#blame macron

[madame-helen]

[luaminesce]

WHAT. THE. FUCKING. HELL. FRANCE.

Y'all can't just talk about how the Nazis destroyed your country and then elect actual Nazis to the French parliament.

[wishcamper]

Part 2 of my Rhys being extra series:

He is a fuckin daemati but just really wanted to hold helion’s hand I guess

[devotedlittlefreak]

French people when they're inventing soc-dem accelerationism

[texasinnersmile]

just fell for my first AI vid how embarrassing

[evergardenwall]

...you know what this person is right

[scribs-dibs]

so weak!

modern au, neuvillette x gn! reader, vv fluffy, written in the summer, very silly & unserious <3

wc ; ~4.5k

listened to weak by swv if you couldn't tell 🔥🔥

"it's not a phase i want you to stay with me"

To say you are fond of your new neighbor would be the understatement of the century.

Your hands are covered in a thin film of flour and yeast, and it’s a blessing that your fingers can work with just muscle memory as you knead. Your mind is elsewhere, filled to the brim with thoughts of Neuvillette. It’s not your fault, really. Anyone would be taken by him; he is unfairly, nearly inhumanly pretty. Long, fair hair and strong cheekbones, a pointed nose with a rounded bridge that leads into stunning multicolored eyes. You’d seen pretty people in magazines and movies before, of course– but seeing him in the flesh, without makeup or filters or special lighting had them all immediately paling in comparison. And the worst part? Neuvillette is one of the kindest souls you’d ever met.

If asked, you would blame the hot summer sun for the sweat that had built on top of your brow. But you were nervous. You’d gotten over most of your fears when moving into a new town, (thanks to your neighbors greeting you with a kindness warm enough to melt the coldest winters) but then, standing before the grand, white wooden door of the new stranger’s home, you had felt every blood vessel pump with anxiety. And you weren't quite sure why, either. Drawing near the door seemed to make air feel heavy in your lungs, with each step seemingly bringing you closer to your doom. You swallowed. And then you knocked.

You can't tell if you wanted to thank your past self for pushing through, or curse them for giving you your current problem.

It was not Neuvillette who had answered the door. Instead, it was a creature named Elphane— a melusine. It was a surprise, to see someone inhuman and fuzzy, but she greeted you with such goodwill you would be remiss to not do the same. The one behind her was the issue. The looming, fierce presence that stood protectively at her back, and piercing holes into your skin as he watched you. Your nerves came back to you in a rush.

It was a gift, from whatever archon was watching over you, that your meeting went without a hitch. Despite how frightened you were, Neuvillette's concerned, cool gaze melted into something softer once pleasantries were out of the way. You owe it all to your offering— a quaint and humble apple pie.

Baking was a hobby you had taken up earlier into your move. You would not describe it as the easiest thing you've done, but it does serve to ground you. To put your worries into precise measurements and knead them into dough, and then have a result that leads into something edible. Not to mention, it makes your neighbors adore you, newly-moved melusines included. And of course, you adore them too. It's their guardian that's a problem.

Neuvillette has consumed the better part of most of your waking days. You come back from work, and it is his clear multicolored eyes who greet you over the fence. They form the shape of crescents when he smiles, faint and polite, like fresh spring water. You're weak in the knees.

It is him who knocks on your door on occasion, pale skin slightly flushed as he offers you produce from his garden.

"To repay your earlier kindness," He'll say, and his voice is so rich and silky it feels as if it curls around you like a blanket. You're weak in the knees.

It is his daughters(?) that tell you what he says behind closed doors—

"Neuvillette used to dislike sweets. But he always smiles when he tries your food. Says it takes a special talent to make sweets this good. Can you make more for him?" Verenata asked you one day, teal paws cupping several macrons, "And more for me?"

You're weak.

When you're done kneading and yearning, you leave your dough covered so it can rest. You are too hyper to do the same. Out the window, the sinking sun paints the sky in warm shades of pink. Summer nights are much cooler now, such is the gift of August taking its leave.

Stepping outside gifts you with the gentle kiss of fresh air. Your small porch is one of your favorite parts of your home. When you were little, you had often wondered why it was older people sat outside and did nothing but stare out into the world above. Now older and wiser, you can understand it. It's peaceful— you could sit out here for hours and watch the sky change to reveal the stars. If not for the mosquitoes.

You sit on the second-lowest step, staring up at the softly drifting clouds and noting their different shapes. This one is similar to Ottnit's horns-- it curls around itself in a spiral. That one looks like a pancake; you wonder if you still have a box of pancake-mix in the back of your cupboard still. You wonder if you have the guts to invite Neuvillette over for breakfa—

No.

This bubbling crush is getting ridiculous. You don't even know him that well-- even though you desperately want to. You can imagine it now: the plush of his lips falling open as you ask the question, his head tilted and his pointed ears twitching (a feature that makes you wonder if the melusines aren't the only ones who aren't human, but that'd be ridiculous), before he politely refuses you. He's a busy man— at least you think him to be, because he's always hard at work. You don't know how he manages to keep such a bountiful garden so nicely kept when he is always working such long hours. On more than one occasion, you've caught him tending to it in the rain. A hard worker. A kind heart. He makes your own kick wildly in the confines of your chest.

The sky has turned more purple now, ink blotting the blush-tinted sky. Faintly, you can see the stars. Bright like those eyes of his. Like the ones that stare at you as you sit on your porch.

You nearly jump out of your skin.

And you wish you had it in you to scream at him for the scare, but he looks just as startled as you do.

He now looks at you in awe, like you've grown a second head, before he collects himself. Before you know it his demeanor is back, calm as quiet waters.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to frighten you."

And you hate him a little bit for that, too. The voice that you have imprinted into your mind, hanging on to every dip and curve of each syllable, is apologizing to you in a tone so sincere it almost hurts. He makes you ache.

Though you are screaming internally, you smile and say, "Aw, no worries Mis-" you notice how his brow is already furrowing. He's told you before, Neuvillette is fine, no need for formalities. We're neighbors, after all. "...No worries, Neuvillette. It's, uh, nice to see you."

You want to face-plant directly into the ground. Busy as he is, you see each other nearly everyday. 

If Neuvillette notices the awkwardness of your phrasing, he clearly doesn't mind. His understanding is found in an undeniably fond smile. 

"Same to you," And then your name. He says it so tenderly, like it is precious. You're going to burst into flames right here, and illuminate the darkening skies for all to see. 

There's a small beat of awkward silence, which is filled with your eyes scanning for anything to look at but him. Neuvillette stands just at the border of your fence, its gate opened but his feet firmly planted at the edges. It's like there's a barrier there, put in place so as to keep him, in specific, out. And, well, you are shivering and shaking at the mere thought of seeing him any closer, but it does feel...pitiful to have him so far away.

"You...can come closer if you want." You pat the space on the step next to you.

His eyes widen again, the same expression of surprise he had shown when he had first appeared. And again, he schools it into something more familiar, collected and calm. It's almost vampiric how he steps forward with an eagerness, but only after being invited to do so. 

You almost want to laugh-- the man is so lanky that he has to shift awkwardly to fit properly on the small step. But then he settles fully and your laugh dies immediately. You inhale, and then it dawns upon you that he's close.

Neuvillette smells fresh. Like getting misted with rain after an ongoing drought. And then something faintly sweet, like flowers-- his garden. It intoxicates you-- this was a horrible idea.

"You have my thanks,"

You can only nod. You don't trust your voice not to betray you. 

This time, the silence that follows is not awkward and stiff. It is a serene, natural thing, as you both gaze at the ever-brightening stars.

"This is lovely," comes his voice in a whisper, as if speaking too loudly will cause the sky to ripple like a stone thrown atop a pond's surface. "But...would you mind so terribly if I were to confess something?"

You are going to die.

Confess makes it sound like he was hiding something from you. Confess makes it sound like he was harboring something, keeping it close, watching it bloom. Confess makes it sound like it was blooming for you.

It chants in your ear so loudly you can barely hear it over your voice.

Confess. Confess. Confess.

"O-of course. Go ahead."

Confess. Confess. Confess.

Another one of his smiles. The moon caresses the planes of his face, and you are envious of how they brush against his cheekbones and the sharp lines of his jaw. Your eyes immediately flicker back— his cheeks. There's a faint flush brushed across them. 

"It is...a bit embarrassing, admittedly,"

Confess. Confess. Confess.

"I..had been meaning to ask.."

Confess. Confess. Confess.

"...If you would mind teaching me how you make those pastries of yours?"

The heart is a funny thing.

At first, it sinks. Your heart is but a lump in your chest now, vulnerable and lonely. You were a fool to think that someone like Neuvillette of all people would see you in that way. He is put together— a calm, guiding force for the melusines, the talk of your little neighborhood. And you? You are but a neighbor, lucky enough to be housed next to him. But then—

You wanted to know him better, didn't you?

Immediately, your mind races. Neuvillette, in your home. Neuvillette's long, pretty fingers shaky with inexperience. Neuvillette, with his eyes focused on his new task, focused on you. You feel dizzy. You are weak in the knees.

It's a horrible idea.

For one, your house must pale in comparison to his. His house is a stately one. You remember, the first time you had stepped foot in front of his door, thinking that the previous owners must've prepped it just for his arrival. A freshly painted baby-blue on the siding. Hedges trimmed to perfection. A pathway with not a single stone out of place. That big, intimidating white door, with golden detailing around the edges. Your house is not *horrible* by any means. But it is not his.

For seconds, you can barely sit next to the guy without losing what's left of your sanity.

It's a horrible idea.

"I-"

You face him, and those pearlescent eyes are boring into you. Controlled, steady, expectant.

"I would be happy to help you out!" You say too quickly, all in one breath.

Neuvillette has never really laughed in front of you. You seem to be privy to the smaller, faint smiles that make your head spin, but never a laugh.

So when you hear it for the first time— breathy and filled to the brim with mirth, you forget all about the way your heart had sunken a mere seconds ago, and fall for him all over again. Like a lovesick fool.

His smile is wide, showing teeth. You're starting to wonder if you have something going here, with him not being fully human. You swear on everything you own— his canines are sharper than normal. What's worse? It only makes you more enamored.

"It would seem I owe you my thanks again," his hand is close to yours. The tips of his gloved fingers are nearly touching your own, and that alone makes your heart want to take flight. "Looks like I'll be owing you a debt for a while still."

Your mouth opens to speak. You want to tell him that it's okay, that it's not an issue of owing you anything. That you'd walk through hell barefoot if it meant hearing that laugh again. But you don't get a chance to speak.

Because his hand, with warmth ebbing through the thin fabric, covers yours and gives it a light squeeze. It's such a small, clearly platonic motion, and yet your heart— your heart. It beats as though it means to clamber out of your chest and run for the hills. Away from the porch, away from the stars, away from his hand that fits snugly over yours. 

"Shall we meet tomorrow?"

You nod with an urgency unbefitting such a light conversation. "Of course, it's a-"

No. It's not a date. It's not anything like a date. In fact it couldn't be further from one.

"Of course." Is where you settle.

Neuvillette's smile only widens, and again you are met with those pointed teeth.

"It's a date, then."

You're going to die.

꧁꧂

You make pancakes for breakfast, but you can't taste them.

Last night, you scratched at the mosquito bites littering your forearms, but all you could feel was his hand, with warmth ebbing through the thin fabric, covering yours as he gives it a light squeeze. As you brushed your teeth this morning, you swear you could smell something fresh. Like getting misted with rain after an ongoing drought. As you spread syrup over your pancakes, your gaze was unfocused. You see those pearlescent eyes boring into you. Controlled, steady, expectant. You're going to die.

You know how to bake. At work, you browse recipes to try during your breaks. At home, if you feel sluggish, you bake to take your mind off of things. You have experience by now. But how can you trust yourself to teach someone else if that someone could send you to heaven just by smiling? It's not fair. You're doomed.

You can think of at least ten ways to call off this impromptu lesson off the top of your head. You can pretend to be sick, or flee the country, for example. But then comes your second issue: Neuvillette's disappointment. The corner of his lips turned downwards into a frown, a soft exhale leaving his too-tense shoulders. You're grieving with him at the thought. You're doomed.

There's no getting out of the hole you've dug yourself, so you take to organizing your ingredients. You are good at baking. You know how to bake. You will not trip over your own feet, or swallow your own tongue attempting to speak. You are good at this. Everything is fine.

From the door comes two firm knocks, and your life flashes before your eyes.

You are reminded of your first meeting with him, how your heart was pounding in your head, how his eyes were boring into you. And this time, it's within your own home! You open the door with as much grace and poise as a chicken without its head.

Neuvillette always looks good. In fact, good is too little of a word to describe how he looks. You could use elegant, or debonair, or divine, but it's different when he's this close.

His hair is tied back, appropriate for the mess that baking often creates, and a singular button is undone from his loose dress shirt. Neuvillette is someone who dresses without big, ornate details, but still carries a serene type of class. He feels clean and proper, even if he is dressing casually. This is the first time it hits you— you've never even seen him without gloves. Usually, he wears them for work and keeps them on thereafter, or his hands are covered with thick, rubber gardening gloves. You feel like a victorian noble, with such little exposed skin causing such a distraction. There's so much. You have a full view of the planes of his face, without wispy swipes of white obstructing your gaze.  You are leveled with a set of beautiful, strong collarbones. So much and yet—

You cannot help but stare at his uncovered, painted nails.

"Ah," he says, and again you hear him laugh-- you must be blessed. This one is lighter, a gentle breeze carrying a pleasant memory, "The melusines requested I matched with them. This was one of the ways we had decided on."

Neuvillette offers a hand, and pastel, patterned nails come into full view. The swooping swirls of Muirne. The star-like shapes of Cosanzeana. The baby-blue of Sigewinne. He carries ten of them under his gloves, with him at all times. That fact is sweet on its own. And then he says—

"We do try to alternate every few weeks or so."

Your heart melts.

You aren't quite sure what melusines are, or where they came from, but you do know that Neuvillette cares for them as he would his own kin. He's like a proud father, it's adorable.

"It wouldn't impede our baking lesson, would it?"

He's adorable.

"No! Ah, no it won't, no worries!"

 ꧁꧂

With every scan of his eyes, you become more acutely aware that this is actually happening and not some prank orchestrated by the gods. You have a million thoughts that are buzzing around uselessly in your mind, and at least half of them boil down to you should've cleaned more. You don't take Neuvillette to be the judgy type, but even so having him in your space makes you nervous. 

"So," you start, with your voice embarrassingly pitchy, "Have you made a cake before?"

A soft hum, "I have...attempted to," He averts his gaze, "With unfortunately low success."

You suppress a laugh at that-- the image of Neuvillette standing in a kitchen, looking disapprovingly at a sunken cake makes it a hard-won battle.

"Okay then! I'll try my best to help you. And then, maybe we can share it with the melusines."

Neuvillette seemed a bit tense at first, admitting his failures. But at your words, he melts, and his smile is so soft it almost seems blurry around the edges.

First, the dry ingredients.

"The mixing is the fun part, it's the measurements that can make or break the cake," You explain, feeling especially scholarly, "Too much flour will make the cake sink a bit the moment you pull it out of the oven, for example."

"I see..."

"I'll measure this part, just in case. Wanna mix?"

"Of course,"

You offer a shy smile of your own, and turn to prepare the rest of the ingredients. The sound of a whisk hitting your metal mixing bowl resounds for a moment, and then you hear your name (said tenderly, like it's precious).

As if pulled by puppet strings, you turn immediately.

And feel a dry mixture of flour brush against your face.

"Ah," He says, though he is clearly unsurprised, "My apologies."

What.

You do not, or at least had not taken Neuvillette to be the playful, mischievous type. But those pale eyes flicker to yours as he continues to mix, and that hint of a smile is playing at the corners of his lips. 

What?

Neuvillette sets the bowl down after a few more moments of whisking, and then his eyes are fully set on you once more. 

"Here," from his pocket, he produces a blue handkerchief, and before you can breathe he's getting closer, lower, "May I?"

You're weak in the knees. And you're going to die.

The sound that you make is something between and scream and a whimper, and something you're sure is entirely pathetic. That's quite enough of trying to speak, so you only nod.

His fingers —ungloved fingers— are gentle as they hook under your chin, and lift up. You aren't particularly short, but Neuvillette stands a good head above most. His touch is like dewdrops on top of flower petals, or a rainbow seen after the last drizzles of rain, or anything else delicate and dainty and sacred. You're struggling to stay upright. You mourn the fact that it's the light cloth wiping at your face, and not his opposite, uncovered hand. You're weak.

"There we are,"

And then his touch is gone, and he has stood up straight again.

"What is next?"

You are considerably more frazzled as you prepare the wet ingredients.

"I'll mix these," you say, trying to sound firm. You can't handle another heart attack. Neuvillete nods, but you know that the mirthful look in his eyes means he's enjoying this. He's a problem.

Neuvillette is never really smug. He doesn't gloat or brag about anything, despite taking pride in all that he does. You consider it a rarity that he smiles so often in front of you now, perhaps one of many benefits to living such close proximity to him, but god is it distracting. It's not filled with mockery, but he seems suspiciously content with watching you try and keep your cool. Your mixing becomes more frantic. 

This is stupid. He's only asking for a favor, only wants to make better treats for those dear to him. He just happens to have a stupidly smooth voice, and a stupidly pretty smile, and stupidly unashamed eyes that bore at you as you work, and—

Okay, so fuck him actually. 

With a quick flick of the wrist, and the wet mixture is splattered in little droplets across his face.

You know it has to be a touch more gross than simple flour and baking powder, but if that was a concern maybe he wouldn't have started this little war.

"My apologies." You say echo, feeling particularly proud.

"Seeking out justice with your own hands, are you?" his query is something that rumbles, waves building up and up and up before they come to crash. You would feel unnerved, if not for the way that his eyes shine with a sudden playfulness. It's so different from the Neuvillette you thought you knew, the one who is polite but passive, restrained and reserved at all times. You're seeing more and more of this new side of him, and you feel yourself becoming greedy for more. This was a horrible idea.

"It's only fair," Turning, you continue to mix. That's enough of looking at his face, blessed be.

Except the gods are *done* being on your side, apparently.

"If I recall," along with that steady voice, your shoulders are gripped by equally steady shoulders, "I cleaned up the mess I had made."

You're spun, to look at him. The metal mixing bowl nearly falls out of your arms. You're going to die. You're going to die, and your neighbor will be your undoing.

Neuvillette is looking at you, focused like you are mere prey quivering before him, luminescent eyes crinkled at the edges. It's unfair. There is a mixture of egg and buttermilk drying on his cheek, and yet you feel flustered by his gaze nonetheless.

"For it to truly be fair, you should return the favor, no?"

Your voice is meek and squeaky, but you manage.

"Oh..o-oh! Okay!"

His face is smooth. You're dangerously toeing the line between awe and jealousy as you reach for his cheek, full and unmarred by any bumps or blemishes. You're sure you're being obvious in your ogling of him, taking your sweet time to wipe the remnants of ingredients from his face, but Neuvillette seems like he's enjoying this. His eyes are so light, normally. But now, the whole of his irises are swallowed by a deep, inky black. Much like the night sky you saw yesterday.

Confess. Confess. Confess.

You must be seeing things.

꧁꧂

The rest of your baking is, mercifully, without another incident. You put the cake in the oven, are inhumanely fast while making the buttercream, and now sit under a familiar sunset.

You just need to survive until your timer goes off. 

"Neuvillette," comes your voice, breezy, "Why the sudden interest in baking?"

The man in question lowers the tie neatly pulling his hair into place, lowering the band so his hair nearly drips onto his shoulders.

"...There are a few reasons," there is a heaviness in that answer, and you feel he is indeed speaking the truth. Neuvillette is rarely one to hesitate, "But I suppose the main one would be to better cater to the melusines."

Your brows furrow at that. From what you can tell, Neuvillette is the best guardian the strangely charming creatures could offer. They sing nothing but his praises, and you know that he would do anything for them if they so much as batted their eyes up at him.

"They have taken a liking to sweets. Yours, especially," The way he looks at you is achingly tender, sweet, "While you've never expressed your discomfort with them, I figured I should share your burden of requests, or at the very least attempt to."

You're weak.

"Oh... Oh! It's no trouble at all, seriously," you nudge him with your elbow, "I like talking with them, and it's not like they just demand them."

Scattered around your home, assortments of shiny rocks and gems and trinkets decorate your shelves and end tables. They had at first insisted on paying for your goods, but at your refusal they had taken to a sort of trade instead. You adore them and their pint-sized company.

"It seems I've done well in that regard, then." Says your neighbor, with the rightful pride of a successful father.

"You have! They're the sweetest, really, so there's no need to worry."

That steady, comfortable silence wraps you in its embrace once more. A question pounds restlessly in the back of your mind.

"...If it's okay to ask, what are your other reasons?"

There is a subtle quirk to his lips, one you would not have noticed if your eyes weren't frustratingly glued to his face. It's like he was waiting for you to ask.

"Well," his voice is so soft, almost as light as your head feels. your eyes are focused on the inky black that swallows his own. Then, your eyes flicker to the whole of him— his cheeks. There's a faint flush brushed across them.

Confess. Confess. Confess.

"I've grown terribly fond of my neighbor, you see."

You don't know if he'd said anything else after that. You can hear nothing but the rapid beating of your heart, and the small ding! of your timer going off.

╌────═❁═────╌

thank you for reading! reblogs w/comments appreciated <3

[cumaeansibyl]

are we overthinking the Trump victory?

From America’s Democrats to Britain’s Tories, Emmanuel’s Macron’s Ensemble coalition to Japan’s Liberal Democrats, even to Narendra Modi’s erstwhile dominant BJP, governing parties and leaders have undergone an unprecedented series of reversals this year. The incumbents in every single one of the 10 major countries that have been tracked by the ParlGov global research project and held national elections in 2024 were given a kicking by voters. This is the first time this has ever happened in almost 120 years of records.

It may well be that Trump lost in 2020 mostly because people blamed him for their job losses and other difficulties during the pandemic, and now Harris has lost because people blamed Biden for price gouging post-pandemic.

That doesn't mean other factors weren't in play -- Harris's race and gender, for example -- but it might mean that there was nothing she or any candidate could have done to change the overall outcome.

It also doesn't mean that there isn't a general rightward swing in politics across the world, but the Tories got their asses beat in the last election, and the vote share for whatever the fuck UKIP's calling itself these days didn't account for that much of it. It was just a straightforward "we don't like where you've brought us, we'll try the other lot."

Maybe that's where the vast majority of voters are at, actually: discontented and ignorant rather than malicious. It's not going to make the next four years any easier, materially speaking, but it's a little bit reassuring that I'm not surrounded by actual Nazis.

[hedgehog-moss]

^ Macron did not enjoy us symbolically shutting him up by banging pans on Monday, and today for his official visit to a small town in the South of France, the Police Prefecture banned pots and pans from city streets. They might have realised it sounded insane, because they artfully phrased it as “passersby are banned from carrying portable sonorous devices” (‘dispositif sonore portatif’—here’s the prefectural decree:)

I won’t blame you if you think that’s too dumb to believe, but TV news today really showed us cops in that town explaining to people that saucepans shall not pass, and old ladies grumbling as they relinquished the old pans they had planned on using for protesting. (My mum lives nearby and was devastated that she didn’t go. “I could have been fined for illegal possession of saucepan... a once-in-a-lifetime crime...”)

(The caption says pans are being confiscated.) The lady on the left went through all five stages of grief at the thought of leaving her pan in police custody, from denial (“seriously?”) to bargaining (“can I keep my tin can?”) and anger (telling a cop “oh, go fuck yourself” on national television in a beautiful Southern accent) then finally, sadly walking away to leave her pan and can atop a pile of other confiscated kitchenware.

People trolled them so hard with the “portable sonorous device” thing that the police prefecture eventually responded that this never meant pans at all, and if police officers banned saucepans it’s because they didn’t understand the prefectural decree. (That meme of someone sweating in front of two buttons and it’s “we admit we issued a laughable (and illegal) decree” vs. “we imply cops have the reading comprehension of an oyster”...) (I tried to find a link for the prefecture spokesperson’s defensive statement but couldn’t find it again :( But I found another article from today saying protesters threw potatoes and eggs at gendarmes so it was a worthwhile google search.)

Here’s a tweet with a video:

For a visit to a village of 4000 people, 600 cops were deployed to ensure Macron’s safety (from seditious kitchen utensils) (okay, and potatoes). Now we’ve got MPs raising philosophical questions like “Can you solve a democratic crisis by banning saucepans...?” and the Association for the Protection of Constitutional Freedoms saying the prefectural decree was illegal as it “seems to associate the act of participating in a saucepan concert with a terrorist threat.” I mean it’s outrageous but also you’ve got to laugh at the absurdist play we find ourselves in.

One last thing:

^ The last sentence of Le Monde’s article summing up today’s presidential visit was: “Macron interacted at length with teachers, sitting in a circle around him on chairs hastily set up outside in the school’s playground”—because trade unionists shut off the power in the building Macron was visiting, for the second time this week, which is always funny.

[mariacallous]

Ukraine faces a precarious future amid waning Western support. The immediate peril comes from the 2024 US presidential election, but the fundamental problem has been the failure of Europe to commit to the defeat of Putin’s invasion.

The new NATO Secretary General, Mark Rutte, lost no time in visiting Kyiv after he assumed office, where he ‘pledged continued support for Ukraine in its war with Russia’. Doubtless his words were sincerely intended, but he knows there are serious political headwinds across Europe and the US.

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky senses this too as he briefs his ‘Victory Plan’ around European capitals following a mixed reception in Washington.

The forthcoming presidential election in the US represents the point of maximum danger. A win by Donald Trump could see him placing a phone call to Russian President Vladimir Putin as early as 6 November. Any such call would set expectations of a negotiated settlement, with discussions possibly beginning in the early months of 2025. 

Nobody should want this war of ‘meat grinder’ savagery to continue a day longer than necessary. However, Zelensky would have much to fear from a deal negotiated by Trump. The 2020 Doha Accords with the Afghan Taliban have been described as the worst diplomatic agreement since Munich in 1938. Fortunately, Trump was prevented from reaching a similarly disastrous deal with Kim Jong-un of North Korea. 

In any such deal, Zelensky would be unlikely to secure the recovery of Crimea and the Donbas, reparations for the massive damage to his country, war crimes trials or membership of NATO. He might be able to bargain the Kursk salient in return for control of the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant. But, without NATO membership and its Article 5 guarantee, there would be nothing to stop Putin from continuing the war after a couple of years of recovery and rearmament. 

For Europe, too, there would be peril. Both Georgia and Moldova look particularly fragile and vulnerable to Russian active measures or hybrid warfare. Even the Baltics would be justifiably nervous, in spite of their NATO status.

However, it would be misleading to blame everything on Trump. There have been plenty of prior indications of trouble ahead.

US support has always been too little, too late. Given the sheer scale of Washington’s military support this might sound absurd, but President Joe Biden’s hesitancy in allowing Storm Shadow missiles to be used against targets inside Russia is indicative of a general trend. As the head of a global superpower, Biden has always had one eye on ensuring that the war does not get out of hand and become nuclear. The result has been that Ukraine feels it has been given enough not to lose but not enough to win. 

In Europe the support has been varied. Some countries, such as the Baltics, the Scandinavian states, the UK and Poland, have done better than others. Hungary has been hostile, and may soon be joined by Slovakia and Austria. Germany has provided the most weapons but has been politically unreliable. Its refusal to supply Taurus missiles and its public debate about reducing its defence budget have sent all the wrong messages. German companies continue to retain significant interests in Russia, and the advance of Alternative for Germany in elections in Thuringia, Saxony and Brandenburg reminded Chancellor Olaf Scholz that there is little support for the war in Eastern Germany. President Emmanuel Macron of France, having been mercurial about Ukraine from the outset, received a similar jolt from the far left and far right in legislative elections in July. 

The most visible sign of a failure of collective determination to defeat Russia was the decision not to seize Russian financial assets frozen in Western banks, but instead to use them as collateral to raise a much smaller loan. Yes, there would have been a theoretical risk of undermining faith in the Western-dominated financial system, but few countries are yet ready to entrust their savings to Chinese or Indian banks. Furthermore, it would have sent a message to Putin not to invade other countries. 

Meanwhile, the crisis in the Middle East has diverted foreign policy and public attention. In Iraq and Afghanistan 20 years ago, the West demonstrated that it does not have the policy bandwidth to cope with two simultaneous campaigns. The events since 7 October 2023 have done untold damage to Ukraine’s prospects and to the West’s much-vaunted rules-based international order.

A newly elected President Trump would rightly claim that, once again, the US has shouldered the main burden of Western interests with inadequate support from its NATO allies. He would point (correctly again) to the mounting military pressure on Ukraine, its difficulties in replacing front-line soldiers, and the effects on global food and fuel prices. With the war raging in the Levant, he would refer to the US being over-extended once again in ‘forever wars’.

A newly elected President Kamala Harris could be expected to follow the path trodden by Biden. She would inherit his caution at unduly provoking Putin and his reticence about Ukraine joining NATO. Furthermore, her freedom to supply Ukraine with additional weaponry could be restricted by the make-up of the two houses of Congress. 

There could be a third outcome to the election: a Harris victory that is contested by Trump. In such circumstances, we could see an absence of US foreign policy for a period of weeks or months. 

Barring a mutiny by Russian forces or a crisis in Moscow, the prospects for Ukraine (and therefore Europe) look grim. The irony is that Putin would claim victory in spite of his campaign having been a costly disaster.

What would a betrayed Ukraine look like? At least it would retain some 82% of its territory. A guilty West would doubtless provide aid to rebuild infrastructure. It might be given a pathway to eventual EU membership (unless that option had been bargained away at the negotiating table), but joining the Western club may have lost its appeal at that point. Ukraine’s corrupt oligarchs would re-emerge from hibernation. The old post-Soviet cynicism would replace the youthful enthusiasm of the Maidan generation. There would be antagonism towards those returning from abroad after avoiding the fight, and – of course – thousands of grieving families.

This should have been Europe’s war to manage. In spite of decades of discussion about European defence, it proved too convenient to rely on US largesse. This made Europe a prisoner of US electoral factors. It also caused Europe to shirk the difficult decisions that helping win the war entailed: the big increases in defence expenditure, the 24-hour working in ammunition factories, the hikes in food and energy costs and the political risks such as seizing frozen assets. What remains now for Europe is to secure a place at the negotiating table and to argue for NATO membership for Ukraine as part of any settlement.

Failing that, the West will have years to repent the betrayal of the courageous Ukrainians, whose only crime was their wish to join the Western democratic order.

[kick-a-long]

https://www.wsj.com/world/europe/divide-over-antisemitism-in-france-weakens-unity-against-far-right-8b363d1d?mod=mhp

So the article blames a “divide” over antisemitism between macron and the antisemitic leftists for far right le pen gaining ground. let’s blame who’s really at fault, the fucking leftists who would rather everything burn down than walk back the obvious antisemitism and xenophobic violence and hate they have been spreading around for months.

All of which will hurt both Jews and Muslims because the far right also hate Jews but they outright have said they want to deport Muslims specifically for not “assimilating” and like promoting terror or something? In any case both of us are screwed if the far right keeps getting away with it.

[nostalgicamerica]

I want the Billionaires to pay more in taxes. The money they hoard does not go back into the economy. Trickle Down Economics never worked. If Hunter Biden can get called on the carpet for his taxes then Trump should too. The President doesn't have control over the price of oil. OPEC does. Supply and demand dictate prices here and if OPEC chooses to cut production, that's where the blame lies. I want a meaningful Border Bill. Republicans voted against a Bill and Trump told them not to vote yes on that Bill saying that he will fix it when he gets into office. I don't want wars either but Trump says he'll let Putin do what he wants if he wants to invade a country. The Hunter Biden trial proved that the Justice System isn't rigged.

There is a lot to unpack here.

I want the Billionaires to pay more in taxes. The money they hoard does not go back into the economy. - Then change the tax code.

Trickle Down Economics never worked. - So what

If Hunter Biden can get called on the carpet for his taxes then Trump should too. - I don't even know what this f*cking means.

The President doesn't have control over the price of oil. OPEC does. - Under the last president we were energy independent and on Jan 20, 2020 the price of gas in my neck of the woods was $1.97. It is not that now.

I want a meaningful Border Bill. Republicans voted against a Bill and Trump told them not to vote yes on that Bill saying that he will fix it when he gets into office. - Republicans want illegals here, too. Just for different reasons. And republicans suck almost as much as democrats.

I don't want wars either but Trump says he'll let Putin do what he wants if he wants to invade a country. - Why is it our business what Vladimir does anywhere? I frankly don't care if Macron wants to invade Estonia. Not my concern. And, by the way, under the last president, there were no major wars.

The Hunter Biden trial proved that the Justice System isn't rigged. - This is how to say, "I'm a fucking retard" without using the words, 'I'm,' 'retard,' 'a,' or 'fucking.' If you can say that with a straight face you truly are a fucking retard and I pray you don't breed.

[zvaigzdelasas]

[BBC is UK State Media]

Adama blames France - which has had 1,500 troops in the region to fight Islamist militants - for the failure to contain the violence. "They can't tell us that the French army was successful," she says. "I don't understand how they can say they're here to help people fight terrorism, and every year the situation gets worse." Niger was seen as the last Western ally in the Sahel, this semi-arid region which has become the epicentre of jihadi violence. France and the US each station troops in Niger, which is also home to the US's biggest drone base. But when France refused to recognise the new military government here, simmering resentment at perceived French interference in Niger's internal affairs boiled over.

Many Nigeriens believe France has had privileged access to the country's political elite and natural resources for too long. They see the coup as a chance for a clean slate, a way to get sovereignty back and be rid of French influence.

"The army has never stayed in power long in Niger," Adama says, referring to the five coups that have rocked the country since its independence from France in 1960. "The military will eventually return to their bases and hand over to a better civilian government that will lead Niger to its destiny," she adds.[...] Outside a military base in Niamey housing French troops, hundreds of protesters have been camped out for weeks, stopping supplies from reaching the personnel there.[...]

"In the whole of the Sahel, Niger is France's best partner." [...] "But it's France that is now refusing to accept what we want and that's why there's tension. "France could have left quietly after the coup and came back to negotiate with the putschists. Why is Emmanuel Macron now saying he doesn't recognise our authorities, when he's accepted coups in other countries like in Gabon and in Chad? "That's what has made us angry and we think France takes us for idiots."[...]

As we jostle for an interview with [the newly appointed governor of Niamey], he points to my producer and tells the crowd: "You see, people say we don't like white people, but we welcome them with open arms." He tells me the people of Niger want a prosperous, proud and sovereign country and that outsiders should respect their will. When I ask if the junta can keep his country safe from terrorists, he replies that Nigerien forces have always protected their people, and can do so without foreign partners. But those opposed to the regime fear the departure of French troops could be disastrous for Niger and the wider region. "In the fight against the terrorists, France is a key partner that provides most of the intelligence that helps us beat the terrorists," Paris-based Idrissa Waziri, a former spokesperson for deposed President Mohamed Bazoum, tells me over Zoom.[...] "France is not the problem, the problem today is this attempted coup which is a significant step backwards for Niger."[...] "Unlike in Mali, the French army played a more supportive role in Niger, helping local troops in a more limited capacity" [Mr Koné, a different analyst] says. "The Nigerien army already had lots of experience fighting terror groups, especially on the eastern front against Boko Haram."[...]

Following a threat by the regional bloc Ecowas that it would invade Niger if deposed President Mohamed Bazoum wasn't reinstated, Mali, Burkina Faso and Niger set up an alliance on 16 September. In the Sahel security alliance, they agreed to help each other against armed rebellions and external aggression. Mr Koné thinks this could be a game changer. "The lack of cooperation between the three countries was one of the reasons terror groups could easily cross from one territory into the next," he says. "There's already been two or three joint military operations between these three countries. This increased cooperation is putting real pressure on the insurgents." He also thinks the alliance could help share best practice from Niger to the other two countries.[...]

It's also hard [for us] to gauge how much support President Bazoum has in Niamey. His closeness to the French government has angered many, but we struggled to get any of his supporters, or anyone opposed to the decision to expel France, to speak to us on the record. Most people seemed too scared of the consequences. It didn't help that the junta followed the BBC team's every move in the country, and was aware of what interviewees told us.

26 Sep 23

[tomorrowusa]

It's was 800 days ago that Putin began his 3-day "special operation" in Ukraine. In addition to the war crimes and attempted genocide in Ukraine, Russia has managed to inflict quite a bit of harm upon itself.

We may not know for sure until after the war how many Russians died or were seriously wounded in Putin's sociopathic illegal war of aggression, but France has an estimate which surpasses those of other NATO sources.

French Foreign Minister Stéphane Sèjourné stated that France estimates Russia has suffered 500,000 military casualties – both killed and wounded – since its full-scale invasion of Ukraine began. [ ... ] On the possibility of NATO troop deployments, the minister echoed French President Macron’s stance, stating Europe must overtly warn Russia that when continental peace and European security are threatened, no option is off the table. However, Sèjourné stressed France’s relations with Russia remain “based on mutual respect between our peoples,” even as he condemned the “reckless” Russian authorities disregarding international laws and human lives.

Putin is ramping up aggressive acts against the West.

Russia blamed for GPS interference affecting flights in Europe

German foreign minister says Russia will face consequences for monthslong cyber espionage

To Putin, who still mourns the collapse of the totalitarian Soviet Union, the Cold War never ended.

Putin's invasion shows that he will violate treaties and international agreements to achieve his revanchist goals. There's no reason to expect him to honor any new agreements regarding Ukraine.

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

Israel will bar Francesca Albanese, the United Nations special rapporteur on the “occupied Palestinian territories,” from entering the Jewish state, including Judea and Samaria.

Albanese blamed the slaughter of Jews by Hamas terrorists on Oct. 7 on Israeli “oppression,” Foreign Minister Israel Katz and Interior Minister Moshe Arbel announced the decision on Monday, following the U.N. envoy’s offensive tweet on Saturday.

“The time for Jewish silence is past. For the @UN to regain its credibility, its leadership @antonioguterres must unequivocally renounce the anti-Semitic statements made by their ‘Special Envoy’ @FranceskAlbs and remove her from her position immediately,” Katz tweeted on Monday.

“Barring her entry to Israel will serve as a stark reminder of the atrocities committed by Hamas, including the ruthless targeting of innocents,” Katz continued.

Responding to French President Emmanuel Macron’s comment at a ceremony on Wednesday honoring the 42 French Israelis murdered on Oct. 7, where he referred to the Hamas invasion as “the greatest antisemitic massacre of our century,” Albanese tweeted:

“The ‘greatest anti-Semitic massacre of our century’? No, Mr. @EmmanuelMacron. The victims of 10/7 were not killed because of their Judaism, but in response to Israel’s oppression. France & the international community did nothing to prevent it. My respects to the victims.”

Katz on Sunday rebuked Albanese for her comments, calling them “deeply troubling” and demanded her dismissal.

“I call on Secretary-General Guterres to fire @FranceskAlbs immediately. The time of Jewish silence in the face of such misrepresentations has passed. We must stand strong and vocal against such narratives,” Katz tweeted.

Albanese has frequently courted controversy among Israel supporters for singling out Israel for blame in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. She has made frequent comparisons between Israel and Nazi Germany.

When JNS asked Albanese in December whether Hamas was justified in invading Israel and killing Israeli security personnel, she said, “Why is this so unbelievable? You seem to be puzzled by this. What is the right to resist?”

She also accused Israel and American evangelical Christians of weaponizing antisemitism to silence her and other critics of Israel.

“Israel occupies the Palestinian territory illegally, continuing to colonize the land, to brutalize the people, to let its armed settlers go around and terrorize everyone,” Albanese told JNS. “The Palestinians have no recourse to justice, because the Israeli army is not there to protect the Palestinians. It is there to protect the settlers, who are illegal.”

[racefortheironthrone]

Where do the Luddites fit in the history of labor organization/protests?

If you want to understand the Luddites, you need to read E.P Thompson, and specifically his Making of the English Working Class.

I'm going to quote the same line from the Preface that everybody quotes, but it really does get at what E.P Thompson was trying to do by writing this book:

"I am seeking to rescue the poor stockinger, the Luddite cropper, the "obsolete" hand-loom weaver, the "utopian" artisan, and even the deluded follower of Joanna Southcott, from the enormous condescension of posterity." (E.P Thompson)

See, thanks to centuries of capitalist (and economist) propaganda, Luddites have been given an extremely bad reputation as backwards fools who blamed technology for their problems and tried to halt the inexorable march of scientific progress. What Thompson lays out in some detail is that the Luddites were striking textile workers who didn't care at all about technology, they cared about the massive wage cuts that were being forced on them by textile employers.

Luddites destroyed machines, not because they feared that the machines would take their jobs, but because the machines were expensive fixed capital and smashing the machines cost their employers a lot of money. Most importantly, Thompson explains that the Luddites only smashed the machines of employers who were pushing for wage cuts - if an employer paid the old wage rates, they left their machines alone.

As to where the Luddites fit into the grand history of labor, I think they represent an example of the sabotage tradition among working-class movements that stretches back to Belgian workers chucking wooden shoes into the gears of capitalism, through to the IWW and their conception of sabotage as industrial direct action against the capitalist system (and god, the backlash that engendered during WWI), through to modern French workers who will wreck power stations to show Macron they mean business.

So yeah, don't fuck with Ned Ludd if you value your capital.