Jeffrey St. Clair

When it can be said by any country in the world, my poor are happy, neither ignorance nor distress is to be found among them, my jails are empty of

“The American mirror, said the voice, the sad American mirror of wealth and poverty and constant useless metamorphosis, the mirror that sails and whose

ICE has killed again. This time in Houston. Once again, ICE shot and killed someone in their car. Once again, ICE claims the shooting was justified. That

Lindsey Graham said he would die with Israel and it has come to pass. One of the weirdest characters in US politics, Graham's career was consistent in only one respect: war was his solution to any diplomatic problem. He had the mentality of a red-scare Cold Warrior in a time when the Cold War had ended. But Graham couldn't relinquish his toxic animus for Russia, even as Russia embraced US-style gangster capitalism, imperialist ambitions and religious prudery. As a political figure, Graham was a senator in search of a father figure. First, he latched on to John McCain, almost to the point of slavish mimicry. But McCain at least enjoyed the appearance of independence, occasionally bucking his own party (largely because he craved the media spotlight that came with a performative "maverick") and had a perverse sense of humor, even if his barbs were usually at the expense of a rival. Graham was humorless. His only rhetorical talent was for invective. Graham's own media appearances came off as bombast with a bullhorn. His voice evinced none of the seductive qualities of the southern gentility, in whose political tradition he attempted to adorn himself. Graham's voice, especially when excited, had a shrill, shrieking-like quality that often verged on hysteria. His speeches alienated, even frightened, more than they won over.

“History that repeats itself turns to farce. Farce that repeats itself turns to history.” – Jean Baudrillard, The Agony of Power Put yourself behind the

Put yourself behind the wheel of Johan Sebastián Durán Guerrero’s white Kia. You’re 25-years-old. You’ve been living in the United States for three years.

When I think of my friend Carl Estabrook, as I often have in the weeks since he died, I see someone who was fully engaged with life. Almost every aspect of life mattered to Carl, was worthy of being experienced, observed, analyzed, discussed and debated. He had a roving mind and an unchained spirit. There was nothing dour about him. He was witty and charming and empathetic. He also knew who the enemies of life were, the people and institutions who profited from inflicting pain on others and he didn’t hesitate to call them out. In other words, he had the courage of his conscience. He put what he believed into practice.

“History is what hurts.” – Frederic Jameson It was 92 in the shade and we fled to the nearest theater to escape the heat and the shrouds of smoke from

It was 92 in the shade and we fled to the nearest theater to escape the heat and the shrouds of smoke from distant fires that had drifted across

US Huey Helicopter in Laos. Photo: Captain Billie D Tedford, USAF. At 7:30 a.m., on March 16, 1968, Task Force Barker descended on the small hamlet of My