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reasonsforhope · 2 months

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African poverty is partly a consequence of energy poverty. In every other continent the vast majority of people have access to electricity. In Africa 600m people, 43% of the total, cannot readily light their homes or charge their phones. And those who nominally have grid electricity find it as reliable as a Scottish summer. More than three-quarters of African firms experience outages; two-fifths say electricity is the main constraint on their business.

If other sub-Saharan African countries had enjoyed power as reliable as South Africa’s from 1995 to 2007, then the continent’s rate of real GDP growth per person would have been two percentage points higher, more than doubling the actual rate, according to one academic paper. Since then South Africa has also had erratic electricity. So-called “load-shedding” is probably the main reason why the economy has shrunk in four of the past eight quarters.

Solar power is increasingly seen as the solution. Last year Africa installed a record amount of photovoltaic (PV) capacity (though this still made up just 1% of the total added worldwide), notes the African Solar Industry Association (AFSIA), a trade group. Globally most solar PV is built by utilities, but in Africa 65% of new capacity over the past two years has come from large firms contracting directly with developers. These deals are part of a decentralised revolution that could be of huge benefit to African economies.

Ground zero for the revolution is South Africa. Last year saw a record number of blackouts imposed by Eskom, the state-run utility, whose dysfunctional coal-fired power stations regularly break down or operate at far below capacity. Fortunately, as load-shedding was peaking, the costs of solar systems were plummeting.

Between 2019 and 2023 the cost of panels fell by 15%, having already declined by almost 90% in the 2010s. Meanwhile battery storage systems now cost about half as much as five years ago. Industrial users pay 20-40% less per unit when buying electricity from private project developers than on the cheapest Eskom tariff.

In the past two calendar years the amount of solar capacity in South Africa rose from 2.8GW to 7.8GW, notes AFSIA, excluding that installed on the roofs of suburban homes. All together South Africa’s solar capacity could now be almost a fifth of that of Eskom’s coal-fired power stations (albeit those still have a higher “capacity factor”, or ability to produce electricity around the clock). The growth of solar is a key reason why there has been less load-shedding in 2024...

Over the past decade the number of startups providing “distributed renewable energy” (DRE) has grown at a clip. Industry estimates suggest that more than 400m Africans get electricity from solar home systems and that more than ten times as many “mini-grids”, most of which use solar, were built in 2016-20 than in the preceding five years. In Kenya DRE firms employ more than six times as many people as the largest utility. In Nigeria they have created almost as many jobs as the oil and gas industry.

“The future is an extremely distributed system to an extent that people haven’t fully grasped,” argues Matthew Tilleard of CrossBoundary Group, a firm whose customers range from large businesses to hitherto unconnected consumers. “It’s going to happen here in Africa first and most consequentially.”

Ignite, which operates in nine African countries, has products that include a basic panel that powers three light bulbs and a phone charger, as well as solar-powered irrigation pumps, stoves and internet routers, and industrial systems. Customers use mobile money to “unlock” a pay-as-you-go meter.

Yariv Cohen, Ignite’s CEO, reckons that the typical $3 per month spent by consumers is less than what they previously paid for kerosene and at phone-charging kiosks. He describes how farmers are more productive because they do not have to get home before dark and children are getting better test scores because they study under bulbs. One family in Rwanda used to keep their two cows in their house because they feared rustlers might come in the dark; now the cattle snooze al fresco under an outside lamp and the family gets more sleep.

...That is one eye-catching aspect of Africa’s solar revolution. But most of the continent is undergoing a more subtle—and significant—experiment in decentralised, commercially driven solar power. It is a trend that could both transform African economies and offer lessons to the rest of the world."

-via The Economist, June 18, 2024. Paragraph breaks added.

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fatliberation · 11 months

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The Fat Protestor

by @sparklejams and @jordallenhall

For everyone showing up to protest the US government funding of a genocide -- be loud, be safe. Your body is a force. If you are able, use it.

Police identify people by body type/clothing. Be aware (as if you could possibly forget) that you don't have the privilege of blending into the crowd.

Be aware that fatmisic police protocol and infrastructure can endanger your life during arrest.

Let this inform the risk that you take.

If you get arrested: raise hell about being cuffed with your hands in front of your body.

Mid-fat, super-fat, and infinifat people are especially at risk of positional asphyxia when cuffed with their arms behind them. Be especially vocal about any stress position where your knees are raised (sitting on a low police van bench, for instance).

Police typically don't listen to folks when concern is expressed over being cuffed in the back -- be loud. Verse yourself and your community in de-arresting practice. These risks are not commonly known, though are present not only for fat people, but also those with asthma and other breathing difficulties.

Make sure the people you are with are informed of these risks before protesting.

Direct action is sweaty. Prepare against crease rashes (yep - it's a normal self care maintenance thing if you have skin rolls/folds. It's normal. It's common. It's nothing to be ashamed about.) by drying with paper towels, using antiperspirant or cornstarch under your breasts/belly. When you get home, shower and treat with a wound cleanser (shoutout bactine spray) or a tea tree oil balm or soap as needed.

Our fat bodies are magnificent contributions at protests. Our fat bodies take more effort to move - think of all the wonderful ways we can use this to our advantage at a protest or direct action. We can block pathways and hold precious land with our fat bodies. We can shield and protect precious people with our fat bodies.

Bring:

• Change of socks. If you get caught in the rain or doused with water, or even if you sweat through your socks - walking around in wet socks will cause bad blistering.

• Light first aid/bandaids

• Water, snacks, meds

• A physical copy of your emergency contact in case of arrest

Try to go with other fat people. Comrades in normative bodies may not always consider your body and what is safe for you - so make sure you loudly advocate for yourself and your needs within whatever group you are with.

Stay cool. Take breaks. Sit or stop when you need to. Try to be hyper-mindful of getting overheated.

In case of hospitalization:

• Make a packet containing all medical info, advance directives, and emergency contacts. Put it in a clear sleeve with a humanizing photo of you with loved ones at the front.

• Learn more about how to make a Connection Kit and humanize yourself to healthcare workers in the Know Your Rights Guide on nobodyisdisposable.org

Remember that there is so much to do beyond the front lines.

• Provide jail support (wait to greet released protesters with water, snacks, hugs, and rides home).

• Provide your home as a central prep and recovery space before/after.

• Stay near the action and offer your car as a mobile phone charging station.

• Provide childcare.

• Drop off supplies.

Honor your body as a resource for civil disobedience. Center your needs.

#fat activism #activism #protesting #the fat protestor #free palestine

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clownrecess · 1 year

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(Tw for brief non descriptive mention of emergencies)

I want to talk about technology and why it is SO vital to have charging stations / outlets available in public spaces.

A lot of disabled people could need acsess to an outlet on short notice, including myself.

If my AAC device and my phone both die, I have zero way to communicate besides writing things down (which is not only frustrating and difficult for me, but most people can't read my hand writing anyway, so it wouldn't be effective at all.). I would have no way to tell people if I need help, if I am lost, if I am hurt, to explain that I am autistic, etc. Depending on the situation, this could potentially turn very dangerous very fast.

This also applies to people who use a powerchair or another non-manual mobility aid that is powered via a charger. If their mobility aid dies, how can they get out in case of an emergency? Or even in a non emergency?

And more.

Accessibility is SO MUCH MORE than just a ramp or an elevator. A place is not fully accessible unless it takes all disabled people into account.

Nondisabled people rely heavily on technology nowadays anyway, so having charging stations can benifit everyone.

When I'm home, I almost always have something that I need to charge. I try to put it off sometimes if it isn't super necessary due to environmental reasons, but I need to almost always. I need my AAC to communicate. I need my phone to communicate and to use my coping skills. I *need* technology.

#actually autistic #neurodivergent #aac user #autism #nonspeaking #nonspeaking autistic #aac device #aac users #disabled #high support needs disabled #aac #nonverbal #the tism

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probablyasocialecologist · 5 months

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A French publisher who was arrested in London on terrorism charges has been awarded “substantial” damages by the Metropolitan police, as new figures reveal thousands of foreign nationals have been stopped at UK ports under anti-terror laws. Ernest Moret, 29, a foreign rights manager for Éditions la Fabrique, was detained at St Pancras station in April last year on his way to the London book fair. He was held under section 7 of the Terrorism Act 2000, and questioned by counter-terrorist officers about whether he had taken part in anti-government demonstrations in France and if he backed the French president, Emmanuel Macron. Moret’s mobile phone and laptop were also confiscated for several weeks, before being returned to him after police decided to take no further action. The police also admitted downloading Moret’s sim card before returning his phone.

[...]

The figures have deepened concerns that police are using counter-terrorism powers to target political activists. Kevin Blowe, campaigns coordinator at the police monitoring group Netpol, said the figures were “genuinely alarming”. He said: “We know these powers are used for purposes other than investigating terrorism, including the targeting of political activists visiting Britain. “The data does suggest that EU states are seeking the active help of British police to target their own citizens too, although state surveillance is so lacking in transparency and accountability that this is almost impossible to confirm. “Schedule 7 is discriminatory and draconian, it undermines civil rights and criminalises communities and political dissent. Like so many other counter-terrorism powers put in place a decade ago by the last Labour government, it is something that we would all be better off without.”

#uk politics #police #met police #surveillance

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muddyorbsblr · 10 months

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reckless girl pt1

See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @holdmytesseract

Summary: When you didn't show up for your date with Magnus, the last place he thought he'd find you was inside the Ystad police station…in a holding cell

Pairing: Magnus Martinsson x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: talks of injuries; cliffhanger at the end

Things to be aware of: established relationship

"Why so glum, Martinsson? Not enough sleep?" Kurt clapped a hand on the curly blond haired detective's soldier, jerking him out of his worry spiral. "Girl trouble?"

Magnus lifted his chin from his joint fists, unable to iron out the furrow between his eyebrows. "Something like that…Y/N, my girlfriend. We were supposed to meet after my shift last night and she never showed. Hasn't called or texted either."

"Maybe she ghosted you, lad," Svedberg jested from his desk. "Had enough of the barflies clinging about you, did 'erself a favor."

"No," he said with conviction. "She wouldn't do that, that's not her." You'd been dating for long enough that he knew you wouldn't just disappear from his life with no contact like that. There was something else going on, there had to be. Another reason why you weren't at the restaurant last night. Another reason you weren't picking up your phone.

"Maybe try her again," Kurt offered. "If you still have nothing, you can always find a reason to patrol around her area and pay your girl a visit."

"Really? You won't be cross if I did?"

"For anyone else I'd suspend them on the spot if they attended to matters of the heart while on duty but I'd rather have the brightest bulb in the station actually functioning in the station, rather than have his mind wandering off to where his lady could be." He gave the younger detective a tight smile, knowing full well that had he been in Martinsson's spot, he'd be doing the same thing. "Try her again."

This time your phone rang twice before someone answered. "This is the Ystad holding area, and the owner of this mobile has been detained until--"

"Officer Jansen?"

"Detective Martinsson? Why are you calling--"

"Where's Y/N? This is her phone I've been trying to reach her since last night and--"

"Well last night a Ms Y/L/N was brought here for holding and we confiscated this phone off her person. Drunk and disorderly behavior," Jansen offered.

Just then another voice, your voice, spoke through the line. "Hey, the other guy was drunk and disorderly, it's not my fault the wanker couldn't fight!"

Magnus took a deep breath, a mix of both frustration and relief. Mostly the latter knowing now where you were exactly and that he would most likely see you in the next few minutes. "Jansen, I don't know what she did but I can guarantee you she probably had a good reason for it. Could you maybe…I dunno, let her off with a warning? I'll talk to her, make sure this doesn't happen again."

There was a deep sigh from the other end of the line before the officer spoke again. "Fine. She doesn't have a record, and the other guy seems to be too embarrassed to press charges seeing as he got his arse beat by a woman, so her name stays clean. But if this happens again--"

"It won't," he answered, a little less conviction in his tone. "Could you please send her here, though? I've been on edge since last night."

"Say no more, I'll have her there with an escort in a few minutes."

It didn't take long until another officer from the holding area stepped into the detectives area, and Magnus finally laid his eyes on you. And he saw red.

The second the officer uncuffed you, he was rushing over, placing his hands on your shoulders trying to assess the damage done. Your neck was red and purple, the skin of your knuckles split and bloodied, cuts and scrapes all over your face. There even seemed to still be specks of dirt in some of the wounds.

"Hello, sweetie," you spoke after a few moments of him taking stock of the injuries you sustained, wincing when you tried to give him a smile and it opened the wound on your lip that had only healed a fraction of the way the night before. "Sorry I couldn't make it to the restaurant--"

"Never mind that, darling," he waved off your apology, taking your hands in his and pressing his lips to the backs of your fingers, being careful not to touch any injured portion of your skin. "All I care about right now is that you're safe." He jerked his head over to his desk. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up. And then you can tell me what happened. Starting with who dared lay a hand and bloody up my precious angel's face like this."

"My sister Stella's in town and we went out straight after my shift to grab some drinks--Ach." You flinched at the stinging of the alcohol-soaked cotton round that he pressed to the cut on your cheek.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he sighed, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, ignoring the teasing remarks from the other detectives on the floor as he tended to your wounds. "But we have to get these cleaned out so they don't get infected. We've already lost so much time since these just stayed as they were the entire time you were in that holding cell."

"I know I know," you mumbled, squeezing your eyes shut when he resumed disinfecting the cuts. "It's not my first fight, you know. Still stings like a right bitch every bloody time, though."

He finished dressing the wounds on your face before moving to your cut and bruised knuckles. "Did no one even come to check on you before they booked you last night?" he grumbled, seeing the caked blood and dirt around these wounds as well.

"No. Everyone's attention was mostly on the other guy, making sure he got to the hospital safe and all that."

"Ah, so you're the mystery assailant," Kurt spoke up, walking up to Magnus' desk. "I just got off the phone with the hospital about some professional pick-up artist, whatever the shite that is, and how he refuses to press charges because if anyone knew what happened to him it'll ruin his image." He stuck out a hand toward you. "Kurt Wallander, I'm Magnus' supervising officer."

You gave him a little wave in response. "Not exactly how I pictured meeting Magnus' workmates, but I'll take it. Hi. Y/N Y/L/N, pleased to make your acquaintance. I'd shake your hand but--"

"I'll be quite cross with you if you split open your wounds over pleasantries, sweetheart," the blond detective butted in. He turned to his supervisor. "Hang on the case you were called to this morning? The assault victim? That was--"

"Hold on…if the wanker didn't press charges, does the word 'assailant' still apply to me?"

"Yes," both men said at once.

"But I'm willing to consider this a case deservedly closed since firstly, the pervert wanker chose not to press charges. And second, he's had it coming for a long while. Man's got an entire binder of reports for sleazeball behavior, but we just don't have the laws here yet to book someone for unjust vexation," Kurt told you both before addressing you directly. "Just don't make a habit out of getting detained or else I won't be able to do anything about the station giving your boyfriend grief over dating a 'bad girl'." He put the last bit in air quotes, jerking his head over at the desks of the jeering detectives on the other side of the floor.

"I'll do what I can," you shot back, scrunching your nose in place of a smile. "But in my defense, he was getting handsy with my sister and she's a little too peaceful and zen that the woman wouldn't hurt a fly, I had to."

"Careful, darling. Wallander here has a soft spot for the hero types, he might just issue you a gun," Magnus joked, finishing up on your knuckles and pressing a soft kiss to the bandages.

"Considering that the man you put in the hospital is just one in a large group of men doing much of the same?" the senior detective shot back. "I might just, might even give Linda one just to err on the side of caution and all that." He took a finger at you. "You be careful out there. Willing to bet my badge you ticked off a good few unstable men with egos bigger than their brain power. Some of them might be capable of a bit more than a few cuts and scrapes. And might be on the hunt for who put one of their own in casts and stitches."

"I'll keep safe. Thank you, Detective Wallander." You stood up and gave an awkward wave, making a motion to start walking out of the station. "I should get going. Wouldn't want to take up more of Magnus' time while he's at work."

That got the blond detective shooting out of his seat. "I'll see you out, then." He led you out the station, hand securely at your waist as he made sure you could walk properly. "Go straight home, tell your sister you're safe and you're not going to jail. And then tomorrow, how about we meet for breakfast after you've had some rest?"

"Yes, Sir," you answered playfully before throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a hug. "Thank you, Mags," you whispered in his ear before kissing his cheek. "I love you."

His heart caught in his throat at your words. You'd never said it first before. "I love you, too, little spitfire." He tucked his fingers under your chin, pressing a tender kiss to your lips before letting you go. "I'll see you in the morning."

Only when morning came, he sat at the restaurant near the station all alone, letting a whole hour pass before concluding that you weren't coming once again. Going off of what had transpired the day before, he showed up at the Ystad police station's holding area a good hour ahead of his shift, ready to try his luck at talking your way out of whatever situation you'd gotten yourself into.

"Morning, Martinsson," Jansen greeted him once the officer caught sight of the blond curls descending the stairs. "What brings you here so early--"

"Is Y/N here? Again?"

The officer began typing away at the system, giving commentary along the way. "She's a bit of a baddie, isn't she? Getting booked there twice in just as many days--Huh…" Jansen tilted his head in confusion at the information on the screen. "I don't see anything from last night's records. Maybe check the holding cells just in case? Sorry, Martinsson."

Magnus let out a sharp exhale, the frustration radiating off him in waves. "No worries. Thanks, Jansen." He set off toward the three holding cells they had in the station, only one of them being occupied by a drunk driver that was booked last night and was awaiting for his wife to bail him out. The other two were empty and clean as a whistle, no sign of anyone having even been there in the last 24 hours.

He picked up his phone and tapped on your name, his heart thundering in his ears as he waited for you to answer. "Please tell me you just slept in, sweetheart," he mumbled, his body already shaking with every second his call went unanswered.

But then the line got picked up, and his heart lodged itself in his throat.

"Hello?" The voice of a woman. But not yours.

"Who is this?" he nearly barked at the stranger's voice. "Where's Y/N?"

"I'm Stella, her sister, hold on who the hell are you?"

"Magnus, her boyfriend. Where's your sister? Why do you have her phone?" His tone became more impatient.

"She was supposed to meet me last night for dinner. Told me she needed to get some rest after what happened the other day that got her arrested," your sister explained, the answer making the detective even more panicked. "She never showed, figured she slept too long and I'd pick her up for some breakfast, but--" Her breath hitched on the other line, a jagged exhale coming through from her end as she composed herself. "She's not here. And the place is a mess. Hang on--If you're the boyfriend, you're the detective, right?"

"Y-Yes, yes I am." He could barely manage the words; he felt so hollow inside, dreading what words he would hear next.

"I'd like to report a crime, then," Stella spoke, her voice wavering as she tried to put up a brave front. "My sister's missing, there's blood on the floor. Someone's hurt my sister."

A/N: Eeeeeee I'm so excited to give this one to y'all! It's been a while since I started on another request and when I tell you that the words just started flying when I got into the vibe that this story was gonna give. I know I know…there's a cliffhanger…but there will be a part 2 in a few days and we're gonna see just what happened after YN left the station…

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

Magnus taglist: @vbecker10

#magnus martinsson x reader #magnus martinsson x female reader #magnus martinsson imagine #wallander fanfiction #wallander #wallander fanfic #muddyorbs writes #fic requests #500 follower celebration

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the-1st-astronaut · 21 days

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OC Info Card: Soursy Tartsludge

Soursy Tartsludge is a DLC character for the mobile/console release of Sugar Rush!! They're based on the Slime Licker candy.

SO MANY WORDS UNDER THE CUT YOU WERE WARNED

You know how Cookie Run: Kingdom has a different intro screen for every update? They did that with the Soursy Tartsludge update!!

(also guys the slime under their eyes IT'S GLASSES PLEASE GUYS)

They're also a glitch. Since the mobile release of Sugar Rush has voice chat (but has penalties for cussing), they hacked the filters to cuss. Soursy has a foul mouth!

Eventually, someone plugged in their phone into Game Central Station on accident to charge it, and Soursy escaped the mobile game! They went on to venture into the Sugar Rush cabinet.

Soursy was made fun of by the other racers for being the only sour racer. (Which is kinda dumb, but the racers are all around ten years old. Little kids are brutal.) So when they went into the cabinet, they met Vanellope, and bonded over their bullying!

They're also the adopted sibling of Captain Alvarez (my brother's Hero's Duty self insert)!! Soursy came from the Internet, they've seen a lot of violence and witnessed Call of Duty matches. They got bored of the sweets and visited Hero's Duty every now and then to watch from behind a rock (LMAOO)

The first time they met, Soursy panicked and ran/glitched back into the game central station. The second time they met, Captain grabbed Soursy with the suit's massive hands, and they FREAKED out. They were FRANTICALLY glitching trying to get out of his grasp, until Captain clarified he wasn't going to hurt them. Then they calmed down. Eventually, they encountered each other again and started to bond.

Soursy sometimes sticks to his back, so they can watch everything going on without getting hurt!!! During an active match, they can yell at him "ON YOUR SIX" to let him know that there's a cybug approaching behind him! SIBLING TEAMWORK!! And then when the arcade closes they both go to Tapper's!

From that point on, Soursy never returned to the phone they came from. They're well aware that if they die, they're not coming back, and that makes their little life even more thrilling!

credits to @astronomicallycomical for both whiteboardfox images!!

#alienyammering #wir #wir oc #wreck it ralph #wreck it ralph oc #sugar rush oc #sugar rush #my ocs #not my art #aliendoodles #oc card

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doctorbunny · 11 months

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Deciphering Mikoto's phone!

This is mostly focusing on miscellaneous bits of his phone screen, for a full translation of his texts, I recommend Rochisama's wonderful translation

Before the first call, we see the time is 0:35 in the morning. In the top right corner, we can see the train station apparently gets 4G and Mikoto's battery is at 29% He is getting texts from his チーフ (Chiifu/chief/boss) on milgram's equivalent of LINE (basically Japanese Whatsapp) Each notification is called メッセージ (messeji/message) and we can see that the most recent two do not have timestamps (although usually new messages on Japanese phones get timestamped 今/ima/now though I don't think this has any significance) But the two messages already on Mikoto's phone were sent 5分前/go fun mae/5 minutes ago and 7分前/nana fun mae/7 minutes ago At the bottom of the screen is the message スワイプでロック解除 (suwaipu de rokku kaijo) meaning 'swipe to unlock' (or more literally 'swipe to release lock' but this is a standard phrase on Japanese lockscreens - although many examples on google images say スライド/slide instead of swipe, once again this probably has no significance)

Next is when Mikoto's boss begins calling him Under the big チーフ (boss) we see the kanji for 携帯 (keitai/mobile phone) this means Mikoto's boss is probably calling from a personal cell rather than an office phone... Under Mikoto's thumb is more standard phone stuff the one almost hidden is 後で通知 (ato de tsuuchi/Notify me later) Under the red hang up button is 拒否 (kyohi/refuse) and under the green accept call button is 応答 (outou/reply)

Finally we get to the call with Mikoto's mother, labeled 母さん/kaasan, this isn't actually that childish a thing to refer to your mother as (at least to her, it would be if Mikoto told a stranger like Es or his boss he was calling his 'kaasan', in those situations he'd be expected to say 母/haha) Its slightly more casual than お母さん/okaasan but it doesn't really matter that much, its a quite common term, especially for teenage boys/young men (Interestingly, in his first interrogation question of T1, Mikoto does write 'mother' as お母さん but that might not be too odd because he answers all his T1 questions like its a social media bio, which you'd expect to be casual)

Underneath this we see the phrase 通話終了 (tsuuwa shuuryou/call terminated) Above we see there is still 4G, be battery is harder to read, but still seems to say 29%/be in a similar charge to before But the time has changed to 6:09 (presumably still in the morning)

(the other options not visible on Mikoto's phone say ミュート (myuuto/mute), キーパッド (kiipaddo/keypad), スピーカー (supiikaa/speaker) and 通話を追加 (tsuuwa wo tsuika/add call)

#mikoto kayano #milgram #ミルグラム #milgram translation #this took so long because I keep having to answer the door for trick or treaters 😭

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morbidology · 7 months

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Keith Dardeen and his wife, Elaine, lived in a mobile home just outside Ina, Illinois, with their 2-year-old son, Peter. At the time, Elaine was also pregnant with their second child, a daughter. Keith worked as a treatment plant operator while Elaine worked in an office supply store. In their free time, they played in the musical ensemble at a local Baptist church.

The area the young family lived in had been becoming increasingly violent and the couple wanted to move somewhere safer for their children. Keith was very protective of his family and only wanted what was best for them. On one occasion, he refused entry to the home to a young woman who asked to use their phone.

On the 18th of November, 1987, Keith didn’t show up to work for his shift nor had he called in sick, something which was very out of character for the reliable worker. When Keith's supervisor called his home, there was no answer. He decided to call up Keith's parents, but they too were unable to get a hold of him.

Keith's parents called police and arranged to meet them at Keith's home with the spare key. They slowly opened up the front door and were met by a scene that traumatized even the most seasoned detectives. Elaine, Peter and a newborn baby girl lay deceased on one of the beds. Elaine and Peter had been bound and gagged and then beaten to death with Peter's own baseball bat which had been a gift from his father. During the senseless attack, Elaine had given birth to a baby girl, but instead of giving her mercy, the killer beat her to death too.

Keith was nowhere to be seen, and detectives surmised that he had killed his family and then fled. They noticed that his car was missing from the driveway, only adding more to to heir suspicions. However, the following day, Keith’s body was discovered in a field approximately a mile from the trailer. Keith had been shot three times and his penis had been chopped off.

His car would later be found parked outside the local police station. The inside was spattered with blood, indicating that Keith had been killed or mutilated there. As news of the murders circulated around the area, residents were left even more fearful than they already had been. There was a rise in gun and security system sales as people sought to protect themselves.

Detectives were stumped to find a motivation. Nothing in the home had been stolen, and there were no extramarital affairs or enemies that could hint at a revenge motivated killing. The murders were so brutal that some detectives even theorized that the crime was the was work of a cult trying to appease the devil.

The most promising lead came when serial killer Tommy Lynn Sells claimed he had carried out the killings along with around 70 other unsolved murders. While he was linked to a number of these murders, detectives could never definitively link him to the Dardeen murders. He often gave statements which didn’t match with the evidence.

Sells claimed he met Keith at a gas station and was invited back to the home for a threesome with himself and Elaine, something which his family and friends completely refuted. They said that Keith was a family man, and rarely even opened the door to strangers never mind invite them inside.

To this date, nobody has ever been charged with the murders of the Dardeen family.

#true crime #unsolved #cold case #mystery

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billspotts · 19 days

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Silence, Siege and Persecution: Venezuela’s Media After the Elections

“Today I heard on the radio: ‘Our programming today will be 100% music, because music is a refuge, a safe place,’” economist Omar Zambrano tweeted a few days after the July 28th elections. In fact, for almost two weeks after the disputed results were announced by the National Electoral Council and spontaneous protests erupted throughout the country, most radio shows –including those with the largest audiences, such as journalists Shirley Varnagy’s and Román Lozinki’s– went off the air.

“These have been difficult weeks for all of us as citizens, including those of us who practice this profession”, Varnagy said in an Instagram post after two weeks of silence. “The circumstances force me to think very carefully about the words I say and write. I don’t live abroad, I’m inside.” Varnagy then announced she wouldn’t return to the radio until September 9th, more than a month after the presidential elections. Lozinski returned on August 26th. “I insist that these have not been easy days for those of us who make a living from the radio,” he said on an Instagram post announcing his return.

But the silence, the veiled messages, weren’t limited to Venezuela’s already highly-censored radio stations – of which more than 150 have been closed down by CONATEL, the government’s telecommunications agency, since 2022 according to the National Press Workers Union (SNTP).

As reports of detentions and passport annulments multiplied after the elections, the silence–usual in television, newspapers and most radio shows–suddenly swayed through social and online media too.

Journalists put their accounts private or altogether stopped tweeting, political podcasts halted and Venezuelan independent media started to publish articles without bylines (as we’ve been doing in Caracas Chronicles).

A week after July 28th, journalist Alonso Moleiro accurately described the ambiance: “The prevailing feeling is fear,” he wrote in the Spanish newspaper El País. “Politicians are hermetic. Interviews are canceled. People close to political leaders change their phone numbers. There is a huge hesitance in WhatsApp groups; Zoom conversations are rare. The police harass citizens looking for data on their mobile phones.”

The crackdown against the press ramped up before July 28th, when CONATEL ordered that public and private internet providers block a series of independent media, watchdogs and fact-checking websites. First, on early July, the government blocked anti-disinformation fact-checkers Es Paja, Cazadores de Fake News and Observatorio de Fake News alongside the media NGO Instituto Prensa y Sociedad de Venezuela (IPYS Venezuela) and VPN service Proton. Then, on July 22, the sites of watchdogs Medianálisis and VE Sin Filtro were blocked alongside independent media El Estímulo, Analítica and Runrunes.

During the same period, Nicolás Maduro repeatedly referred to foreign media agencies –including Reuters, AFP, AP, EFE and CNN– as “garbage” and “hitmen of untruthfulness.” His legislature speaker, Jorge Rodríguez, even engaged in an online brawl with APEX–the Foreign Press Association in Venezuela.

Then, the elections came. And detentions followed.

Since July 28th, 13 journalists and press workers have been detained in the country by state security forces, according to the SNTP (four have been freed, including one on parole). Three of them–including Ronald Carreño, a political prisoner with ties to opposition party Voluntad Popular who had been released last year as part of the US-Venezuela talks–were arrested for belonging to opposition parties. Other detained journalists including showbiz reporter Carmela Longo–who was released on parole afterwards, but charged with terrorism–, La Patilla journalist Ana Carolina Guaita in La Guaira, and photojournalist Deisy Peña in Los Teques, were taken for just doing their jobs.

“Our media outlet has a profile that is very different from the rest and we don’t do hard news,” says Irene (fake name), who works in a small Venezuelan digital outlet. “But in the end, as Carmela’s case shows, anyone can get in trouble for whatever reason now without you necessarily doing anything.” The pattern is changing. Before the elections, detentions were mostly focused on people helping the opposition campaign or participating in it. In fact, the three journalists detained before the elections–Gabriel González, Luis López and Carlos Julio Rojas–had ties to political parties or grassroots political movements. But, since July 28th, repression has drifted towards reporting-focused journalists.

The role of journalists in narrating the people’s rejection of the results announced by the CNE and the coverage on their veracity led to a “policy of silencing, of siege, of persecution” against the press, SNTP Secretary General Marco Ruiz says. Similarly, he says, there’s been a policy of silencing the coverage of protests and anti-government expressions.

And the July 28th elections have not only unleashed detentions. “We have recorded campaigns of hate and criminalization against journalists in different states like Aragua, Portuguesa, Carabobo, Zulia, Bolívar, Táchira,” Ruiz says, “Many of them are now in safekeeping. In other cases, we have had to use extraction procedures and they are outside the country because they were at risk of arrest.”

The situation has also changed the content and internal dynamics of Venezuelan outlets. “Everything we had planned to publish during the rest of the year is now paralyzed,” Irene says, “because now we are not publishing anything that doesn’t have to do with what’s happening, because we think there’s nothing more important.” Some of her colleagues, she says, have also stopped tweeting because of the emotional toll.

Similarly, outlets –including Caracas Chronicles– have faced difficulties to find sources willing to speak on the record or contribute with their analyses. “I can’t find voices willing to give a testimony on what’s happening in Venezuela, they are taking a lot of care”, says veteran Venezuelan journalist César Miguel Rondón, who hosts a radio program in Miami, “No one wants to end up disappeared, in a jail, because of some henchman’s whims… I think we had never seen a situation as ugly and dangerous as this one.”

In fact, many journalists have been affected by the massive annulment of passports that social activists, politicians and NGO members have also reported. “I know of correspondents who had their passports annulled,” says Nancy (fake name), who works as a stringer in Caracas for an international outlet and decided to leave the country after the elections. “I know of other journalists who also left the country under the radar, I know of photojournalists who have decided not to publish political pictures on their social media or asked for credit to be removed, I know of international media outlets who are now solely doing remote work to avoid the risk of going to their offices.”

This is why so many outlets are publishing articles without bylines and the alliance Venezuela Vota resorted to creating the AI avatars of Operación Retuit to broadcast news summary videos without risking their staff.

“We put safety of the team and staff as the top priority of the media outlet where I work and lead,” said Carlos (fake name), the director of a Caracas-based digital outlet. His site is not publishing bylines and has avoided sending journalists to cover protests “due to the risk of arbitrary detention.” The team is also using alternative messaging applications like Signal (blocked in Venezuela after the elections) and working remotely. Carlos says they have also designed a protocol to offer a safehouse to any journalist in his team who is threatened and even to be extracted from the country “in coordination with international networks of journalists specialized in this type of actions.”

For Nancy, journalists in national and regional outlets are at more risk but she doesn’t rule out the possibility of crackdowns on correspondants and stringers. “Now I have an enormous terror I had never felt,” she says, “especially because of how random the decisions seem and how unclear the rules of the game are. It’s basically a roulette and you never know when your turn will be.”

The State has also cracked down against social media and digital communications beyond the work of the press. Checkpoints where officers check people’s phone for pro-opposition content, usually leading to detentions or thousand-dollars extortions, have become common throughout Caracas and the rest of the country after July 28th. In fact, the government has called on Venezuelans to stop using Whatsapp and even blocked X–originally for ten days, but the deadline passed on and the network continues to be inaccessible in Venezuela without a VPN.

“The underlying problem is that WhatsApp is the platform that people used to efficiently disseminate information horizontally” and without censorship during the campaign and post-electoral protests, human rights activist Rafael Uzcátegui says. “Censorship in social media is not only to try to avoid people from expressing themselves, or being afraid to do so, but also to neutralize their autonomous capacity to establish links with others that bypass the state” and its media ecosystem.

In fact, the government has even threatened influencers who publicly supported María Corina Machado.

“You have to decide whether you want to continue your careers, first of all, with your families in Venezuela”, Maduro said, addressing celebrities–particularly Miami-based Youtube humorist Lele Pons–and social media stars that hosted lives and podcast episodes with Machado.

Maduro even accused Pons of conspiring to “impose” a government in Venezuela.

In fact, on July 31st during a press conference with international media, Maduro said “TikTok and Instagram are in the hands of imperialism” and “they are manipulating [people] to bring a civil war to Venezuela.” He then lambasted international agencies: “Do not insist on your agenda to bring war to Venezuela,” he said, “you, the international media, are responsible for the death and wars in Afghanistan, Iraq and Libya.”

A month after the elections, Maduro charged against the media again: this time, he accused local outlets TalCual, Efecto Cocuyo and El Pitazo of receiving USAID funds and of being part of the alleged conspiracy that the government blames for the recent nationwide power outage.

“This is an informal curfew against journalists, imposed de facto,” Ruiz says, “to dismantle the journalistic profession and the media in practically all the states of the country.”

“What I fear the most is the government’s level of evilness. I know they are capable of going against children and the elderly alike, and I will die if they touch my parents or my child,” says Nancy, who is unsure about returning to Venezuela, “this changed. And very quickly.”

#venezuela

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historia-vitae-magistras · 1 year

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Part Five: Interrogations

First Installment: Here.

Last Installment: Here.

Current Installment: You are here!

Author's note: Inspired by the 1950s short story "The Man Who Came Early" by Poul Anderson. This installment of the Viking-time-travel au sees Arthur ever so polite, some light torture and gore, some slightly tenderized federal fillet and some primo semi-sane eldritch Mattie. This should be the last use of humans.

21st Century

Washington DC

Diplomatic Security Service

It was easy enough. Two minutes in the car, three key card swipes of Alfred’s ID cards Matthew had lifted from his apartment, four steps past the secretary’s back as she left for the night. Five more as he entered a shitty little office in some shitty little government building.

“Good evening,” Arthur, in the very image of proper manners, greeted the man sitting behind the desk, hand extended to introduce himself. "Arthur Kirkland, I believe I may have some business with you."

“They said you might come.” Corcoran muttered. He didn't shake Arthur's hand. His son’s handler was a paunch-laden man with a red face and puffy hands named Cocorcan in his forties. He was only somewhat familiar to Arthur, as Alfred had been on his best behaviour lately, studying hard to fling himself off the planet again. No one serious had been given the post for some time.

"Did they do? I am glad to hear it! Hopefully, that will help us smooth this along!"

“What… would that be?”

“I haven’t heard from my son, your chief responsibility, in some time.” Arthur had not sat. He ran a finger through some dust on a shelf holding official-looking framed certificates and made a face—Corcoran sweat. Arthur squashed his pleasure. “Now, why would that be?”

“I’m sure service is spotty.” Corcoran tried. And failed.

“Is that so?” Arthur countered. “Are you quite sure about that?”

"It's a space station. How reliable could cell service be?” Corcoran gave a pathetic shrug.

“You may want to consider your answer. You have one more opportunity before I hand things over to my associate, if only because Alfred is ever so fond of the inept fools put in charge of him. Have you anything to say about that?”

“Like I said—”

He didn’t get another word out before the blood had drained from his face. Matthew appeared at Arthur’s shoulder, and Corcoran looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“You’re dead, they dragged you out of Hudson Bay!” Oh, this was going to be fun.

"Is that right?" Arthur glanced at Matthew. Honestly, it was more difficult to keep him alive now that he was grown than when he was small. Well, grown. Overgrown. He took in the lad's height. They would have to talk about that. And the Matthew did look like he’d been dead for a day or two, but that was par for the course for his boy when stressed. Somewhere between refusing to cry and appearing at Arthur's, his face had transformed into the one Arthur had rarely seen in recent years. His son had not been a creature of the shadows for some time, and the sharp points of his face were predatory. “Well, that would explain how uncontrollable he’s become! Made quite a mess. Come back wrong, did you lad?”

Corcoran didn’t respond. He put his hand to his waist, where there would be a service pistol. Matthew was faster, his fingers finding the attaching small joints of Corcoran’s dominant hand and pinching so tightly that Corcoran’s grip jumped open. One smooth motion saw the man’s face smushed against the wall, one arm flailing, the other bent at an extreme angle behind his head. Even the smallest resistance would see the shoulder pop out at a sickening angle. It was Matthew’s favourite grapple. The maneuver didn’t require strength, and he efficiently used his stronger left hand and great height. Smart lad.

Matthew easily disarmed him, kicking the pistol across the floor, then an out-of-date mobile phone. Arthur pocketed both. And then, looking happier than he had in days, Matthew put the tip of his old paratrooper knife against the man’s jugular.

"You can start talking, or I can start cutting." The knife's point rested against the man's skin, and Matt stared hard into his eyes as the Corcoran dragged his head to stare out at Matthew. Matthew hadn’t slept, which would be evident to anyone, but his son was unstable. Arthur knew better. Matthew looked unpredictable, unhinged and half mad, precisely what the situation needed. What had been frustrated tears were now red-rimmed eyes on a sharp, bone-pale face. He looked out of control, breathing hard, his eyes narrow, desperate and… oddly gleeful. “You choose.”

"I'm afraid the lad is rather handy with his whittling." Arthur added as if noting the weather was particularly pleasant that day. He pulled the points of his waistcoat down and leaned over. “Won medals when he was a lad. I suggest doing as asked.”

“I can’t!”

“Loyal to your country, are you?” Matthew asked, his voice hardly audible. Soft and insane. “Might want to give that loyalty a second thought."

Shot through with pride, Arthur suppressed a smile and clicked his tongue in a scolding way, and shook his head, like Matthew was being petulant about naptime. “Just answer a few questions, and this will all go away.”

“You can't do this! It’ll be right to the electric chair for both of you.”

“Just because you kill me doesn’t mean I’ll die.” Matthew’s pressure on the blade increased; just enough that blood trickled down Corcoran’s jugular. The man trembled. Matthew put his face closer to Corcoran’s jaw. “You did something to my brother. My brother. His laughter was the first thing I knew of humanity. And you’re going to tell me where the fuck he is or you will never hear another laugh. Neither will your wife or your children. Anyone who ever knew you will know nothing but the silence I have endured. There will be nothing but winter where you once knew joy.”

Jesus Christ. Arthur blinked, once and then twice. Well, the boys had always been fond of each other.

Corcoran whimpered. Arthur rolled his shoulders and sighed, disappointed in him.

"We wouldn't want you to make a poor choice, would we? My boy is wonderfully creative.”

Corcoran broke.

#my writing || cacoethes scribendi #I have a lot of pent up emotions rn so eriogeorjigjioerg sorry #the dangeld axe to grind: the viking age time travel au #matthew || my country is winter #Arthur and the children || bilge rat and his bouncing baby bilge rats

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