#Social Media bureau

[cnipdigitalagency]

[famdomohana]

Swifties in the FBI

Whoever is in charge of social media for the FBI, just know I love you.

[nando161mando]

FBI Hired #SocialMedia Surveillance Firm That Labeled #BlackLivesMatter Organizers “Threat Actors”

"A new Senate report calls out the FBI for lying to Congress about its social media monitoring, pointing out the FBI’s hiring of ZeroFox.

(...)

The FBI’s primary tool for monitoring social media threats is the same contractor that labeled peaceful Black Lives Matter protest leaders DeRay McKesson and Johnetta Elzie as “threat actors” requiring “continuous monitoring” in 2015.

The contractor, ZeroFox, identified McKesson and Elzie as posing a “high severity” physical threat, despite including no evidence that McKesson or Elzie were suspected of criminal activity."

[carlocarrasco]

Bureau of Immigration (BI) intensifies search for foreign fugitives all over the Philippines

The Bureau of Immigration (BI) announced that it is intensifying its efforts to find and arrest foreigners who illegally staying in the Philippines, according to a Philippine News Agency (PNA) news article. The BI also warned fugitives overseas not to attempt to enter the country. To put things in perspective, posted below is an excerpt from the PNA news article. Some parts in boldface… The…

[maromedia]

Maro Media

Maro Media is een marketingbureau dat gevestigd is in Gent maar zijn diensten aanbied in Vlaanderen, Antwerpen, Limburg en Vlaams Brabant. Hun specialiteiten zijn SEO, hoger scoren in Google, social media onderhoud en Google mijn bedrijfsprofielen optimaliseren. Een marketingbedrijf dat dus ook een social media bedrijf is. In het specifiek zijn zij een online marketing bureau.

Social media bedrijf

[probablyasocialecologist]

Up to 10 informants managed by the FBI were embedded in anti-pipeline resistance camps near the Standing Rock Sioux Indian Reservation at the height of mass protests against the Dakota Access pipeline in 2016. The new details about federal law enforcement surveillance of an Indigenous environmental movement were released as part of a legal fight between North Dakota and the federal government over who should pay for policing the pipeline fight. Until now, the existence of only one other federal informant in the camps had been confirmed.  The FBI also regularly sent agents wearing civilian clothing into the camps, one former agent told Grist in an interview. Meanwhile, the Bureau of Indian Affairs, or BIA, operated undercover narcotics officers out of the reservation’s Prairie Knights Casino, where many pipeline opponents rented rooms, according to one of the depositions.  The operations were part of a wider surveillance strategy that included drones, social media monitoring, and radio eavesdropping by an array of state, local, and federal agencies, according to attorneys’ interviews with law enforcement.

[wandasboy]

For Her Attention

Pairing: Profiler!JJ x gn!reader

Word count: 2,200

Warnings: Top!JJ, bottom!reader, dom/sub dynamics, gn!reader, afab!reader, smut, daddy kink, degradation, strap-ons, fingering, spanking, possessive behavior | 18+ MINORS DNI

Summary: You made a mistake in testing your girlfriend, but she is all too happy to teach you a lesson.

A/N: This is my first time writing smut so I'm sorry if it sucks. Proofread by cthulhus-curse

JJ was sitting at her desk, frustrated with the amount of files spread about and paperwork piling up. She was at the Bureau late in the night, which wasn't uncommon for her. If anything, she liked to get all her work done before coming home as a means to relax without thinking about what lied ahead tomorrow.

Multiple texts had been sent to you throughout the day, but your responses stopped two hours ago. This was adding to her frustration considerably. She had clear rules about communication, especially if you were going out. As it was a Friday night, she knew you would likely be at a club or bar-hopping, something she was fine with as long as you kept your location on. However, the little dot signifying your presence still said you were at one of the clubs you frequent, the position unmoving. She felt herself grow hot at the thought of you in possible danger and her not being able to help.

After shooting a quick text off to Emily, JJ refreshed your social media feeds for what felt like the hundredth time, hoping you'd have posted something indicating where you were. Although she was worried, she was also angry, already thinking of your punishment for being so careless and not adhering to her rules.

~~~

You had already had a few drinks, going back and forth from your booth to the dance floor. Your friends had been begging you to do another shot with them, but you refused, saying you'd had enough. When the shots came around, you noticed there was one extra, to which one of your friends exclaimed it was 'meant to be.' You rolled your eyes, telling them you couldn't come home belligerent again – your girlfriend would be pissed. They shrugged you off, continuing to enjoy the loud music and flashing lights.

Although you had been enjoying yourself, upon speaking of your girlfriend, you immediately felt a twist in your stomach. After the first club you went to, you had decided to leave your phone in the car, as you didn't want to hold it, and had no pockets. A stupid idea on your part, as you knew the clear guidelines she had about you going out. She wanted updates on how you were, where you were, and who you were with. You had given her none of that, as your phone was currently sitting in your friends' car, four blocks away. Knowing you'd already be in for it upon getting home, you chose to stay. After all, she had been working late all week, coming home once you were already asleep, then leaving early in the morning before you woke. Sometimes acting out was the only way to get her attention, so you did just that. Walking back over to the booth where your group was, you took a breath, grabbing the last shot, proclaiming you were ready for the shot now.

As you danced, you felt the guilt slowly slip away, your head feeling light and buzzed from the alcohol. You laughed and bumped against both friends and strangers in the packed club. Feeling a breath on your neck, you heard your friend tell you, you had an admirer. Turning, you giggled, not believing him, until he nodded his head towards a woman leaning against the adjacent wall.

Upon catching her eye, your smile immediately faltered, heart dropping to your stomach. You saw her grin and raise her eyebrows before she started walking towards you. Her dark hair swaying as she walked. You curse yourself, holding your breath as she got to you. She reached out, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

"Someone's in lots of trouble." She said, looking down at you.

You opened your mouth, but no words formed.

She grabbed your wrist tightly. "Time to go."

You turned to your friend you drove with, who watched the whole interaction. "I'll get it to you tomorrow." You smiled at them, grateful for their understanding.

The brunette pulled you out of the club, as you struggled not to trip over your own feet. She opened her passenger door for you, shoving you in. The drive was quiet, doing nothing to ease the anxiety in your chest. Turning a corner, you frowned, seeing she was not heading to your home. As you pulled into Quantico, you finally understood.

She pulled you through the entrance, in the elevator, and to JJ's office, holding your arm the whole way. Without knocking, she opened the door to the office, making your girlfriend look up.

"Look who I found." The brunette pulled you into the room.

You bowed your head, avoiding eye contact.

"Thank you, Emily." She said, not taking her eyes off of you.

Emily leaned into you, whispering, "Good luck," before leaving, closing the door behind her.

You felt the blonde's intense stare, your legs shaking from standing perfectly still.

"Look at me." Her sudden shift in tone made you jump, her voice commanding and harsh.

You sheepishly looked up at her, "JJ, I—."

"I don't want to hear it. Come here. Now."

You quickly made your way around her desk, next to her, not wanting to anger her more.

"Look at you, all dressed up in that skimpy outfit. Were you hoping to get someone's attention? Went out to whore yourself out?"

"No! I—"

She grabbed you by your hair, throwing you down on her desk, your stomach pressed firmly against the cool wood. She stood, pulling your body back against her by your hair. Your breath hitched in your throat, feeling something hard press against your ass. You wondered if she had been packing all day, or put it on when she knew Emily had found you.

"Is there a reason you disobeyed me? Stopped responding to me, turned your location off? What were you hiding hmm?"

You groaned as she ground into you, your hips digging into the desk. You felt her hot breath on your neck as she whispered in your ear.

"Such a filthy brat, you wanted to be punished didn't you?"

You whined as she rolled her hips into you.

"Answer me," she growled.

"Yes, daddy. I wanted your attention. I'm sorry. Please." You mewled, bucking back into her, seeking any form of stimulation.

She took hold of your hip with her free hand, stilling you. "Ah ah, brats don't get what they want, do they?"

"No, daddy."

Removing her hand from your hair, she dropped you, your front now flush against her desk. She moved her hand under your skirt, ghosting along your inner thigh. Your core tightened around nothing as she moved the pads of her fingers against your clothed clit. She continued to move her fingers, feeling how drenched you were.

"So wet. Did someone at the club make you like this, hmm?"

"No daddy, just you!" You squeezed your thighs together.

She hummed at your response. Stepping back, she pulled your underwear down, which you automatically stepped out of. You heard her belt buckle, realizing she was undoing her pants. Waiting for the feel of silicone on you, you flinched when instead, you felt leather.

"You didn't think I was going to reward you for bad behavior did you? Bad pets don't get treats. You're going to take your punishment like a good little slut, right baby?"

You whined, the sensation of the leather brushing against your skin too much to handle. "Yes daddy, please."

JJ sat down in her chair, in direct eyesight with your perfect ass and dripping cunt. She slowly glided her belt over the soft skin of your thighs, touching your mound, then back up to your cheeks. "You're going to get twenty. Count each one or I will start over."

You found yourself missing the feel of the leather, as it's pulled away. The seconds appeared longer as she made you wait before whipping her belt against your backside. You yelped, starting the count.

"Tell me why you're being punished." Another hit.

You bucked your hips, "Two! I didn't follow the rules ." Another.

"And how did you break them?" She landed three slaps in quick concession, making you yell out, rapidly continuing counting so as not to miss any.

"I didn't tell you where I was going, I left my phone in the car— seven!" You tried to catch your breath as the strength behind her hits became harsher. "Eight, nine," your hands gripped her desk, squeezing your legs together, trying to relieve the throbbing.

"What else?"

"I stopped communicating, didn't tell you who I was with, I was bad, I'm sorry daddy, please." You cried out as you near twelve. The skin on your ass sore and angry, the sting of her belt ever present.

"You think you deserve your punishment?"

"Fifteen! Yes, daddy. I was bad, I'm so sorry, I'll never do it again, I promise."

"I hope so baby, you know how daddy doesn't like punishing you." She smiled, blatantly lying. She loved hearing you whimper and scream for her, seeing the red marks painted across your skin, proving her claim on you.

Tears fell down your cheeks, dripping down your chin as she delivered the last few blows.

She stood and scratched her fingers along your scalp after you scream, finally making it to twenty. "You did so good baby, took your punishment so well for daddy." JJ sighed, watching your body go limp, chest heaving and tear drops on the smooth wood of her desk. She rubbed her palms slowly over your ass, soothing the pain, then pressed a kiss to the back of your neck.

Feeling you relax into her, she sneaked her hand around your front, sliding her fingertips through your slick folds. "Aw, did someone enjoy getting spanked? Such a naughty toy."

You moaned, desperate for relief. "Please," you quietly pleaded.

"Shh, daddy's gonna make it all better baby."

JJ circled your clit with her thumb, before pinching, eliciting a sob from you. She continued her ministrations, easing two fingers into you. She slowly pumped her fingers, stretching you. With each thrust, you started to feel that tight coil build up, wanting to break loose. She groaned, your inner walls clenching around her fingers. "So tight for me."

She turned your head to the side, kissing along your jaw, delighting in how you squirmed beneath her. JJ kept a steady pressure on your clit as she fucked you, massaging the sensitive spot deep inside you. "Gonna get you all ready to take daddy's cock, okay sweetheart?" She sped up, scissoring her fingers inside you, reducing you to a breathless and whiny, pathetic mess just for her. She watched as your knees buckled, which enticed her to harshly bite into the unblemished skin between your neck and shoulder.

She licked the spot she bit, soothing the pain as she removed her fingers, causing you to whine and shift your hips, seeking more of her touch. JJ unbuttoned her pants, pulling out her dark blue strap. "You ready for me baby?"

You pushed your hips back into her, "Yes daddy, please! Need your cock in me."

She brushed her strap through your heat, painting her cock with your arousal. With one swift move, she plunged into you, bottoming out.

A scream echoed in her quiet office. You thanked god nobody else was in the bullpen or surrounding offices. Although you had taken her strap many times before, you were never quite prepared for the stretch and sheer size of her. She grunted as she set a brutal pace, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. You loved when she left bruises and marks, it made you feel owned and wanted. You cried out with each thrust, as her hips slapped at the sensitive flesh of your ass.

"That's it baby, you take me so well, so good for daddy."

She reached around again to play with your swollen bud, never slowing her movements. You began to match her thrusts, relishing in the sensation of being stretched and used. She miraculously hit that spongy spot each time, building you up. Too focused on how your body felt on fire, you barely registered her lifting one of your legs up to pound into you harder. Lost in your fuzzy headspace, the only words tumbling out of your mouth were broken pleas and fragments of her name.

"Daddy, so close," you barely made out between gasps.

"Yeah? Baby needs to come? Go ahead, cum on daddy's cock. Let me see how pretty you are."

JJ's words were all it took for you to finally let go, coating her strap, the evidence of your climax dripping down your thighs and soaking the front of her pants. She eased you down from your high, before pulling out. She held you as your legs gave out beneath you.

Spinning you around in her arms, she planted kisses on your cheeks, forehead, and finally your lips. You felt yourself surrounded in her comforting floral haze, moaning into her kiss. When she finally pulled away from your lips, she moved to your neck, sucking a deep mark, sure to leave a bruise.

"Mine."

[piastappies]

🎥 ACTRESS’ SAVIOUR

SYNOPSIS. when doctor reid finds himself enamoured with a certain actress with bright future ahead of her, she gets kidnapped and all he wants to do is save her by any cost.

going to your father’s bureau for the first time could’ve been considered an usual experience, something that could occur on a daily basis — a daughter, stopping by her parent’s workplace to possibly drop him off breakfast he left at home.

for you, on the other hand, it was a stressful occurrence. it was one of the first times at the BAU, where agent hotchner’s been working for years. the reason behind your rare visits there was relatively simple, you weren’t aware you even had a father until you turned sixteen and your mother has passed away. it was, when the social services found out that beside her, you had other living relatives, so… instead of an orphanage, you moved to quantico. building a relationship with a man, who already had a wife and a son, and no idea that his high school relationship has resulted in a kid, was rough. but here you were, six and a half year later, nervously standing inside the elevator, hoping that nothing would go wrong.

however, it had to go, you wouldn’t be yourself if everything went smoothly. as you looked into your phone to check a notification that popped up on the screen, you were met with a person — too quickly to realise that you were bound to bump into someone. the man in front of you was holding a half–empty cup of steaming coffee that other half spilled all over his brown sweater. a flush washed over you immediately, having taken a notice of what just happened.

“i am so sorry, sir.” your nervousness reached its peak the second your eyes laid on the man in front of you. he was tall, definitely taller than you, almost towering over you, glasses were resting on the bridge of his nose as he grimaced. from the plastic plate on his chest you read his name. spencer reid.

“well, uh. it’s alright.” he muttered, walking past you to change out of his stained piece of clothing, giving you all the reasons to overthink this situation, feeding your anxieties.

the confident attitude you tried to put on was now long gone as you made it through to your father’s office. it was a struggle, because you couldn’t remember how to get there, but when you did, your cheeks flushed even more upon seeing spencer, standing next to your dad, his stained shirt nowhere to be found. “excuse me, uh–” you started, announcing your presence, earning a few curious looks. “dad, you left the breakfast at home.”

“dad?” you heared a female voice whisper, and you swore your guts to know that she looked around the room for an answer, while, unfortunately for her, being left with nothing more than a shrug. the last name on the plastic clipped onto your shirt didn’t match with their boss’, which only confused them more.

hotch cleared his throat, giving you the tiniest smile as he took the brown bag from you. “y/n, these are special agents morgan, prentiss, rossi, garcia and doctor reid. you already know jj.” he said, confusing them even more. “this is my daughter, y/n.”

“hey, i know you from somewhere.” a woman spoke out, her colorful dress catching your attention immediately. “oh my gosh, hotch why didn’t you tell me that you’re daughter is playing on the russos life? i love that show!” her words brought heat to your cheeks.

the russos life was your first bigger gig that got you a little bit of recognition in show-busines and social media. at the beginning of your small acting career, you promised yourself that you’d not go to the television, because theatre was your thing. you can’t even recall the moment when your point of view changed, maybe it was after the call from your agent suggesting you that you should take the role, because the producers were already interested. or, most likely it was when you fell in love with a role you were proposed.

you stayed in the conference room (and in the building in general) for the next few minutes. after you had left, the sweet sound of your voice was still lingering in spencer’s mind that somehow went unnoticed by the team. he was sitting at his desk, frowning over something, when the clock hit three and the decision was quickly made in his mind — go grab a sandwich or you’ll go crazy. the funniest thing for people around him (if he ever let them know) might be that he couldn’t quite grasp the reason of his interest in you. reid found his thoughts trailing off to you as he hovered over the raports he was filling out that he almost wrote your name in there. he pushed the door of a nearby cafe open, intuitively scanning the place. his eyes were all over the place until he felt someone at his back.

“shit— sir, i’m sorry, i don’t know what’s happening with me to–” you began to rumble as the man you bumped into turned to face you. your face grew redder, the second you realized it’s the same person you’d bumped into already, which only made you feel more embarrassed.

oh.

“doctor reid, i’m really sorry.” you hoped your words came off as genuine, because they were. it almost seemed like you had some sort of scheme against him that you had to bump into him whenever he’s around. “at least i didn’t have a coffee on me, right?” an awkward smile crept on your lips, trying to ease the situation.

the corners of his mouth twitched slightly as spencer was taking in your beauty. the way your eyes flickered, the way lipgloss coated your lips, the way you had your hands behind your back or the way you tilted your head to get a better view of his face. the height gap between you and spencer wasn’t a lot, but it was definitely a little troubling. “thank god, i didn’t exactly have another spare shirt on me.” his repsonse made you chuckle quietly, feeling the embarrassment wash away with each word that left his mouth.

you don’t even know how much time had passed since you started your little conversation with doctor reid. even though you were the one rambling on and on, he has asked you a few times about your job, genuinely interested in what you do on set and what is your show about. he remembered the cheap looking show lila had played in, back when the bau had her case. you told him all about the plays you partook throughout the entirety of your school year and he dumped all the facts he knew about the plays on you.

you could see yourself getting fond of his presence around you, it felt eerily comforting, which for you was strange. until you moved to your dad’s place, you had rare contact with the opposite gender outside the plays, no real father figure, no closer relationship with a guy before, you had never felt so comfortable around a man, who you just met. so… it wasn’t really strange that you ended up exchanging numbers, what could be strange (for reid’s friends) was that he was the first one to call.

he kept calling, while you kept happily responding. it grew to be some sort of your thing, almost as if each of you were one another’s happy place. whenever he got frustrated with a case, he’d call you to take things off his mind, which always went smoothly. spencer was probably the biggest fan of your endless rambling about your classes or people you found annoying during the day.

the phone calls got more and more regular with each week passed, and when you didn’t call him to say good morning one day, his conscience was going absolutely crazy, his guts telling him something was off. nevertheless, his thoughts were pushed aside as his phone rung out with a call from jj, alerting on a new case.

“NYPD asked for our assistance in a possible serial killer case.” jareau explained as she handed the case files to the rest of the team. “over the course of last few days, four females were strangled before the unsub stabbed them multiple times.” she took a long sigh. “each of the girl was around the age of twenty to twenty three, studied in the state and majored in the arts fields, lived alone, but were socially active.”

a shiver ran down spencer’s spine as he heard jennifer’s words. the victimology were too familiar to you, making the unsettling feeling come back to him. pulling out his phone from the deep of his pocket, he managed to send you a quick text, asking to call him as soon as you see his message.

but you didn’t call him back. he was thinking about you all the time they were gathering more information, but there was some that shocked the team the most. the letters craved on each of the victims’ bodies. at first it seemed… like random letters, a code maybe.

“what if it’s an anagram?”

after that, spencer wrote the letters on the board, his throat tightening when the realisation hit him. the letters could be put in as your first and last name. “hotch, uh, i– can we talk, in private?” he muttered, before leavng the room the NYPD set up for them. his hands were shaking as he paced around the room, trying to find the right words to tell hotchner about his theory.

“y/n and i have been talking lately.” spencer started. “i–i got this strange feeling today, she often texted me in the mornings, almost every day in the past few days and–and she didn’t do that today.” he took a deep breath, flattering his brown shirt. “maybe i’m biased, but i think something bad happened to her, the anagram was– it was her name, hotch.” his words were falling out of his lips almost too fast for your dad to understand.

but aaron hotchner has always been the smartest guy out there, the meaning behind spencer’s words almost immediately got to him, because once again his child was in danger, he had a feeling, when he learnt the victimology, but when spencer said those words, his suspicions were confirmed. “reid. i need you to go to her apartment, i suppose you know the address?”

fifteen minutes later, young doctor was at the door of your apartment. it wasn’t exactly the first time he was there, but it didn’t matter now, not when you could be in danger with a serial killer, looking for you. “y/n?” he knocked on the door three times, when he got no answer, he did the morgan speciality, kicking the door open.

your entire flat was quiet, completely out of place. the last time he was there, around two weeks ago, it wasn’t as neat as it was right now. you had your scripts scattered around the coffee table, pillows disheveled on the couch, dishes laying around the counter, although now, everything was clean. almost too clean. then he found it, a small piece of paper underneath a cup that you made him coffee in.

you won’t keep us apart.

he recognised the fact that your handwriting was different, even though you liked keeping your place a little more messy, often calling it ‘artist’s mess’, your handwriting was neat and precise. you didn’t write this note.

“sir? you’ve gotta take a look at that.”

the last thing you remember was walking down the street, a phone in your hand about to send a quick message to reid that you’d call him as soon as you get to your flat. it was a habit of yours, texting the young doctor to give him a notice you’d call to ramble about your day. just the thought of talking to him had given you butterflies, a thought of hearing his voice after a long day at university and on set was enough to make your day better. you were about to send the message, when a guy bumped into you with so much force you barely kept yourself on ground. before you knew it, you felt an overwhelming rush of pain, passing out soon after.

your consciousness was regained, but the place wasn’t familiar. a small room with window covered with a black fabric that didn’t let any light inside. the walls had pictures stuck all over them. pictures of you, from at least four months back. each day when you were coming back from campus, there was a photo, of you at the library, at the club with your friends, going back from school, even one that captured how you giggled at one of spencer’s facts, when he visited you.

the level of anxiety peaked, when the person who locked you up came back, a bouquet of flowers in his hands, the one you loved so dearly, the one’s your mom had always put up in vases at your house, the one you got from your manager after wrapping up the season one of the russos life. “we’re sorry.” he spoke out, his voice hoarse, cracking here and there.

“but we’re finally together, y/n/n.” he whispered, getting closer to you with each word. “no one will be able to keep us apart. we’re together, for eternity.” his hand grapped your jaw to make you look at him, his lips barely inches apart.

you could feel the overwhelming pain washing over you again, realizing that he probably stabbed you back there on the street — with that realisation, it hurt even more.

his hands were rough on your skin, almost leaving a burnt mark on your cheeks. he caressed it, trying to maintain a gentle manner, causing you to tear up. “please, let me go.” you whispered, looking at him with teary eyes. “please.” his rough, yet gentle hand slapped you across the face, attitude changing immediately.

“no.” he groaned angrily, gripping your jaw even harder than the first time. “you’re not leaving. not when we’re finally together. eternity, sun. together for eternity.” his words almost burnt into your mind.

how long were you there? days, weeks, months maybe. you couldn’t know. the lack of sun, barely any food and water was driving you crazy, nevertheless, right when he left you alone, you realized something that came up to you as a moral of reid’s story he told you about a certain case with a man obsessed with a woman. you had to play into his fantasy, no matter how it hurt and how painful it was, it was necessary to gain his trust.

and you did, played right into his delusional fantasy of you until he trusted you enough to make a mistake. leaving the door unlocked. you left in such a hurry, you couldn’t breathe. the air was suffocating, it was dark, so dark you felt scared that someone would attack you again.

“oh my, miss, are you okay? you’re bleeding.” a lady called out to you, grabbing your shoulder in a soft manner, the presence of a female soothing your nerves a little.

“i– i need to make a phone call, please, could i use your phone?” before you knew it, you were dialing one of the numbers you memorised by heart.

“doctor spencer reid, can i help you with anything?” his monotonous voice rang out in the phone, causing you to sigh in relief. “sorry?” he added. you imagined him frowning, like when he tried to teach you how to play chess and you kept giggling at how frustrated he was getting, while you pretended to not know a thing about chess.

“spence.” another escaped left your lips. “i– i don’t know where i am. i know you’re in quantico, put please help me out, there’s a guy, who—” you started rambling, your vision getting blurry.

“y/n, i know.” he whispered. “we’re in new york, garcia’s tracking your location right now, please stay on the call with me.”

“spence,” you started, holding onto the woman next to you for stability. “i– he’s done something to me, i think– i think, i might pass out.” your tone was quieter with each words, almost stuttering as you felt your limbs weakening.

your world was crushing down on you, the nearby buildings suffocating you, not letting you breathe, the stab wounds overwhelming. the next thing you knew, you were in the hospital, machinery plugged into you, your eyelids heavy as you opened them.

“you’re awake.” a familiar voice filled your eardrums as you tried propping up on the bed, stopped by the ripping pain. “hey, hey. don’t move, you’re okay.” his hand was in his, holding you so gently and tenderly you wanted to cry. it wasn’t like their unsub’s, doctor reid was genuine, the way he held your hand was almost… symbolical.

you had four stab wouds on your stomach that the man wrapped into a foil to stop you from bleeding out, but it ripped when you ran away. your face was bruised, marks left by his hands visible on your upper neck and jaw.

“you’re okay.” he repeated his words almost as if spencer tried to reassure himself that nothing would happen to you anymore. definitely not on his watch. “i won’t let him do anything to you again, i promise.” he planted a tender kiss on your hand, squeezing it softly. none of you realized that the rest of spencer’s team, including your father, was standing in the doorway, observing the little moment between you and doctor reid.

the one thing that burst your bubble was derek’s laughter, after having told a joke that obviously involved you, spencer and the fact that he was the first one you called after getting out of the unsub’s place. “looks like pretty boy stole your daughter from you, hotch.” morgan’s elbow nudged your dad’s side.

aaron wasn’t dumb, and from the very beginning, he knew that there would be something going on between the two of you. hotch knew that from the way reid’s lingered on you, when you visited the bureau. how his eyes would always slip to his phone or how he had to get away from the office to make a phone call, lasting all through his lunch break, so when four days ago he told his boss about the suspicions, it all came together.

“i know it’s early, but you have to tell us if you remember everything from those days.” your dad’s tone was soft. if he wasn’t so good at this job, you’d think he tried to make you relive the moment again, but hotch has always been great and you knew it, he wanted to catch the person who did this to you.

“it was, uh.” the words coming out of your mouth was weak, which was no surprise for anyone, since you could barely have your head up to look at the concerned faces of people in your room. “a white guy, his late twenties maybe. i don't remember much beside his hands. i thought of it as something that maybe would let you catch him.”

“what about his hands, sweetheart?” morgan asked. he was standing next to prentiss and rossi, who noted all the important things you said. “did he lack any fingers? had only one hand?"

“no, no.” you shook your head. "spencer told me that, um, most of the sophisticated killers have smooth hands. his weren’t smooth at all. it was rough, like if he was working since he was a kid.” images were flashing through your mind at the speed of light. nevertheless, it didn't feel enough. “it looked like he was in the middle of psychotic break or was off meds, he kept using plural pronouns like if there was another person, but he was alone the whole time i was there.”

when the interview was done, jj stayed behind to talk to you a little. her facial expression revealing that she was interested in your friendship with the young doctor from her team. “so… spencer told you?” she lifted her eyebrows, sitting on the edge of your hospital bed.

“yeah…” your reply sounded a little sheepish. “i kind of ran into him twice, when i came to your office half a year ago, the first time i was too embarrassed to say anything other than ‘i’m so sorry, sir’, but the second time was on his break, i think and it kind of… went smoothly from there.” a blush spread over your cheeks, but jennifer didn’t comment on that.

“you’d look cute together.” her words made your brain go a little fuzzy. maybe she was right, but something in your gut told you that nothing would be happen between the two of you, spencer was the type of guy in love with his work, not a random girl he met on a random tuesday. although, his mind was an enigma, how could you be so sure of that?

“c’mon, jj.” you mumbled, looking away. “we’re friends, strictly platonic.”

the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach was there, even after the unsub was caught two days after you were free to leave the hospital. it was only growing, when you were alone with a man you weren’t exactly close with. as bad as it made you feel, being around your dad’s co–workers was almost paralysing. morgan, rossi, the cops involved in your case, who tried talking to you about the entire thing, it was making your hands shake.

“spence?” you whispered, after having knocked on the door of his hotel room, a day before they left.

he opened the door immediately, almost as if his guts told him you were on the other side. he looked like you’d just woken him up. his hair all over the place, his gaze sleepy. a t–shirt loose on his body as he pulled you inside, closing the door behind you. “hey, sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you up, thought you’d be still up.” you couldn’t bring yourself to speak louder.

“i had a feeling you’d swing by.” his words made your cheek grow hotter, because to be honest… you were thinking about seeing him, laying down on the bed unable to sleep. “what’s on your mind?” he asked, bringing his hand to your chin, causing you to look at him.

“are all the profilers doing that?” you asked, mesmerised by the way his eyes roamed around your face, a small smirk appearing on his lips.

“subconsciously, yeah.” you chuckled. “don’t go off topic. something is bothering you, you know i see it.”

“i just… wanted to see you.” embarrassment rolled off your tongue, knowing that probably lots of women had already told him that. mostly, because morgan told you about the time, when prostitutes tried hitting on him during one of the cases — spencer had his charm, but you couldn’t be sure if he knew. “jesus, you can’t look at me like that, when you’re all that.”

“all that?” reid’s laughter rang in your ears as he made a step towards you, reducing the distance between you two.

“yeah? have you seen yourself before you opened the door? man, i had four stab wounds and—” you began to ramble, but his smirk and the look on his face make you stop, before another chuckle left his lips. “what?”

“nothing.”

“reid!” you groaned, punching him slightly in the arm as he still held your face, tilting it upwards.

seconds later, his mouth were on your, his lips moving against yours tenderly. his free hand squeezing your waist gently, pushing you even closer. it was the first time you felt any type of comfort in the past few days. you were completely speechless as the kiss broke off, looking at him with big eyes.

“i– you–.” you stuttered.

“it’s funny, you usually can’t stop rambling, but now you’re a stuttering mess.” he chuckled once again, his arms firm, yet gentle on your waist as he continued to tease you with a smirk that wouldn’t get off his face.

“i thought if i did something wrong, i’d not see you again.” he whispered, his nose brushed against yours. your breath hitched in your throat at the proximity. “it made me realise how many things i should’ve done before, how important you became to me, y/n. i can’t go on without a thought of you in my mind, you’re like a plague that i don’t– that i’d never get rid of.”

“i know this job is hectic and that i’m a mess most of the time, but you’re the only one that keeps me sane after what i see.” his lips brushed against yours again and you didn’t protest.

“so… you’re saying that you can’t stop thinking about me.” it was your turn to smirk at him, your heart tingling with a feeling unknown, yet so familiar that always appeared around him. “i can’t stop thinking about you, too, you know. i, uh, had this feeling that if i get out, you’d be there somewhere to keep me safe.”

“i am, and i always will, promise.”

“is it you asking me out right now?” a quiet giggle escaped your mouth, earning a hum in return. “only if you’re gonna say yes.”

[love-and-deepspace-wiki]

Wiki Guide Post:

Welcome!

I'm V, an unofficial representative for the Linkon City Tourism Bureau. Allow me to be your personal tour guide through Linkon City and the surrounding areas! Whether you're a visitor passing through or a brand new resident, I hope you enjoy your stay! The links below will be updated as information is posted.

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[cnipdigitalagency]

Full Service Online Marketing Bureau - CNIP Agency

CNIP Agency is hét Full Service Online Marketing bureau dat bedrijven helpt groeien. Van SEO en Google Ads tot social media en contentmarketing, wij bieden complete oplossingen voor maximale online resultaten. Ontdek onze aanpak vandaag nog!

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The Harris campaign kicks into high gear

July 26, 2024

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

Kamala Harris has the Trump campaign on its back foot. Whatever Trump’s advisers expected from V.P. Harris, they were wrong. Although Trump and his surrogates have tried several lines of attack, each attempt backfires as Trump offends important constituencies he needs to win. In attacking Kamala Harris, Trump is offending Black Americans, successful women, mothers raising blended families, couples trying to conceive, young people, and more. The Harris campaign has responded forcefully, using a pointed sense of humor that is refreshing and attractive to younger voters who see the internet as a battlefield of ideas.

On Thursday, the Harris campaign released a powerful television ad that was a “no-holds-barred” look at the threat to democracy posed by Trump. See The Guardian, ‘We choose freedom’: Kamala Harris campaign launches first ad. The ad is embedded in The Guardian article; I urge you to watch it. If you don’t, here is The Guardian’s description of the ad:

Released on Thursday morning, the ad opens with shots of Harris’s smiling face behind a podium, the word Kamala, the word Harris, and the American flag. The soundtrack is the beginning of Beyoncé’s song Freedom, to which Harris entered and exited her first speech to campaign staffers after gaining lightning speed momentum on the road to becoming the presumptive nominee. The ad is narrated by Harris, whose first words are, “In this election we each face a question. What kind of country do we want to live in?” She continues: “There are some people who think we should be a country of chaos. Of fear. Of hate,” she says, over shots of Trump and JD Vance. “But us, we choose something different.”

On social media, the Harris campaign has been even more aggressive. The Harris campaign took a clip of Trump imitating Kamala Harris, saying, “I’m the prosecutor and he is the convicted felon.” After Trump admits that he is a convicted felon and Harris is a prosecutor, the ad immediately cuts to a picture of Kamala Harris with her voice saying, “I am Kamala Harris and I approve this message.” The Harris campaign is showing early signs of social media savvy—just as Barack Obama’s campaign did in 2008.

The Harris campaign also went after JD Vance, who described Kamala Harris in 2021 as a “childless cat lady” who should not have an equal voice in the future of America because she does not have biological children. (Harris is a stepmother to two children with Doug Emhoff.) Thursday was “In Vitro Fertilization Day.” The Harris campaign released a statement saying, “Happy World IVF Day To Everyone Except JD Vance.” See HuffPo, Harris Campaign Wishes Happy World IVF Day To Everyone Except 1 Person.

The confidence and swagger of that ad was reflected in the Harris campaign’s immediate acceptance of debate with Donald Trump, set for September 10. But as Kamala Harris demonstrated an eagerness to debate, Trump began hedging his bets, saying he “did not like the idea” of a debate on ABC. See CNBC, ‘Let’s go’: Harris agrees to debate Trump, accuses him of ‘backpedaling’ on Sept. 10 date.

The Harris campaign also used social media to troll Trump's morning appearance on Fox News, during which Trump called Kamala Harris “garbage.” The Harris campaign issued a press release entitled Statement on a 78-Year-Old Criminal’s Fox News Appearance. The press release said,

After watching Fox News this morning we only have one question, is Donald Trump ok? Trump is old and quite weird [and] this guy shouldn’t be president ever again.

For their part, Trump and his surrogates were reduced to claiming that Kamala Harris is a “DEI hire,” a “failed border czar,” and a socialist who will destroy the economy of America.

Luckily for Kamala Harris, economic growth and border security both improved in the second quarter. On Thursday, the US Bureau of Economic Analysis reported that the gross domestic product grew at a 2.8% rate in the second quarter, well above the consensus prediction of 1.9% by economists. See USA Today, US GDP report: Latest data shows economy grew 2.8% in Q2 (usatoday.com)

At the border, crossings by immigrants dropped to their lowest level since 2020 (under Donald Trump). See CBS News, Migrant crossings continue to plunge, nearing the level that would lift Biden's border crackdown. Per CBS News,

July is on track to see the fifth consecutive monthly drop in migrant apprehensions along the U.S.-Mexico border and the lowest level in illegal immigration there since the fall of 2020, during the Trump administration, the internal Department of Homeland Security figures show.

My point in noting the responses by the Harris campaign is not to revel in the “zingers” and “smackdowns” that are long overdue. Rather, it is to highlight the nimbleness, swagger, and professionalism of the Harris campaign. The lightning-quick responses would be exemplary for any presidential campaign; they are stunning for a presidential campaign that is four days old.

Although it is still early, it seems clear that the Harris campaign will focus on Trump's criminality, incoherence, age, and hateful agenda. And it is doing so with a satirical edge that transfers easily into internet memes—which is an effective way to create viral messaging that reaches young people. Meanwhile, the Trump campaign has been caught flat-footed, trying to ignore the awkward creepiness of JD Vance and Trump's part-time approach to campaigning.

All of this should give Democrats confidence that Kamala Harris will run a strong campaign against an opponent who will wage a vile and hate-filled counter-offensive. If the first few days of the campaign are any indication, Kamala Harris is up to the task.

Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter

[nando161mando]

FBI Seizure of Mastodon Server is a Wakeup Call to Fediverse Users and Hosts to Protect their Users

[carlocarrasco]

BIR softens approach on social media influencers

Recently the Bureau of Internal Revenue (BIR) announced that it would soften is approach on social media influencers, according to a Malaya Business Insight news report. In reference to the Revenue Memorandum Circular 97-2021 issued by the BIR, social media influencers are defined as those who derive their income from the following sources: YouTube Partner Program; sponsored social and blog…

[hussyknee]

International news outlets are predictably parroting whatever they see the government-run news media propagandizing, so the foreign commentators who have never met a Sri Lankan even by accident are announcing that we have elected a Marxist leader. We have not. It's a coalition of mild social democrats lmao. Even the main JVP entity hasn't really been Marxist in decades. It's all neoliberal hysteria.

Here's some necessary context for what's going on, and by far the best summation of the situation as it stands. I've highlighted the parts that the leftists of other countries will probably find salient and deeply relatable lmao.

It was always going to come to this. The first Sri Lankan election in generations where even a remotely leftist party stood a chance of winning was always going to end with an almighty Red Scare. So it is that the presidential campaign of National People’s Power (NPP) candidate Anura Kumara Dissanayake (AKD) is inspiring lurid visions of an impending violent, dystopian regime, splayed across news and social media. This is the prophecy of the Sri Lankan elite establishment, a select cross section of the country’s businesspeople, policymakers, professionals, journalists and academics who have been proximate to state power, especially in the last two years. Scrutiny of them and their crescendoing hysteria reveals much about how power and privilege work in Sri Lanka, and what happens when their wielders are threatened. Mythmaking

The pre-election Red Scare is the culmination of a two-year-long project by the elite establishment to sustain the regime of Ranil Wickremesinghe. This project is founded on a number of myths which rewrite recent history, chief among them the idea that the Aragalaya suddenly turned violent due to its ‘infiltration’ by the NPP’s lynchpin party the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) and other leftists. This myth, just like the one that Wickremesinghe stepped in to become Prime Minister then President “when no one else would”, only serves the elite establishment’s attempts to justify and sanitise Wickremesinghe’s power-hungry scheming.

Wickremesinghe was the only person shameless enough to accept Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s offer to become Prime Minister without any conditions. Likewise, the question of violence only became a problem after Wickremesinghe used the Aragalaya to manoeuvre himself to the Presidency. As always for elites, the spectre of left-wing violence is more serious than actual right-wing violence. Thus, NPP politicians standing on the banks of the Diyawanna is apparently far more alarming than the security forces ruthlessly dismantling GotaGoGama and brutalising its inhabitants on the very same day Wickremesinghe was selected as President by Parliament.

In the mythologisation of Wickremesinghe, we are further meant to forget that he has presided over a striking series of rights violations and undemocratic measures. Recounted partially and briefly: arbitrarily detaining multiple Aragalaya activists; violently repressing numerous protests by student and trade unions; passing the Bureau of Rehabilitation Act and Online Safety Act; deliberately preventing scheduled local authorities elections; continuing to obstruct memorialisation events by Tamils; and the ongoing Sinhala colonisation of the north and east.

As Wickremesinghe completed his transformation from supposed champion of liberal democracy to illiberal autocrat, establishment elites, especially the self-styled liberals among them, found themselves tongue tied about these issues for more than two years. If Ranil Wickremesinghe violates a human right, does a Sri Lankan liberal make a sound? ‘Stability’ and ‘Recovery’

It is not that these establishment elites merely promote Wickremesinghe’s government; it’s that they have been deeply and intimately involved in crafting and enforcing its policies, whilst often passing themselves off as impartial commentators. This particularly pertains to the Government’s economic agenda, and the idea that it has created ‘stability’ and rescued the country from the abyss to lead it to ‘recovery’. From the start, ‘stability’ and ‘recovery’ have been built on the backs of working class and poor Sri Lankans, who have literally paid for it with increased taxes, deteriorating public services and severely slashed welfare under the extravaganza of austerity mandated by the IMF.

The elite establishment’s espousal of this ‘stability’ and ‘recovery’ turns on a rabid, evangelical belief in neoliberal economic ideology. This tethers the unconditional acceptance of the IMF and its dictates, with any deviation from them held as ruinous. Similarly, neoliberalism manifests as identity through a strict belief that all wealth and success within a capitalist economy is gained through personal virtue (discounting inheritance, aid or luck), and inversely, anyone who is unsuccessful must be lazy and stupid. Such thinking is an apt glaze for the naturally patrician worldview of most establishment elites’ social class.

As a result, establishment elites are indignant that working and poor Sri Lankans are not grateful enough for the ‘recovery’. In truth, the only real inconveniences they suffered were the fuel shortages and power cuts of 2022. So, they cannot and do not genuinely contend with suffering of many over the past two years��including the still unbearable cost of living, rising child malnutrition, falling school attendance and millions still disconnected from electricity to name but a few ongoing calamities. Consequently, working and poor Sri Lankans must be too stupid to understand the ‘recovery’, the necessity of the IMF’s ‘bitter medicine’ forced upon them and to even vote. In the same breath, of course, these elites ignore and obscure the fact that corporates and the wealthy—which is often to say they themselves—are spared any similar medicine, and get to freely evade taxes, enjoy generous state subsidies and concessions and hoard their wealth offshore.

Contours of a Scare

All this exposes such deep contempt by establishment elites for working and poor people. This is what fuels their wholesale disgust at anyone voting against Wickremesinghe, or not even settling for the Samagi Jana Balawegaya’s Sajith Premadasa (to the great dismay of many elites, the two could not set aside their blood feud and combine forces). Buried within this is a deep fear of a political reality they do not know and cannot control. Thus, the maniacal scaremongering about how democracy would be subverted by an AKD regime due to the internal intricacies of communist parties—as if the JVP and particularly the NPP qualified as such. (And as if Premadasa and the SJB, and especially the unelected, election-cancelling Wickremesinghe, were paragons of democracy.)

The Red Scare is also founded on bringing up the JVP’s violence during the two insurrections it led, particularly the second. Certainly, there needs to be a complete accounting for the horrendous violence the JVP instigated, which the JVP has failed to do itself. But it cannot be done in any honest sense by the elites who ignore or deny that the UNP government and its death squads (under Premadasa’s father) killed and disappeared far greater numbers of people than the JVP (by estimates of three to up to ten times as many), or that Wickremesinghe oversaw an actual torture camp.

In addition to these many hypocrisies, the Red Scare is also founded on the elite establishment’s striking political illiteracy. Words like ‘Marxism’, ‘socialism’ and ‘communism’ are thrown about with wild abandon without any serious evaluation of them against the NPP. Elites regularly conflate the JVP and Frontline Socialist Party, despite them actually being mortal enemies; and believe all trade unions are controlled in hivemind-fashion by the JVP, despite the wide range of trade union political allegiances. Acknowledging spiralling social deprivation in the country is “cosplaying poverty” and any critique of the government’s economic agenda and neoliberal dogma in general inspires a virulent derision for “commies”, in dizzying, barely-coherent invective and memes imported straight from the US and the gutters of far right social media. These ignorant, imbecilic displays would be amusing if they weren’t being bandied about by actual adult journalists, lecturers and professionals, speaking to the country’s depressing level of intellectual discourse. The Endgame

The real irony here is that the NPP does not warrant any of the elite establishment’s hysteria. Certainly, it stakes out an actual difference with the existing political hegemony by physically embodying change. AKD, just like his government in waiting, promise a halt to the endless game of musical chairs that characterises government-making in Sri Lanka. This contrasts with Premadasa and Wickremesinghe’s politics which evince more of the same, in the latter’s case even more nakedly and shamelessly with the most corrupt and criminal figures on offer. (This, too, is another inconvenient fact shrugged off by establishment elites as necessary realpolitik.)

Of course, many of those prospectively voting for the NPP to “give them a chance” reveal the Sri Lankan predilection to go with the ‘rella’ or wave. But embedded in there, too, is the idea that this chance is being given in desperation, against a political system which has brought them nothing but economic ruin. That system could not be characterised more effectively than by Wickremesinghe himself, who makes little attempt to hide his disdain for ordinary people.

Yet it’s easy to overstate such change. In substance, even a cursory glance at the NPP’s manifesto reveals not a plan to usher in full-throated communism but a milquetoast, deliberately vague social democratic program. Most tellingly, it promises to maintain the country’s economic settings, including the current IMF program, as well as its deeply majoritarian state structure. The establishment should in fact be thrilled that the supposed biggest threat to its existence accepts the very core tenets of its modus operandi.

What this also means is that if and when any substantive change fails to materialise for many people—particularly in living conditions, as will certainly be the case under continued adherence to the IMF program—any NPP government risks spectacular collapse. That will leave ample space for any new, reactionary force to step in, including Wickremesinghe who will be waiting, cockroach-like, or another dispiriting shuffling of the current deck. In such a scenario, the elite establishment could find multiple avenues to attach their hooks to, for they are nothing if not the most talented grifters.

This election is unlikely to spell a definitive end to the political establishment or the deranged elites who uphold it. But for anyone sickened by the elite establishment’s hypocrisy and degeneracy, one night of them losing their collective minds over the Red Scare they have convinced themselves can only be a fleeting, pleasurable treat.

[a-very-tired-jew]

Media Manipulation, Bias, Cooperation and its impact

Media manipulation, misinformation, and propaganda are part of conflicts world wide. Every country, government, NGO, and agency engages in these tactics in some way. There is a story to be told from a certain perspective that pushes an agenda. What we, as the consumer of such media, have to do is determine if we're being fed a biased perspective and/or outright lies that we can then parse through. The current I/P war has seen a huge influx of misinformation and propaganda from social media and traditional news sources. The former is expected as we are in the era of influencers and algorithms. However, traditional sources, such as the AP or WashingtonPost, have long been an issue when it comes to coverage of Israel and Palestine.

Matti Friedman wrote about this a decade ago in an article for the Atlantic titled What The Media Gets Wrong About Israel.

Friedman is a former journalist for the AP and throughout their piece details the biased reporting that they witnessed firsthand, the association with terrorist groups, the influence of terrorists on reporting, and the outright corrupt nature of an organization that touts itself as a bastion of good journalism. From the article:

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Most consumers of the Israel story don’t understand how the story is manufactured. But Hamas does. Since assuming power in Gaza in 2007, the Islamic Resistance Movement has come to understand that many reporters are committed to a narrative wherein Israelis are oppressors and Palestinians passive victims with reasonable goals, and are uninterested in contradictory information. Recognizing this, certain Hamas spokesmen have taken to confiding to Western journalists, including some I know personally, that the group is in fact a secretly pragmatic outfit with bellicose rhetoric, and journalists—eager to believe the confession, and sometimes unwilling to credit locals with the smarts necessary to deceive them—have taken it as a scoop instead of as spin.

During my time at the AP, we helped Hamas get this point across with a school of reporting that might be classified as “Surprising Signs of Moderation” (a direct precursor to the “Muslim Brotherhood Is Actually Liberal” school that enjoyed a brief vogue in Egypt). In one of my favorite stories, “More Tolerant Hamas” (December 11, 2011), reporters quoted a Hamas spokesman informing readers that the movement’s policy was that “we are not going to dictate anything to anyone,” and another Hamas leader saying the movement had “learned it needs to be more tolerant of others.” Around the same time, I was informed by the bureau’s senior editors that our Palestinian reporter in Gaza couldn’t possibly provide critical coverage of Hamas because doing so would put him in danger.

Hamas is aided in its manipulation of the media by the old reportorial belief, a kind of reflex, according to which reporters shouldn’t mention the existence of reporters. In a conflict like ours, this ends up requiring considerable exertions: So many photographers cover protests in Israel and the Palestinian territories, for example, that one of the challenges for anyone taking pictures is keeping colleagues out of the frame. That the other photographers are as important to the story as Palestinian protesters or Israeli soldiers—this does not seem to be considered.

....

When Hamas’s leaders surveyed their assets before this summer’s round of fighting, they knew that among those assets was the international press. The AP staff in Gaza City would witness a rocket launch right beside their office, endangering reporters and other civilians nearby—and the AP wouldn’t report it, not even in AP articles about Israeli claims that Hamas was launching rockets from residential areas. (This happened.) Hamas fighters would burst into the AP’s Gaza bureau and threaten the staff—and the AP wouldn’t report it. (This also happened.) Cameramen waiting outside Shifa Hospital in Gaza City would film the arrival of civilian casualties and then, at a signal from an official, turn off their cameras when wounded and dead fighters came in, helping Hamas maintain the illusion that only civilians were dying. (This too happened; the information comes from multiple sources with firsthand knowledge of these incidents.)

Colford, the AP spokesman, confirmed that armed militants entered the AP’s Gaza office in the early days of the war to complain about a photo showing the location of a rocket launch, though he said that Hamas claimed that the men “did not represent the group.” The AP “does not report many interactions with militias, armies, thugs or governments,” he wrote. “These incidents are part of the challenge of getting out the news—and not themselves news.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back in 2021 the IDF destroyed the AP's building because Hamas was using it as a base as well. The AP denied all knowledge of Hamas being in the building, except Friedman and other journalists had previously established that there was a relationship between the terrorists and news outfit. The insistence on denying Hamas's actions for fear of reprisal and to continue the "moral failure" narrative is part of AP's m.o. This standard of avoidance regarding Hamas's actions, couching them in a comparison of "Hamas is bad, but look how much worse Israel is!", justify, or even reduce the horrid nature of them has been part of the formula for years. It explains why we see so many of the major news sources tell the same story in the same manner when it comes to this area. Talking about Hamas, PIJ, and other groups and their bad actions is taboo. Another quote from earlier in the article stands out that highlights this rhetoric. "In these circles, in my experience, a distaste for Israel has come to be something between an acceptable prejudice and a prerequisite for entry. I don’t mean a critical approach to Israeli policies or to the ham-fisted government currently in charge in this country, but a belief that to some extent the Jews of Israel are a symbol of the world’s ills, particularly those connected to nationalism, militarism, colonialism, and racism—an idea quickly becoming one of the central elements of the “progressive” Western zeitgeist, spreading from the European left to American college campuses and intellectuals, including journalists."

Many of us have talked about the antisemitism that is baked into most cultures, and a Jewish journalist documented through their own experiences how that is an inherent part of a "trusted" international news source. The fact that it was/is "in vogue" to paint Israel and its actions as the "moral failing of Jews" and hold them responsible for all the "evils" of the region while handling terrorist groups with kid gloves is abhorrent. It's antisemitic and a continuation of age old conspiracies. Every decade we say this is an issue, and every decade you forget or brush it aside.