One of the most thought-provoking essays I’ve read on AI this year.

Jerry Kaplan argues that the growing panic over “superintelligence” is driven more by science fiction than by computer science. Rather than dismissing AI risks, he makes a more nuanced case: we’re asking the wrong questions. Instead of obsessing over hypothetical machines that suddenly develop their own ambitions, we should focus on the very real challenge of ensuring humans use increasingly powerful AI responsibly.

His central claim is provocative: intelligence is not the same as autonomy, and today’s fears about runaway superintelligence risk distracting us from the genuine opportunities—and genuine risks—that AI already presents. If we regulate AI based on imagined futures instead of present realities, we may unintentionally slow technologies that could transform medicine, science, cybersecurity, and human wellbeing.

Whether you agree with him or not, the essay - The Misguided Panic About Superintelligence - challenges many of the assumptions driving today’s AI debate. It’s a thoughtful, evidence-based counterpoint that’s well worth your time.

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Whistle Blower and the Traitor is the penultimate volume of The Kenright Chronicles.

James King has constructed, across the first four books of this series, a narrative of remarkable density and discipline. Characters have been developed with patience. Conspiracies have been layered with care. Emotional stakes have been built slowly and honestly, so that when they are tested the impact is genuine. Whistle Blower and the Traitor is the moment when the construction begins to pay off with full force.

Part 1 — Loyalty. Betrayal. Justice. The Reckoning.

In Book 5 of The Kenright Chronicles, you will understand what Jack Kenright has survived. Imprisonment – vendetta - and discovery that the forces arrayed against him reach far beyond a vindictive client into a vast, corrupt, and ruthless organisation. He adapts, plans, and endures. And now, in Whistle Blower and the Traitor, his masterplan moves into its second and most dangerous phase.

Phase two begins with Stuart Jeffries, Jack’s friend and partner. Stuart’s brave decision will change the shape of all that follows, as he strikes a deal with the FBI.

What that deal means for Stuart, Jack, and the international criminal empire known as Network, is the engine that drives this novella. As Jeffries becomes the FBI’s most valuable mole inside Europe’s most corrupt bank, the legal net tightens across three oceans. Corrupt officials scatter. Hardened criminals disappear. Two wanted men vanish. One is presumed dead, the other is a mega-criminal mastermind. Jack finds himself the prime suspect in a murder investigation.

The hunt spans three oceans. And who will make it to safety?

A murder has been dressed up carefully — arranged to look like a cult killing, or perhaps a botched job. Being framed for murder is not merely a legal problem, it is a warning.

Network is fracturing. But fracturing empires are often at their most dangerous, at precisely the moment when they appear most vulnerable. The question is not simply whether the masterplan will succeed. It is whether Jack and those closest to him will survive the endgame long enough to find out.

Whistle Blower and the Traitor is the series at full throttle. A Novella immense in consequence is the culmination of four previous books that built the tension, and it releases it with precision and force. Nothing is wasted. Every revelation has been hard earned. And by the final page, readers will be anticipating a climactic conclusion in the final Book 6 of the series.

Part 2 — What This Book Is Really About

At its core, Whistle Blower and the Traitor is a story about the price of loyalty — and what it means when trusted people are forced to make consequential choices.

Stuart Jeffries has been a presence throughout the series. Jack’s partner, his ally, is the man who knows more about what Jack has been through more than anyone. His decision to work with the FBI is not simple. It is a choice that only makes sense when you understand what has preceded it — the betrayals, the cost, the sheer scale of Network’s reach and criminality. But even understanding why he made it does not make the consequences any less complex. Trust is a liability. And what Jeffries sets in motion will change the lives of all those connected in the story.

When the masterplan enters its final phase, loyalty becomes the most dangerous currency of all.

The book explores what the rawness of justice can feel like. Not the clean, courtroom variety where the innocent are acquitted and the guilty are led away in handcuffs while the gallery watches. The justice in this story is messy, ambiguous, and hard-won in a dirty fight. It is costly in unexpected ways, and it raises the question that runs beneath the surface throughout the series: is it fair? When judicial systems produce outcomes that can be internally justified but morally troubling, paradoxical justice is the best label we can give it.

Jack’s position in this book is uniquely exposed. He has spent four volumes surviving by keeping one step ahead. Here, for perhaps the first time, events move faster than his ability to control them. Being framed for murder is a threat that cannot be planned for in advance. It requires improvisation, nerve, and a moral clarity that is hard to maintain when the world is pressing in from every side.

That exposure — that sense of genuine vulnerability in a man who has proved himself extraordinarily capable of survival — is what makes Whistle Blower and the Traitor so compelling. It reminds us that Jack is not invincible. He is simply a man who has refused, repeatedly, to give up. And in the penultimate chapter of his story, that refusal is tested as it has never been tested before.

Part 3 — The Story Behind the Story

James King says the most dangerous people he ever encountered were not the ones who operated in the dark. They were the ones who understood how to take advantage of the light — how to position themselves within legitimate institutions, respectable professions, and trusted relationships, while pursuing objectives that bore no resemblance to what appeared on the surface.

Whistle Blower and the Traitor is a book that explores that observation. The FBI deal at its centre, the corrupt bank at the heart of Network’s operations, the officials who scatter when the net tightens — none of it feels like genre invention because it is not. It is drawn from a lifetime of watching how power actually functions when no one is watching.

The character of Stuart Jeffries — the mole, the double agent, the partner whose loyalties are more layered than they first appear — reflects something King understands from direct experience: that in complex, morally compromised situations, the most interesting people are rarely just good or bad. They are people trying to navigate impossible positions with the tools available to them, making choices the consequences of which they cannot see at the time.

The Kenright Chronicles is fiction. But the behaviour it describes is not.

The mechanics of how an international criminal investigation actually unfolds — the jurisdictional complexity, the way informants are handled, the calculated destruction of evidence and the manufacturing of alternative narratives — is rendered in this book with a specificity that comes from knowledge and research. King has observed much of the dynamics at close quarters. The result is a novella that reads not like a thriller writer imagining how these things work, but like someone who watched them happen and found a way to put that experience on the page.

The personal investment in Whistle Blower and the Traitor runs deep. Questions about loyalty — real loyalty, tested loyalty, and loyalty that survives, are questions that have defined significant periods of King’s own life. Jack’s situation in this book, exposed and vulnerable and facing threats that come from unexpected directions, reflects a particular kind of experience: the experience of realising that the rules of the game you were playing now have been changed, and the people you trusted may not be exactly who you believed them to be. It is a universal experience. But King has lived it in circumstances that readers may find extraordinary.

Part 4 — Where Whistle Blower and the Traitor Fits in the Series

The Kenright Chronicles is a series that builds momentum. Each book adds weight to what came before, deepening the story rather than just extending it. Whistle Blower and the Traitor is the penultimate volume — the point at which everything the series has been constructing begins to converge with unstoppable momentum.

The Journey So Far

JACK, the prequel, gives us the boy — the choirboy in 1960s England who will eventually become the man at the centre of all that follows. Book 2 - Picton Street introduces that man: the successful investment banker whose life begins to unravel when he is drawn into a criminal underworld he did not seek. Book 3 - Enemies of Justice escalates the stakes to the point of genuine threat — the gun pointed at his face, the conspiracy designed to eliminate him. Book 4 - Survival Plan shows us Jack at his most resourceful, engineering a bizarre plan from the inside to protect his daughter and strike back at the forces that have destroyed his life.

What Book 5 Delivers

Whistle Blower and the Traitor is the moment when the masterplan is finally, dangerously, put into action. Stuart Jeffries — the partner whose full significance the series has been building toward — moves to centre stage. The FBI and Operation Nightingale enter the picture and change the narrative. And Jack, the prime suspect in a murder he did not commit, must navigate the most exposed position he has occupied since the opening pages of the series.

This is the book that sets up The Hunt for Bella Rosa with maximum force. By the time Whistle Blower and the Traitor reaches its conclusion, readers will understand that the final chapter of Jack Kenright’s story is not merely a finale. It is a reckoning forty years in the making.

A Note on Format

Like The Hunt for Bella Rosa, Whistle Blower and the Traitor is presented as a novella rather than a full-length novel. This is a deliberate choice. The story at this stage of the series has a momentum that a longer form could dissipate. These are books that move fast because they have to — because everything is now in rapid motion, and the only question is how it lands. Readers who have come this far will not find themselves wishing for more pages. They will be reaching for Book 6 before they have finished the last paragraph of Book 5.

Part 5 — Why Read Whistle Blower and the Traitor?

If you have read the first four books of The Kenright Chronicles, not reading Book 5 is simply not an option. The story does not allow it. By the time you reach Whistle Blower and the Traitor, Jack Kenright is a character you will be invested in, genuinely, personally, and with real stakes attached to his fate.

But for readers coming to the series for the first time or looking for a reason to commit to the full journey, Whistle Blower and the Traitor is important because it is proof that the series delivers on building from the ground up. The FBI deal is the culmination of choices made across four volumes. The murder frame-up is the logical, terrifying consequence of being who Jack has become in the world he now inhabits. None of it came about by mis-fortune.

It makes you feel that what happens next really matters.

James King writes with the authority of someone who understands this world from the inside. Criminal architecture feels real because it is based on his observations. The emotional stakes feel genuine because they are drawn from genuine experience. And the story — propulsive, morally complex, deeply human — delivers exactly what the best psychological thrillers promise: the satisfaction of reading a story with precision and power.

Check availablility of Book 5 - Whistle Blower and the Traitor and all other books in the series. Starting with JACK is recommended — and read them in order. The journey is the point.

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For decades, the United States has presented itself as the most powerful nation on Earth, and the custodian of a global order. It has spoken the language of democracy, international law, human rights and collective security. Even critics of American foreign policy often accepted the assumption that beneath the wars, sanctions and covert interventions there remained some larger stabilising mission. America, we were told, was imperfect, but necessary.

The assumption is collapsing.

A growing number of political thinkers, diplomats and historians are asking whether the United States still behaves like a world leader at all, or whether it has evolved into something else entirely: a predatory hegemon — a superpower that increasingly uses its dominance not to maintain stability, but to extract obedience, concessions and economic advantage from allies and adversaries alike.

The distinction matters because a hegemon, historically, maintains influence by providing benefits others cannot easily provide for themselves such as:

· security guarantees,

· stable trade routes,

· financial systems,

· diplomatic coordination and

· institutional order.

The Roman Empire, the British Empire and post-war America all justified their dominance partly through this logic. Nations accepted unequal power relationships because participation in the system still brought rewards.

A Predatory Hegemon behaves differently.

A predatory hegemon

· treats alliances as transactions,

· weaponises dependence, and

· sees loyalty as tribute not a partnership.

According to political scientist Stephen Walt, this newer model increasingly defines American foreign policy. In recent interviews discussing predatory hegemony, Walt argues that Washington’s approach now often resembles the behaviour of an empire extracting short-term gains from its own sphere of influence rather than cultivating long-term trust.

The evidence is difficult to ignore.

Economic sanctions, once presented as exceptional measures, have become routine instruments of coercion. Nations that fall outside Washington’s geopolitical preferences can find themselves excluded from banking systems, international trade mechanisms or access to the dollar itself. Allies are pressured to align economically and militarily, even when doing so damages their own interests. And international institutions appear respected only when they reinforce American priorities and are denounced when they do not.

The contradiction has become increasingly visible in the rhetoric surrounding the so-called - rules-based international order. The phrase is repeated endlessly by Western governments, yet many nations now observe that the rules seem unevenly enforced. International law appears rigid when applied to adversaries and flexible when applied to allies.

This is one reason why much of the Global South no longer views American leadership with the reverence it once commanded. The language of democracy increasingly collides with memories of Iraq, Libya, sanctions regimes, drone warfare and support for authoritarian allies when strategically convenient.

The Deeper Problem

The deeper problem may not be hypocrisy alone. It may be decline.

Historically, empires become most dangerous when they sense their dominance weakening. As competitors emerge, the temptation grows to replace persuasion with coercion. Cooperation gives way to pressure, and stability becomes secondary to maintaining primacy.

The Rise of China

The rise of China has accelerated this transition.

For the first time since the end of the Cold War, the United States faces a genuine systemic rival —

· economically,

· technologically, and

· diplomatically.

China offers infrastructure, investment and alternative institutions that reduce dependence on Western systems. Meanwhile, nations such as India, Brazil and Saudi Arabia increasingly pursue multi-aligned strategies rather than automatic Western alignment.

The unipolar world is fading.

What will replace the unipolar world remains uncertain.

Some analysts argue this transition could lead to a healthier balance of power, where no single state can dominate the globe unchallenged. Others fear a far more unstable outcome, such as:

· fragmented blocs,

· economic warfare,

· proxy conflicts, and

· a complete erosion of international norms.

What makes the current moment especially dangerous is that America still possesses extraordinary military, financial and technological power. But it appears increasingly unable to convert that power into genuine legitimacy.

Military supremacy can compel obedience for a time. But it cannot indefinitely manufacture trust.

Even close allies are quietly hedging their bets.

· Europe talks about strategic autonomy.

· Gulf states deepen relations with China.

· Asian nations attempt the difficult balancing act of trading with Beijing while relying on Washington for security.

The world is not abandoning America – yet. But many states are clearly preparing for a future in which American leadership is less reliable, less restrained and more transactional than before.

The Paradox

This is the paradox at the centre of modern American power.

The more aggressively a hegemon attempts to preserve dominance, the faster it may accelerate the very decline it fears.

· Threats work — until they are repeated too often.

· Sanctions work — until alternative systems emerge.

· Military superiority works — until endless intervention drains credibility, finances and public trust at home.

Even empires eventually discover that fear is an expensive substitute for legitimacy.

The most revealing aspect of the debate is not whether America has made mistakes. Every great power has. It is whether the United States still sees global leadership as a responsibility, or merely as leverage.

That question now shapes the twenty-first century.

The world can tolerate an imperfect leader. But history suggests it struggles with a desperate hegemon.

Source: The Global Public Square’s video of Fareed Zakaria’s April 2026 opinions on the USA and Israel’s war on Iran.

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On the shores of Iran stood a man,
Who declared he detested Islam.
In a furious rage,
He saw on the stage,
A horse, a moose, and Oman.

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He was trapped, and there was no way out of the raging fire. The siren blared, deafening everyone within earshot, as the fire-engine screeched to a halt outside the front door. It was one o’clock in the morning, and Alfie stumbled out of bed looking for the mobile phone. He was sure he left it in the toilet when he came home late last night. When he staggered to the fridge to get some iced water, there it was rattling around in an open biscuit tin.

When bad dreams accompany bad happenings and senses are on high alert, the imagination takes over and reality becomes blurred. He held up his half-on, half-off shorts with his right hand, pressed the phone to his ear with his left, and somehow opened the front door with his elbow. Outside, all was dark and quiet. There was no fire, and no fire-engine.

“Hello, hello, who is it?”

“Alfie come now. Puk has been stealing. Gun is drunk, and she called the police. They are fighting. Can we come and sleep in your room?”

“Whoa. Not so fast. Why are the police fighting?”

“Not the police, you idiot. Puk and Gun.”

“Who’s we? Who wants to sleep in my room?”

“Me and Puk. What’s wrong with you?”

It was tough enough recovering from the shock of being woken from deep sleep in the dead of night. Trying to talk on the phone at the same time made it more demanding. And listening to a panic-stricken woman, shouting in riddles, was tortuous. The last thing he wanted at one in the morning was to be forced to talk to his ex-girlfriend. Half-conscious, stiff and unsure of what to do, he was overcome with a powerful sense of the idiot. Would Nin ever stop thinking she could use Alfie to solve her problems, however trivial they may be, without a moment’s thought for him. When the glass of water touched his lips, it brought life as he remembered it, closer. There is no need to hurry, he reasoned. She can wait.

He drank the water, and when he was fully awake, he dressed and mounted the little Yamaha Mio, started her up and set off down the back way to Gun’s house. What would he find when he got there he wondered, as he tootled through the narrow sois, free of humans, and only a few dogs on the prowl? They ignored him, except for one, that eyed him up, turned his head and then gave chase, as though it had not eaten for a week. The thought of being bitten by a rabid dog and getting the disease, made the motorbike go faster, and he raced through the lanes as quick as he could without losing control. But he forgot the last turn was ninety degrees and didn’t slow down. Too late, he avoided the wall but not a row of garbage bins that were overflowing and due for collection in a few hours. Dazed by the impact, he got to his feet and checked the bike before checking himself. It was undamaged, and all his arms and legs were attached to his body. Nothing hurt too much, so he picked himself up and scraped the rotting remains of KFC off his clothes. The bin men could deal with the mess. They were used to cleaning up after the dogs, so they were unlikely to think a motorcyclist was responsible.

Nin and Puk were lounging on the sofa when he arrived at Gun’s house. They were talking and listening to music, but there was no sign of Gun, and no acknowledgment of his arrival by either of them.

“What’s going on, girls? Where are the police?”

“Gun didn’t call them,” Nin said.

“So, everything’s fine?”

“Yes thanks.”

“Please don’t thank me, it’s been an absolute pleasure,” Alfie said, massively over emphasising the last two words.

Nin puckered her nose as if there was an unpleasant smell nearby. Satisfied no-one had farted, she said,

“You smell like you’ve been in a rubbish dump. Have you showered lately?”

“Let me think. Couple of days ago, maybe.”

“Disgusting.”

“Maybe it is to you. Since you left, I can shower when I feel like it.”

“So you always smell bad.”

“It would appear so.”

“I’m not surprised. If you don’t shower and go around with a half-eaten chicken wing wedged between your head and your crash-helmet, you will smell bad.”

Inebriated women, overdoses of sarcasm, blaring music and putrid KFC chicken, were things Alfie thought he’d left behind when he graduated from university. Nin could see how pissed off he was, yet she revelled in winding him up, and he wondered whether the whole thing had been staged.

He refused to react to her snide comments, or question why she didn’t budge from the sofa, which was the least he could have expected, if waking him in the middle of the night to rescue her was genuine. There was no sign of a peace offering, like beer or water. Puk ignored him and turned the music louder. Gun had passed out in her bedroom, which probably had something to do with why the argument had stopped and she didn’t call the police. That is, if there had ever been an argument.

Alfie looked at the clock on the wall. It was turning two. Some clocks can talk, but this wasn’t one of them. He wished it was, as it may have told him the truth.

He took the sensible option and drove away before blowing his top.

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My mood is black, bordering on suicidal. Nin has no further use for me. Her money is safely tucked away in the bank, and I am history. Abuse in the form of physical violence is easy to recognise. Mental abuse through verbal attacks, unwarranted silence or forced moroseness is not. Am I bitter? You bet I am. My disastrous marriage and the resulting acrimonious divorce in Cape Town’s divorce court, caused me to spend hours researching abuse in relationships. I was shocked to find how many men suffer abuse from their wives or partners, but I never imagined it could happen twice, and in such quick succession.

If you had been through what I’d been through, you’d feel bitter too. Say what you want, you may be the most sanguine person on earth, but if you were treated with such disrespect, you’d probably have a breakdown or violent reaction. A less balanced person would have fled the country. I nearly did; my finger was on the Enter key, before there was a power cut and Qatar Airways’ website disappeared. Riddled with angst, memories of the empty wine bottles and the post-it-notes on the fridge door came rushing back.

I am feeling sorry for myself, and I make no apologies. I fear for my sanity; I have to get away from this place and away from myself before something bad happens. I’m not joking. I’m sane enough to know there’s a problem round the corner.

I’ve been asleep a long time, and it’s time to wake from my slumber and do something about it. I know about abusive relationships; who doesn’t? But I never expected this. I know about junkies and alkies from the outside, that they go through hell. And I now know about domestic abuse from the inside.

“You are my son, and I know what you are capable of. How dare you turn your back on life – I let you down – I know. But that doesn’t give you an excuse to let yourself down. Pull yourself together, get out there and show the world who you are.”

When we argued, this was how my father tried to motivate me on more than one occasion. It may have been an elaborate game – a dance of vanities – seeking power over one another, the winner, to then abuse it without thought for morality. There was no winner. Had this not been the downfall of mankind for centuries?

When Hermann Hesse described the rape of the weak by the strong in the Glass Bead Game, he could just as easily have been describing the psychological abuse of one spouse by another.

World history is nothing but an endless dreary account of the rape of the weak by the strong. To associate real history, the timeless history of Mind, with this age old, stupid scramble of the ambitious for power and the climbers for a place in the sun – to link the two let alone to try to explain the one by the other – is in itself betrayal of the living spirit. It reminds me of a sect fairly widespread in the 19th or the 20th century whose members seriously believed that the sacrifices, the gods, the temples and myths of ancient peoples, as well as all other pleasant things, were the consequences of a calculable shortage of surplus food and work, the results of a tension measurable in terms of wages and the price of bread. In other words, the arts and religions were regarded as mere facades, so-called ideologies erected above a human race concerned solely with hunger and feeling.

Doesn’t the history of thought, of culture and the arts, have some kind of connection with the rest of history?

Absolutely not, his friend exclaimed. That is exactly what I’m denying. World history is a race with time, a scramble for profit, for power, for treasures. What counts is who has the strength, luck, or vulgarity, not to miss his opportunity. The achievements of thought, of culture, of art are just the opposite. They are always an escape from the serfdom of time, man crawling out of the muck of his instincts and out of his sluggishness, and climbing to a higher plane, to timelessness, liberation from time, divinity. They are utterly unhistorical and antihistorical.

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It was dark inside the cupboard. The darkness you might associate with a corpse in a coffin. If there had been a chink, the light that got in would have been as sharp as a laser. But there was no chink, only pitch black, and the child didn’t stop screaming until she let him out an hour later.

This was just one of the cruel punishments she inflicted on the child when he was naughty. And because he was a spirited three-year-old, whose father vanished before he arrived, and a mother who was absent most of the time, he was often naughty. Grandma was as stern with Boy as she had been with her four daughters.

Mother, as she was known to everyone inside and outside the family, was as unforgiving as the Korat Plateau’s harsh landscape and the climate of North-East Thailand. The village singled her out as a viper, a malicious and treacherous person, who most people steered clear of. She had infected three of her four daughters with her venom, and Nin, the eldest of the four, was the only one who had any respect for her. She was her mother, and Thai culture dictated the eldest had to take responsibility for younger siblings. In Nin’s case at eleven. Whether it was out of duty or love didn’t matter. Nin respected her Thai culture more than any other member of the discordant family and accepted what she was told without question. Her formative years were tough, and she dared not question her mother.

Mother had few allies, but those she had were poor women from the village where she grew up. They were of the same ilk and came to Mother’s rickety old house regularly, usually after dark. Under her spell, the coven conspired with Mother to enact vile and deceitful plans. Tonight, she sat alone on the stone floor outside the house, immersed in thought. She was planning the sting which would ruin her unsuspecting daughter, Nin. But first Mother had to trick Nin into finding a suitable farang (Westerner) partner, before parting him from his money.

She had successfully masterminded several rip-offs, within her immediate family, of six sisters and three brothers. Most of them were illiterate, even though the second decade of the twenty-first century was about to dawn. The few who had received a rudimentary education, were below her street intellect. But this was Mother’s most ambitious swindle by far. Gaining the trust of an illiterate family was easy compared to taking on the naïve but savvy Nin, and the farang she had yet to find. She wasn’t stupid enough to underestimate a Western man, even if he was green to the ways of Thailand. Most rural Thais had a grudging respect for people from the West, regardless of what they knew about them, which was very little.

“I’m going to sell the house and land and move south with Tuk,” Mother announced, from her seat under the tamarind tree.

“But where will the family live?”

“That’s up to you.”

“Why up to me?”

“You’re my eldest daughter. It’s your responsibility.”

The seed was planted, the first element in Mother’s plan was in place, and Nin didn’t question her. Had Mother convinced her she was going to sell the family home, which sat on two rai of land in the middle of the village? She was sure she had, and she was confident her daughter would get the money. Mother didn’t care from where it came or how she would get it.

The poorly constructed old house, built thirty years previously, was run down and worthless. It was no more than a cattle shed. The value was in the land, and it was the custom for Thai families to gift land to the next generation, in their lifetime or after death. Most often in their lifetime. What Mother was planning to do was abnormal and would be frowned upon, unless there were extenuating circumstances, and it would have to be extreme for parents to even think about selling the family home over the heads of their daughters or sons. No-one alive in the village had seen it happen or had heard of an instance where it happened.

Now a remnant of the past, the old house had been home to the family since Nin was born. The sun shone daily, reaching out to light an unloved building, which skulked in the shadows of neglect and evil memories. Shutters darkened the abandoned interior, and no-one cared that years of dirt could be removed with ease. Even close to death, new life could be breathed into it, and with little effort and a few tins of paint it would be transformed. But frozen hearts had not thawed, and the house was a tombstone to another age. Even the ghosts stumbled around the rotting structure in muted apathy, waiting to be kissed by a ray of sunshine to warm their sallow cheeks.

“Please don’t sell the land, Mother.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want you to. I will get the money for you and Tuk to go away, then you can transfer it to me.”

Mother sunk into the dilapidated armchair, the only one the house possessed. It groaned under her weight, praying for the day when it could retire gracefully on the scrap heap. She gave nothing away, just smiled inwardly. Nin was hooked, and within a week, she had scraped together five thousand baht plus a thousand for the fare. She packed a small bag with clothes and boarded the bus to Phuket at Lam Plai Mat railway station.

***

Nin woke as the bus lumbered into Phuket Town Bus Station, eighteen hours after leaving Isaan. Many girls, young and old, from the North-East, made the journey so they could make money from tourists. There was always work and they could earn a lot more money in Phuket than they could in Isaan, especially if they had some skills. The cream was in tips, and the tips were in waitressing at the low end and sex services at the high end. Most girls lived rough, sharing rooms for rent at as little as three thousand baht a month, and eating cheap food from roadside mobile shops. They sent most of the money home to their struggling families and the children they hadn’t planned to bring into the world. Many stayed until their kids grew up, and many daughters of sex workers were destined to repeat the cycle, as soon as they looked old enough to work legally. The big prize was to hook a farang, and there were plenty available, but the secret lay in how to find a good man. The short-term tourists who were on holiday having a few weeks fun, were easy pickings, and they would often pay more than they should. But they had to be replaced when their holiday was over and they went home to Europe or America, where most of them lived. Then there was the older man looking for a full-time nursemaid, and plenty of variations in between.

For several days no-one in the village noticed Nin had gone. All her life, people had looked down on her and her poor family, so even when she was there, no-one noticed.

Literary Review

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It was June of 2008, and Alfie’s immediate future looked bleak.

He left the two sisters, and grabbed a taxi to Phuket airport, bound for Bangkok and the bi-annual Jewellery Fair. Lehman Brothers declared bankruptcy; the Federal Reserve bailed out AIG Insurance; money market funds lost one hundred and forty-four billion dollars in a day, and investors were running to gold. The price had doubled since Alfie bought the business in 2004, and now it looked set to double again. How soon was anyone’s guess, and speculating on anything was a longer odds gamble than usual. He always enjoyed the four days with friends, who flew into Bangkok from around the world, twice a year, for the Fair. But he worried about his business in South Africa and was glad he was returning to Cape Town.

June came and went so fast, Alfie hardly noticed. When July took over, Thailand had seduced him. He even called the Kata Bungalows Resort, home, without a moment’s thought that his home was in Cape Town. Never one for convention, Alfie was comfortable in the role of non-conformist. If he’d been a Frenchman in World War Two, he would have played a part in the resistance and thought the war was fun. Maybe as the owner of a Bistro in Paris. He would have entertained German officers, plying them with cognac and gourmet meals, while members of the resistance, dressed as onion sellers and peddlers, were plotting their demise in his cellar. When August kicked July out the door he owned the beach in the early morning, until lazy holiday makers drifted down to fry themselves in Ambre Solaire, as the day grew hotter. Alfie, the odd local and a stray dog or two, had Kata Beach to themselves. He tried not to think how fast the hundred-day holiday was winding down, or that by mid-September home would be Cape Town again.

It was hard to relax in the final days before leaving, and people must have noticed a tinge of sadness, as he said his goodbyes. A special one for Pong, in the laundry room, when Nin was working her last day, gave him a guilt complex he couldn’t hide. His obvious discomfort showed he wasn’t a callous philanderer, which endeared him to Pong. Despite feeling uneasy, he was elated to have made a good friend of a special person. It had taken time, but he realised he meant more to her than he thought, and he told her she should make her feelings clearer in future.

“This is the way I am. And now you know me better. Who knows what the future holds?”

“Will you keep in touch?”

“If you want me to, I will. And remember what Ot said about Nin, back in July.”

“I will,”

She leaned across and kissed him softly, a silent tear rolling down her cheek. And when he held her, more tears flowed, like a river to the sea. Pong’s grip was so tight, he would have struggled to free himself. Not that he wanted to.

A man can easily miss, things that are obvious to a woman.

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‘Good morning, I’m Bonzo Waddington, and this is The Voice of Reason, your morning chat show on channel sixty-nine. The channel that blows your socks off and sends you into raptures of ecstasy.’

What an idiot. It had to be the biggest load of crap ever created by America, worse than Fox News and McDonald’s. They broadcast it before most people were awake in the morning, and it still topped the ratings. Then they replayed it after work, so people could listen in their cars going home. I just didn’t get it. Thank God I didn’t have to listen to it for another four months. Come to think of it, why did I listen to it at all? If that shit could top the ratings, Donald Trump could become America’s next president. Imagine that. What could be more odious than a narcissistic bigot, consumed with hatred and envy?

The night was closing in, and the intercom buzzer I’d threatened to move for god knows how long, was louder than a machine gun, when I stood next to it. I just hadn’t got around to doing it.

Shit, I screamed, after spraying a mouthful of rooibos tea over the kitchen wall. My frayed nerves had taken control of my bodily functions again.

“Yes?” I yelled, as I yanked the receiver off the hook.

“Taxi,” came the chirpy reply.

“You’re early,” I said, my tone more civil.

“Sorry Sir. I’ll wait in the car.”

Lucky for him he was ten minutes early, not ten minutes late, the state I was in. If he had been, I would have given him a fearful volley. I wasn’t good after dark since I’d been living alone, or when I had a plane to catch. The taxi driver dumped my bags in the boot, as I climbed in the back seat, and slammed the door behind me.

“Bad day, Sir?”

“Not really.”

“No problem, Sir. Can’t be too careful round here, day or night.”

“You can drop the Sir. I’m Alfie.”

“Sorry. It’s a habit.”

“And the sorry?”

“Habit too.”

I was kicking hell out of the cat. My agitated state wasn’t his fault, and I didn’t calm down until we reached the end of Blaauberg Road.

“I see there was another ‘Black-Taxi’ driver shot on Saturday at Bayside.”

“It’s getting bad. The private taxi okes like me, are scared. What about your house?”

“The house is secure. The high fencing, alarms and perimeter lighting cost a packet. But I do worry more now the Dunoon township is mushrooming.”

“I understand. And you’re leaving your house for a while?”

“I am. But Chubb’s armed response will take care of it, I hope.”

“They’re good. And I’ll do my best to get you to the airport safely.”

“Your best?”

“Relax.”

“I’ll try.”

I was not in the mood for small talk, or grovelers. But I did as he suggested, sat back in silence and breathed slowly, hoping it would help me relax. It seemed the yoga and meditation classes were affecting my bank balance more than my state of mind. Traffic was light and we made our way through Milnerton easily, before picking up the N2 at Mowbray. We headed across the Cape Flats, past the squalid ghettos of Langa and Bonteheuwel without alarm. But I didn’t relax until we swept alongside the roadside shacks, turned off the highway and drove down the airport approach road. I don’t know what it was, but after years of driving through the Cape Flats, I felt less safe than I ever did. It was a bad feeling, and sad to think, if things went well in Thailand, I may leave my home town, for good.

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After reading a fascinating little book titled–IKIGAI–the Japanese secret to a Long and Happy Life–I stumbled on an article, by accident, which I found most interesting, and have summarised.

The article challenges the common belief that aging is simply a gradual decline. Drawing from Japanese longevity research, particularly the Okinawa Centenarian Study—one of the world’s longest-running population-based studies of centenarians begun in 1975—it reveals that long life isn’t about luck or genetics alone, but about recognisable patterns your body may already be showing.

Note: The Okinawa Centenarian Study has examined over 1,000 centenarians in a region where people aged 100+ are significantly more common than the global average OrclsOrcls. The specific examples and framework below are drawn from popularised interpretations of this and related Japanese longevity research. The key insight:

The 25 Longevity Signals

Mind & Emotion

1. You bounce back emotionally faster than others

2. You don’t hold grudges for long

3. You find meaning in small daily routines

4. You stay curious—even about ordinary things

5. You feel a quiet sense of “I’ll figure it out” during stress

Body & Physiology

6. Your weight stays relatively stable year to year

7. You walk or move daily—without forcing yourself

8. You experience mild tiredness without long-term burnout

9. You sleep inconsistently sometimes, but you recover naturally

10. You rarely crash after meals (stable glucose response)

11. You have warm hands and feet most of the time

12. Your digestion is steady, even if not perfect

13. You feel hunger and fullness clearly—not constantly craving

Social & Relational

14. You maintain 1–3 close relationships, not 20

15. You feel comfortable being alone

16. You don’t chase approval as much as before

17. You can disagree without needing to win

Lifestyle Patterns

18. You have daily rituals that calm your mind

19. You do things slowly on purpose—walking, cooking, cleaning

20. You talk to yourself kindly when things go wrong

21. You like going to sleep knowing tomorrow has something worth waking up for

Belief & Identity

22. You see aging as natural—not something to fight

23. You believe your life is still unfolding—not closing

24. You feel “unfinished” in a good way

25. You continue to imagine your future

The Core Message

The article features Mrs. Yuki, a 102-year-old who embodies these patterns—not through extraordinary effort, but through consistent, steady living.

Her philosophy:

Takeaway

After reading IKIGAI and studying the article, I believe the secret to a Long and Happy Life as quoted in IKIGAI applies equally to the 25 Longevity Signals, as good principles for living at any age not just, as the article seems to suggest, for those of an older age.

Source Attribution:

The article’s content appears to be based on a popularised interpretation of Japanese centenarian research, particularly the Okinawa Centenarian Study (ORCLS). For scientific details, visit:

https://www.orcls.org/

Primary Research Citation:
Willcox, B.J., Willcox, D.C., & Suzuki, M. (2017). “Demographic, phenotypic, and genetic characteristics of centenarians in Okinawa and Japan: Part 1 – centenarians in Okinawa.” Mechanisms of Ageing and Development, 165, 75-79.

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The day, after the South-West Monsoon had ended, northern Thailand presented sunshine, less than usual humidity, and relative coolness around 30c. We set out on what was planned to be a leisurely half-day trip to Chiang Dao and the Dragon’s Back Mountain range we look out on from home, when the air is not polluted. Chiang Dao is 35 kilometres north of home in Chiang Mai province.

All went well until after we paid a visit to Chiang Dao caves. Before leaving the caves, my wife, Chicky, rather excitedly informed me that the guide who led her through the narrower parts of the cave, while I rested, had given her directions to a beautiful spot 13 kms up towards the highest peak. I was taking on plenty of water and needed a coffee break and a snack, so I went along for the ride, so to speak. Chicky volunteered to be driver of the day, and when that happens, she seldom lets go of the reins. So we set off into the unknown. 13kms along a winding narrow hill-climb can seem like twice the distance, so after what seemed like four times thirteen, I said,

“Are you sure you got the directions right?’

“Yes, but he didn’t mention the fork in the road.”

“So, you made it up from there?”

“Yes.”

“Brilliant.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Take more notice of me in future.”

Forks are normally accompanied by knives or spoons, but not when they are found in the road. When I realised it was too late, I was hoping we would find a place to turn the car round and get back to civilisation and coffee, as safely as possible. One hour and thirty minutes later, I was dizzy with the hundreds of bends and constantly looking down on the world from a height I was not accustomed to in a car. The last time I saw the world from two thousand metres I was in a plane, and my wife was not the pilot. By now, Chicky chose gears with the same random precision she picked lottery numbers. She had taken to driving on both sides of the road at the same time, and we had several near misses with vehicles who obviously knew the road better than she did. I took the less dangerous option of staying silent, choosing a petrified soaking in sweat in preference to the unthinkable alternative. Furthermore, there was no sign of a place wide enough to turn.

After stopping to speak to one or two people, who didn’t use the same version of Thai as my wife, to find out where we were heading, we eventually reached a settlement that housed more than a hermit and his dog. Fortunate, as I was worried about Chicky’s driving. She had eaten nothing since the day before and had taken on too little water. Luckily, we had plenty of it, fuel too, and I had a few biscuits. Here we found plenty of turning space and enough people to stand a chance of finding someone we could communicate with.

Chicky discovered that if we continued on, the road to Hell would end up in Hell at nightfall. Hell being a place in the middle of the jungle where the road ended!

And that was the last place you would want to end up at nightfall in the jungle.

We arrived back at Chiang Dao four hours after we left it. Chicky pretended to be okay, while I only felt marginally better after wolfing down a plate of Phad Siew Gai.

Back home, safe but with me having a raging headache, we both slept for a good twelve hours. In the morning, Chicky asked me if I enjoyed the trip. I needed some time to formulate a suitable response. So, I mumbled while poring over a map of the area and discovered, we had driven around the edge of the Daen Lao mountain range from Chiang Dao on the south side, then along the edge of the border with Myanmar on the north side towards but not connected with Mae Hong Son. Fortunately, there were no off roads into Myanmar, otherwise I probably wouldn’t be writing this story.

The moral to this story is – However stunning the scenery may be, a fork in the road may ruin the experience.

Footnotes

Daen Lao mountain range Inhabitants

The Daen Lao mountain range is home to a variety of ethnic groups, primarily hill tribes. These include the Wa, Akha, Yao (also known as Mien), Lahu, Lisu, Shan (Tai Yai), Karen, Tai Lue, Lawa, and Palaung peoples. The population lives in scattered small villages across the range, which spans eastern Burma (Myanmar) and northern Thailand. Some of these groups migrated from China and neighboring regions, with histories linked to the area’s difficult terrain and historical conflicts.

These hill tribes traditionally practiced subsistence farming, including opium cultivation until recent decades. The area has seen some migration due to conflict, with refugee camps on the Thai side. Notably, the Akha, Lahu, and Shan have been prominent inhabitants, and there are also ethnic Chinese communities in certain places like Doi Mae Salong within the range. Most communities live at higher elevations with a rich cultural heritage tied to the mountain environment.

Conflict in the region

The Daen Lao mountain range region became significant due to the Laotian Civil War (1959–1975) and related ethnic insurgencies. During this conflict, the area was strategically important as it lay near the borders of Laos, Thailand, and Myanmar, and was part of the broader Indochina Cold War battleground.

The Laotian Civil War was fought between the communist Pathet Lao, supported by North Vietnam, and the Royal Lao Government backed by the US and its allies. The North Vietnamese used parts of Laos as a supply corridor (the Ho Chi Minh Trail) for operations in South Vietnam. Various hill tribe groups, including the Hmong—who lived in the highland regions near the Daen Lao range—were recruited and trained by the CIA and US Special Forces to fight guerrilla warfare against the communists.

During this period, many Hmong and other ethnic minorities from these highlands engaged in intense fighting and suffered persecution after the war ended with the communist takeover in 1975. The region witnessed refugee flows into Thailand and continued ethnic insurgencies by groups resisting the new government. This area’s difficult terrain and ethnic compositions have contributed to its long history of conflict well beyond World War II.​

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I’ve always harboured an affinity for wildlife, whilst maintaining a healthy respect for the dangers many present. Even the most formidable creatures pose little threat to humans unless they feel cornered or threatened. So why, then, do I despise ants more than any other living thing? Perhaps because they seem to take perverse pleasure in stinging me for no apparent reason—as if inflicting pain were sport to them.

This morning, I opened my study door and switched on the computer. As I settled into my chair facing the twin monitors, I sensed a slight movement on my desk. There, directly in front of me, sat a tiny field mouse. She regarded me with bright, unblinking eyes, as though she’d been patiently waiting for breakfast to be served, utterly unperturbed by my presence. After all, this was my office, and I would have been perfectly within my rights to shoo her away. Instead, I wished her a chirpy good morning and continued working for a minute or two, stealing glances at the unexpected visitor.

Then I wondered: perhaps she was in need of a friend.

I extended my hand toward her, very cautiously, so as not to frighten her. Without hesitation, she leaped into my palm and buried her tiny nose between my fingers, as if conducting a thorough inspection to ensure I’d properly washed my hands. She made no attempt to flee, so must have sensed I was decidedly not a cat.

My wife was outside in the garden doing some weeding, so, I needed to devise a mouse escape plan. You may be wondering why. Well, my wife is something of a human rat trap when it comes to rodents. Even the most harmless field mouse, according to her philosophy, carries the potential to transform itself into a monstrous rat in a very short time. I had to execute this delicate operation with utmost secrecy before disclosing the tiny creature’s existence .

Cupping her carefully in my hand, I carried her out of the study and down the garden path to the orchard. There, among the lamyai trees, I said a sad goodbye as she scampered away into the tall grass, her tail disappearing like a question mark into the greenery.

It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if I found her perched on my desk again tomorrow morning, waiting for breakfast.

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Every picture tells a story because every artist – painter or photographer – has created that picture, either from observation or imagination or a combination of both.

The painter starts with a blank canvas and adds what he sees or visualises in the way it appears to him. The landscape photographer is presented with a scene which he must manipulate to create the picture he sees in his mind’s eye.

Both have a set of tools which they must know how to use to produce the picture. As a landscape photographer you have a dazzling array of modern technology at your disposal and you are only limited by your pocket and determination to master it. But however much of a techno wizard you are it will not compensate for a lack of artistry, vision and imagination. We never know exactly how a picture will turn out but without creative visualisation you can bet it won’t be so hot.

A gallery of attractive or interesting photographs may be pleasing to many viewers and they may be curious enough to hazard a guess at the creative process and how they were produced. But only the photographer, if he remembers, will know.

After viewing thousands of wonderful pictures on 500px, and shuddering at the realisation that I am still a novice, it surprises me at how few write anything in the description box – me included. Then I find an exceptional picture which I really love but have no idea what the story behind it is.

So from now on I have determined that my most loved photo-art will have its stories told in words as an accompaniment, so that I won’t forget how I made it and maybe others will enjoy the viewing experience a little more.

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Aren't you just sick and tired of opening your inbox, social media, and Substack–yes, Substack, to find a large percentage of the platforms stuffed with verbiage from people who insult your intelligence–telling you how successful they are and how much money they make each and every month?

Then you find, whatever they are peddling is cloaked in mystery. Wrapped in a large word salad, which likely makes little sense. Okay, I know what you're thinking. I must read this stuff to be able to write this post. True. I have, far too many times. But not anymore.

As soon as I see it now, I hit the bin button–with an implied message.

Let’s unpack this little rant and see if I can make some sense of it.

Boastful Pitches and Word Salads

Wordy, self-congratulatory sales pitches that never get to the point—are a widespread frustration. These messages are powered not only by the mechanics of spam, but by deeper trends in sales psychology and online marketing.

The Psychology Behind Boastful and Confusing Pitches

It seems marketers use exaggerated boastful success stories and complex language for the following reasons:

• Emotional Triggers vs. Logic: Sales and marketing professionals know that people make decisions emotionally first, then rationalise them logically. Stories about success or wealth are meant to push emotional buttons—greed, aspiration, envy, or FOMO (fear of missing out) are powerful emotions—even if the details are vague or nonsensical.

• Social Proof and Authority: Boasting about income or "secret" strategies is an attempt to establish authority and trigger the bandwagon effect (if others are succeeding, maybe you’ll want in). This is meant to overcome skepticism and build trust, but when it precedes the product offer, I find it offensive, insincere and insulting.

• Vague and Complex Language as a Tactic: Many use jargon or wordy descriptions to seem more knowledgeable or to make their offer appear unique or exclusive. This is a misguided attempt to sound clever, and it helps obscure the fact that what’s on offer may not be that special—or even that valuable.

• Mystery as a Hook: By cloaking an offer in mystery, the sender hopes curiosity will drive people to click, reply, or subscribe. In reality, this often leads to frustration and skepticism.

Is It All Spam?

Not every convoluted pitch is technically "spam"—but much of it matches the definition:

• Spam is typically unsolicited, sent in bulk, and irrelevant or overly promotional to the recipient. When messages are vague, packed with promotional filler, and do nothing but try to lure you into a sales funnel, they are often classed as spam.

• Content Spam: This is a subtype of spam and includes "wordy" posts, thin affiliate pages, and vague promotional pitches that serve mainly to boost clicks, advertising, or conversions, rather than provide any true value. The hallmarks are:

  • Excessive jargon or complexity without substance

  • Repetition of irrelevant buzzwords

  • Promises of wealth or mysterious rewards without clear offers

Why Don’t They Just Say What They are Selling?

Simplicity is not always the goal for people using these tactics:

· Trying to Sound Smart: Many believe complicated language will make them appear more credible or capable, when in fact it can have the opposite effect and often erodes trust and alienates readers.

· Obscuring the Offer: Sometimes the offer is poorly defined, low value, or something people would naturally be skeptical about. Obfuscation can be a cover for this and is usually obvious. In rare cases, it is outright fraudulent.

· Low Cost, High Reward: Since sending out mass emails or posts costs almost nothing, there’s little disincentive to keep bombarding potential recipients—even if only a tiny percentage ever respond. Morally unacceptable.

Are Trusted Platforms Immune?

Even on trusted platforms like Substack, social media, or well-known newsletters, these tactics can slip through. The platform’s reputation may cause people to drop their guard, making them easier targets for manipulative marketing or even outright scams.

However, it is the responsibility of creators to maintain authentic connections and transparency with their audiences, suggesting that more subtle marketing tactics remain largely dependent on user discretion and reporting.

So, boastful, mysterious pitches are more a result of a platform balancing free expression and trust with enforcement of clear spam or fraud violations. This relies heavily on community reporting and transparency rather than proactively censoring marketing style or tone that might annoy or frustrate people like me.

Final Thoughts

· This a real—and unfortunately common—phenomenon. Over-the-top sales pitches are used to exploit emotional triggers, display (or fake) authority, and obscure low-value offers.

· Intelligent recipients should find them annoying or insulting, and while not every message is "spam" by the strictest definition, many are.

· Clear, direct communication builds real trust—something which seems to have been lost in the flood of vague, boastful, and unnecessary verbiage.

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The Hong Kong student’s re-union was going well until Harry asked Izzy if she liked sects. Jenny nearly choked on a deep fried prawn, regurgitating it so forcibly it landed in Julian’s beer opposite her. His ‘fuck me’ which could be heard by everyone in the packed restaurant brought hoots of laughter from the whole table.

“Surely not you,” Sally blurted out as Julian, removed the invader from his glass, as it appeared to be trying to swim again.

Innuendo, intended or not, is a great stimulator of thought. Especially to the majority who had no idea Izzy had just returned from a meditation retreat. And none of them knew Harry considered any alternative group activity had to be masterminded by the cult leader of a sinister sect.

“I would have considered your proposal if it had been made in a private setting, or you had been more subtle about it. I'm sorry if that disappoints you.”

“On the contrary, I don't like them either.”

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Dr. Bandy Lee the forensic psychiatrist and former faculty member at Yale School of Medicine, became widely known after editing the book "The Dangerous Case of Donald Trump," (published 2019) which compiled essays from 27 psychiatrists warning about the dangers posed by then-President Donald Trump's mental health. The book and its contributors argued that Trump's behaviour represented a public health risk and that mental health professionals had a "duty to warn" the public.

The Goldwater Rule and Professional Backlash

• The American Psychiatric Association (APA) enforces the "Goldwater Rule," which prohibits psychiatrists from offering professional opinions about public figures they have not personally examined.

• After the publication of the book, Dr. Lee and her colleagues were accused of violating this rule. Dr. Lee, however, argued that her actions were motivated by an ethical obligation to warn the public, and was not a diagnosis.

• The APA reaffirmed and expanded the Goldwater Rule in 2017, which Dr. Lee described as an attempt to "silence psychiatrists" and alarming for public discourse.

Termination from Yale

• In 2020, Dr. Lee was terminated from her position at Yale University. The official reason cited was her "repeated violations of the APA's Goldwater Rule" and the "inappropriate transfer of the duty to warn from the treatment setting to national politics".

• The termination followed a public dispute in which Dr. Lee commented on the mental health of Trump’s associates, leading to complaints from figures such as Alan Dershowitz, who contacted Yale and the APA to protest her statements.

• Despite not being an APA member (and thus not formally bound by its rules), Dr. Lee’s statements were deemed to have crossed professional boundaries by Yale’s administration.

Media Censorship and Silencing

• Dr. Lee has spoken about being "heavily censored in the media" after the book’s publication, attributing this to pressure from the APA and broader societal reluctance to discuss the mental health of powerful figures.

• She and other mental health professionals who contributed to the book reported fear of legal or professional retaliation, leading to a chilling effect on public discussion of the topic.

Legal and Academic Response

• Dr. Lee filed a lawsuit against Yale University for wrongful termination, arguing that her academic freedom and right to free speech were violated.

• The case drew attention from academic freedom advocates, who questioned whether universities should discipline faculty for public statements made as private citizens.

Dr. Lee’s Perspective

• Dr. Lee has consistently maintained that her warnings were not diagnoses but urgent public health messages. She believes the silencing of mental health experts has had negative consequences for society, as it prevented open discussion about the psychological fitness of leaders.

• She continues to advocate for the "duty to warn" as an overriding ethical principle in cases of public danger, regardless of institutional or professional pushback.

6 Years Later

Dean Blundell – July 10, 2025 - writes:

White House Insiders/Aides In "Panic Mode" Over Trump’s Severe Mental Decline…

Despite covering 70% of the Earth’s surface, less than 3% of the world’s oceans are protected, leaving vast areas vulnerable to exploitation. This reality is highlighted in Ocean with David Attenborough, released on 8 June for World Oceans Day. Few have had a more remarkable career than Population Matters patron Sir David Attenborough, who for over 70 years has guided us through the wonders of the natural world – and revealed how we are driving its destruction. David Attenborough’s new work shows us, undeniably, that one of the most important ecosystems is under critical threat – from us.

Read the Full article along with many others in this weeks CURIOUSMINDS

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I spat out the last bite and threw the rest of the sandwich in the bin. Driving much faster than was safe in the torrential downpour, I skidded to a halt at the scene. Like the Red Sea the reporters parted allowing me to the front door. She was a celebrity after all. The gash in her skull was the fatal blow. I wiped the tears from her bloodstained face as my hands too cried for her pain. No one deserved to die like that. As senior investigating officer I was already under pressure. The next 48 hours were critical.

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13 June 2025, Israel launched a large-scale airstrike operation against Iran, targeting multiple military installations and nuclear sites, including the Fordow uranium enrichment plant and facilities in Isfahan. The strikes killed at least 78 people, including top Iranian military commanders such as the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) chief Hossein Salami and Iranian Chief of Staff Mohammad Bagheri. Over 320 people were reported injured, mostly civilians.

This weeks top articles

• Unrest in Los Angeles

• Israel strikes Iran’s nuclear sites

• What caused Air India Flight A1171 to Crash?

• Did John Lennon Think He Was Jesus?

• Guyana's Giant Anacondas

Get this weeks CURIOUSMINDS, read all the stories and download humdreds of FREE books.

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On March 28, 2025, a powerful magnitude 7.7 earthquake struck central Myanmar at approximately 12:50 p.m. local time, with its epicenter located about 17 kilometres southeast of Mandalay. The quake was felt across the region, including Thailand, China, India, and Vietnam. Nearly 5,500 people have been confirmed dead, with thousands more injured or missing. The disaster has caused widespread destruction, particularly in the Sagaing and Mandalay regions, where over 70% of structures in some areas have sustained significant damage, including the collapse of the largest bridge connecting Sagaing and Mandalay.

Humanitarian Crisis and Response

Hospitals in affected regions, including Mandalay, Magway, Nay Pyi Taw, and Sagaing, are struggling to cope with the influx of casualties. The situation is further complicated by extreme temperatures exceeding 40°C, making rescue and recovery operations even more challenging. The Myanmar Red Cross Society (MRCS) and international partners have been actively involved in search and rescue, providing healthcare through mobile clinics and ambulances, and coordinating large-scale humanitarian relief efforts. However, ongoing power and network outages have severely hampered these operations.

The United Nations estimates that the earthquake has left an additional two million people in urgent need of assistance, compounding an already dire humanitarian situation in a country where conflict has displaced three million people and at least 20 million require aid.

Ceasefire and Ongoing Conflict

In the immediate aftermath of the earthquake, Myanmar’s military rulers announced a ceasefire to facilitate recovery and aid distribution. However, independent reporting from the BBC, CNN and other sources indicates that this ceasefire has not been honoured. The military has continued attacks against rebel-held areas, with daily violations of the truce, including rocket and mortar assaults that have killed and injured both civilians and opposition fighters. Rebel groups report that, while they have suspended attacks to focus on earthquake recovery, the military has persisted with aggressive operations.

Political and Regional Developments

The disaster has also had significant political ramifications. The military junta, which controls only about 30% of the country amid a protracted civil conflict, has used the earthquake as an opportunity to seek international engagement and legitimacy. Junta leader Min Aung Hlaing has requested international assistance and met with regional leaders, such as the Malaysian Prime Minister, to discuss humanitarian aid and the declared ceasefire. Some analysts suggest this may be an attempt to gain regional legitimacy and open new diplomatic channels, although many democratic leaders and opposition groups remain excluded from these talks.

Scientific Significance

A remarkable video captured during the earthquake shows the ground physically tearing apart-a first-of-its-kind recording of a surface rupture during a major earthquake. Seismologists believe this footage will be invaluable for understanding the dynamics of such large-scale seismic events, particularly along the Sagaing Fault, which runs north-south through central Myanmar and is similar in nature to California’s San Andreas Fault.

Final Thoughts

Myanmar is facing a dual crisis: the devastating aftermath of a major earthquake and the ongoing effects of a protracted civil conflict. Humanitarian needs are acute, and while international and local aid efforts continue, persistent violence and political instability complicate recovery. The situation remains fluid, with both immediate relief and long-term resilience efforts underway.

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