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mariacallous · 8 months ago

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On one of my first reporting trips to Haiti, in 1987, I set out north by road from the capital, Port-au-Prince, on the eve of an election, hoping to get a taste of voter sentiment in the countryside.

After 50 miles, my car was stopped at a roadblock on the outskirts of a seaside town called Saint-Marc. There, bands of thugs loosely allied with right-wing politicians were roughing up passengers, extorting money from them, and, in at least one case, setting a vehicle on fire.

I was allowed to proceed but warned that I couldn’t return to the capital until after the election the next morning. For whatever reason, the thugs had decided they would shut down the highway for 48 hours. When my reporting was done, I headed back by the same route, and the scene had badly deteriorated. A line of stopped vehicles stretched into the distance, and now, burnt-out wrecks lay strewn on either side of the roadbed.

When my car reached the front of the line and we were interrogated, I was alarmed to find that the same man who had warned me against trying to return was still holding sway. After a long and squirmy conversation, he finally let me through, though, but not before administering several punches to the head of my terrified driver.

This was just the smallest intimation of the trouble to come. When I went out to cover voting in the capital the next day, one of the first scenes I came upon was the site of a massacre at a polling station hosted by a school. Thus commenced my introduction to Haiti.

Over the next six years, during which I made countless visits to the country, often involving lengthy stays, I sometimes imagined I had seen everything. After one violent coup d’état, armed groups occupied the airport, stopping all commercial aviation. To fly in, I banded together with other Miami-based reporters to charter a Learjet plane, but on approach to Haiti’s capital, the pilot was warned off with the threat that our plane would be shot down if it attempted to land.

The next day, we rented another small jet, and this time there was no one running or policing the airport. We landed and walked through a terminal that had mysteriously been left completely deserted.

In 1992, I was invited to the army headquarters for an interview with the leader of the right wing junta, U.S.-trained Lt. Gen. Raoul Cédras. At the appointed time, I was ushered into a conference room on the second floor of the rickety building where seven senior Haitian military officers sat stone-faced around a large table. When Cédras entered the room, our meeting began with him sliding his revolver to the middle of the table and asking his men unsmilingly who would like to volunteer to shoot this journalist who has been such a pest. After a long moment of tense silence, he took his gun back and holstered it and the interview proceeded. Haitian journalists, I hasten to add, experienced much worse.

A year later, I stayed on in the country for weeks after the start of an international embargo of a military regime that had overthrown the elected leader, the Rev. Jean-Bertrand Aristide, and was now clinging defiantly to power. One afternoon in October 1993, I looked on as a gun-waving band of a few dozen militiamen orchestrated a raucous portside demonstration that prevented the docking of a 522-foot-long U.S. warship, the USS Harlan County, with more than 200 soldiers aboard.

The ship had arrived bearing a contingent of international peacekeepers that was intended to pave the way for Aristide’s rightful restoration. The secret to their success in turning the ship back was the chant “Somalia, Somalia.” Their invocation of the Battle of Mogadishu, more famously known to Americans as the Black Hawk Down Incident, a week earlier, in which 18 Americans were killed, had more power than any magician’s spell.

I have taken the time to revisit scenes like these for one reason that is obvious and another that may not be. The first is that Haiti is presently in the grips of a very serious crisis, with no functioning government and violent gangs running rampant. The second is that, despite its catastrophic nature, few of the elements in Haiti’s grave situation are actually entirely new.

During the trying period in which I covered the country, I witnessed moments when the National Assembly completely broke down and became essentially irrelevant, when two or more people claimed legitimacy to rule, and when power briefly seemed vacant. I saw times when the streets were ruled by gangs or by shadowy militia like the Tonton Macoutes and the so-called attachés. I saw fecklessness by the international community, of which the Harlan County incident is but one example, and I also saw fleeting moments when the world appeared to come through for Haiti when every alternative seemed exhausted.

This included the restoration of Aristide to power through a U.S.-led intervention under President Bill Clinton in 1994. My coverage of Haiti and its region ended just then, but from afar I also followed Aristide’s subsequent failure and one might even say betrayal of his country as a brittle, vindictive, and—as many of his critics believe—violence-prone and even corrupt leader. His trajectory was all the more remarkable and disheartening in light of his beginnings, as a Salesian priest and devotee of progressive liberation theology.

What makes Haiti’s situation so special today is the way that all of its past failures seem to be recurring at once, in symphonic tragedy or grand mashup. There is no president (The last one, Jovenel Moïse, was murdered in 2021.). The acting prime minister, Ariel Henry, has been effectively exiled. There is no parliament. There is no army. There is barely a police force. And there is virtually no economy, save for a lucrative traffic in narcotics from South America, for which the country has long served as a wide-open trans-shipment base.

Gangs rule the streets, but they provide no structure or order, no hope for the future, and certainly no peace. The population lives at their mercy, with ordinary people terrorized and shot randomly as they seek out food or try to go about their daily business. Large numbers of people are reduced to living on the streets under shabby tarpaulins without municipal water, sewage, or electricity.

This had all led to the return of a recurrent and hard-to-resolve debate. Should the outside world intervene, and if so, what form should this take? The deployment of a Kenyan police contingent has been delayed by the effective anarchy in Port-au-Prince—as well as the Kenyan High Court decision—and for a cluster of reasons, historic and current, the United States is taking a hands-off approach, avoiding any direct intervention of its own. The historical reasons for this are solid.

Little known to most Americans, the United States has a destructive, racist, and corrupt imperial history in Haiti, which includes an intervention by the Marines in 1915, following another period of extraordinary political violence in the country. Washington’s contemporary reluctance would seem to stem from domestic U.S. politics: After a century of foreign interventions, deploying U.S. troops overseas for nation-building or even peacekeeping purposes is nowadays considered a vote loser.

Where does this leave Haiti? Sources of optimism are difficult to find. A starting point for the outside world might be a reckoning with how brutally and thoroughly Haiti was exploited in its past. This begins with the creation by France of what has often been called the most profitable colony in the world. This is a story that traces back to the early 18th century and the launching of a prison industrial labor camp system, prettified under the name “plantations,” in order to produce sugar on an untold scale.

Cane was only one of the raw ingredients. The lives of Africans who were brought there and forced to work in the fields was the other. In the human equivalent of planned obsolescence, newly enslaved Africans were worked to death with an average life expectancy of roughly five years from the time of arrival. Replacing this labor due to mortality was considered then just an ordinary feature of business. I wrote extensively about what the world owes Haiti as a result of this gruesome exploitation in my book Born in Blackness.

Crimes like these were insidiously compounded by the embargo that Western nations placed on Haiti as punishment for the audacity of winning its own freedom from outside domination and slavery in 1804. For this insult to Western wealth and power, the country was subjected to exorbitant and crippling indemnity payments that lasted for decades.

Ultimately, though, it is in Haiti’s feat of self-liberation that the country’s hopes for rebirth must lie. Modern history offers few if any more triumphal stories than the defeat of one Western army after another (France, Spain, Britain, and then France again) by Africans brought to Hispaniola to be worked to death—all in the cause of freedom and sovereignty.

In 1804, when Haiti was born, no other Western nation had legally enacted the values of the Enlightenment so fully—by abolishing slavery and discrimination on the basis of race. Long before the American Civil War and major civil rights legislation of the mid-20th century, Haitians had written these ideals into their constitution.

In recent decades, Haitians have been betrayed by the greed, pettiness, and narrow vision of their elites. But history shows us an example of the capacity of its people to rise up against the worst sorts of iniquity, and the Haitian people will somehow need to summon this capacity again. And when they tell the international community what form of assistance would be most helpful, the world should rally to their needs.

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hunty627 · 3 months ago

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Here’s the script for restore Theodore.

One day on the island of Sodor, Theodore was sitting in the sheds feeling very miserable. He hadn’t been allowed to pull coaches or shunt trucks in a very long time. Thomas came to the yard to fetch Annie and Clarabel when he spoke to Theodore understandingly. The little blue engine told him that someday, he will get back to work if he gets proper maintenance. He also mentioned that he’s gotta have hope. That made Theodore feel a little better as he watched Thomas puff away. But nearby, the troublesome trucks heard this and they began spreading lies that Theodore was going to be scrapped or stuffed and mounted in a museum because a museum is full of old things and Theodore is an old steam engine who’s not really useful anymore. Theodore didn’t want to believe them, but he was upset. That night, he hid in the back of the shed, unable to sleep. He was worried they Sir Topham Hatt will put him in the museum, or scrap him, or turn him into a generator like what happened to Smudger a long time ago. Poor Theodore. The next morning, Madison the diesel came to fetch him. She said she was gonna take him on a nice outing before going somewhere for a special surprise. Theodore didn’t know what it was, but he was eager to be heading out with a friend. So Madison kindly pushed Theodore along the line. They passed by the seashore to watch the children playing. When they arrived at the docks, Theodore saw Sir Topham Hatt, he quickly told Madison to get him out as quickly as possible to stop by the next station. So, she did, feeling rather puzzled. At Alsmer station, Madison and Theodore looked around to listen to the birds. Then they waited as Goliath passed by with a goods train. But then, Sir Topham Hatt came. Theodore still didn’t want to speak to him, so he urged Madison to push him really fast. And so she did, even more puzzled than ever. Madison and Theodore raced along the line, enjoying themselves. Theodore loved the wind blowing across his funnel. They soon arrived at redbird station. But there on the pedestrian bridge was Sir Topham Hatt! Theodore still didn’t want to talk to him, so he urged Madison to go really, really fast! But when she did, they swerved into a siding and Madison pushed Theodore into the buffers and off the rails! Sir Topham Hatt hurried over and asked them why were they trying to avoid him. Madison didn’t know what to say, but Theodore did. He explained that it was just him who was trying to get away from Sir Topham Hatt. He was just urging Madison to help him run away from him and he explained that he didn’t want to be scrapped, turned into a generator or put in a museum. But Sir Topham Hatt smiled. He told Theodore that he might be old, but he’s not going to be scrapped or put on display in the museum or turned into a generator. He wanted to keep it a surprise, but he decided to tell him now. Sir Topham Hatt told Theodore that he was going to the works for a complete overhaul! Theodore was so happy, he axles tingled! After Madison pulled him back on the rails, Theodore was brought to the works and was given a complete overhaul to have his engine repaired and rebuilt into a whole new shape. All the engines wanted to see Theodore in his new shape. The shed doors opened and everyone gasped! Out came Theodore, who was now the same kind of engine as Bruno & Oddjob! Thomas asked Theodore how he felt and he said he was very happy. Sir Topham Hatt allowed Theodore to pull his first goods train to show everyone his new shape. Theodore proudly pulled the freight cars along the line, and people saw him pass by in his new shape and he always blew his whistle hello to them. I’m sorry to say that lots of people would be a bit late for work as they wait to see Theodore go by. Theodore loves his new shape. He loves it so much that Henry, who was the first engine on Sodor to get a new shape, was jealous. But that’s another story. The end.

#my stories #thomas and friends

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newstfionline · 1 month ago

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Tuesday, October 15, 2024

Florida neighbors band together to recover (AP) When ankle-deep floodwaters from Hurricane Helene bubbled up through the floors of their home, Kat Robinson-Malone and her husband sent a late-night text message to their neighbors two doors down: “Hey, we’re coming.” The couple waded through the flooded street to the elevated front porch of Chris and Kara Sundar, whose home was built on higher ground, and handed over their 8-year-old daughter and a gas-powered generator. The Sundars’ lime-green house in southern Tampa also became a refuge for Brooke and Adam Carstensen, whose house next door to Robinson-Malone also flooded. The three families met years earlier when their children became playmates, and the adults’ friendships deepened during the coronavirus pandemic in 2020. So when Helene and Hurricane Milton struck Florida within two weeks of each other, the neighbors closed ranks as one big extended family, cooking meals together, taking turns watching children and cleaning out their damaged homes. “Everyone has, like, the chain saw or a tarp,” Robinson-Malone said Sunday. “But really the most important thing for us was the community we built. And that made all the difference for the hurricane rescue and the recovery. And now, hopefully, the restoration.”

Thousands march in Spain to demand affordable housing (Reuters) Thousands protested on Sunday in Madrid to demand more affordable housing amid rising anger from Spaniards who feel they are being priced out of the market. “Spaniards cannot live in their own cities. They are forcing us out of the cities,” said nurse Blanca Prieto, 33. Spain is struggling to balance promoting tourism, a key driver of its economy, and addressing citizens’ concerns over unaffordable high rents due to gentrification and landlords shifting to more lucrative tourist rentals. Residents of the Canary Islands and Malaga have also staged protests this year against the rise in tourist rentals. Seasonal hospitality workers struggle to find accommodation in these tourism hot spots, with many resorting to sleeping in caravans or even their cars.

Russian Strikes on Ukrainian Ports Target Shipping (NYT) Russia has stepped up its assaults on Black Sea port infrastructure and civilian shipping in recent days, in what Ukraine says is an attempt to disrupt its exports and damage its economy. The attacks are part of an intensifying campaign of strikes on the city of Odesa and the region along Ukraine’s southern coast. Since last Monday, Russia has carried out five attacks in the area, killing 14 civilians and injuring 28, the U.N.’s Human Rights Monitoring Mission in Ukraine reported on Friday, citing local authorities. The strikes on ships were mostly aimed at those flying flags of small countries unlikely to retaliate against Russia. Last Monday, a container ship under the flag of Palau was hit, Ukrainian official said. The day before that, a missile damaged a vessel under a Saint Kitts and Nevis flag, according to the regional military administration.

Pakistan’s internet slows to a crawl as blame falls on government (Washington Post) Mobile internet in Pakistan has been painfully slow for over two months. Now, technology experts and political activists are accusing the government of intentionally throttling the internet to suppress political protesters. Digital rights activists fear that Pakistani officials are installing new controls to more tightly monitor social media and to censor political content.

China’s ‘New Great Wall’ Casts a Shadow on Nepal (NYT) The Chinese fence traces a furrow in the Himalayas, its barbed wire and concrete ramparts separating Tibet from Nepal. Here, in one of the more isolated places on earth, China’s security cameras keep watch alongside armed sentries in guard towers. High on the Tibetan Plateau, the Chinese have carved a 600-feet-long message on a hillside: “Long live the Chinese Communist Party,” inscribed in characters that can be read from orbit. Just across the border, in Nepal’s Humla District, residents contend that along several points of this distant frontier, China is encroaching on Nepali territory. The Nepalis have other complaints, too. Chinese security forces are pressuring ethnic Tibetan Nepalis not to display images of the Dalai Lama, the exiled Tibetan spiritual leader, in Nepali villages near the border, they say. “This is the new Great Wall of China,” said Jeevan Bahadur Shahi, the former provincial chief minister of the area. China’s fencing along the edge of Nepal’s Humla District is just one segment of a fortification network thousands of miles long that Xi Jinping’s government has built to reinforce remote reaches, control rebellious populations and, in some cases, push into territory that other nations consider their own.

Sri Lanka closes schools as floods hammer the capital (AP) Sri Lanka closed schools in the capital Colombo and suburbs on Monday as heavy rains triggered floods in many parts of the island nation. Heavy downpours over the weekend have wreaked havoc in many parts of the country, flooding homes, fields and roads. Three people drowned, while some 134,000 people have been affected by flooding, according to the country’s Disaster Management Centre. Sri Lanka has been grappling with severe weather conditions since May, mostly caused by heavy monsoon rains. In June, 16 people died due to floods and mudslides.

Can the Government Get People to Have More Babies? (NYT) In 1989, Japan seemed to be an unstoppable economic superpower. Its companies were overtaking competitors and gobbling up American icons like Rockefeller Center. But inside the country, the government had identified a looming, slow-motion crisis: The fertility rate had fallen to a record low. Policymakers called it the “1.57 shock,” citing the projected average number of children that women would have over their childbearing years. If births continued to decline, they warned, the consequences would be disastrous. Taxes would rise or social security coffers would shrink. Japanese children would lack sufficient peer interaction. Society would lose its vitality as the supply of young workers dwindled. It was time to act. Starting in the 1990s, Japan began rolling out policies and pronouncements designed to spur people to have more babies. The government required employers to offer child care leave of up to a year, opened more subsidized day care slots, exhorted men to do housework and take paternity leave, and called on companies to shorten work hours. In 1992, the government started paying direct cash allowances for having even one child (earlier, they had started with the third child), and bimonthly payments for all children were later introduced. None of this has worked. Last year, Japan’s fertility rate stood at 1.2. In Tokyo, the rate is now less than one. The number of babies born in Japan last year fell to the lowest level since the government started collecting statistics in 1899. Now the rest of the developed world is looking more and more like Japan.

The Brewing War With Israel Is Boosting Iran’s Young Hard-Liners (Foreign Affairs) The Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, Iranian Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei’s influential, ideological armed force, has been riven by divisions between its older, conservative commanders and its younger, radical ranks. The former generally favor exercising some restraint when it comes to Israel, whereas the latter want to go directly after the Islamic Republic’s nemesis. Typically, the older elite have held more influence with the supreme leader. But as more and more IRGC commanders and partners have been killed, the younger generations have gained the upper hand. They have done so by questioning the competence of their elders but also by suggesting that some IRGC elites are actually Israeli assets, including Esmail Ghaani, the IRGC commander who controls Iran’s Quds force—which, in turn, controls Iran’s network of proxy militias. After Israel killed Nasrallah, Khamenei’s calculus appears to have been shaped by this younger cohort. It is part of why Khamenei launched the October 1 attack.

Netanyahu Is Killing Us To Set Us Free? Logic, Grief And Resistance In Beirut (Daraj/Lebanon) Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu addressed us, the Lebanese people, and offered us a gift: a massacre. He sent soldiers to the Lebanese border town of Maroun al-Ras, raised an Israeli flag there, and sent the picture to the whole world. Netanyahu, who has so far killed more than 40,000 Palestinians and about 3,000 Lebanese, addressed us directly—and said that he is killing us for the sake of our future [by destroying Hezbollah]. Netanyahu tells us that he wants to give us after killing us, a homeland, one that is no more than a graveyard and no less than a colony. This speech he addressed to us is truly amazing, a summary of what awaits us if Netanyahu, owner of the “massacre doctrine,” achieves what he wants.

U.S. to Deploy Missile Defense System and About 100 Troops to Israel (NYT) The United States is sending an advanced missile defense system to Israel, along with about 100 American troops to operate it, the Pentagon announced on Sunday. The move will put American troops operating the ground-based interceptor, which is designed to defend against ballistic missiles, closer to the widening war in the Middle East. It comes after Iran launched about 200 missiles at Israel on Oct. 1 and as Israel plans its retaliatory attack. The THAAD battery, a mobile defense system, will give the Israel Defense Forces another layer of protection to defend cities, troops and installations from short- and intermediate-range ballistic missiles like those deployed by Iran in its last attack.

Netanyahu tells U.S. that Israel will strike Iranian military, not nuclear or oil, targets, officials say (Washington Post) Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has told the Biden administration he is willing to strike military rather than oil or nuclear facilities in Iran, according to two officials familiar with the matter, suggesting a more limited counterstrike aimed at preventing a full-scale war. In the two weeks since Iran’s latest missile barrage on Israel, its second direct attack in six months, the Middle East has braced for Israel’s promised response, fearing the two countries’ decades-long shadow war could explode into a head-on military confrontation. It comes at a politically fraught time for Washington, less than a month before the election, and President Joe Biden has said publicly he would not support an Israeli strike on nuclear-related sites. When Biden and Netanyahu spoke Wednesday—their first call in more than seven weeks after months of rising tensions between the two men—the prime minister said he was planning to target military infrastructure in Iran, according to a U.S. official and an official familiar with the matter.

Is Israel deploying a ‘surrender or starve’ strategy in Gaza? (Washington Post) Northern Gaza, already pummeled by a year of ruinous war, is in the grips of a punishing new Israeli offensive. Israeli forces encircled the battered Jabalya refugee camp in a bid to “systematically dismantle terrorist infrastructure,” according to an IDF statement. Israel issued evacuation orders to some 400,000 remaining residents in northern Gaza, telling them to go to areas farther south that are already teeming with the displaced and still hit by Israeli bombardments. Airstrikes have killed dozens. Aid workers described a catastrophic scene. “It is like hell to be honest,” Fares Afana, the head of ambulance services in northern Gaza, told The Washington Post in a voice note on Sunday. Israeli forces were attacking the Jabalya refugee camp “for the third time and its surroundings in Beit Lahya and Beit Hanoun,” Afana said, and the camp was surrounded “from all sides.” Humanitarian organization Doctors Without Borders said Friday that thousands of people—including five of its staffers—were trapped in the Jabalya camp. “Nobody is allowed to get in or out—anyone who tries is getting shot,” Sarah Vuylsteke, a project coordinator for the organization, said in a news release. The intensifying siege will “continue as long as required in order to achieve its objectives,” the IDF said in a statement. It comes alongside an apparent blockade. No food trucks have entered at all in October. Such a tactic may fuel further accusations that Israel is deliberately starving Palestinians in Gaza.

#headlines #news

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kawaoneechan · 2 years ago

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SCI title menus

Okay I've done my research. I've checked 32 different SCI 0 to 1.1 games and took note of what their title menus are like.

For this, I ignore the Sierra logo which may be un-skippable in some games, copy protection screens, and cutscenes that last just seconds before control is given like Sonny Bonds parking his car or Roger Wilco jumping out of his pod.

A. Just press a key to skip the title/intro (5)

No screenshots because there's no title menu to show for these.

Leisure Suit Larry 2 (SCI0)

Police Quest 2 (SCI0)

Space Quest 3 (SCI0) — you can enter commands and activate the menu at any time during the intro, so you can restore at any time.

Leisure Suit Larry 1 and 3 (SCI10, SCI0), after a fairly long age check.

Codename ICEMAN (SCI0) — there's some opening narration before control is given.

B. Is this your first time playing X? (4)

First thing the game does when the title appears is ask if you want to watch the intro (no) or skip it (yes). This is done with a regular old dialog window and DButtons.

King's Quest 4 (SCI0)

King's Quest 5 (SCI10)

The Colonel's Bequest (SCI0)

Conquests of the Longbow (SCI10) — a variation that lets you pick between the intro, restoring, or starting a new game.

C. Interruptible intro (5)

At any point during the introduction and title credits, you can press a key to skip ahead to the game or restore. This is done with a regular old dialog window and DButtons.

Space Quest 1 (SCI10)

Space Quest 4 (SCI10)

Castle of Dr. Brain (SCI10)

Police Quest 3 (SCI10)

EcoQuest 1 (SCI0)

D. Options running along the bottom of the screen (2)

King's Quest 1 (SCI0)

King's Quest 6 (SCI11)

The Dating Pool

E. The same, but they're DButtons in a dialog window (2)

Freddy Pharkas (SCI11)

Leisure Suit Larry 6 (SCI11)

Eric Oakford's SCI 1.1 template

F. Options going down the screen (4)

Quest for Glory 1 (SCI0, SCI11)

Quest for Glory 2 (SCI01)

The Dagger of Amon-Ra (SCI11)

EcoQuest 2 (SCI11)

G. The same, but again as DButtons in a window (6)

Conquests of Camelot (SCI0) — the window is on the bottom but the buttons run down.

Police Quest 1 (SCI11)

Quest for Glory 3 (SCI11) — Technically that's an icon bar but they have the look.

Island of Dr. Brain (SCI11)

Space Quest 5 (SCI11) — DColorButtons are a kind of DButton.

Pepper's Adventures in Time (SCI11)

Phil Fortier's SCI 1.1 template, because it's based on SQ5.

H. Something more unique and novel (3)

Mixed-Up Mother Goose (SCI0)

Mixed-Up Fairy Tales (SCI10?)

Leisure Suit Larry 5 — fast forward twice (SCI10)

... personally I'd go with Police Quest 1 style for a template game. I like interruptible intros but the template wouldn't have such a thing. Leave it as a tutorial perhaps. And that's why C is missing in the poll.

#sci #sci companion #poll #what's a dbutton?

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furlantravelfashionblogger · 8 months ago

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Curiosidades sobre Veneza...👇

Veneza é uma ilha? Não exatamente! Na verdade, a cidade é um conjunto de 124 ilhotas que começaram a ser populadas e anexadas umas às outras a partir do século VII. Cada pedacinho da cidade possuía geralmente uma igreja, um campo (a praça) e um poço, e eram as pontes que interligavam uma parte à outra. Diferente do que muita gente pensa, Veneza não é mar e sim uma lagoa separada do mar por pequenas porções de terra.

O Canal Grande tem aproximadamente 4,2 quilômetros e profundidade de 3 a 5 metros. Uma grande ponte liga a ilha até a cidade de Mestre (como alguns dizem Veneza nova, ou Veneza continente). Por ela passam carros, ônibus e o trem.

A construção de Veneza

Para construir as casas e palácios, os venezianos fincavam troncos de madeira nos pequenos pedaços de terra para que ele ficassem bem sólidos. Em contato com a água salgada e o “caranto”, mistura de areia e argila das camadas mais fundas da lagoa, os troncos ficavam duros como pedra. A partir daí, os construtores colocavam duas camadas de placas de madeira e uma camada de blocos de pedras e tijolos sigilados posteriormente com grandes blocos de pedra de Istria, uma espécie de mármore muito resistente à água salgada e à umidade.

As margens das ilhas são revestidas com tijolos para que a erosão não “coma” o terreno da cidade. Com o passar dos anos, esses tijolos tornam-se frágeis atacados pela água salgada, pela variação da maré e pelo movimentos dos motores dos barcos. Assim, de tempos em tempos, e é necessário um restauro. A operação não é nada fácil, deve-se fechar e esvaziar o canal para trocar os tijolos danificados.

As ruas de Veneza são cobertas por pedras chamadas trachite e é exatamente debaixo de onde pisamos que está todo o sistema elétrico e hidráulico da cidade. E entre uma ilhota e outra os fios e tubulações também são atravessados pelas pontes. Veneza não possui um sistema de esgoto moderno e utiliza ainda as históricas galerias que levam a água suja aos rios e canais. Duas vezes por dia, a lagoa se esvazia e se enche de água proveniente do mar por três bocas de porto, limpando assim os canais. Em grande parte das construções existem as fossas sépticas, grandes caixas onde ocorre um tratamento da água suja antes que ela seja depositada nos canais.

Foto de 1950, mostra o canal principal se Veneza drenado e sendo escavado para ter aumentada a sua profundidade.

Curiosities about Venice...👇

Is Venice an island? Not exactly! In fact, the city is a group of 124 islets that began to be populated and annexed to each other from the 7th century onwards. Each part of the city generally had a church, a field (the square) and a well, and bridges connected one part to the other. Contrary to what many people think, Venice is not the sea but a lagoon separated from the sea by small portions of land.

The Canal Grande is approximately 4.2 kilometers long and 3 to 5 meters deep. A large bridge connects the island to the city of Mestre (as some say New Venice, or mainland Venice). Cars, buses and trains pass through it.

The construction of Venice

To build houses and palaces, the Venetians planted wooden trunks in small pieces of land so that they were solid. In contact with salt water and “caranto”, a mixture of sand and clay from the deepest layers of the lagoon, the trunks became hard as stone. From there, the builders placed two layers of wooden plates and a layer of stone blocks and bricks, later sigilated with large blocks of Istrian stone, a type of marble that is very resistant to salt water and humidity.

The banks of the islands are covered with bricks so that erosion does not “eat” the city’s land. Over the years, these bricks become fragile, attacked by salt water, tidal fluctuations and the movements of boat engines. So, from time to time, restoration is necessary. The operation is not easy at all, the channel must be closed and emptied to replace the damaged bricks.

The streets of Venice are covered with stones called trachite and it is exactly below where we step that the city's entire electrical and hydraulic system is located. And between one islet and another, wires and pipes are also crossed by bridges. Venice does not have a modern sewage system and still uses historic sewers that carry dirty water to rivers and canals. Twice a day, the lagoon empties and fills with water from the sea through three port mouths, thus cleaning the channels. In most buildings there are septic tanks, large tanks where dirty water is treated before it is deposited in the canals.

Photo from 1950, shows the main canal of Venice being drained and being excavated to increase its depth.

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storm-leviosa-fanfics · 1 year ago

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car ma vie, car mes joies, aujourd’hui, ça commence avec toi

It's finally here!!! My fic for the @batfam-big-bang!!! I got to work with my brilliant beta @enchantingruinscandy and the amazing artist @jube-art on this. Best team!! Thanks a million guys <3

Rated: Gen

Summary:

Maybe, he dared to think, Goliath couldn’t do it yet, but certainly he could with time. With effort. With training. Damian knew all about time, and effort, and training... Damian was going to be the first person to train a dragon-bat in dressage. or, Damian falls in love with dressage. How could he not? It is a beautiful, elegant sport, one that rewards control and accuracy and precision. The problem is that Damian does not have a horse. But that’s okay - he has Goliath. The dressage world will never be the same. Certainly some of the judges are never coming back.

Chapter 1 - starting from zero

The stables out back hadn’t been used in decades - well, except when Drake had lived in them for some god forsaken reason, but that didn’t count - which was why Damian was inspecting them. And it was a good thing he was: cobwebs so old they were thick with dust hung heavily from the rafters, the hinges on every door were rusted near to disintegration, and to top it all off, the rat holes made the stable floors themselves unstable. He didn’t dare inspect the hayloft. If the main stables were this bad, he dreaded to think what the upstairs was like. Most likely, it was more dangerous than swinging across Gotham’s rooftops.

In other words, the stables required intensive work to make them inhabitable. And making them inhabitable was the bare minimum really; Damian would not settle for any less than perfection.

He tapped the pen against his chin, scribbled another note. He could see how the stables would look once restored to their former glory. The high ceilings with strong wooden beams stained to keep out the rot, the dirt floors covered with concrete, rubber matting, and a thick layer of fluffy shavings, the hinges, kick bolts and stiff sliding bolts replaced with top-quality sliding doors, the shutters on the back windows replaced so the outside world was visible. It needed far more than a fresh coat of paint, like father had claimed (though a fresh coat of paint was also sorely needed) but all was not lost.

Damian’s newest project had come to him early in the morning in the form of a letter slotted into his window frame telling him in no uncertain terms that Goliath could no longer be kept on the island. Alternative arrangements must be made for him. Damian had put the letter down, gone to eat breakfast, and mentioned it to no one.

When, later on, he had passed a TV showing a sports channel inexplicably playing a video of horses dancing, he had thought to himself ‘Goliath could do that’, and then stopped. The rest of the morning passed in a blur, as Damian was slowly sucked into this sport he had not known existed until that very moment. Maybe, he dared to think, Goliath couldn’t do it yet , but certainly he could with time. With effort. With training. Damian knew all about time, and effort, and training. Damian needed to find a new home for Goliath. The connections were made and there was no turning back.

Damian was going to be the first person to train a dragon-bat in dressage.

… He just needed somewhere to keep him first.

The supplies Damian needed to fix the stables could not all be bought from a hardware store, or a farm supply store, nor could he do the fixing himself. It chafed at him, the need for outsiders, but there was no getting around it. Pennyworth was insistent. He could take a long-handled broom to the cobwebs though, so that was how he spent his Saturday afternoon: bandana firmly tied around the lower half of his face and broom in hand as he attacked cobwebs that had been spiderless before he was born. By dinnertime he had cleared one stall. It was the slowest of slow progress.

He came back the next day with a new bandana and a leaf blower and no adult supervision.

All the stalls were clear of cobwebs but Damian was grounded. This mattered not at all because now the cobwebs were cleared, Pennyworth’s favoured handyman could come in to replace the doors and windows. By the time he was ungrounded, the stables would be almost ready for their newest occupant. In the meantime, Titus needed walking and if he just so happened to swing by the stables while doing so, well, that was just a coincidence.

By the time he’d finished painting the stables, everyone had figured out something was up. Grayson had asked, Drake had made comments, Father had narrowed his eyes suspiciously and hummed. Pennyworth knew everything of course, but it would not be down to him whether Goliath came home. He would have to ask Father, and that made him nervous.

Asking made him nervous, so he didn’t ask. He simply told Father at breakfast that Goliath was coming home.

“I will require the Batplane this afternoon,” he said, solemnly, “the one with the large cargohold.”

Father asked no questions, so he told no lies.

“You know what happens if you don’t bring it back in one piece,” he warned instead. Yes, Damian did know what the consequences were if he destroyed the Batplane. Luckily for him, this was not any kind of mission, merely a transportation need.

“I’ll be back in time for patrol,” he told Father, and Father grunted, then returned to his tablet. WE had been…difficult lately, and taking up far more of Father’s time than he would like. It boded well for Damian though, that Father was distracted. A distracted Father was one less likely to complain about another pet that Damian had acquired.

Goliath did not want to get on the plane, did not want to stand in the hold, did not want to leave the island, or eat treats out of Damian’s hand. He was scared by the movement of the plane, by the sound of the engines, by the strangeness of his environment. And Damian did not have Maya with him this time, did not have Jon to call on to help, or Colin to regale his adventures to. He was alone, with a terrified beast and a plane to fly and he may be just a little bit out of his depth.

But Damian Wayne does not give up easily. Damian Wayne did not need help. He could fly a plane and placate Goliath and keep everyone safe and Father would never know about this brief set-back. Except Goliath was well and truly panicking, tugging at his leadrope and pawing at the floor, whites of his eyes showing as his eyes rolled in his head. Damian looked at him, looked at the controls of the plane, looked at the med-kit stashed in the cubby, looked back at Goliath. He had two options here: one, he could ditch the plane, fly Goliath home, miss patrol and face the consequences, or two, he could see how much sedative was in the med-kit. There were no other safe options.

They did not have enough midazolam to be particularly useful, but Damian wasn’t looking to knock Goliath out completely, just relax him a bit. If he used all they had, it would probably be enough - there weren’t exactly textbooks about anaesthetising Goliath’s species, but he could guess based on size. Sure enough, a quite frankly alarmingly large injection of sedative later and Goliath was no longer hysterical in the hold of the Batplane. Damian was cleared for takeoff.

It was time to go home.

When Damian returned, Father was a fuming, fussing volcano in the middle of the batcave. Damian’s hackles raised, and he had scarcely landed the plane before he and Father were arguing. Sharp, barbed words and vicious insults flew and Damian did not have it in him to regret. He knew Father likely would not either. This was a fight for Goliath, but in the heat of it Damian forgot about the beast, still tied up in the belly of the plane, the midazolam wearing off. By the time Father had stormed out of the cave, Damian had received a thorough tongue-lashing and a grounding and benching that he barely cared about. Goliath would be allowed to stay in the stables. All would be well.

Unable to leave the house, Damian poured himself into research - equipment, dress, exercises, tests to learn. A rule book was in his sights within hours. He found a database of instructors specialising in dressage in the state, did more research, made a pros and cons list for each, short-listed them, emailed several, and waited impatiently for replies. None were Gotham natives, but that shouldn’t matter over much. Dressage was dressage after all; these instructors had to teach only him. He could handle the rest alone.

Only one of the instructors replied to his emails, around the time his jodhpurs and helmet arrived. He answered all his questions in the same curt, business-like tone that Damian had emailed with to begin with. He seemed the type to take no nonsense, which he appreciated. His prices seemed reasonable, his credentials were significant - regional and national champion to prix st georges level, a longtime trainer of his own horses, a student of an Olympian that Damian, with only his new knowledge, did not know - and he was willing to travel to Gotham, which was only an added bonus. Pennyworth had approved the visitor for a week from now, though with pursed lips and a suspicious frown about his forehead, and so Damian’s first lesson was written into the family diary.

His name was Stephan and he arrived dressed to impress. Stepping out of a sleek black Land Rover in a tweed suit did not earn him respect from Damian or his family, but he was not to know that. Damian took him round to the stables, which he declared ‘quaint’, explained their lack of menage, which he claimed would not be an issue until the back end of the season, provided they had a field to ride in, and then showed him Goliath, tacked up and ready in shining new gear. Stephan’s nose wrinkled. His lip curled. Damian resolved to hate him. He also resolved to prove his first impression wrong.

In the field, Damian mounted and awaited instruction. Stephan told him to warm up, but Damian had never done that before. He did not know what he needed to do. He did know that dressage was not an aerial sport - Goliath would need to stay on the ground - and so he would need to use his legs to get him to go and not a flick of the reins. He dug in his heels and, with a brief lurch of surprise, Goliath set off at a marching walk.

Damian thought he was doing quite well really. He’d seen the horses walking on the TV and they didn’t go fast or slow, they picked their feet up in a short, eager stride, or else they had a long step with their head lowered. It wasn’t that hard really. Stephan urged him into a lurching trot, which had Damian bouncing all over the place no matter how hard he tried to remain still and serene, and then something akin to a canter. Poor Goliath’s legs didn’t move quite right for it to be a true canter, and Stephan’s face was not a happy one when Damian eventually stopped.

“Well he’s never going to be good,” he said, bluntly, “but we can work with what we’ve got I suppose.”

They worked on the canter because that was the bit that Goliath got most wrong, it seemed. Stephan barked orders from the middle of the arena for Damian to get him “rounder. I said rounder,” or else to “use your legs; I know you’ve got them.” By the end of the session, Damian was exhausted and Goliath was drooping. They still could not canter well.

“Practice,” Stephan said. “I’ll see you next week and I want to see that canter looking halfway decent.”

And so it went on. During the week, when Damian was not at school, he would practice just like Stephan told him to, until he and Goliath were sweating and trembling with exertion. On weekends, Stephan would come, shout at him for an hour, and then the whole cycle would begin again. He learnt how to tuck Goliath’s head in and get him to pick his feet up like the horses on TV. He learnt the drama of it all, the hard word and pain of popped blisters that hadn’t yet turned to calluses on the soft sides of his ring fingers. He learnt how to hold tight, and how to push so even Goliath’s thick skin could not ignore him.

He hated it.

There was something miserable about the endless nagging and tugging and fighting, something wrong. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Damian had watched so many videos, had seen so many pictures, and the riders at the top? They didn't battle with their mounts every day; they didn’t struggle and chip away at their horse’s will until it submitted. They didn’t move , some of them. Watching them, Damian had never felt further from his goal.

Finally ungrounded, Damian started patrolling again. It was…a manageable schedule. If anyone asked, he was not exhausted and didn't get up before 6am to feed Goliath and then shower before school to get the "stink" off, and then get driven to school by Pennyworth for half 8 and then surround himself with plebeians for 7 hours before getting driven back from school by Pennyworth, then down to the stables to train and feed and do whatever jobs he hadn't done in the morning, and then dinner, and then patrol until whatever time Father brought them home. He fell into bed and slept like the dead until his alarm went off at quarter to six. It was never enough sleep, but who in the world was going to notice? Certainly not Ffather, who only rarely had the time in the day to look at his face without a mask. Not his brothers, absent in mind and body. Not his teachers or classmates, who all had similarly deep bags under their eyes. And besides, it was worth it, the exhaustion, because Damian and Goliath were finally making progress. Stephan was almost pleased with them at their last lesson, and had suggested a competition to announce themselves to the world. “Just a small one,” he had promised, “no need to be nervous.”

Nervous. Hah. What a joke. Damian had never been nervous a day in his life.

His hands were sweaty, but it was a hot day - nothing at all to do with his upcoming competition. Training took priority and the exercise made him sweat even in cold weather, which late spring was not, and his hands definitely were not slipping on the reins. Surely not. What a ludicrous suggestion. There was nothing to be nervous about and he had all the time in the world.

He did not have all the time in the world. A week from competition day, entries submitted and test sheet printed, Damian abruptly realised that he was not prepared. It was perhaps the first and only time in his life that this had occurred. His test sheet remained in the bottom of his desk; he had not checked the start times or list of entrants since entries had closed; he had not given Father or Pennyworth directions to the venue. He hadn’t even checked the rule book. And this was where he came unstuck because Damian, in all his reckless bullheadedness, had disregarded even the most basic rules of dress. He had jodhpurs and boots and gloves and that was enough, yes? Evidently not.

At the level he would be riding at, tailcoats like what were seen on TV were not only avoided, they were outright prohibited. Likewise, there were strict rules about the colour of the jodhpurs and gloves and shirts he was allowed to wear. He needed a special kind of jacket, boots and chaps, or else tall boots that took months to break in. None of these he currently owned, and a week was far too short a time to procure them. No tailor worth his price would agree to a show jacket made and altered in under a week, and the boots Damian knew from experience would take far longer than expected to get used to. Could he wear his Robin boots? He didn’t see why not. They were, after all, the least recognisable part of his costume, and ticked all the boxes: large enough heel, tall, black leather, provided the correct support. He would raise it with Father after a good patrol, he thought.

The jacket was more of a problem, and Damian began scouring the rules for some kind of loophole, spending hours that he did not have looking for something that did not exist. He wondered if League dress would count as cultural attire for the sake of this. As little as he wanted to remind himself of those times, the clothing still fit and it might as well be useful rather than collecting dust and mothballs in his closet. Surely a tailor could alter the outer robe to look like a short jacket given a week to work with.

They could, as it turned out, and Damian soon had a beautiful coat to wear. Emerald green and smooth as silk, it was a perfect fit. One problem down, so many more to go. He consulted the rulebook again and ordered some jodhpurs in a pleasing cream colour. He already owned gloves, because he valued his hands far too much to damage them being an idiot and dragging Goliath around without something to protect them. He practiced his test over and over and over again, until Father or Grayson no longer had to stand at the fence and call it for him, and he could see the pattern in his sleep. He memorised everything he could, read the rulebook cover to cover, checked his tack, his dress, trotted Goliath up to ensure he was not lame, found a blue ribbon to indicate that Goliath was a ‘stallion’ and to be avoided, though he couldn’t imagine many people venturing close to him.

And then the morning came. Stephan rattled up the driveway before most of the manor’s inhabitants were awake with a large horsebox and invited himself in for coffee. Then, it was time to groom, boot up, and put Goliath on the box.

Goliath did not want to go on the box.

This was entirely understandable but still frustrating.

“I thought you said you were prepared,” Stephan fumed. Damian said nothing, just tugged on the leadrope once more and offered Goliath’s favourite snack. Goliath did not move. He continued to not move until Stephan grabbed a nearby broom and swatted him gently on the hindquarters, upon which Goliath shot up the ramp like he’d been lit on fire. It was an alarmingly effective method.

They pulled into a large grassy field and parked beneath a spreading tree. His excitement growing, Damian hopped out of the truck and, as he made his way around to lower the ramp, caught sight of the warming up arena. Everything seemed to stop, just for a moment, as he watched the pristine horses prancing. He had wanted to prove everyone wrong, show them that anyone can do dressage, but now… he found he did not want to take Goliath out of the truck, did not want to get on and join the other competitors. He was not unprepared, was the thing; Stephan had said that he was “as ready as you’ll ever be,” which was high praise from him, and Damian had memorised the test, brushed Goliath until he gleamed, polished his tack and boots and mutilated his League clothing to make dressage-legal attire. He was more than ready for this. But he suddenly felt very small and very scruffy, when faced with all these people on much more typical specimens. It struck him then, with all the force of Killer Croc on a rampage, that he was not going to win this competition.

Stephan saw him staring, and stood next to him. He said nothing, but Damian knew he could see his uncertainty on his face.

“They are all much better than me,” he said, quietly.

“If you think that, you’ve already lost,” Stephan replied. “Now get that beast of yours off the wagon and tacked up. We’re on a schedule and your dawdling is going to put us behind.”

Damian lowered the ramp.

His nerves followed him through tacking up, through signing in at the secretary’s office, through the walk to the warm up arena, and would not let him be. His hands did not shake - they never did - but his knees had no such restrictions. They twitched, as if a nerve had been trapped or a reflex had been tripped, and Damian could only hope it would not have an effect on his aids. In the warm up ring, near every horse was driven wild by Goliath’s approach. It did not make him grin, but it did make him wonder if, maybe, he stood a chance after all. It was not a very sportsmanlike thought but then, Damian was not always a very sportsmanlike person. He ignored them, the shouts and whinnies and stamping feet, and mounted. Goliath blew air through his nostrils and reached his head round to look at Damian. Really, he seemed to say, you’re making me put up with this. Damian rolled his eyes. Such drama.

The thing about horses is that they are cowards but they are equally forgetful, and so within a few minutes, the warm up arena was back to normal. This unfortunately meant Damian had to pretend to ignore his fellow competitors riding perfect canter circles and square halts for far longer, but also meant that none of them were looking at him. This was, he thought, a positive, considering he had very little idea what he was doing and was trying his utmost to hide it. Twenty minutes later, Stephan was calling him to the gate. Damian took a breath and did not stiffen. He was the combined strength of both his families. Damian Al-Ghul Wayne did not get nervous; he did not tremble or stiffen or gulp; he was completely unfazed - cool as a cucumber, as Grayson would put it. He rode into the ring, white boards gleaming and banners fluttering lightly, and stayed carefully still and poised. First impressions counted here more than anything. He held Goliath in something akin to collection: neck arched, feet picked up cleanly, ears flicking back and forth. He saw the judge look up, do a double-take, stop speaking to her writer, leave the box. Damian did stiffen then.

“Young man,” she called, voice tremulous. She was an elderly woman, Damian noted, evidently with many years of experience. Stephan had seen her name listed as the judge and nodded, saying she would be fair. Not kind, but fair. Damian was as grateful for it as he was confused.

“I am afraid I may have to disqualify you under DR119 section 1, if you do not provide me with some kind of identification. I am not certain that your mount is, in fact, a horse.” Damian was lucky. Damian had prepared for exactly this scenario. He turned to her and said, voice far more level than he was expecting,

“My coach has Goliath’s passport to hand. If that does not suffice, please be aware that your stated rule declares that dressage classes are open to ‘horses, mules and/or ponies of any origin’, and that ‘a horse is an animal over 148 cm without shoes, and 149 cm with shoes.’ Thus, as Goliath is over 148cm without shoes, and is an animal, he is a horse.”

“That,” she blustered, clearly trying and failing to regain her composure, “is completely besides the point.” She then stalked over to where Stephan was standing, hands on her hips ready to give him a piece of her mind. After a few moments of wild gesticulation, she returned to the judge’s box without so much as a glance in Damian’s direction. Goliath flicked an ear and snorted. It was the first time in a long time that he had been actively ignored. People being scared of him? Pretty par for the course. People wanting to cuddle him? Weird but sweet; Damian could relate. Ignoring entirely? Goliath wasn’t the only one to take that as an insult. He leaned forward and scratched the fluff behind his ears, just the way he knew Goliath liked it.

“Let’s go show her how it’s done, hmm boy?”

The sun was in his eyes as he rode down the centre line. He tried not to squint, while also smiling, because he’d already ruined his first impression and whatever he could salvage by smiling was worth it. The combination of the sun, the smile, and the squinting most likely resulted in a pained grimace instead, but an attempt was made. He turned right, kept trotting, held himself steady, felt Goliath’s mouth down the reins, his muscles flexing beneath his legs. He squeezed with his right leg and opened his left rein to bend onto a twenty-metre circle. He changed the rein across the diagonal and held Goliath in as he tried to plunge his way across the arena. Another circle. Another change of rein. He gently heaved on the reins and Goliath came back to a walk. Lumbering and laborious, tThey made their way around the ring, and it became worse as Damian released his hold on the reins for a free walk. Goliath was not good at free walk; they had not practiced and Goliath did not have the long and elegant neck of the fancy dressage horses. He tried, and Damian tried, but it was never going to be perfect and this was worse than usual. Damian was relieved when the time came to trot again. Picking up his reins and trying to hold Goliath in some kind of shape, he squeezed him into a trot that had at least a little swing, before asking for a canter. It had come up very quickly, and the movements within the gait would only come more quickly still. A circle, up the long side, another circle, return to trot over the centre line. Breathe, Damian, you have survived. Time to change the rein and once again hold Goliath back, then repeat the canter movement again. By the time the canter was over, Damian was so tight that he was almost almost trembling with exertion. Now, however, was the final centre line. Damian needed to smile again, he needed to pull himself together, except the turn was coming up far too quickly and…

He overshot it by maybe a metre, and salvaged the line by hauling on his inside rein. It pulled Goliath off balance, but he at least made it to the centre line. After a scrambled, embarrassed, halt-immobility-salute, Damian gave Goliath a pat on the neck and removed himself from the arena. He dared not look at Stephan’s face; he dared not think about the scores.

It took far too long and not long enough for the scores to be out. Long enough to have lunch, certainly, long enough to receive a thorough tongue-lashing from Stephan, not long enough to redeem himself.

Sixty-three percent.

That was… Damian wanted to say it was terrible, but looking at the scoreboard he was, surprisingly, far from last place. Out of a field of about ten, he was solidly middle of the pack. Fourth was not where he had wanted to be, was not an acceptable position, but when put up against what he had seen in the warm-up? Those beautiful, elegant animals performing like it was the Olympics themselves? Fourth place was not so bad really.

It did not matter what he tried to tell himself. Fourth place was not going to be showing anyone anything about his, or Goliath’s, ability. It would not win him any ribbons or championship qualifications. It was just…in the middle. Average. Average was not good enough, when you were Damian Wayne.

They drove home in silence. Damian had nothing to say, and Stephan had got his disappointment in Damian’s performance out of the way early. There was nothing he could say that Damian had not already told himself. He was disappointed, yes, but also furious, also confused, also mortified. From birth, he had been the very best: the best heir, the best son, the best Robin. And now he was merely average. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried: he’d tried so hard, practiced so much, been as prepared for this as Drake had to be for patrol, but it had amounted to nothing. The entire hour drive, not a word was spoken, and it felt stifling.

At home, Father hung the green ribbon in pride of place and Pennyworth picked out all the positives on the scoresheet Damian had been too outraged to look at and Grayson demanded to see the professional photos that had not yet been made available. Drake, on his way out the door, patted his shoulder and said “better luck next time, squirt,” as if Damian were a normal little brother and not a trained vigilante who could kill him five different ways with just his shoelaces. It grated on him, that they were being so positive when something was wrong, when he had done nothing to deserve their praise.

He had done badly, there was no kind way to say it, except Grayson told him well done for trying and Pennyworth thanked him for coming home with no broken bones or lacerations and Father? Father had smiled that small, secret smile that was just for Damian and said he was proud of him. Why? There was nothing to be proud of, no congratulations to give. Commiserations may be the more prudent action. But Father was proud, and Damian wanted so badly to accept that without thinking about it that he ached.

Another week, another lesson, and this time Damian had read the scoresheet and knew exactly what he needed to work on. Except that wasn’t what Stephan wanted to work on.

“Rounder!” he barked, “rounder, more hand…not like that - I said rounder, not slower, are you deaf?” Damian, feeling Goliath fight and pull against his hands, feeling him chomping uncomfortably on hard metal, found that he hated Stephan a bit. This was not what they needed to work on and it was making Goliath unhappy and Damian wasn’t particularly happy either.

He did not ask Stephan to come back the next week.

Without Stephan, he drifted a bit. He practiced what he knew, worked hard on the things he thought he needed to work on, but he had no goals in mind. Goliath seemed happier, and that was important to him, more important than ribbons, but still that score grated on him, that fourth place ribbon. He didn’t want it to end like that, but he refused to go crawling back to Stephan and admit defeat. Stephan was wrong, and Damian would prove it…somehow.

#batfam big bang 2023 #batfam #fanfic #damian wayne #working title: usef rules are bullshit #dressage #goliath dc #fluff #light angst #lots of emotions #look the title is from an edith piaf song that is the most dressage song of all time #just trust me

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southeastasiadiary · 1 year ago

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Day Six: Hue, the Former Imperial Capital

There are ways in which Hue is almost an antithesis of Hanoi. Hanoi is sprawling and bustling; Hue is small and tranquil. The sites of Hanoi are spread out over many miles; those in Hue are nearly all walkable from the center of the city.

Huy and I began this morning at the Imperial Citadel, a complex of gates, palaces for the emperor, palaces for the emperor’s mother, support structures, and all the other facilities needed to run a court in feudal times.

Heavily damaged by bombing during the Vietnam War, some of the structures had to be restored during the last few decades, although others remained largely intact. One of the intriguing features of the reconstruction was where the glass came from when the mosaics on the gates were restored. The green glass pieces are actually all bits of Heineken beer bottles, on some of which the opening (properly known as the bottle’s “finish”) is still plainly visible.

Our next stop was the An Hien garden house, built on the principles of Fung Shui. Huy was amused that I spent as much time examining the former owner’s library (classics of French literature, books on zen and meditation, and some of the same works on Vietnamese history that I read while preparing for this trip) as I did the rest of the grounds.

We then went to the Thien Mu pagoda, one of Hue’s oldest religious buildings. Constructed in 1601, the seven-storied tower pagoda stands on top of a hill with a fantastic view of the river beneath.

Probably the most famous monk from the Thien Mu pagoda was Thich Quang Duc. Protesting the South Vietnamese government’s oppression of Buddhists, he drove to Saigon on June 11, 1963, stopped at the Phan Dinh Phung Square-Le Van Duyet intersection, poured gasoline all over himself, and burned himself alive. Thich Quang Duc neither collapsed nor cried out in pain throughout the entire ordeal, and his heart was not consumed by the flames. The car in which he drove to Saigon is still on display at the pagoda, along with a tribute to him.

To reach our next destination, we traveled down the river by dragon boat. (For a one-minute video of that trip, see the accompanying photo album. Remember: You need to email me for access, if you want it.)

Our goal was a small workshop that makes incense sticks and cones. The aroma from the shops that produce incense in Hue is the reason why the local river became known as the Perfume River.

The incense made here is a combination of sawdust, glue, and scented oil that are kneaded into a substance with the consistency of clay. Cones are produced by molds. Sticks are rolled under a flat board. A proficient craftsman can produce an incense stick in well under a minute. When given a chance to imitate this work, I proved that I was neither an artist nor a craftsman (something that would become a theme for the rest of the day), and took woefully long to create an utterly inadequate incense stick.

Huy and I then continued then to the royal tomb of the Tu Duc, a king who had a hundred concubines but no offspring. (Mumps, it is said, had left him sterile.) He built his mausoleum while he was still alive and moved into the grounds from the citadel for the last decade of his life, indulging there in fifty-course meals of extravagant delicacies and spending time in solitude on an island across from one of his pavilions.

The day concluded in an artisan’s workshop where they are trying to recreate the lost art of Phap Lam, where enamel is baked onto copper sheets in a manner similar to cloisonné. Here is what Phap Lam looks like when a master creates the work:

And here’s what resulted when I tried it:

As I said before, today was further proof, if any was needed, that I’m neither an artist nor a craftsman.

#vietnam #hue vietnam #Phap Lam

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freehawaii · 1 year ago

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KE AUPUNI UPDATE - AUGUST 2023

Aloha Lāhainā, Aloha ʻĀina

Words cannot express the shock, horror, dismay and grief over the catastrophic destruction of the ancient, historic town of Lāhainā on the Island of Maui. Our aloha and prayers go out to all who are being impacted by this great tragedy. People all over the islands are showing their aloha by mobilizing to send aid and comfort to those devastated by the fires on Maui. Yesterday, I was at Hui Mahiʻai ʻĀina, the houseless camp at Aunty Blanche Kahalewai McMillanʻs place in Waimanalo, where the residents were sorting and stacking onto pallets piles of donations from a steady stream of cars dropping off supplies to kōkua the thousands of suddenly houseless people of Maui. By mid-day, there was already enough to fill two forty-foot shipping containers! They will be at the docks today ready to ship to Maui. Aunty Blanche says the drive will continue for as long as it takes... And this is just one small community. The spontaneous outpouring of aloha is coming from many other individuals, groups, businesses, organizations and communities throughout Hawaiʻi nei, adding their kōkua to the dedicated aid organizations like the Salvation Army and the Red Cross... and the mobilization of government emergency agencies by Maui County, the State of Hawaii and the U.S. Aloha Lives! I am also receiving many expressions of concern and solidarity from friends in the international community — Europe, Africa, Asia, the Americas, Oceania… Their hearts ache with ours. Tomorrow, I leave for two months of back-to-back conferences and meetings in Asia, the South Pacific, Europe and America. I will share that the restoration of Lāhainā and the restoration of the Hawaiian Kingdom, will be driven by the same resilient spirit of the people of Hawaiʻi, rooted in Aloha. Whether facing and responding to the devastation of tsunami, hurricanes, floods, wildfires, or the 130-year-long foreign usurpation, subjugation and abuse of our nation, we will prevail by being the people who embrace Aloha... Aloha ke Aukua (love of God) — Kapu Aloha (sacred love) — Aloha kekahi i kekahi (love for one another) — and Aloha ʻĀina (love for our land, our country).

“Love of country is deep-seated in the breast of every Hawaiian, whatever his station.” — Queen Liliʻuokalani ---------- Ua mau ke ea o ka ʻāina i ka pono. The sovereignty of the land is perpetuated in righteousness.

------ For the latest news and developments about our progress at the United Nations in both New York and Geneva, tune in to Free Hawaii News at 6 PM the first Friday of each month on ʻŌlelo Television, Channel 53.

------ "And remember, for the latest updates and information about the Hawaiian Kingdom check out the twice-a-month Ke Aupuni Updates published online on Facebook and other social media." PLEASE KŌKUA… Your kōkua, large or small, is vital to this effort... To contribute, go to:

• GoFundMe – CAMPAIGN TO FREE HAWAII • PayPal – use account email: [email protected] • Other – To contribute in other ways (airline miles, travel vouchers, volunteer services, etc...) email us at: [email protected] “FREE HAWAII” T-SHIRTS - etc. Check out the great FREE HAWAII products you can purchase at... http://www.robkajiwara.com/store/c8/free_hawaii_products All proceeds are used to help the cause. MAHALO! Malama Pono,

Leon Siu

Hawaiian National

#ke aupuni #leon siu #free hawaii #hawaiian kingdom #koani foundation

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alexracheltravel · 2 years ago

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We Went Chasing a Waterfall and We Only had enough energy for this terrible joke

Today was day two of our Cambodian tour. We enjoyed our tour of Angkor Wat so much that we booked a second day with the same company and the same guide. Nak, our guide, was incredible over these two days and we appreciate him greatly.

After breakfast, we left Siem Reap and went north to Phnom Kulen, a national park, Cambodia's largest protected forest (or jungle. Unclear about the difference) and a holy site with historical and religious significance. It was a long drive and we spent it talking to Nak and our driver about various Buddhist rules and rites. For example, it is no longer illegal to eat meat in Buddhism. Now, the only animals that are not allowed include: dog, snake, bear, elephant, tiger, and leopard. This, of course, only refers to observant Buddhists. As far as we know, monks must abstain from killing animals, chopping wood, holding money, and even starting fire. We noticed parallels between these values and the traditional values of Judaism.

The first stop we made was a touristy viewpoint, in which we stopped and posed in front of a cliff face, gazing at the vast valley below. It was easy to see the beauty that Cambodia had to offer, with picturesque views and a skyline that could rival any country.

It wasn't long from there until we got to a very religious site. The reclining Buddha of Phnom Kulen drew crowds from around Cambodia and the rest of the world. It was a pilgrimage to go there. We spent some time on the temple grounds. Villagers played music. Children ran about. Pious individuals kneeled before their idols, clasping their hands and bowing again and again, muttering their prayers under their breath. We climbed a long set of stairs up to the top of the mountain. The Buddha was carved centuries ago, straight into the mountainside. It was about eighty feet long and portrayed the Buddha in a sublime state of Nirvana. At the end, we banged a gong, a ritual that signified our thanks to the Temple. Nak said it was a "good deed." We should have told him about the word "mitzvah." Along the way down, Nak introduced us to some street food that villagers made for the tourists. We ate waffles made from rice, and a coconut filled crepe called "khanom bueang." They were delicious and vegan!

We returned to the car and made our way down the hill towards a site called "the river of 1000 lingas." This specific site was important to Cambodian and Khmer culture, as it was the place where the first king of the empire declared his rule. The lingas were religious objects that purified water, the same way a mikvah might prepare one to bathe. The most interesting part was that the riverbed contained so many carvings, not just of these religious pillars (which represented phalluses) but also of the gods: Shiva, Vishnu, and Brahma. It was not a long trip, but the serenity of the river and the calmness of the water relaxed us before our next exciting excursion.

Waterfalls! Yes! Phnom Kulen is home to a large, hundred-meter high waterfall! Visitors to the area gathered to the pool to take a dip. The water was cold, but perfect on the 87-degree day. We dipped out heads below the waterfall and felt the rush of the water hit our bodies. Is this what our island vacation will feel like?

Alas, it was time to leave the national park, and we hopped into the car and drove down. We ate a mediocre lunch, and then moved on to the last sight of our tour: Banteay Srei. The name translates to "citadel of women," but like many of these temples, they have other names, and this temple was among the earliest temples in all of Siem Reap. While it was quite dilapidated, many of the ancient carvings were still intact, or restored, showcasing incredible intricate images of gods, carved into brightly-colored stones. It quickly became one of our favorite temples that we had seen over the two day period.

We said goodbye to Nak, and our driver for guiding us over the last two days. He really made our trip special. We breaked in the hotel, showered, relaxed, and then, Alex had one last trip for his bucket list.

Cambodia's street food contains many delectable treats, but among them is one unique one: insects! For $5 he grabbed a bag of insects: grasshoppers, crickets, mealworms, larger mole crickets (or pillbugs), some roach-like creature, and tiny frogs. Yes, the latter are not insects but they were still part of the package. The morsels we're all along the night market, and customers can pick and choose which they wanted. They came mixed with fried Thai basil, scallion, and hot sliced chili. Mixed and combined, the treats were flavorful, seasoned, crispy, and aromatic. To be honest, the crickets and frogs tasted best. The mealworms were too soft and the others were too big. But all were part of the true Cambodia experience.

An easy dinner at the hotel and an early night followed. Tomorrow we make our way to Thailand.

Alex: On our tour today you said the Banteay Srei temple was one of your favorites. What did you most amazing about that temple? I mean I liked it too but let's tell the people what you think.

Rachel: First off, I did like it the most, but for different reasons than I did like Angkor Wat. The first and what feels the most obvious is the incredibly intricate carvings, each with a story from Hindu mythology.

A: I liked that part too and we saw some of that at Angkor Wat, and that was my favorite aspect of each temple. This one was not my favorite but I think it was absolutely worth seeing even if it was off the beaten path. It is not in the main temple area of Siem Reap and is about 45 minutes away. It certainly felt worth traveling to!

R: Agreed. And I think it paired nicely with the reclining Buddha we saw earlier in the day.

A: I did forget to check out where the Buddha was facing. Did you know that he faces Angkor Wat?

R: Yes I knew that. I think the other thing that felt nice was starting to better understand how to identify some of the gods in all of the carvings—today, Angkor Wat, and all of the other temples. Especially for the Hindu gods.

A: We even got a crash course and lesson on how Ganesha, the elephant god, got his cool head. I like this mythology, but I certainly don't believe in any of it. But it's really cool to see it as a part of history, and how it is inscribed into the architecture of the buildings.

R: I think in general this day 2 of our only two full days in Siem Reap allowed us to experience a lot of what the area had to offer.

A: What I am happy about is also seeing tourism return. Little by little I have seen more people every day since we arrived. Two days ago there was practically no one around at 8pm. Now, it feels like a real tourist city. That's good for the people who make a living here but I think I'm ready to ditch town.

R: Agreed!

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why5x5 · 2 years ago

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So, we have a number of these in our area. To be fair, some look better than others, and a lot of them house extended families (no big truck, but lots of cars, and no, they are not renting out space).

However, I'd like to mention a *real* McMansion:

Now, what this doesn't mention is that when McDonald's bought the house, they did initially plan to tear it down and build their usual structure. However, a group of people who were (rightfully) in an uproar about this got the house registered as a landmark after McDonald's bought it, so McDonald's was prohibited from demolishing it. If they wanted to use it, they had to properly fully restore it and build the restaurant inside to certain specifications. Which is why there is a McDonald's in a historical mansion.

Hi everyone: I've written a long deep-dive on the present state of the McMansion, from farmhouse chic to imminent environmental collapse. If you've been seeing an inordinate number of big ugly houses pop up in your neighborhood, you are not alone!

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mariacallous · 2 months ago

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Sipping pints of Guinness, swapping football shirts and purring about respect and new dawns, the British and Irish prime ministers seemed determined to inject long-absent warmth into the relationship between their countries when they met on Saturday. The thaw is overdue; Keir Starmer’s visit to Dublin was the first by a British PM in five years. In 2019, Boris Johnson’s visit came amid manifold anxieties about securing a Brexit deal, prompting a declaration from the Irish government that “the people of this island, North and South, need to know that their livelihoods, their security and their sense of identity will not be put at risk as a consequence of a hard Brexit. The stakes are high. Avoiding the return of a hard border on this island and protecting our place in the single market are the Irish government’s priorities in all circumstances.”

The distrustful atmosphere was a product not just of the June 2016 British vote to leave the EU, but a broader Tory ignorance about what the border in Ireland represented. The failure to consider that issue during the Brexit referendum campaign was compounded by simplistic distortions and assertions. The border was then resurrected as a touchstone, much to its discomfort, as imagined irascibly in the Twitter feed @BorderIrish: “I was just minding my own business, being a largely invisible little border that no one had thought about for years … after decades of misery … and then along comes Brexit, like some gobshite taking its first lesson, crashing all over the place.”

Unfortunately, it was worse than that for most Irish observers, who saw Brexit as many gobshites, driving multiple cars in too many directions with no knowledge of the destination. Ireland seemed a rock of political stability, maturity and calm as the Tories imploded. A deal was eventually struck that infuriated unionists as Northern Ireland remained half in and half out of the EU.

Brexit poisoned the well of British-Irish relations. The Tories’ romantic and selective view of Britain’s imperial past led to much renewed flexing of Irish nationalist muscles, a reminder of the continuing relevance of the observation by the then British ambassador to Ireland, Alan Goodison, in 1983 that in Anglo-Irish relations there was “a raw nerve which never sleeps”.

The desire to now reset appears genuine. Starmer, with an oft-expressed fondness for Ireland, a history of involvement with Northern Ireland issues and a strong component of staff with Irish links, is well placed to reduce strains. But we should not get carried away. One message that has resonated through the years is the advice given to another British Labour prime minister, James Callaghan, who, when he was home secretary, was urged to avoid “getting sucked into the Irish bog”.

That bog might be less perilous than it once was, but it still creates wariness in Britain.

Although the fervid days of the Troubles and violence are over and power-sharing has been restored in Northern Ireland, there are ongoing concerns about the prospects of Irish unity, immigration and the legacy of the Troubles. Starmer has committed to repealing the contentious Legacy Act, introduced by the Conservatives, which closed down criminal investigations into the Troubles. But what will replace it remains unclear.

Starmer is circumspect about Irish unity. And while historically there was the British Labour slogan “Justice for Ireland”, in practice there was much detachment and hesitancy about getting embroiled in Ireland.

Starmer’s Dublin visit generated healthy promises, including a formal annual summit between the two countries, protecting and developing an estimated yearly £100bn trade and business relationship, and nurturing cooperation on energy, climate change, sport, education and culture. There was also the assertion of the importance of both governments being co-guarantors of the Good Friday agreement.

None of this should be dismissed; geography as well as history has always been central to British-Irish relations, and what is being attempted is a recognition of the scale of our entwinements. But while a dose of British humility will be welcomed in Ireland and Starmer appears genuine, the Irish appetite for adapting to shifting British currents and priorities has waned.

Brexit fundamentally altered Irish foreign policy. The Irish public have consistently been enthusiastic about EU membership. Brexit deepened that; at the height of tensions in 2019, a Eurobarometer poll suggested Ireland topped the EU table for having a positive image of the EU at 63%. Only 7% had a negative image, hardly a surprise given the solidarity with Ireland shown by its EU partners amid the Brexit fallout.

Ireland’s foreign policy anchor lies heavily in EU waters. Security, the climate crisis, migration, economic and defence issues for Ireland demand more focus on Europe. The late historian Ronan Fanning identified a constant feature of the Anglo-Irish relationship when he observed in the most fraught days: “Britain looms larger in the Irish consciousness than Ireland in the British.” That endures, but it has faded somewhat.

When Starmer speaks of a British-Irish partnership reaching “its full potential”, he is also seeing that as a route to a warmer British relationship with the EU. That potential is somewhat limited; nor is the Irish consciousness quite as consumed by Britain as it once was.

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rjzimmerman · 3 days ago

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Trump Chooses Lee Zeldin to Run E.P.A. as He Plans to Gut Climate Rules. (New York Times)

I know nothing about this guy, but I've already looked at the sky and the trees and the animals in the yard and decided that he's a fucking asshole. But I will otherwise withhold my judgment.

Excerpt from this New York Times story:

President-elect Donald J. Trump announced on Monday that he will nominate former Rep. Lee Zeldin, Republican of New York, to lead the Environmental Protection Agency, a position that is expected to be central to Mr. Trump’s plans to dismantle landmark climate regulations.

Mr. Trump campaigned on pledges to “kill” and “cancel” E.P.A. rules and regulations to combat global warming by restricting fossil fuel pollution from vehicle tailpipes, power plant smokestacks and oil and gas wells.

In particular, Mr. Trump wants to erase the Biden administration’s most significant climate rule, which is designed to speed a transition away from gasoline-powered cars and toward electric vehicles.

A former congressman from Long Island who ran unsuccessfully for governor in 2022, Mr. Zeldin, 44, is an avid Trump supporter who voted against certifying the results of the 2020 election.

In a statement, Mr. Trump said Mr. Zeldin would “ensure fair and swift deregulatory decisions that will be enacted in a way to unleash the power of American businesses, while at the same time maintaining the highest environmental standards, including the cleanest air and water on the planet.”

Mr. Trump added that Mr. Zeldin would “set new standards on environmental review and maintenance that will allow the United States to grow in a healthy and well-structured way.”

Perhaps more than many other federal agencies, the E.P.A. has been a particular target for Mr. Trump, who blames environmental regulations for hampering a variety of industries, including construction and oil and gas drilling. During his first term, Mr. Trump rolled back more than 100 environmental policies and regulations. President Biden restored many of them and strengthened several.

Some people on Mr. Trump’s transition team say the agency needs a wholesale makeover and are even discussing moving the E.P.A. headquarters and its 7,000 workers out of Washington, D.C., according to multiple people involved in the discussions who spoke on the condition of anonymity because they were not authorized to talk about the transition.

#lee zeldin #EPA #trump

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ivankahasbeentreatedsounfairly · 3 days ago

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By Coral Davenport and Lisa Friedman

A former congressman from Long Island who ran unsuccessfully for governor in 2022, Mr. Zeldin, 44, is an avid Trump supporter who voted against certifying the results of the 2020 election.

“It is an honor to join President Trump’s Cabinet as EPA Administrator,” Mr. Zeldin wrote on X. “We will restore US energy dominance, revitalize our auto industry to bring back American jobs, and make the US the global leader of AI. We will do so while protecting access to clean air and water.”

Mr. Trump added that Mr. Zeldin would “set new standards on environmental review and maintenance that will allow the United States to grow in a healthy and well-structured way.”

Michael McKenna, who worked in the first Trump administration on energy issues, said that as two New Yorkers, Mr. Trump and Mr. Zeldin “speak the same language.” He also said Mr. Zeldin’s experience as an Army reservist would make him adept at navigating bureaucracies.

“Lee Zeldin is a great pick,” said Mandy Gunasekara, who served as chief of staff at the E.P.A. under the first Trump administration. She wrote a section on the E.P.A. for Project 2025, the conservative blueprint for re-engineering the federal government. In it, she recommends slashing the E.P.A.’s budget, ousting career staff, eliminating scientific advisers that review the agency’s work and closing programs that focus on minority communities with heavily polluted air and water.

Others, including some close to the Trump transition team, were baffled by the choice. Mr. Zeldin has not been known for showing a particular interest in the E.P.A. And Mr. Trump has tended to select agency heads from regulated industries; he put Andrew Wheeler, a coal lobbyist, in charge of the E.P.A. during his first term.

Mr. Zeldin’s record on climate policy appears to be mixed, especially during his years representing a swath of the East End of Long Island that includes hundreds of miles of coastline and a bipartisan tradition of environmental conservation.

He was a member of the House’s Bipartisan Climate Solutions Caucus and earned a 14 percent lifetime score from the League of Conservation Voters, an environmental group. It is a low mark from the environmental advocacy group, but it was nevertheless higher than nearly any other Republican.

Tiernan Sittenfeld, the senior vice president of government affairs for the League of Conservation Voters, wrote in an email that Mr. Zeldin’s score “is obviously not what you would hope to see from the person who could be in charge of protecting the air we breathe, the water we drink and combating the climate crisis.”

Although he boasted about securing federal funds for the E.P.A.’s Long Island Sound program, Mr. Zeldin voted against the Inflation Reduction Act, the 2022 climate law that has pumped at least $370 billion into clean energy and electric vehicles.

When Gov. Kathy Hochul of New York criticized Mr. Zeldin for opposing the climate law, he responded on social media, saying “I just voted NO because the bill sucks.”

“Being that it raises taxes, adds 87,000 new IRS agents, & spends hundreds of billions of dollars our country doesn’t have on far-left policies our country can’t afford, I’m not surprised you’d blindly endorse it,” he wrote.

During Mr. Zeldin’s tenure in the House, he voted against clean water legislation at least a dozen times, and clean air legislation at least half a dozen times, according to the League of Conservation Voters scorecard.

His record includes a vote against an amendment to a defense bill that would have created a climate resilience office inside the White House; for legislation that would have withdrawn the United States from the treaty enabling global climate negotiations; and for an amendment that would have blocked the federal government from considering the economic damage of climate change when it makes policies.

Mr. Zeldin has also taken some votes that the group supported, including prohibiting oil and gas drilling off the Atlantic and Pacific coasts. He also voted in favor of a landmark conservation bill that passed with bipartisan support and was signed by Mr. Trump. It guarantees maximum annual funding for a federal program to acquire and preserve land for public use.

He voted for a bill that would require the E.P.A. to set limits on PFAS, which are a family of man-made chemicals that are persistent in the environment and the human body. The E.P.A. under the Biden administration has set strict limits on the chemicals in drinking water. In 2020, he voted against legislation that would have slashed E.P.A.’s budget.

During his run for governor, Mr. Zeldin pledged to reverse New York’s 2015 ban on hydraulic fracturing, a technique for recovering gas and oil from shale rock that environmental advocates say can contaminate groundwater. He also called for construction of more gas pipelines and a suspension of the state gas tax.

He has not spoken at length about whether he accepts the established science of climate change. But in a 2014 interview with the Newsday editorial board he expressed doubts about the severity of the problem.

“It would be productive if we could get to what is real and what is not real,” he said. “I’m not sold yet on the whole argument that we have as serious a problem as other people are.”

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/11/11/climate/trump-chooses-lee-zeldin-to-run-epa.html

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