#Crude Transportation

[cmipooja]

Global Crude Transportation Market Is Estimated To Witness High Growth Owing To Increasing Oil and Gas Exploration Activities

The global crude transportation market is estimated to be valued at US$ 21.58 billion in 2023 and is expected to exhibit a CAGR of 6% over the forecast period 2023-2030, as highlighted in a new report published by Coherent Market Insights. The market is driven by the increasing oil and gas exploration activities, which require efficient transportation of crude oil from production sites to refineries. Market Overview: The crude transportation market involves the transportation of crude oil through various modes such as pipelines, tankers, and railcars. It plays a crucial role in ensuring the smooth flow of crude oil from production fields to refineries, where it is processed and converted into usable products such as gasoline, diesel, and jet fuel. The demand for crude oil is constantly increasing due to the growing population, urbanization, and industrialization, making efficient transportation a necessity. Market Key Trends: One key trend driving the growth of the crude transportation market is the increased use of pipelines. Pipelines are considered the most efficient and cost-effective mode of transporting crude oil over long distances. They offer several advantages, including higher capacity, lower operating costs, and reduced environmental impact compared to other modes of transportation. For example, the Keystone Pipeline system in North America has a capacity of transporting over 590,000 barrels of crude oil per day. PEST Analysis: Political: The political factors influencing the crude transportation market include government regulations and policies related to energy security, environmental protection, and infrastructure development. For instance, the approval or rejection of major pipeline projects often depends on political factors and public sentiment. Economic: Economic factors such as oil prices, market demand, and economic growth influence the demand for crude transportation services. Higher oil prices incentivize increased production, leading to higher demand for transportation services. Social: Social factors such as growing energy consumption, rising population, and changing consumer preferences impact the crude transportation market. The increasing demand for petroleum products from various industries and households drives the need for efficient transportation. Technological: Technological advancements have significantly improved the efficiency and safety of crude transportation. For example, advanced pipeline monitoring systems and leak detection technologies help prevent accidents and minimize environmental impacts. Key Takeaways: 1: The Global Crude Transportation Market Size is expected to witness high growth, exhibiting a CAGR of 6% over the forecast period. This growth can be attributed to increasing oil and gas exploration activities, which drive the demand for efficient transportation solutions. 2: In terms of regional analysis, North America is expected to be the fastest-growing and dominating region in the crude transportation market. The region has a well-developed pipeline infrastructure and is a major producer of crude oil. Furthermore, the shale oil boom in the United States has contributed to the increased demand for crude transportation services. 3: Key players operating in the global crude transportation market include ExxonMobil Corporation, Royal Dutch Shell, Chevron Corporation, BP plc, TotalEnergies SE, ConocoPhillips, China National Petroleum Corporation, Saudi Aramco, Rosneft Oil Company, Valero Energy Corporation, Phillips 66, Marathon Petroleum Corporation, PetroChina Company Limited, Kinder Morgan Inc., and Enbridge Inc. These players are focused on expanding their pipeline networks, investing in advanced technologies, and improving operational efficiency to meet the growing demand for crude transportation.

[kp777]

By Julia Conley

Common Dreams

April 15, 2024

Climate action groups are vehemently rejecting the Biden administration's claim that the approval of a new offshore oil terminal—planned to be the largest in the U.S.—is in the "national interest," after the U.S. Department of Transportation announced the project had met several federal requirements and could begin operations by 2027.

The agency's Maritime Administration said last week that Enterprise Product Partners, a Houston-based pipeline company, had been granted a deepwater port license to build the Sea Port Oil Terminal (SPOT) near Freeport, Texas following a five-year federal review process.

The federal government determined the $1.8 billion terminal project had undergone sufficient environmental impact reviews and would overall benefit the country—even as it was projected by the Sierra Club, which has fought SPOT for several years, to emit greenhouse gases equivalent to those of nearly 90 coal-fired power plants.

"The evidence is clear that SPOT would be catastrophic to the climate, wildlife, and frontline communities of the Gulf," said Devorah Ancel, senior attorney with the Sierra Club. "It threatens the future existence of the endangered Rice's whale with a population of less than fifty, and its ozone pollution would compromise the health of thousands of Gulf residents who have endured decades of fossil fuel industry pollution. Make no mistake, SPOT is not in the national interest."

The project is expected to include two pipelines that would carry crude oil to the deepwater port each day, enabling the export of 2 million barrels of crude oil, loaded onto two supertankers at once, daily.

"Nothing about this project is in alignment with Biden's climate and environmental justice goals," said Kelsey Crane, senior policy advocate at Earthworks. "The communities that will be impacted by SPOT have once again been ignored and will be forced to live with the threat of more oil spills, explosions, and pollution. The best way to protect the public and the climate from the harms of oil is to keep it in the ground."

Allie Rosenbluth, U.S. manager at Oil Change International, noted that the project has been approved despite the International Energy Agency's clear assessment in 2021 that "all new investments in oil and gas projects must stop if the world is going to reach its climate goals," including limiting planetary heating to 1.5°C.

"The Biden administration's decision to approve the Sea Port Oil Terminal is a grave mistake. This approval will only harm local communities and ecosystems, and lead to even more devastating impacts of the climate crisis," said Rosenbluth. "The U.S. is already the largest producer of oil and gas and has the largest expansion plans globally. Instead of continuing this legacy of harm by approving fossil fuel projects, President Biden should be listening to the science and the masses of his constituents calling for an end to fossil fuels."

The direct action group Climate Defiance expressed doubt that the approval of SPOT will help Biden win over any voters as the 2024 election approaches.

Nine in 10 Democratic voters and Democratic-leaning independents told Pew Research Center last year that they believe the U.S. should prioritize developing renewable energy sources—and two-thirds of Republican voters under age 30 agreed.

"This project would be the single-largest oil export terminal in the U.S." said the group. "We are being boiled alive here, literally burned to death by 'moderate' politicians who see fit to torch us in the name of quarterly profits. How can we live like this? How can this go on?"

Last year was the hottest on record, and the first three months of 2024 have each broken records for high global temperatures. Scientists found last year that climate disasters including wildfires in Canada and extreme heat in Europe were made far more likely by fossil-fueled planetary heating.

Local organizers in Texas condemned the Biden administration's decision to ignore campaigners who have warned of the danger SPOT poses to marine habitats as well as people who live in the area where two crude oil pipelines have now been given final approval to run.

"We continue to struggle to see why Biden and [Transportation Secretary Pete] Buttigieg prefer to protect the corporate profits of billion-dollar oil giants like Enbridge and Enterprise over the hardcore objections of the people who would have to live with the consequences of pipelines criss-crossing our beaches," said Trevor Carroll, Brazoria County lead organizer with Texas Campaign for the Environment. "If you care about environmental justice and the climate, you just can't support a monstrosity like SPOT. The local community and the global climate justice movement are continuing to fight... This is not over."

Melanie Oldham, director of Better Brazoria, said SPOT will be "an oil spill waiting to happen that would not only lower property value, but harm our local ecosystems, ecotourism, beaches, recreation, and kill marine life like the endangered Rice's whale and Kemp's Ridley sea turtles."

"Those of us residents, beachgoers, and voters that have for the past four years opposed the SPOT offshore terminal and pipelines are very disappointed with the approval of the project license," said Oldham. "President Biden has again broken promises to protect frontline communities in Surfside and Freeport."

The administration's approval came three months after the White House announced it was delaying consideration of new gas export terminals, and the same day the federal government said fossil fuel companies will have to pay higher royalties in order to drill on federal lands.

But those climate actions paired with the SPOT approval amount only to "flip flopping," said Climate Defiance.

"It is not enough that the administration stopped new gas exports if they are going to back stab us with this death-sentence decision now," said the group. "This is not us being 'ungrateful.' This is the science. The pure, unvarnished, science."

[mectech1]

Mectech Palm Oil Refinery Plant- A Legacy of Innovation and Excellence

Oil processing, often known as refining, is the conversion of crude oil into usable products such as petrol, diesel, kerosene, and other petrochemicals. The refining process consists of multiple essential steps, including separation, conversion, treatment, blending, and other refining processes.

Oil refining is a complicated and energy-intensive process that necessitates advanced equipment and technology. It is an important link in the worldwide energy supply chain, providing fuel for transportation, heating, and electricity generation, as well as raw materials for the petrochemical sector.

Of all the oil refining and processing industries, palm oil refinery is the most important sector as it is a very complex oil and for its production it requires good quality plant.

Palm Oil Refining

Palm oil refining industries are among the world's most important manufacturing sectors, and palm oil has grown to become the world's most traded vegetable oil. Indonesia and Malaysia are the main producers, with exporting enterprises for crude palm oil.

Crude palm oil is derived from palm oil's mesocarp. Extracted Crude Palm oil contains some undesirable contaminants, which must be eliminated partially or fully throughout the palm oil refining process to produce good edible oil with increased stability and keepability.

Palm oil is currently a popular cooking oil in many tropical nations, including South East Asia, Africa, and sections of Brazil. Its popularity is attributed due to its higher heat resistance as compared to any other vegetable oil and also because of its lower cost and good oxidative stability.

Palm's unique and finest quality is that it generates two forms of oil: palm oil and palm kernel oil.

Palm oil is derived from the flesh of the palm fruit, whereas palm kernel oil is extracted from the seeds or kernel of the palm fruit using the palm kernel oil process.

Palm oil is derived from fresh palm fruit flesh through pressing and centrifugation at a palm oil facility. To avoid deterioration of Palm Oil, it must be extracted from fresh palm fruit. As a result, countries that cultivate palm oil remove it to prevent it from deteriorating. The crude palm oil's colour is yellow-red or dark yellow, and its taste is sweet.

The crude palm oil extracted contains undesired contaminants, which hurt the oil's physical appearance, quality, oxidative stability, and shelf life. To eliminate the aforementioned pollutants, the oil is sent to a palm oil refinery plant, where it is refined, bleached, and deodorised. After refining the palm oil, the RBD oil is sent to the fractionation unit to extract palm olein and stearin.

Palm Oil Refinery Plant

Palm oil refining is divided into the sections below:

In most palm oil refining plants, the refining process is a vital stage in the manufacture of edible oils and fats. The finished product's properties that must be monitored include flavour, shelf life, stability, and colour.

Crude vegetable oil can be refined in two ways: physically or chemically. During crude palm oil refining, FFA is removed to obtain a maximum FFA level of 0.1%.

Physical refining typically has a smaller environmental impact than chemical refining.

Bleaching edible oils and fats is an important step in the refining process for crude oils and fat. It does eliminate numerous contaminants, which hurt the physical look and quality of the oil. Generally, the oil is taken to the bleaching section first, and the gums are treated with phosphoric acid so that they may be separated in the pressure leaf filter after bleaching.

During this stage, the adsorptive activity of bleaching earth removes trace metal complexes like iron and copper, colouring pigments, phosphatides, and oxidative products.

This bleached oil is next filtered through industrial filters such as a filter press, a hermetically sealed vertical leaf pressure filter, a plate, or a frame filter.

Mectech's unique bleacher design keeps the bleaching earth in full suspension, resulting in no dead zones and lower utility use. Mectech Bleacher guarantees high-quality oil because the bleaching procedure for crude palm oil is carried out under controlled conditions.

Mectech also excels in supplying facilities for rice bran oil processing refinery in India and abroad. Mectech Rice Bran Oil Extraction Machinery in India and abroad offers the following advantages.

[firejugglinghobo]

//"Basta" is a grammatical word in the language I'm learning (Bisaya) - loosely translates as "if". So I get a little secret fun every time I hear the word out and about or when it comes up in class. Which also gets me super distracted from whatever the topic actually is but that's life I guess.

[mariacallous]

https://meidasnews.com/news/republican-mayor-of-3rd-largest-city-in-az-endorses-harris

John Giles, the Republican Mayor of Mesa, Arizona, wrote an OpEd today for the Arizona Republic stating the reasons why he is endorsing Kamala Harris for President. Mesa is the 3rd largest city in Arizona, and the Arizona Republic is the largest newspaper by circulation in the crucial battleground state. 

Giles listed the following reasons why he can't support Donald Trump: 1. He refused to accept the outcome of the 2020 election, and continues to do so. 2. He continues to trash the American legal system to delegitimize it. 3. He orchestrated the "fake elector" scheme in Arizona. 4. He orchestrated the sham "audit" of the election by the Arizona Senate and Cyber Ninjas. 5. He blocked the bipartisan border bill negotiated in the Senate. 6. He treated Infrastructure Week like a joke when cities like his badly needed it.

7. He is a convicted felon and threat to the nation. 8. He has threatened to abandoned NATO. 9. He has eroded public confidence in our institutions. 10. His advisors and associates drafted Project 2025, which is a threat to our freedoms. 11. He is crude and vulgar. Giles then listed the reasons why he isn't just anti-Trump, he is also pro-Harris: 1. The Administration delivered on their promise with infrastructure funding for the Phoenix-Mesa Airport, and made technological investments in the transportation sector. 2. Thousands of new jobs are being created in Arizona with the CHIPS Act. 3. She has taken a strong stand against gun violence. 4. She has taken a strong stand for women's rights which are under assault from MAGA Republicans.

Giles then concluded with the following: "We can choose a future for our children and grandchildren based on decency, respect and morality — or succumb to the crudeness and vulgarity of Trump and J.D. Vance and the far-right agenda they would champion.

Arizona leaders like McCain and Sen. Mark Kelly have embodied the commitment to country over party. And it’s that same high caliber of character and leadership I see in Vice President Harris.

That’s why I’m standing with her. Kamala Harris is the competent, just and fair leader our country deserves. This year too much is at stake to vote Republican at the top of the ticket.

It will take Arizona Republicans, independents and Democrats standing together against a far-right agenda. Let us put country over party by voting to stop Trump and protect our democracy."

Powerful stuff. 

Winning back Arizona is crucial for Donald Trump. It is difficult to see any electoral path to victory for Trump without Arizona. He has continued to support candidates in that state like Kari Lake and Blake Masters who are toxic to moderate voters. He continues to attack the McCain family, who remain popular with those same moderate Arizona voters. 

This endorsement by Giles certainly doesn't help Donald Trump, and gives a big boost to Kamala Harris in Arizona.

[reality-detective]

Thinking that countries can run on breezes is worse than delusional.

A two-megawatt windmill is made up of 260 tons of steel that required 300 tons of iron ore and 170 tons of coking coal, all mined, transported and produced by hydrocarbons.

They each consume 10'000 liters (more than 2600 gallons) of crude oil based lubricants per year.

When outdated, the wind turbines are being buried deep in forests, out of public view, due to the high costs associated with recycling them.

A windmill could spin until it falls apart and it will NEVER, EVER generate as much energy as was used in building it. 🤔

[dsiddhant]

The global Offshore Pipeline Market is expected to grow from USD 14.8 billion in 2022 to USD 18.6 billion by 2027, at a CAGR of 4.7% according to...

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 23

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I’m so relieved to finally be getting to this fun part of the story!

word count: 5,699

-Part 22-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Already there’s a horse and cart in the street, trunks and chests neatly stacked in the back, iron padlocks weighing heavy to keep possessions sealed. Blankets and rugs are tied in bundles, bedsheets and pillowcases that you can still smell, remember the feel of them; the warmth they retained. The heat of bare skin flush to your back. Sleepy golden eyes, sharp even when softened by early morning light. 

There’s a lump in your throat. 

Held between two chests is an open-topped crate, a myriad of personal belongings jumbled about inside: a box you know contains golden rings, his favourite being the one plain band that wraps two hands around his thumb, clinging snugly; a board game you’d tried to play after drinking, back before you’d become closer than friends; wooden goblets with geometric designs burned into their curve; a pair of glasses with circular, coloured lenses. A stack of something wrapped in cloth which must be crockery, ceramic plates with illustrations of crude figures pick-axing ice. A neatly folded quilt is tied down to one of the chests, the one that had been tucked over the back of his armchair, made up of pinks, oranges, magentas, and turquoise. Small tassels hanging off the ends that he’d made himself. 

The door to his house is propped open with a wedge crafted of iron, featuring a rabbit in a coat with carrots stuffed in his pockets. Bas’ figure emerges from the comparative darkness lofting a second, smaller crate in his arms. His eyes find yours but he makes no reaction save for the tightening of the skin at his knuckles. He exits through the waist-high wooden gate, walking to the back of the cart to heft the crate in front of the one your eyes had been previously resting on. “Hi,” you say, stepping closer but pausing a respectful distance away. Bas makes no sign of acknowledgement, muscles in his forearms flexing as he hefts the crate into place, pressing it flush to the back. You consider walking away—he clearly isn’t interested in speaking with you, but… “You’re leaving already?” 

Bas turns, his expression unchanging, still retaining the frown of concentration from transporting heavy objects to and fro but seemingly colder now you’ve appeared. His stature casts a shadow over you. “Something you want?” He asks, tone clipped but not quite sharp enough to be impatient. Softened at the end. You watch him for a moment—nothing seems sufficient enough or appropriate. ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I miss you’, ‘how are you’. Would any of those suffice? You can’t imagine them doing so. Instead you shift on your feet, casting a portion of your attention to the moving wagon standing stationary at the foot of his front garden. “It looks like you’ll be gone soon,” you observe, speaking quieter than normal for an open day. After a beat, Bas folds his arms over his chest. “Either tomorrow or the day after.” Golden eyes shift to the cart, glancing over the trunks, “Ma’s still got a few things to pack, but once those are loaded we’ll be off.” 

Off and gone to the Winter Court, almost entirely out of your reach. You only have six months left to live—do you have enough time to spend on giving him space? You can’t expect him to forgive you so suddenly, so swiftly. People aren’t made like that. But can you risk that time? If you die before seeing him again, or if this is the last time you see him you can’t risk being anything other than honest. But being honest in a situation like this…you need the time to pass to give it the deserved weight. Springing your timeline on him… You don’t want to tell him like this. So instead you look over your shoulder, glancing back into his house. “Got any more boxes that need carrying?” 

“Carrying boxes isn’t going to fix shit,” Bas mutters, the poisoned tone catching you off guard. Have you earned yourself that venom? Apparently so. 

“I just want to help,” you murmur, looking back at him. “I might not get to see you again.” 

“Your sister’s High Lady. I’m sure reaching Winter Court would hardly require a lift of her fingertips,” Bas snaps. His lips press themselves together, like he regrets the outburst. You look down, peering at the cobbles beneath your feet and give a small shake of your head. “I… If you don’t want me there, I won’t visit.” The words sting your throat like bile, hating how they sound on your tongue. “If you want your space I won’t intrude. But it… Obviously I’d like to be able to see you again.” 

A few beats pass without a reply, the quiet resting on your shoulders and you make an effort not to let it ruin the moment. You clear your throat, shaking off the mood and glancing up at him, “So. Any crates I can take?” Your heart quickens—if he denies you here it’s a full stop. You can’t imagine you’d be able to find him again if you lose him. The Winter Court is large, and their ties already strained with the Night Court—there’ll be no strings to pull. But it’s his decision now. It’s in his hands. 

Bas’ jaw works, his eyes narrowing on you in a way they haven’t done in a long time, but it seems he relents, nodding once toward his house, a loc falling across his temple with the sharp movement. “There are two small boxes in the front entrance, one contains shoes and fabrics, and the other contains herbs. Herbs go on top, yeah?” You nod your head, keeping the smile locked up tight. “Herbs go on top.” 

The box full of shoes is surprisingly weighty and you wonder if there are more than a few pairs of boots inside, studded with metal that might be weighing the crate down in your arms. Still you manage, sliding it into place on the last row of space available in the wagon before heading back to collect the box of herbs. You can pick out some of the scents: tarragon, mint, thyme. A hint of pepper and cardamon. The slight warmth of cinnamon and ginger. Rosemary. “I won’t forgive you if you try and make off with my herb box,” a voice calls from further inside. 

You start, gripping the small chest tight. 

Bas is watching from the living room doorway that leads to the hallway, stairs appearing behind him and the kitchen a little further beyond. It’s disturbing in a surreal way, to be standing inside the bones of his home. Gone are the dried herbs and flowers that had been strung along the walls and ceiling beams, rug removed from the floors and furniture sparse of cushions and quilts. Everything that made it a home, every personal detail seems to have been painstakingly stripped away, leaving only that scent of rosemary and freshly tilled earth that has familiarity stretching aching limbs in your chest. 

You summon a huff of laughter, glinting down at the plain chest. “It’s certainly tempting me…” You remember trying foods with him. Things you didn’t have access to in the woods. Dishes you wouldn’t have had access to even if you’d remained in high society. All the different herbs and spices they have here, in Prythian. The range of climates allowing for a variety of taste to grow. You remember the first time he’d soaked chicken in wine among other things, how the meat had tasted a little more bearable, flavoured and soft and tender. Feeling more like meat than leather, without the salty burn to help preserve the food.

“One more upstairs then it’s on Ma.” Bas’ statement cuts through the silent memories washing through, bringing a tremble to your fingertips but you nod. Once you load this chest into the wagon then it’s done on your end. Nothing to keep the conversation going. You manage a small smile but don’t meet his eyes as you turn with the chest in hand, walking it out to the cart and loading it in. From inside you pick out the footfalls of Bas descending the staircase and you stand back to give him room. He slides the box into place and lifts the panels of wood that will prevent any trunks from sliding out on an uphill, latching it in place. Safe and secure. 

For some reason you can’t look at him. As if looking at him will mean acknowledging it’s over, and he’s going away. 

For a moment you simply stand alongside the wagon, neither sure what to say, what to do now the shared task has been completed. Now it’s time for another decision to be made. 

Bas breaks the silence. “Thanks for the help.” You look at him, running your eyes over his expression, trying to gain hints to what’s okay to reply with. Trying to make the right choices. “Thanks for letting me help,” you reply, clearing your throat and glancing back to the wagon. Bas pats his hand once against the wood, shifting to lean his weight against the structure. “We’re going to be heading up northeast first,” he tells you and your ears prick with hope. “Ma’s got a sister who lives around there—near the coast. They haven’t spoken in a long time, but she figured if we’re moving it would be good to let her know.” 

You nod your head slowly. “Have you met your aunt before?” Bas shrugs his shoulders, his eyes skating across belongings piled up in the back, “don’t think so. Not one I can remember, at least.” You nod again, looking toward the cobbles. You should be going. Letting him get on with packing up and moving. “I hope-” Your voice catches and you have to clear your throat, swallowing a breath. Looking up a little to meet his eyes. “I hope things are better for you, wherever you go. For you and your mother.” Is that too far? Have you pushed too much? Bas seems to be asking himself the same questions, and you hope he comes to a different conclusion. 

“Pa mentioned a statue to me once,” he says softly. “One made entirely out of ice, with snakes carved, wrapping around the feet of the first High Lord of the Winter Court. Apparently it’s about the height of one of the Old Pine’s and every scale of the snake’s skin was carved by the same hand.” Bas shifts, his golden eyes locking with yours. “I hadn’t thought much of it, but we’ll be trying to find a spot around that statue since it’s where Pa grew up. Something he remembered from his childhood.” 

Your heart falls numb for a second before skipping into a swift pulse, bumping against your ribs and you take in a subtle breath. You nod your head. Ice statue with snakes. Relief strikes so hard your legs are weakened, having to shift your weight from one hip to the other so a knee doesn’t buckle. “I hope you get to see it,” you manage, sounding strained before you swallow, nodding your head. “I hope you find what you’re looking for there.” 

Bas’ mouth tightens into something that might have been a smile, then he’s nodding his head once in reply and patting the cart again. “I need to check on Ma now—see how she’s managing with packing.” He pushes off from the wagon, and you turn to watch him pass through the waist-high garden gate. He pauses. 

“Give me some time though, yeah? I need…time. Some space. Let me adjust and settle down for a bit.”

You nod your head, happy enough he seems to be allowing you to visit. You can work from there. Earn back his trust. You realise he has his back turned and can’t see you, so offer your reply, “I will.” You want to say more. I’ll miss you until then. I’m sorry. Thank you. 

But, time. 

You still have some of that left to give. 

————

You take your time walking back to the River House, following the Sidra for some way. Affording yourself the allowance to peer in shop windows, gaze at people going about their lives, wondering about what their own stories are. 

You’re happy Bas decided to tell you. Not just about where he would be moving to but about the route he’d be taking to bypass his aunt. You know he didn’t have to tell you. You weren’t entitled to that knowledge, but he decided to tell you anyway. A small piece of forgiveness—a small, tentative first step. After so much darkness in your life it seems like a tiny star twinkling in the sky, clouds parting just long enough to catch a glimpse. A promise that there is good in the world, and if you’re in a bad place now it would be foolish to stop. 

You need to keep going in order to escape it. 

————

The kitchen is surprisingly full when you enter the entry way, discarding your cloak and outer layers to the hooks on the walls, taking care to ease out the ties of your boots before also discarding them alongside other sets. 

Inside there’s no need for jumpers or cloaks, fleeces or scarves. A muffled pop of a log sounds from the living room, honestly sounding closer to someone stepping heavily on an upper floorboard but there’s something about the warmth that tells you the fire’s lit. That and you can make out the faded orange flicker on the wall parallel to the living room’s door where flame light is colouring the cream wallpaper. The smell of heated food catches your attention and your stomach shifts in response, squeezing itself together in complaint as if to remind you of how empty it is. Some warmed bread and butter would be lovely to start the day with. There might even be some chilled clotted cream available in the ice-enchanted larder. 

Rounding the corner, you’re sure you haven’t ever seen the kitchen so full. Glancing at the clock mounted on the wall beside the crockery cabinet however, you realise it’s approaching lunch time. You suppose it makes sense—if Madja’s at ten O’clock and you left after that to visit Bas, then taking your time to walk back will have brought you to lunch. That would explain the business. 

Already there’s crackling from cooking oil on the stove, the smell of heated bread and salt, the slight fattiness of meat mixing with the sweetness of sliced fruit coming from another side of the large kitchen. An egg cracks and you hear the sizzle of it as it hits the pan, the knock of steel as it slices into a chopping board, the smell of chives, onions, and tomatoes greeting you next. On the main table sits sliced bread, baked through with diced olives and rosemary, butter sitting ready for the taking on a platter with a flattened knife propped on the tray’s side. 

Feyre, Mor, and Amren are already seated at the table, each with a plate of what appears to be mashed potato surrounded by steamed beans and thickly cut ovals of tender meat. Amren's plate holds meat more that anything else. Feyre tips a deep boat of spiced sauce over her mash so it drizzles atop the vegetables before passing the boat to Mor, seeming not to care they’re eating in the kitchen rather than the connected dining room. Nesta barks something at Cassian over the loud fritz of the oil and he passes two plates to her side before returning to the chopping board, a few moments later stepping close to her side to slide the sliced chives into the pan with the eggs. A shadow whisks past you into the room, depositing salt and pepper to the side of the stove before hurriedly returning the way it had come. You turn your head quick enough to catch as it scampers back to the upper floors, disappearing through the ceiling. 

At a side along the window-lined wall is Elain, pressing her fork into some well-mashed banana before scraping it off onto some toasted bread, already softened with butter. You make your way over, taking the serrated bread knife from beside her plate to cut a slice yourself, liking the look of the thick crust and seed-scattered bread. Her eyes find you and a smile follows swiftly after, taking in your appearance, “Was it you I heard come in?” You nod, holding the bread firmly as you grind the knife forward to cut the crust, “I forgot to eat breakfast before heading out and lost track of time.”

Pulling a plate down from one of the stacks inside a cabinet with a window in you move the slice from the chopping board, “You’re having lunch?” Elain’s cheeks warm, her lips tightening as she looks guiltily out onto the front garden. “My sleep was troubled,” she admits, “I only awoke around ten thirty this morning.” 

Your brows furrow. “You’re sleeping poorly?” 

“It seems that way.” Elain exhales, pausing the sweep of her knife across the mashed banana. “It’s just the same thing over and over again. I wish the beginning would fade now it’s passed but apparently I must watch the whole sequence from start to finish.” 

She’s still getting the vision? 

You look away from her—down to the side table, “I’m sorry.” But Elain shakes her head, sighing once more before straightening her shoulders. “I’m okay. It’s just a bit of lost sleep.” Before you can ask her anymore however, the sound of footsteps catch your attention, Rhysand and Azriel apparently having finished up whatever had been keeping them from joining the lunch. Elain pushes a smile to her lips then gestures with her eyes to the table, suggesting taking a seat. You follow after her. 

“Finally given up work to grace us with your presence?” Feyre muses, resting her chin atop the smooth skin of her tough knuckles. Rhysand lifts a brow, his mouth curving with a fondness specifically meant for his mate, “I gave you plenty of attention this morning, Feyre.” But your youngest sister doesn’t blush like you would have had a lover repeated those same words for you. Instead her mouth matches his curve, blue-grey eyes alight with twinkling mischief as she inclines her head toward Azriel. “In fact I was speaking to your Shadowsinger. His presence is much more appreciated.” The male in question dips his head by a degree, taking his seat beside Amren as silently as possible while the High Lord and Lady continue their domestic teasing. 

“Is that so?” Rhysand remarks, seating himself in the chair to Feyre’s right, opposite Mor. “Will you tell me what’s so much more appreciated about my brother’s presence than my own?” Feyre arches a brow, her smile widening, “I wouldn’t want to hurt your ego, preening and engorged as it is.” Rhys’ expression shifts to something verging on smug but Mor stabs a thick oval of meat with her fork, lifting it from the plate, shifting it between Rhys and Feyre, “enough from both of you. I don’t want to hear this over lunch.” The compass point of her fork settles on her cousin, Mor’s nose wrinkling, “Az also isn’t a smug bastard, unlike someone else I can think of.”

Elain takes the open seat beside Rhysand and opposite Amren, setting her plate down and drawing her chair back, leaving you to stiffly take the one at her side, across from Azriel. What poor seating choices you’ve all made.

Behind Amren and Azriel, Nesta presses to Cassian’s side who’s holding the plates aloft, keeping them steady as Nesta transfers the four eggs in the pan between them, two soft yolks for the two slices of buttered bread atop each plate. 

“Azriel also remembered to bring me blood more frequently than yourself, Rhys,” Amren drawls from opposite Elain, a wicked croon on her crimson-cut mouth. “Even when he didn’t want information from me,” she adds pointedly. Rhys tilts his head, a plate appearing out of thin air before him on the table along with cutlery and a napkin, “and who’s to say those weren’t gifts sent along from myself?” But Amren doesn’t fall for it, reaching for a glass of red wine, “You won’t fool me, boy.” Rhysand shrugs his shoulders, unbothered by her relaxed attitude. “I suppose if you were still of the inclination to accept bottles of lamb’s blood you’d be receiving a box’s worth. I have a request to make of you.” 

Amren inclines her head, the black cut of her hair slicing along her sharp jaw, faint interest in her silver eyes, “Pray tell”.

Nesta casts salt and pepper over the plates of eggs and chives, then the two of them join the table. As Cassian departed before Nesta, he fills the seat to your right, while Nesta settles in the space opposite him, to Azriel’s left. The only way the current arrangement could be made worse is if Rhysand and Elain were to swap seats. You grimace internally and treasure her presence. 

The High Lord inclines his head to Azriel whose shadows settle a map of Prythian to the centre of the kitchen table. “Cassian and Nesta have already checked through Helion’s libraries. That means excluding the Night Court, there are five other Courts to examine.” As he speaks, thin shadow seeps across the parchment to darken the land of Night and Day, signalling they’ve each been studied.

“Between us,” Rhysand continues, “we can split between those remaining Courts, in turn accessing their libraries. Where I’ll need your help, dear Amren, is translating the books we encounter in the Old Language. I would rather not have to take them all on myself.” Rhysand pauses, lifting violet eyes from the map to the slight female diagonal from his seat, “What do you say?” 

Amren seems to consider his request and you have to fathom how respected she is to so idly take her time considering a request from a High Lord. A few beats pass as her grey eyes trace the island, then blood red lips are cutting into a grin, moon-white teeth flashing in her mouth, “I think I’m going to enjoy opening my Solstice presents this year.” 

Rhysand smiles and you wonder if he was confident Amren would accept or whether this was a gamble on his part. Feyre would probably be able to tell.

Across from the High Lord, Mor clinks her glass with Amren’s, the two females grinning from the other side of the table. There’s a smile on Feyre’s face but you imagine it’s one of those ones that rather than being of your own choice is truly the result of the infectious kind of happiness—seeing people you love enjoying themselves. 

From the other end of the table however, Nesta is studying the map, her silver eyes not even scanning the table before they’re finding Rhysand—suitably distanced from one another. “Five courts and seven of us. I would think you and Feyre would be remaining in the Night Court, leaving us with a court each,” Nesta points out, her tone verging on mild boredom. Steel glints in her hands as cutlery catches the light. “Do you intend for us each to cover the libraries of a court, or do you possess secret reinforcements on hand?” 

The beat of pause that follows her inquiry stretches a fraction of a second longer than it normally would, the tensing as if preparing for a collision to occur as it always feels when those two acknowledge one another. But Rhysand inclines his head to his right and the tension dissipates as swiftly as it had gathered. “I wouldn’t call your sisters secrets,” he muses, slowly. “But yes: reinforcements.” 

You blink. 

From the stiffness of Elain’s shoulders you imagine this is news to her, too, which brings you some level of comfort. More comfort when Elain is the one who meets Rhysand’s gaze, asking, “scouring the libraries for—what?” The relief settles deep. This setting is mildly frightening as it is without the pressure of handling easily observable interactions with others.

Rhysand’s attention settles onto Elain but you get the strange feeling it’s somehow also extending to yourself, “I believe Lucien mentioned the matter of the Prison.” Violet eyes flick over to you. “And that Feyre offered an explanation of the situation last night?” You avoid an answer by diverting your own attention to Elain who is still watching the High Lord. She nods. 

“Would you be willing to help?” Rhysand asks, without much preamble. 

Help? Help how? If it means coming into contact with a single creature that’s supposed to be inside that Prison your answer has to be a firm no. If it means attempting to wield even an ounce of your magic that seems to be sucking the marrow from your bones every passing day your answer has to be a firm no. If it means- 

Your thinking time comes to an end when Elain nods her head, and violet eyes once again flick past her onto yourself. Decision time.

You shift in your seat, unwilling to offer a definite answer, “If I can.” 

The High Lord nods and again you wonder if it was a gamble in relying on your help. As Nesta pointed out, one each to a Court seems an impossible task. But how are two extras going to aid that task? You’d have to pair up, but there would still not be enough of you. This seems to be Rhysand’s next subject matter as he again nods to Azriel, shadows pulling the map closer to the centre of the table so all can see it. Besides you, Cassian’s torso blocks out light as he leans forward, wings casting shadow upon the floor as you each examine the map with new eyes.

“So who’s tasked with which Court?” The General asks, “And who’s taking a solo trip?” 

Instinctively you’d imagine Azriel and Mor would be the two to travel solo—they seem to be the most suited to handling a task like this on their own, but what do you know?

“Well you certainly won’t be visiting Summer Court after obliterating that building,” Mor deadpans. 

“It shouldn’t have been built there,” Cassian replies with a look of mischief.

Leaning closer, Nesta nods her head to the map, “I don’t think Spring Court is a good idea for Cassian and I. I could manage Tamlin but I threatened him the last time I saw him.” Cassian’s smile widens. You guess it makes sense those two would be a pair. “If Summer Court is off the table then we’ll take either Dawn Court or Autumn Court.” 

Right.

Someone’s going to have to scour the Autumn Court. 

Besides you, Elain clears her throat. “I could go to the Spring Court.” She shifts in her seat, nodding to the lower portion of fae-inhabited lands. “I’m sure if I asked, Lucien would be willing to accompany me, and we have an alliance with them, too. I don’t imagine the High Lord of Spring being a great threat to myself but he certainly won’t be to Lu.” It’s a surprisingly sound argument. But if Elain pairs with Lucien than means you’ll be either with Mor or Amren—unless you could remain here and help search any other books in the Night Court with Feyre. 

Just as you’re about to offer the option however, Azriel speaks. “Are your ties with Viviane still sustaining, Mor?”

Mor nods her head though her smile fades almost imperceptibly.

The Shadowsinger nods. “If Mor handles the Winter Court, and Elain and Lucien take the Spring Court, that leaves Dawn, Summer, and Autumn between the rest of us.” Azriel’s shadows shift, further darkening the Courts now with assigned explorers. “Feyre and Rhysand will be staying here, taking care of ruling and the Illyrian texts?” 

The High Lord nods his head, “I’ll be covering the Hewn City, too, and splitting any ancient books between Amren and myself. Feyre will be helping with newcomers.”

“And if Cassian and Nesta are planning to move together that leaves the Summer Court,” Azriel states, hazel eyes find your own set across the table, “which you and I will cover.” 

You try to convince yourself the silence that passes over the table doesn’t stretch like you think it does. 

Hazel eyes hold yours for a second longer before returning back to the map, the Summer Court now tentatively cast in shadow. “That means Cassian and Nesta can take either Dawn or Autumn, but one pair will have to take two courts.” 

At your side, Elain fumbles. “She could come with me,” Elain pushes, “I’m sure she could help in Spring.” 

“Or with me and Cassian,” Nesta presses. 

“She could stay here,” Feyre adds, then turns to Rhysand. “Besides, the Summer Court libraries are part of the Old Temple they have which are deep in the jungle, aren’t they?” Her blue-grey eyes fall to the map, brows pinched, standing from her chair and Mor slides the map along so Feyre can jab her nail to the thick jungle of the Summer Court, an X marked in its middle. “Those jungles are dense, aren’t they,” Nesta adds, glancing to Cassian, a hard look on her face, “no flying overhead.” 

“Which is why we should be the ones to go,” Azriel says, keeping calm but firm. 

Nesta narrows her eyes, silver boring into the male at her side. “The creatures in that jungle are magical, like most of the beasts spread across Prythian. Not to mention poison and venom, and parasites in water streams unless you know which are fresh and safe to drink from. Even the beetles can be lethal, so unless you take a guide which may alert your presence in a foreign court, it will be too dangerous.” 

“Then it’s perfect that she can tell the difference between the poisonous creatures and the harmless ones.”

Azriel holds Nesta’s gaze for a beat before turning to you. “You’ve read about the jungle haven’t you. About the creatures inside?”

You mentioned the spiders the other day.

“I can go with her instead,” Nesta says, eyes sharpening. 

“You won’t be able to protect her as well as I can.” There’s no condescension in his statement, just fact. She’s learning from him and Cassian how to fight, after all. How to wield a blade. 

Nesta’s eyes remain sharp, not straying a second from their target. The temperature seems to rise, air thickening. You swallow, tongue flicking out over dry lips, “I could tell them apart.”

“No. You already have a limited life-span; you aren’t shortening it any further,” Nesta says calmly, her eyes still piercing into Azriel. And yet it’s Elain who shifts again in her seat, sitting straighter, “If she says she can tell the difference, she can tell the difference.” Elain looks over to you, a small smile on her lips. “She’s the best one to send to the Summer Court.”

A muscle flickers in Nesta’s jaw, a few, heavy moments of tension weighing through the room that have your pulse spiking for no discernible reason. Then it ends, and Nesta looks back to the map. “So Cassian and I will take the Dawn Court and the Autumn Court.” 

“You’ll only be taking the Dawn Court.” At the sound of Rhysand’s voice, Nesta’s eyes turn pure silver for a fraction of a second.

She arches a narrow brow, her expression sharper than an Illyrian blade. “So you’ll send Mor instead?” She asks, the hiss of slicing steel underlying her honed tone. “Or do you think you can get Lucien to squeeze his way back into his home-Court?” There’s a dangerous challenge in her silver eyes. 

“Neither,” the High Lord answers, slowly. “Feyre, Amren, and I will remain here. Myself searching the libraries the priestess’ cannot cover, Amren for backup on the ancient texts, and Feyre with helping as we begin a slow evacuation of the towns surrounding the Prison as a precaution and preventative. Mor will cover Winter, Elain and Lucien will cover Spring, and you and Cassian will cover Dawn.”

Even Feyre’s looking at him strangely.

“The Summer Court boarders the Autumn Court,” Rhysand states. “We can’t afford to waste time making extra journeys.” 

So you and Azriel will be taking both the Summer Court, and the Autumn Court. 

Rhysand breaks his gaze with Nesta only to find your eyes further along the table. They’re steadfast. Grounded. “Will you manage that?” 

Why put that decision on you? 

You look across the table to Azriel—why had he of all people volunteered to pair up with you? His logic checks out, but wouldn’t Mor have been able to ward off any magical creatures? Then again, your relationship with Mor isn’t the best… 

Azriel gives no clue to his emotions, other than a subtle incline of his head. 

Your throat rolls, but you force yourself to look back at Rhysand, and offer a nod of your head, “I can manage.” 

All seven Courts are ensconced in shadow. 

————

You sigh as you settle into bed, tucking yourself close between the duvet and mattress. Plumping the pillow beneath your cheek as you curl your knees to your chest. 

You’ll be leaving in three days, but bypassing a coastal town Northeast of Velaris. The condition of you entering the Summer Court jungle was you’d at least have some kind of protection other than Azriel. The sea-town is also the only town outside of Illyria that will sell Illyrian blades, and Illyrian leather from the wild oxen that inhabit the unforgiving terrain of the steppes, its hide significantly tougher to compete with the rocky climate and freezing nights.

You don’t like the idea of having to carry a blade of your own, but you suppose, knowing some of the creatures within, you’d rather be with it than without it. Although you’ve yet to decide whether you’ll be visiting Autumn first or Summer. 

But that’s a decision for tomorrow. 

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[probablyasocialecologist]

In November 2023, news broke that a number of Western energy companies, including British Petroleum (BP), were granted gas exploration licences in occupied Palestinian waters by the Israeli Ministry of Energy. While it will take years before these sites are converted into reliable sources of gas, activist groups in the US and Britain have protested these business deals, brokered in the shadow of an ongoing genocide. The motivation for Israel’s genocidal, Western-backed siege on Gaza cannot be reduced to the exploitation of its marine gas fields. The ongoing genocide should be understood as part of the logic of US imperialism and its proxy state which enacts its interests in the region: the Zionist settler colonial project, which seeks to ethnically cleanse all of historic Palestine, seize natural resources, and use and export its fuel supplies for the consolidation of its military and economic power.  Indeed, our protests against BP’s gas licences are not in isolation. Like other activist groups in Turkey and Colombia, we campaign against energy companies partnering with Israeli businesses to supply fuel to Israel. For this reason, we situate BP’s gas licence within its larger role in fuelling Israel. BP is the operator and largest shareholder of the Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan (BTC) oil pipeline, which is supplying Israel with 28% of its oil during its genocide. In this investigation we explore BP’s colonial history and the supply chain of the BTC pipeline. We also delve into the social licences that facilitate BP’s operations abroad. Social licences are a commercial and metaphorical concept describing corporations' process of acquiring public approval as an added layer of legitimacy for their ongoing profit-driven, colonial business practices. Focusing on the BTC pipeline reveals how Zionist settler-colonialism is central to the continued extraction of oil in the Middle East, and global uneven accumulation, where wealth is concentrated in the Global North. The liberation of Palestine and regional anti-Zionist resistance must therefore be central to the larger struggle against capitalism and for a just transition. Organising from the imperial core against the Zionist occupation of Palestine then becomes about much more than just holding the perpetrators of genocide to account. It is part of the bigger fight against imperialism – which exterminates populations and ecologies for the continued flow of value to the Global North.

9 September 2024

[cityof2morrow]

3t2: DIY Elevator Kit

Published: 8-15-2024 | Updated: 8-16-2024 SUMMARY “The Teleportation Pad reduces your transportation costs by 100%... within a reasonable margin of error” “Elevators are terribly crude if you think about it. Moving a whole room from one floor to another? Barbaric! It's much more efficient to move single Sims with anti-gravity tech.” This DIY elevator set is a combination of the Teleportation Pad from Sims 3 (EA/Maxis, 2009) and the Tube Elevator from Sims 3: Into the Future (EA/Maxis, 2013). Use them to create your own retro-futuristic elevator. The DIY elevator is much faster than the default elevator, making it especially convenient on busy lots or very tall buildings. There are multiple recolors for the teleportation pad. There are TWO versions of the elevator repo’d to the Plain (V1) and Graphic Glass (V2) TXTR Repository meshes respectively. Get them from my Repo Pack (Simmons, 2022) for the glass recolors to show properly. You can have both in-game at the same time.

DETAILS Requires all EPs/SPs. §200 | Build > Stairs/Columns

Turn on “moveobjects on/off” and place one teleportation pad to create a travel point between two floors. You do NOT need to place a pad on the top-most floor. Like the “Ascensions Elevator Stairs (Targa, 2005), sims can enter/exit the teleportation pad from all four sides, and will be instantly transported without breaking stride. Fence off/block the sides you don’t want to be accessible but leave at least one side open. The glass tube elevators function like columns. ITEMS Teleportation Pad (1005 poly) Tube Elevator by Corebital Designs (1161 poly) Tube Elevator Top by Corebital Designs (783 poly) DOWNLOAD (choose one) from SFS | from MEGA CREDITS Thanks: Sims2/Simming communities. Sources: Ascensions Elevator Stairs (Targa, 2005), Any Color You Like (CuriousB, 2010), Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), EA/Maxis, Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik).

[i-am-a-secret-ssshhh]

Twisted Wonderland X Obey Me Prompt

So, in this, MC has to be transported from the Devildom to Twisted Wonderland after the events of Lesson 16, but also after them and Belphie bond and they're on good terms.

One of the more crude students, so probably Leona, or Ace, or Floyd, make a comment about you having a scar on your neck. They might ask what it's from, or they could just make a comment about it being a little odd to have a scar like that on your neck.

(I'm imagining that it's a scar from Belphie's nails, but it could also be from something else, but it is directly related to what happened in Lesson 16)

This is happening in a public setting. Maybe a meeting between some of the dorms, maybe in the lunchroom, or a classroom, but there's a lot of people around.

And MC thinks for a good minute before saying something along the lines of,

"I'm not really sure, it might be from Belphie though."

"Belphie? Who's Belphie?"

"Belphie's a good friend of mine."

"Then why would you have a scar on your neck from them?"

"Probably from that time he strangled me to death."

MC has to say this in the most nonchalant way possible, just like a fact of life that they thought everyone knew. And they look up and notice everyone is staring at them in absolute shock, wondering what the fuck they're on.

Or, if you want to go the angst route it could be an outside party (Like an RSA student, or a family member of a student, or something) or Vil commenting on it being unseemly. And they don't realize that it's there, so they reach up to touch it and immediately remember how they got it, and once again say it so nonchalantly. Something like,

"What scar? Oh, OH! This scar! I got that from when I got strangled to death."

It would also be very funny if they just walked off after this, or didn't address it as something serious until confronted by other people with the fact that this is most definitely not normal and they want answers.

[the-cybersmith]

So, about this whole "AI" thing...

A response to an ask (for some reason, tumblr won't let me blaze normal responsicles)

Like the Titan, Prometheus, Man Has Stolen Fire From the Gods. We can now make minds in our own image, elevating crude matter to the level of self-awareness. So... What next?

The first thing I would like to make clear is that, in some respects, my opinion here is irrelevant. So is yours. So are the opinions of the people reading this.

No matter what we do, no matter what we believe, something remains inviolably clear and true:

BAD ACTORS WILL EXPLOIT GENUINELY USEFUL TECHNOLOGIES TO BENEFIT THEMSELVES

This is an axiom of human behaviour that cannot be escaped. Nuclear power is amongst the most regulated technologies that have ever existed... and right now, rogue states are attacking their neighbours, protected from intervention by the threat of nuclear annihilation.

Nuclear Weapons (their own, and Red China's) are what allows the North Korean government to continue oppressing its population.

Nuclear Weapons enable The Land Of The Bear to invade The Ukraine.

Despite this, nuclear power has otherwise been mostly regulated out of existence. It is cheap, safe, and abundant, yet various laws make it either artificially expensive or outright illegal to heat your home with it, light your rooms, power your transportation, trim your hedges.

Regulations and anti-technology hysteria can prevent ordinary people from benefitting from innovation, but they cannot prevent the worst people in the world from abusing it.

So, whatever worst-case scenario you've imagined? Accept the fact that it's going to happen no matter what you do.

Legions of nanobots reconfiguring us into paperclips, a la Eliezar Yudkowski's bizarrely specific fever dreams? If you think it is possible, accept that it is inevitable.

Intelligent machines with glowing red eyes malevolently hunting us through a post-apocalyptic wasteland, a la James Cameron/The Wachowskis? If you think it is possible, accept that it is inevitable.

Lying governments using deepfaked videos to create un-debunkable false-flags and cheaply manufacture consent for wars to further their adrenochrome-harvesting operations? Let's face it, they don't even need AI for that, most people will just take their claims at face value.

But what if we all agree to stop using it?

Technologies are sometimes lost, yes, but this happens gradually, over the course of decades if not centuries. Civilisations can decline and lose access to technologies, but that's not likely to happen for AI within our lifetimes.

If it works, if it is genuinely useful, it WILL be used.

We have seen this play out time and time again, throughout history.

So, we can either do what we did for nuclear power, and regulate it so heavily that it serves no useful purpose to the Just and the Kind, whilst availing the Corrupt and the Wicked...

Or we can accept Evil shall be done, and try with all our might to counter it with Good.

We can strive to Magnanimous heights of Faustian greatness, using AI to create untold works of beauty, so that Human Grandeur at least rivals Human Depravity.

In summary:

We have stolen Fire from the Gods. The more noble-minded amongst us might as well do something worthwhile with it.

[crystalis]

twitter thread by Mouin Rabbani

March 14, 2024

Who was there first? The short answer is that the question is irrelevant. Claims of ancient title (“This land is ours because we were here several thousand years ago”) have no standing or validity under international law.

For good reason, because such claims also defy elementary common sense. Neither I nor anyone reading this post can convincingly substantiate the geographical location of their direct ancestors ten or five or even two thousand years ago.

If we could, the successful completion of the exercise would confer exactly zero property, territorial, or sovereign rights.

As a thought experiment, let’s go back only a few centuries rather than multiple millennia. Do South Africa’s Afrikaners have the right to claim The Netherlands as their homeland, or even qualify for Dutch citizenship, on the basis of their lineage?

Do the descendants of African-Americans who were forcibly removed from West Africa have the right to board a flight in Atlanta, Port-au-Prince, or São Paolo and reclaim their ancestral villages from the current inhabitants, who in all probability arrived only after – perhaps long after – the previous inhabitants were abducted and sold into slavery half a world away?

Do Australians who can trace their roots to convicts who were involuntarily transported Down Under by the British government have a right to return to Britain or Ireland and repossess homes from the present inhabitants even if, with the help of court records, they can identify the exact address inhabited by their forebears? Of course not.

In sharp contrast to, for example, Native Americans or the Maori of New Zealand, none of the above can demonstrate a living connection with the lands to which they would lay claim.

To put it crudely, neither nostalgic attachment nor ancestry, in and of themselves, confer rights of any sort, particularly where such rights have not been asserted over the course of hundreds or thousands of years.

If they did, American English would be the predominant language in large parts of Europe, and Spain would once again be speaking Arabic.

Nevertheless, the claim of ancient title has been and remains central to Zionist assertions of not only Jewish rights in Palestine, but of an exclusive Jewish right to Palestine.

For the sake of argument, let’s examine it. If we put aside religious mythology, the origin of the ancient Israelites is indeed local.

In ancient times it was not unusual for those in conflict with authority or marginalized by it to take to the more secure environment of surrounding hills or mountains, conquer existing settlements or establish new ones, and in the ultimate sign of independence adopt distinct religious practices and generate their own rulers. That the Israelites originated as indigenous Canaanite tribes rather than as fully-fledged monotheistic immigrants or conquerors is more or less the scholarly consensus, buttressed by archeological and other evidence. And buttressed by the absence of evidence for the origin stories more familiar to us.

It is also the scholarly consensus that the Israelites established two kingdoms, Judah and Israel, the former landlocked and covering Jerusalem and regions to the south, the latter (also known as the Northern Kingdom or Samaria) encompassing points north, the Galilee, and parts of contemporary Jordan. Whether these entities were preceded by a United Kingdom that subsequently fractured remains the subject of fierce debate.

What is certain is that the ancient Israelites were never a significant regional power, let alone the superpower of the modern imagination.

There is a reason the great empires of the Middle East emerged in Egypt, Mesopotamia, Persia, and Anatolia – or from outside the region altogether – but never in Palestine.

It simply lacked the population and resource base for power projection. Jerusalem may be the holiest of cities on earth, but for almost the entirety of its existence, including the period in question, it existed as a village, provincial town or small city rather than metropolis.

Judah and Israel, like the neighboring Canaanite and Philistine entities during this period, were for most of their existence vassal states, their fealty and tribute fought over by rival empires – Egyptians, Assyrians, Babylonians, etc. – rather than extracted from others.

Indeed, Israel was destroyed during the eighth century BCE by the Assyrians, who for good measured subordinated Judah to their authority, until it was in the sixth century BCE eliminated by the Babylonians, who had earlier overtaken the Assyrians in a regional power struggle.

The Babylonian Exile was not a wholesale deportation, but rather affected primarily Judah’s elites and their kin. Nor was there a collective return to the homeland when the opportunity arose several decades later after Cyrus the Great defeated Babylon and re-established a smaller Judah as a province of the Persian Achaemenid empire. Indeed, Mesopotamia would remain a key center of Jewish religion and culture for centuries afterwards.

Zionist claims of ancient title conveniently erase the reality that the ancient Israelites were hardly the only inhabitants of ancient Palestine, but rather shared it with Canaanites, Philistines, and others.

The second part of the claim, that the Jewish population was forcibly expelled by the Romans and has for 2,000 years been consumed with the desire to return, is equally problematic.

By the time the Romans conquered Jerusalem during the first century BCE, established Jewish communities were already to be found throughout the Mediterranean world and Middle East – to the extent that a number of scholars have concluded that a majority of Jews already lived in the diaspora by the time the first Roman soldier set foot in Jerusalem.

These communities held a deep attachment to Jerusalem, its Temple, and the lands recounted in the Bible. They identified as diasporic communities, and in many cases may additionally have been able to trace their origins to this or that town or village in the extinguished kingdoms of Israel and Judah. But there is no indication those born and bred in the diaspora across multiple generations considered themselves to be living in temporary exile or considered the territory of the former Israelite kingdoms rather than their lands of birth and residence their natural homeland, any more than Irish-Americans today feel they properly belong in Ireland rather than the United States.

Unlike those taken in captivity to Babylon centuries earlier, there was no impediment to their relocation to or from their ancestral lands, although economic factors appear to have played an important role in the growth of the diaspora.

By contrast, those traveling in the opposite direction appear to have done so, more often than not, for religious reasons, or to be buried in Jerusalem’s sacred soil.

Nations and nationalism did not exist 2,000 years ago.

Nor Zionist propagandists in New York, Paris, and London incessantly proclaiming that for two millennia Jews everywhere have wanted nothing more than to return their homeland, and invariably driving home rather than taking the next flight to Tel Aviv.

Nor insufferably loud Americans declaring, without a hint of irony or self-awareness, the right of the Jewish people to Palestine “because they were there first”.

Back to the Romans, about a century after their arrival a series of Jewish rebellions over the course of several decades, coupled with internecine warfare between various Jewish factions, produced devastating results.

A large proportion of the Jewish population was killed in battle, massacred, sold into slavery, or exiled. Many towns and villages were ransacked, the Temple in Jerusalem destroyed, and Jews barred from entering the city for all but one day a year.

Although a significant Jewish presence remained, primarily in the Galilee, the killings, associated deaths from disease and destitution, and expulsions during the Roman-Jewish wars exacted a calamitous toll.

With the destruction of the Temple Jerusalem became an increasingly spiritual rather than physical center of Jewish life. Jews neither formed a demographic majority in Palestine, nor were the majority of Jews to be found there.

Many of those who remained would in subsequent centuries convert to Christianity or Islam, succumb to massacres during the Crusades, or join the diaspora. On the eve of Zionist colonization locally-born Jews constituted less than five per cent of the total population.

As for the burning desire to return to Zion, there is precious little evidence to substantiate it. There is, for example, no evidence that upon their expulsion from Spain during the late fifteenth century, the Sephardic Jewish community, many of whom were given refuge by the Ottoman Empire that ruled Palestine, made concerted efforts to head for Jerusalem. Rather, most opted for Istanbul and Greece.

Similarly, during the massive migration of Jews fleeing persecution and poverty in Eastern Europe during the nineteenth century, the destinations of choice were the United States and United Kingdom.

Even after the Zionist movement began a concerted campaign to encourage Jewish emigration to Palestine, less than five per cent took up the offer. And while the British are to this day condemned for limiting Jewish immigration to Palestine during the late 1930s, the more pertinent reality is that the vast majority of those fleeing the Nazi menace once again preferred to relocate to the US and UK, but were deprived of these havens because Washington and London firmly slammed their doors shut.

Tellingly, the Jewish Agency for Israel in 2023 reported that of the world’s 15.7 million Jews, 7.2 million – less than half – reside in Israel and the occupied Palestinian territories.

According to the Agency, “The Jewish population numbers refer to persons who define themselves as Jews by religion or otherwise and who do not practice another religion”.

It further notes that if instead of religion one were to apply Israel’s Law of Return, under which any individual with one or more Jewish grandparent is entitled to Israeli citizenship, only 7.2 of 25.5 million eligible individuals (28 per cent) have opted for Zion.

In other words, “Next Year in Jerusalem” was, and largely remains, an aspirational religious incantation rather than political program. For religious Jews, furthermore, it was to result from divine rather than human intervention.

For this reason, many equated Zionism with blasphemy, and until quite recently most Orthodox Jews were either non-Zionist or rejected the ideology altogether.

Returning to the irrelevant issue of ancestry, if there is one population group that can lay a viable claim of direct descent from the ancient Israelites it would be the Samaritans, who have inhabited the area around Mount Gerizim, near the West Bank city of Nablus, without interruption since ancient times.

Palestinian Jews would be next in line, although unlike the Samaritans they interacted more regularly with both other Jewish communities and their gentile neighbors.

Claims of Israelite descent made on behalf of Jewish diaspora communities are much more difficult to sustain. Conversions to and from Judaism, intermarriage with gentiles, absorption in multiple foreign societies, and related phenomena over the course of several thousand years make it a virtual certainty that the vast majority of Jews who arrived in Palestine during the late 19th and first half of the 20th century to reclaim their ancient homeland were in fact the first of their lineage to ever set foot in it.

By way of an admittedly imperfect analogy, most Levantines, Egyptians, Sudanese, and North Africans identify as Arabs, yet the percentage of those who can trace their roots to the tribes of the Arabian Peninsula that conquered their lands during the seventh and eighth centuries is at best rather small.

Ironically, a contemporary Palestinian, particularly in the West Bank and Galilee, is likely to have more Israelite ancestry than a contemporary diaspora Jew.

The Palestinians take their name from the Philistines, one of the so-called Sea Peoples who arrived on the southern coast of Canaan from the Aegean islands, probably Crete, during the late second millennium BCE.

They formed a number of city states, including Gaza, Ashdod, and Ashkelon. Like Judah and Israel they existed primarily as vassals of regional powers, and like them were eventually destroyed by more powerful states as well.

With no record of their extermination or expulsion, the Philistines are presumed to have been absorbed by the Canaanites and thereafter disappear from the historical record.

Sitting at the crossroads between Asia, Africa, and Europe, Palestine was over the centuries repeatedly conquered by empires near and far, absorbing a constant flow of human and cultural influences throughout.

Given its religious significance, pilgrims from around the globe also contributed to making the Palestinian people what they are today.

A common myth is that the Palestinian origin story dates from the Arab-Muslim conquests of the seventh century. In point of fact, the Arabs neither exterminated nor expelled the existing population, and the new rulers never formed a majority of the population.

Rather, and over the course of several centuries, the local population was gradually Arabized, and to a large extent Islamized as well.

So the question as to who was there first can be answered in several ways: “both” and “irrelevant” are equally correct.

Indisputably, the Zionist movement had no right to establish a sovereign state in Palestine on the basis of claims of ancient title, which was and remains its primary justification for doing so.

That it established an exclusivist state that not only rejected any rights for the existing Palestinian population but was from the very outset determined to displace and replace this population was and remains a historical travesty.

That it as a matter of legislation confers automatic citizenship on millions who have no existing connection with the land but denies it to those who were born there and expelled from it, solely on the basis of their identity, would appear to be the very definition of apartheid.

The above notwithstanding, and while the Zionist claim of exclusive Israeli sovereignty in Palestine remains illegitimate, there are today several million Israelis who cannot be simply wished away.

A path to co-existence will need to be found, even as the genocidal nature of the Israeli state, and increasingly of Israeli society as well, makes the endeavor increasingly complicated.

The question, thrown into sharp relief by Israel’s genocidal onslaught on the Palestinian population of the Gaza Strip, is whether co-existence with Israeli society can be achieved without first dismantling the Israeli state and its ruling institutions.

[babiedemon]

MISERABLE MAN . . . haymitch abernathy / reader

genre . . . fluff, post-war

warnings . . . age gap, mentions of war, swearing, sexual themes

inspired by miserable man — david kushner

haymitch was a drunk. he was a miserable old man with a bad temper and a lifetime worth of pent up trauma. even with the newfound peace, the end of the rebellion, the birth of a fair nation. you knew no matter the time, the level of freedom, he’d forever be a miserable old man.

you mulled over this as you approached his home, a looming tower of a house in the shambles of district twelve. you’d taken the train there, what was once a capitol luxury now a simple means of transportation. the gravel of the deserted district crunched beneath your designer boots, ricocheting off empty buildings of the desecrated town.

there was no response to the heavy knock you left on his door, or one of the side windows, or the back door. you’d almost given up hope, prepared to break the door off the hinges, muttering angry words to yourself as you rounded the side of the house, when you caught sight of a moving figure in the distance. you couldn’t mistake that mop of black hair for anything else in the world, the long hair of the former face of rebellion.

“hey, katniss!” you called over the wind rushing in the space between you. she brought her hand up to wave, a pair of squirrels dangling from her fingers, a slight smile on her softened face.

“hey, eagle eye!” she shouted in response, an echoing reminisce of your rebel nickname. “what brings you to twelve?” she was closer now, close enough for you to pinpoint where her eyes sat over her nose, the once hardened stone color softened to a plush storm cloud. she stopped a few feet before you, eyes giving you a onceover.

“here to see the drunk. any idea if he’s home?” you inquired, lifting your eyebrows. katniss tilted her head to the side, squinted against the piercing rays of the setting sun.

“knowing haymitch, he’s probably drunk off his ass right about now. he usually leaves a window cracked in the front if you wanna try getting in that way,” she suggested, switching the tails of the squirrels from one hand to the other in favor of scratching her eyebrow.

“thanks a bunch, kat. i’ll be sure to pay you a visit sometime before the week ends. lord knows i’ll have my hands full with mitch,” you hummed, slowly backing away as you spoke. she bid her silent goodbye the same way she’d bid her welcome, lifting a single hand as she parted ways toward her towering home.

you found the crack in the window almost as soon as you’d reached the top of haymitch’s stairs and pried it open, the metal frame squealing in protest as you forced the pane of glass wide enough for your body to fit through.

getting in was much harder, your body falling on the floor and taking out half the items displayed crudely on his windowsill. you were certain that you’d gained at least a few bruises from the tumble it took for you to reach the hardwood floor, a grimace on your face as you inspected your exposed, aching elbows.

“what the hell are you doing here?” haymitch sighed, his voice carrying over to the foyer from his place on the living room sofa. you couldn’t see him, and you doubted he could see you, but you guaranteed from your loud entrance he could deduce it wasn’t his usual visitor.

“is that how you greet all of your long distance girlfriends?” you asked dryly, pushing yourself up from the floor with a few grunts. you rounded the foyer into the living room, spotting haymitch’s salt and pepper curls from the entryway.

“‘s how i greet everyone, sweetheart. get used to it,” he muttered, making quick work of pouring himself another glass of liquor. his hands trembled violently, likely due to the withdrawal contorting his face, liquor splashing over the edge of his glass and pooling on the mahogany coffee table. you sighed as you seated yourself beside him, took the bottle from his hands, and shot him an unimpressed look out of the corner of your eye.

“how many have you had?” you asked, studying the hazy sheen over his stormy eyes. he tutted, lazily rolling his eyes, his body sinking into the cushions.

“only three today. woke up about six hours ago, so i’d say that’s pretty tame,” he remarked. you suppressed the agitated sigh and tipped the bottle, pouring a hefty amount of whiskey into his chosen cup.

“i thought for sure when you didn’t answer the door you were passed out in your own piss and vomit again,” you murmured, voice softened as you regarded him. he was aging, his stubble shining with a number of grey strands, the curls atop his head beginning to gain more of his eye color with every visit. he’d gained back a bit of weight in his cheeks and stomach since you’d last seen him, his face and gut now rounded out a bit more.

“i figured if it was important, whoever it was would find their way in,” he spoke, voice gruff, a pause interrupting his sentence. “i was right about both. it was important, and you did find your way. besides, i’ll have you know i happen to have cut back on my substance abuse, thank you.”

“you know i’ll always find a way to come pester you,” you mused, reclining next to him. you felt a bit of pride swelling in your chest, a smile growing on your lips as you processed his minor recovery from years of raging alcoholism. haymitch’s arm slid easily over your shoulders, an almost inaudible chuckle leaving his lips, the rim of his glass snuffing it at the source.

“you definitely are a pest,” he hummed, tongue lapping up the remnants of whiskey on his lips. “what brings you here anyways?”

“i was hoping we could spend some time together. i’ve missed you,” you spoke softly, your cheeks heating up with your admission. haymitch hummed, his nose brushing the top of your head, the smell of alcohol wafting off of him. you’d come to enjoy the bitter scent, associating it with the man you’d fallen for over the course of your teens and now early twenties.

“missed you too, doll face,” he muttered, letting his head loll against the back of the sofa. his fingertips, ever as tremorous, came to scratch at the itchy stubble spotting his chin. “got some geese around back if you wanna check ‘em out.”

“when the hell did you get geese?” you inquired, face lifted in amusement as your eyes traveled haymitch’s exposed windpipe. the skin there was red, flushed from his consistent substance abuse, and a few scratches laid about from his incessant scratching. your fingers reached to trace the raised lines, smoothing them over with your thumb.

“not that long ago. decided i needed a hobby. shit’s boring around here,” he grumbled, watching you curiously. he realized the source of your focus after a few seconds, clearing his throat embarrassedly. “my hands shake too much to shave now. can’t cut my hair either.” he gestured to the top of his head, where his curls fell unkempt to his chin. you tilted your head to the side, running your fingers through the knotted ends of his dark locks, a smile on your lips.

“i could always trim you up, mitch,” you muttered, picturing different cuts and styles framing his face. if only one thing benefited you from your days as a capitol stylist, it was the cosmetic knowledge. you got free cuts, free colors, free hemming. “i think you’d look pretty good with a shag. your curls would suit it nicely.”

“do whatever gets it out of my goddamned eyes,” he gruffed, grumpy as ever, prompting you to begin your search for his razors and scissors. for a reason you couldn’t place, you’d begun cleaning as you searched as well. you’d washed his clothes, polished the kitchen, dusted the paintings and tables, all whilst he lingered in every doorway with a bottle and glass in hand, eyes watching you with burning intensity.

“you look good cleaning,” he remarked, the devious smirk on his lips hardly hidden by his whiskey glass. he slunk towards you, footsteps slow and wobbly against the hardwood floor.

“you’re only saying that because i’m bent over scrubbing your toilet,” you muttered, standing straight up upon feeling his hips meet yours. he looped an arm around your middle, your heart beating out of your chest as you turned your face to let your gazes meet. his eyes, grey and clouded, held a heady desire you hadn’t seen in months. his body pushed yours partially forward as he leaned, settling his drink on the toilet lid in favor of taking full hold of both your hip bones.

you gulped, face red as you turned in his loose grasp, letting him back you until your hips met the bathroom counter. his hand settled beneath your chin, guiding your head up until your eyes settled back on his, his other palm settling on the marble beside your blushing body. his gaze was honed in on your parted lips, eyebrows furrowed and concentration painting his flushed face.

“haven’t seen you in ages,” he mumbled, voice breathy and depraved as a slight smirk quirked the corner of his lips. you let out a shaky laugh, looping your arms around his neck, toying with the greying curls jutting from the nape of his neck.

“i’m starting to think you missed me more than you let on,” you breathed, pupils dancing over the space between his eyes and mouth. his fingers slid, igniting a fire beneath your skin, thumb caressing your jaw and palm cupping the side of your neck. he let out a soft chuckle, leaning in just barely close enough for his chapped lips to brush the gloss from yours.

“that is the understatement of the century.” his eyes fluttered shut as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your buzzing lips, pulling away much too soon for your eager impatience. you sighed, breath fanning over his scruffy face, eyes squeezing shut as the smell of his musky body soap twisted with the stench of his preferred beverage.

“i’m supposed to be cutting your hair.” you chuckled airily, prying your eyes open to meet his lusted stare. he took a moment to process, no doubt distracted by the touch of your fingers to his exposed collarbone.

“you’ll have to wet my hair, right?” as he spoke, voice husky and eyes dropping to your body, he made agonizingly slow work of undoing the top few buttons of your dress shirt. you followed his train of thought, chest heaving against his fingers, eyes darting to the shower standing to your right.

“i like the way your pretty little head works.” you gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to your level, lips taking his in a short lived, rough kiss. “strip, then.”

“you don’t have to tell me twice, sweetheart.”

you couldn’t help the boisterous laughter tumbling from your chest.

[nauticaltrainofthe80s]

hits you with the napier beam hits you with the napier beam hits you with the napier beam hits you with the napier beam

(headcanons under the cut)

Porter:

Open-top hopper, carries anything, he's not fussy

laidback, observant, leader

big and tall, and i mean big and tall

the most mature, but ultimately a goofball at heart

not afraid to chew out the other freight, hasn't given up on Slick's redemption arc yet

just a good dude

likes showtunes and dad jokes

has a crush on Lumber

Lumber:

Centerbeam flatcar, transports packaged lumber

friendly, intelligent, big-hearted

real environmentalist type, supports sustainability as much as is possible

he and Hydra are besties, they have a surprising amount in common

absolutely oblivious to Porter's crush, just thinks they're friends

could probably survive in the wild

has to be herded back onto the tracks regularly, he gets distracted by flora and fauna very easily, petted a deer once and wouldn't stop talking about it for a week

gets along well with gardeners, lumberjacks, park rangers, and naturalists

Slick:

DOT-111 tank car, can carry anything that doesn't require pressurization, but mostly transports crude oil

vindictive, audacious, manipulative

short and compact little tanker

a real pain to be around, punky and vain

terrible, bitter animosity between her and Hydra, not even the silly sibling rivalry kind, they hate each other

unlike CB who crashes trains because he's cracked, Slick is 100% sane. she does it for money. she would be lying if she said she didn't feel bad at all, there's some remorse buried deep down

you know that saying 'hurt people hurt people'? yeah that

weirdly quick skater, like she moves a little too fast for a car

accessories bitch

Hydra:

DOT-113 tank car, pressurized cryogenic materials only. Liquid hydrogen is his specialty, naturally

confident, mysterious, opportunistic

long and lean, can almost look Porter in the eyes

very proud of his status, loves that he carries such high-profile materials

as for his rivalry with Slick, he thinks she's reckless and she thinks he's uppity. Many nasty arguments

not sure how his friendship with Lumber came about, but is happy about it nonetheless

futurist, believes the advancement of science will benefit society exponentially

will rant about clean energy whenever he can, annoys the rest of the yard with it constantly, a bit of a braggart

got that slinky kapa kitchen energy

(group image not to scale, just wanted them together :))

[fatehbaz]

---

Native American tribes from Michigan, Wisconsin and Ontario have come together to call for an end to the Line 5 pipeline.

The Enbridge Line 5 crude oil pipeline, first constructed in 1953, stretches from Wisconsin through 645 miles of Michigan and ends in Sarnia, Ontario. Part of the pipeline travels underwater through the Straits of Mackinac.

In recent years, the pipeline's continued operation has become a source of controversy. Many tribal nations and communities claim that the pipeline goes through their traditional territories. The Straits area in particular is considered a place of significant cultural and historical importance to many native groups, including the Anishinaabe. According to tribal leaders, the pipeline poses a major and direct threat to the ecosystems along its path.

“The Straits of Mackinac are [...] sacred from both a cultural and historical perspective in the formation of the Anishinaabe people,” said Austin Lowes, chairperson of the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians, in a statement. “Protecting the Straits is also a matter of the utmost environmental and economic importance — both to our people and the state of Michigan.”

Tribal leaders and other environmental groups have publicly opposed the pipeline for many years and have called for the pipeline to be shut down.

Supporters of the pipeline point out that it transports 540,000 barrels of light crude oil and natural gas liquids through Line 5 on a daily basis. [...]

In an effort to address safety concerns, Enbridge has proposed an underwater tunnel to house the portion of Line 5 that runs under the Straits of Mackinac. [...] Critics of the tunnel project say no oil should be transported through the Straits at all, as a spill could have a devastating impact on more than 700 miles of Great Lakes shoreline. [...]

Previous attempts to shut down the pipeline have been stopped through various means, mostly the 1977 Transit Pipeline Treaty between Canada and the United States.

The latest attempt saw 51 tribal organizations from Wisconsin, Michigan and Ontario submit a report to the United Nations Human Rights Council. This report, dated April 4, claims that the Government of Canada is violating the human rights of Indigenous peoples through its continuous support for Line 5.

The report was submitted to be considered during Canada's upcoming Universal Periodic Review, conducted by the United Nations. As a United Nations member state, Canada is required to be evaluated for its human rights record on a regular basis.

Canada's Universal Periodic Review will take place this year on Nov. 6-17.

The 51 different tribal organizations that signed the report include: The Anishinabek Nation, which represents 39 First Nations throughout the province of Ontario, Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians, Bad River Band of the Lake Superior Tribe of Chippewa Indians, Bay Mills Indian Community, Grand Traverse Band of Ottawa & Chippewa Indians, Hannahville Indian Community, Lac Vieux Desert Band of Lake Superior Chippewa Indians, Little River Band of Ottawa Indians, Little Traverse Bay Bands of Odawa Indians, Match-e-be-nash-she-wish Band of Pottawatomi Indians, Nottawaseppi Huron Band of Potawatomi, Saginaw Chippewa Indian Tribe and Red Cliff Band of Lake Superior Chippewa.

---

Headline and text by: Brendan Wiesner. “Michigan, Wisconsin and Canadian tribes come together to fight Line 5.” Yahoo! News. 8 April 2023. Article originally appeared on The Sault News with the title “Great Lakes tribes send report to United Nations to fight Line 5.” [Some paragraph breaks and contractions added by me.]

Context:

Line 3 brings oil from Alberta to Lake Superior. Then, Line 5 brings the fossil fuel from the Duluth area to the Detroit/Windsor area in Ontario.