#France in crisis

[poliphoon]

The political consequences of the new French pickle

Taste the political version of the French Stew. The political bouillabaisse now on offer in France is a strong stew of voter fatigue, dejection and disappointment. Fed up with futureless alliances and fragile minority governments, frustrated French voters cannot be expected to do anything better than swinging to the extremes. Irrefutably, it is bathos at its best, from feeble coalitions to a…

[ahedalshaer]

Important Update:🚨🚨📣

(please follow me on anew account @me-ahedalshaer )

The world has been watching these massacres for a year and is doing nothing at all. It has become accustomed to the scene of killing innocent civilians without being shaken by its humanity. Where has humanity and mercy gone from the world? The world is getting worse every day with crime, brutality and killing.

This is not the first crime to occur in the Gaza Strip and it will not be the last. The world must stop the brutal enemy, Israel, from these massacres.

🚨🚨👇👇🚨🚨🚨

After I and my family were scammed, we launched a new campaign. Please help us get out of this genocide as soon as possible and donate as much as you can. After the link was suspended, we no longer have money to buy food, drink and necessities.

Please share the blog again and donate as much as you can. Do everything so that we can reach the goal as soon as possible.

My Account Verified By

1- Butterfly effect project line No.407

2- my old compaign vetted by @gaza-evacuation-funds @irhabiya @nabulsi #1 here

3- @ibtisams listed 11 -># 2 here

@commissions4aid-international @nabulsi @90-ghost @appsa @turian @journalsforpalestine @imjustheretotrytohelp @palestinegenocide @palistani @buttercuparry @burtlebabe @neshamama @baguetttee @sar-soor @divinefeline28 @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @komsomolka @schoolhater @jezior0 @aces-and-angels @neptunerings @omegomagnit @heritageposts @feluka @feluart @drangues @afro-elf @triviallytrue @jezior0 @think-queer @lune-tic @forpalestine @watermelllonarchive @determinate-negation @velvetys @visual-poetry @gothhabiba @joshpeck @kuuhaiyu @valtsv @moringmark @qrowpilled @soracities @cyberianpunks

@buggachat

[thebusylilbee]

wanna hear a fun fact ? 3.5% of families in France own 50% of ALL available places to rent in the country....................... imagine redistributing that wealth....................

[davidaugust]

[guilty-feminist]

[radykalny-feminizm]

Multicultural societies can be great, but there's one condition: different cultures must be willing to learn from each other and respect each other's values.

If people from one culture are open and welcoming, but people from the other culture want to enforce their own rules and take away people's freedom in the name of their religion, then the results are going to be catastrophic. This is why Europe is suffering right now and it's women who will pay the highest price.

Wondering what I mean? Let's have a look at some statistics:

Poll: 46% of French Muslims believe Sharia law should be applied in country

Over 40% of UK Muslims support “aspects” of sharia law

If it doesn't terrify you I don't know what to tell you. It surely terrifies me as fuck.

[occvltswim]

"A Frenchman assassinated in Morocco: Émile Mauchamp, dispensary doctor in Marrakesh, stoned by the natives", illustration published in Le Petit Journal, No. 855, 1907

[spaceman-spaetzle]

happy weed day from the old man yaoi couple

[werewolves-are-real]

Time Travel Temeraire snippet

At first, Laurence assumes he's dead.

It's a natural conclusion. He remembers dying, after all.

He and Tenzing were at a function hosted by Wellesley. They were mostly there to support the dragons. Temeraire had long abandoned them to quarrel with Perscitia in the courtyard, with half a dozen ferals watching like it were a jousting match. Wellesley had laid out his grounds to allow room for dragons and men to mingle, but a good portion of the guests retreated inside to avoid the raised voices of the dragons.

Laurence wonders how Temeraire felt about that, later. About not seeing.

He was stabbed. He barely remembers it – just a quick pulse of pain in his chest, looking down. Red blooming over his coat.

Then he was on the floor. People screamed. Tenzing appeared, grappling with a tall and finely-dressed man; he used a dinner-knife to punch a hole in the stranger's throat, in a fantastic spray of blood, and dropped the body at once to kneel by Laurence's side.

He remembers Wellesley barking orders – bandages, water, a hot knife. Have to cauterize it, he'd shouted. Keep pressure -

But Tenzing never spoke. Just pressed down on Laurence's chest, over the wound, without particular panic. Laurence still remembers the grim resignation on his face; Tenzing knew what was coming. Laurence was glad to have him there when he died.

Then Laurence woke up.

The world sways in a familiar way, a rhythmic motion that Laurence registers on a soul-deep level. He's on a ship. But why? Where is Tenzing, Temeraire? Why would they put him on a ship?

“I think the fever's breaking,” says a voice. A naval doctor, disheveled and salt-stained, with long scars down his bared arms. “Oh, and awake too!”

“Well thank Christ,” says another man. One Laurence recognizes.

It's Captain Gerry Stuart – but he looks different, younger than the last time Laurence saw him, with smooth skin and dark curly hair.

Gerry died two years ago.

“Well, Lieutenant! You gave us a scare – how are you feeling?” Gerry asks.

“It's Admiral,” Laurence corrects rather than all the other things he does not dare ask. He hates the title foisted upon him; but it's at least more comprehensible than Lieutenant, and he clings to that rather than demand where did you come from.

Stuart throws back his head to cackle, though the concern doesn't leave his face. “Still perhaps a bit feverish, I think!”

“That might be the laudanum,” says the doctor, also amused. “Why don't you sleep a bit more, Lieutenant?”

“But where is Temeraire? Or Tenzing?”

“I can only assume you had some very vivid dreams,” Stuart chuckles. “You were babbling and babbling for Temeraire – isn't that a ship?”

“Perhaps the flagship of his fleet,” suggests the doctor, and Stuart laughs again. “Get some rest, Mr. Laurence. Holler if you need me.”

They both exit the sick-berth. Laurence stares blankly at the door.

What?

Laurence pats his chest. No wound. He looks down, startled by the pale thinness of his fingers, his youth-soft skin.

Well; not soft. Callouses cover his hands. But even these patterns are different – hard skin in places where he would hold a sword, or pulls ropes. His hands should be more wrinkled, yes; but these callouses faded years ago.

“Where am I?” he asks when the doctor returns. “And what is the year?”

“The year? 1793. You don't remember?”

1793. Laurence was 19 in 1793. A lieutenant for two years, on the Shorewise.

The doctor narrows his eyes. “What's my name, lad?”

Laurence swallows. His stomach churns; for the life of him he can't remember.

The doctor rushes off to retrieve the captain.

_____________________________

Laurence is diagnosed with brain fever, and partial amnesia. Gerry is horribly guilty about laughing, earlier; Laurence could not care less. He is given strict orders to stay on bed-rest for another week, in hope his strength will recover – and his mind.

Laurence doesn't think he'll have any issues working – he's forgotten many of the people around him, true, but he may never forget the way to run a ship. He's far more concerned with learning what happened.

From all appearances, it is indeed 1793. France is undergoing riots, and declared war against Britain in February. Temeraire has not hatched. Napoleon is probably a corporal or general himself, at this point. If he exists at all. God knows, perhaps Laurence is only mad.

But he doesn't feel mad. His memories are too vivid to be mere fever-dreams. A man cannot dream up twenty years of life!

But neither can a man go back to his youth, and live it all again.

I have a dragon, he thinks of saying. There is no war, because I captured Napoleon – an unknown man who makes himself emperor.

Mad. It sounds mad even to Laurence himself. But to imagine that Temeraire was a fever-ridden dream... Tenzing and Granby and China, all of it...

Laurence doesn't share his turmoil with anyone – not even with Gerry, who checks on him fretfully. After a week the doctor declares him well enough, physically. He's paired always with another lieutenant for the first few days on duty, and his shipmates watch him carefully for signs of permanent debilitation; but aside from a moment or two of hesitance, Laurence competently resumes his duties. The oversight lessens.

Laurence thinks about writing letters.

He thinks about writing to Tharkay's late father, who ought to still be alive, inquiring after his son. He thinks of writing to Prince Mianning, asking about the health of Lung Tien Qian. He thinks of writing to young Midshipman Granby, his unwed brother, his dead father...

Not all of them would reply. But he could ask questions. Could verify the truth of things. Unless this, instead, is the delusion.

Is he in 1793, imagining the future? Is he in the future, imagining the past? Or maybe he is already dead, and this is the reality of hell. He came here burning with fever, and now he burns with fear. Surely that is it's own form of torture.

Laurence is ironically given the task of tutoring the midshipman and lieutenant-hopefuls more than any other duty as the weeks pass; his crewmates still look askance, and the more eager of the midshipman become protective. Laurence remains perfectly capable of command; it is only that he can't help but be absent-minded, sometimes, staring at all the crewmen that pass him like they are nothing but moving paintings. Images of a world that no longer matters.

One evening the midshipmen drag him away to a meal with the other officers. It's a noisy crowd; Laurence would find the friendly bustle comforting in another life.

One of the senior officers, Lieutenant Moore, waves him down as Laurence enters. Evidently they used to be friends, given his notably concerned behavior of late. Laurence can't remember the man, and has a sneaking suspicion he died too soon to make a lasting impression.Moore jostles him when Laurence sits at the long table. “Will! Did you get any letters with the last batch?”

A patrolling gunboat brought a satchel of letters just this morning. “I did not,” Laurence says. He's grateful for the fact. He'd found a few pieces of correspondence in his quarters that he dutifully sent on; he cannot imagine writing a letter now, in this confused state.

“Then you've had no news! Robespierre has gone mad. Madder than before, I suppose.”

“Robespierre?” asks Laurence blankly.

Lieutenant Moore double-takes, as does everyone else around them. “Good lord, Will, please tell me you remember Robespierre?”

Right... Robespierre's reign was brief, but this is when he led France. Some of the things the papers published...

Well, at least Laurence has a well-worn excuse for his ignorance. He plays up his malady: “Yes. I think I recall he was... French?”

Groans of horror mixed with amusement echo around the table. “...Well you aren't wrong,” says Moore, looking pained. “He has styled himself the 'President' of their Assembly, which is some stupid way of being king; the French are all mad about removing and adding words right now. I don't know how they expect anyone to hold a conversation.”

“We should... probably educate Mr. Laurence about the war at some point,” some midshipman mutters. Laurence doesn't recall his name.

Moore sighs again. “Anyway. Robespierre is a tyrant, of course. But he's elected someone else to rule France! Barely more than a boy, too.”

Laurence frowns; he doesn't remember what Moore's talking about. “Why would he do that? Did they capture one of the Bourbons?” Declaring himself regent of a child-prince would at least make sense.

“Well, at least you remember them. No; it is some nobody, a young soldier. Not even French! I cannot fathom it.”

It feels like Laurence has been dunked in ice.

For a moment he can't respond. “What was his name? The soldier.”

“Napoleon Bonaparte. He has been chosen as head of their new heresy, the 'Cult of the Supreme Being,' they're calling it; and now de facto head of the government, too. Must be a priest? I don't know, nothing the French are doing makes sense. I expect his little group will be as short-lived as everything else about these riots.”

But Laurence doesn't think so. “...Excuse me; I'm feeling a bit poorly,” he says, rising on wavering legs.

“Yes, you look it! Go on, we'll tell you about the war later...”

Laurence flees.

[labutansa]

via teamcongo.rdc

[historyforfuture]

⭕️ Press Release..

In light of the ongoing threats by the occupation army to large neighborhoods of Gaza City and demanding their evacuation, and the massacres, killings and displacement it is carrying out, brother Ismail Haniyeh, head of the political bureau of the Hamas movement, made urgent contacts with the mediator brothers, warning of the disastrous repercussions of what is happening in Gaza City, Rafah and other areas across the Gaza Strip; noting that this would return the negotiating process to point zero, and Netanyahu and his army bear full responsibility for the collapse of this negotiation path.

July 8, 2024

Official website - Hamas movement

[drsonnet]

Dr. Pascal André, a French infectious disease specialist, has recently returned from Gaza's European Hospital in Khan Yunis. He emphasized the severe conditions prevailing amidst a collapsing healthcare system and outbreaks of epidemics among thousands of displaced Palestinians.

Retour de Gaza et témoignage du Dr Pascal André, infectiologue, de la mission PALMED (Vidéo) – CAPJPO EuroPalestine

Dr. Pascal André, a French infectious... - Al-Quds News Network | Facebook

De retour de Gaza, un médecin témoigne : « J’ai vu des patients hurler de douleur au bloc » (la-croix.com)

شكرًا لمسامتحكم لنا على نفاقنا وصمتنا - YouTube

الطبيب الفرنسي "باسكال أندريه" يصف الأوضاع التي يعيشها المرضى والنازحون داخل المستشفى الأوروبي 

Facebook

عاد الدكتور باسكال أندريه، أخصائي الأمراض المعدية الفرنسي، من مستشفى غزة الأوروبي في خان يونس. وأكد على الظروف القاسية السائدة وسط انهيار نظام الرعاية الصحية وتفشي الأوبئة بين آلاف النازحين الفلسطينيين.

عاد الدكتور باسكال أندريه، أخصائي الأمراض المعدية وطبيب الطوارئ (المسؤ��ل في روديز)، إلى فرنسا يوم الأربعاء 21 فبراير، بعد أكثر من أسبوعين في المستشفى الأوروبي في خانيونس، قطاع غزة. كان في مهمة مع وفد طبي من الأطباء الأردنيين والأمريكيين، أرسلته مؤسسة رحمة الأمريكية وجمعية بالميد (فلسطين الطبية) إلى آخر مستشفى رئيسي يعمل في القطاع الفلسطيني. التقينا به عندما نزل من طائرته في مطار رواسي شارل ديجول.

كيف يبدو المستشفى في غزة اليوم؟

باسكال أندريه: لجأ 25,000 نازح إلى المستشفى الأوروبي في خان يونس الذي يتسع فقط ل500 مريض.

داخل المباني نفسها ، الأماكن مكتظة بالكامل. فمثلا، يضم جناح الجراحة المصمم ل 40 مريضا 110 أشخاص. يعيش اللاجئون ال 70 هناك منذ أسابيع ولا يريدون الانتقال، حتى الذهاب إلى الخيام في الخارج، لأنهم مرعوبون من المرور بأشياء فظيعة (مثل قنصهم من قوات الاحتلال الأسرائيلي لو خرجوا كما حدث في بقية المستشفيات) ..هذه الظروف تمنعنا من القيام بعملنا بشكل صحيح.

في الممرات أو الردهات أو غرف العلاج ، يجري تمديد الملاءات لخلق مساحات من الخصوصية. تنام عائلات بأكملها في المستشفى في كل مكان. عائلة إحدى ممرضاتنا تنام في المرحاض. الأطفال يركضون.

يعيش الناس في المستشفى في ظروف غير صحية. معظمهم لم يكن لديهم سوى زي واحد لمدة ثلاثة أو أربعة أشهر. في عدم وجود الصابون ، يستخدمون محلولا كحوليا لتجنب نقل الجراثيم. مع عدم وجود المال لشراء الحطب، يمسكون بصناديق ويحرقونها لطهي الطعام. نحن ، مقدمو الرعاية ، نجد أدويتنا متناثرة ...

Millau : pour le médecin Pascal André, parti à Gaza, "le silence est meurtrier, on n’a plus le temps" - journaldemillau.fr

[gregor-samsung]

L'avenir [Things to Come] (Mia Hansen-Løve - 2016)

[nicolasfolch]

Charbonnier, Catalunya.

[guilty-feminist]