Soleimani deserved what he got but this doesn’t redeem the clueless incompetence of the President.
Author: Wayne K. Spear
waynekspear.com
Warning: this podcast discusses coerced sterilization of Indigenous women. Visit Senator Boyer’s website senatorboyer.ca for healing and counselling resources.
On this episode we discuss APTN, Indigenous media, and the 2019 election.
All we can know as certain is that Prime Minister Johnson will persist at the throwing of dead cats on dining-room tables.
For days now this matter has been covered by CBC, CTV News, Global News, and the Winnipeg Free Press. But it was the reporting of the Aboriginal Peoples Television Network that triggered an unspoken community rule not to air the dirty laundry where outsiders can see it.
Somewhere along the way the work of confronting the rot of racism took a turn. The understanding that racism is a universal toxin, mediated through social systems, gave way to a vigilance for the individual offender.
Nancy Pelosi has a long history of knowing when to play it safe and when to rock the boat. She’s among the smartest politicians out there, until she isn’t.
It’s not as if Epstein hasn’t all along believed in his own version of a Fifth Avenue shooting, that he can do what he wants in broad daylight and get away with it. So far he has, thanks to rich and powerful acquaintances.
From time to time a pig needs lipstick. Don’t expect the style or the substance of Mr Ford to change: this shuffle is about optics
Trump is no good for democracy and America but American voters (on a diet of reality television) aren’t much good for these either.
On this episode, I talk to Kenn Richard, founding Executive Director of Native Child and Family Services of Toronto
All of us together, pretending to be happy, are what we appear to be.
It has come to my attention, as a result of my inquiry, that freedom of speech is under threat. Everyone is talking about it.
Everywhere life returns to the Earth; everywhere there is romance and love and intercourse. And so I throw myself into it, with abandon, with all that I have. I have crossed the Lubicon, shouting, “Alea ejecta est!”
In a city, you wear your anonymity like a childhood sweater. We are all theoretical, without sin, mute yet plenipotentiary, emerging into the rush-hour light with undeclared purpose.
