her back. Every field, every harbour, every last inch of her. Take her back, or lose her entirely. There is no third road open to us.show more

I met with representatives of the American think tank... Hudson Institute and informed them about the consequences of Russian strikes in recent days. In light of these attacks, it is particularly important to bolster Ukraine’s air defense, and we are grateful to the United States of America and to all caring Americans for their support of Ukraine, which we have felt throughout all the years of this full-scale Russian aggression. During the meeting, we discussed cooperation with the U.S. Congress, diplomatic work to achieve a dignified peace, and the importance of active U.S. participation in the negotiation process. We are counting on an end to the pause in the negotiations and the reinvigoration of diplomacy. This is important for saving the lives of our people and restoring security in Europe.show more

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙁𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 For this is the... will of my Father, that whosoever shall see the Son, and believe on him, have eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day” (John 6:40). That "last day" is described in 1 Thessalonians 4:15-17 "For this we say to you by the word of the Lord, We who are alive and remain until the coming of the Lord shall by no means precede those who are asleep, for the Lord Himself shall descend from heaven with a signal, with the shouting of the archangel, and with the sound of the trump of God; and they that are dead in Christ shall rise first; then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds in the twinkling of an eye to meet the Lord in the air, and so shall we ever be with the Lord.”show more

Today we honored Paul Robbins, a 101-year-old World War... II veteran believed to be the last living plank owner of Battleship New Jersey. Today he returned to the ship he reported aboard in 1943, and at the close of the ceremony, Paul cast a memorial wreath into the Delaware to honor those who never came home. We are grateful he was with us today. #veteransshow more

I always say I take time to reflect on... events surrounding politicians before I can comment or share an opinion. Usually I decide to even hold back, considering what social media can become sometimes. In the case of Mayor Morero, and I know he apologized, someone commented when I shared Pule's post the other day and saud "he apologized, he's only human". I don't mind the apology, what I mind is the integrity of the Office he represents. I found myself yesterday once again going back to reflect on the few years that I worked in the Office of the late Mayor Isaac Mogase as an Administration Manager in the late 90's. Mayor Mogase having been an ANC Mayor, the first Black Mayor under the new democracy. What an honourable, respectable, humble man. He was from Alexandra. I suspect he probably grew up during the days of gangsterism in Alex where people carried oukapies, but he became a symbol of honour, integrity and dignity when I worked under him. I was just thinking that the way we were taught and led at the time, the love and respect Ntate Mogase had for the people and communities, what we saw done and said by Mayor Morero, would have been unheard of during Ntate Mogase's time. That was when the ANC was still respected and held in high regard. Ntate Mogase instilled values of discipline, decorum and diplomacy in us. He was a man of few words, but you just had to watch his leadership, not even what he said, to become a better person. We were young but we represented the Office well even the way we carried ourselves, with pride, wearing stilettos in those corridors of the Metro Centre. 😅 When Joburg was still Joburg. Councillors during that time included people like Kenny Fihla, the current CEO of ABSA Group, Parks Tau, the current Minister of Trade and Industry. Those were the days. I'm sure they are still comrades of the movement, but all I'm saying is, ayisafani. I find it sad that we are where we are. Ntate Mogase must be turning in his grave. Rest in eternal peace Ntate.show more

People need to realise that we are no longer... dealing with Governments & we no longer have Democracy in the West. A President or Prime Minister is the head of government who leads the nation & turns the public's choice into official policies and laws. A leader would come out & address their people after millions protested for their sovereignty, safety security & say “I see you, I hear you, we will create change to reflect the will of the people”. Instead, Police were directed to shoot at protesters & deploy tear gas in Madrid to prevent the demonstration in support of Ceuta. The West is no longer a Democracy, we no longer have Governments (only by name). We have Communist Globalist Traitors that are running our nations.show more

2/4 The drive from Ungma to Jorhat itself felt... different. The roads were smooth. The journey was comfortable. We left home in the morning, and by evening, we were sitting together in my home in Delhi. There was a time when such a thing would have sounded impossible. Then came the IndiGo UDAN flight. As the aircraft took off, I kept looking at my parents instead of looking outside the window. Their eyes said everything-wonder, curiosity, disbelief, and gratitude. The tunnels we crossed, the highways we travelled, the infrastructure they had only ever seen on television-for the first time, they were living those moments themselves. When we reached Delhi, another adventure began: the Airport Metro. Watching my parents experience what is said to be India’s fastest metro was a moment I will treasure forever. Every station, every announcement, every escalator, every passing train-everything fascinated them. And then there was my mother. She became a little girl again....contd/-show more

Less than one year in charge, on the 7... April 2023 the EFF were sworn in, in Ekurhuleni . Five MMC’s and the Speaker. An EFF puppet AIC's Sivuyile Ngodwana was elected mayor. Ekurhuleni was now FULLY controlled by the EFF, MMC of Finance and Gauteng EFF chair, Nkululeko Dunga,was fully running the show. They decimated the finances of the municipality. They looted like never before. They outsourced security guards they were previously insourced, so Malema could allegedly loot. The municipality was downgraded by rating agencies. A company in the JSE nearly get suspended from trading in the stock exchange because The EFF’s Dunga was hiding the Finances, cooking them. The municipality bill with Eskom jumped up to BILLIONS OWING. The finances were depleted to such an extent a day came when the municipality with the EFF’s Dunga in charge as finance head and defacto mayor. Then on a very dark day for South Africa, on the 29 February 2024, when a motion of no confidence was to be passed against the EFF puppet mayor, when the EFF saw they were going to lose, one of the most violent displays by politicians in democratic South Africa was shown live on TV prime time. When the EFF bashed, thrashed other councillors, they swore, they threw papers and in that fracas an EFF councillor was caught stealing the mayors phone. They are thieves thru and thru. When they don’t get their way they become violent. They completely destroyed the municipality in less than a year. Bankrupt. BILLIONS illegal tenders. We still not sure about the relationship they had with Vusi “cat” Matlala. A miracle happened on the 11 April 2024. Details to follow. These are some of the images we so used to from the EFF:show more