Trump’s tweets attacking the judiciary go well beyond conventional criticism of judicial opinions on the substance or of “unelected judges” who are said to be overstepping their power. The description of the judge who first blocked his ban as a “so-called judge” directly targeted the judiciary’s institutional legitimacy. And it’s not hard to imagine where Trump’s explicit claim that any terrorist attack should be blamed on the judiciary will take him next, if such an attack does occur.
Trump recently claimed that “any negative polls are fake news,” particularly those from major networks like CNN, NBC and ABC. He added: “Sorry, people want border security and extreme vetting.” In other words, any poll that finds that Trump or his policies are unpopular is suspect or invented by definition. Multiple polls have shown that majorities reject his travel ban and his border wall, and global protests have broken out against the ban in particular. In other words, the public backlash to the first two major efforts to translate Trumpism into policy reality has been severe. In response, Trump is explicitly telling his supporters that any empirical evidence of that backlash must be discounted as fake news — particularly if the polls in question come from major news organizations, who are thus being cast as deliberate deceivers of Real Americans.
You cannot divorce that last point from the larger context here: Trump and Sean Spicer spent days attacking the news media for accurately reporting on his shriveled inauguration crowds, and Stephen Bannon has claimed that Trump’s “populist nation-state policies are supported by the vast and overwhelming majority of Americans” — in other words, that a vast silent majority is rooting for Trumpism to succeed. But that’s just nonsense. The effort to falsely inflate impressions of popular support for Trump — and for policies that in reality are deeply controversial and divisive and are being rejected by majorities — is concerted and deliberate. And the unabashed use of obvious and demonstrable lies to carry out this deception campaign is remarkably brazen.
Trump is now claiming that the media is covering up terrorist attacks, saying that “ISIS is on a campaign of genocide, committing atrocities across the world,” and that “in many cases, the very, very dishonest press doesn’t want to report it.” The larger context here is crucial, too: The media has in fact been invaluable in rooting out the dangerously incompetent process that led to the creation of this ban, as well as the ugly, discriminatory ideological underpinnings of the idea. In response, Trump, once again, is moving to obliterate the very possibility of shared agreement on the legitimate institutional role of the news media in informing the citizenry — right when it is playing that role to great effect by shedding light on the truth about his latest and most visible exercise of executive power, thus demonstrating that it can function as a check on him.
This is not what a president in a democracy (or, pedants, representative republic) does. This is what an autocrat who hopes to be a dictator does.
Congress is doing fuckall to stop this madman and his puppet master, Steve Bannon. We have to keep calling, keep marching, and when we have a chance, defeat these cowards in the next election. This means we start working now, and we don’t stop until they are gone. We will lose more battles than we win, but the ones we win will be fundamental to protecting our country.
What if Jon and the batbros are at the Manor and they are playng a board game with damian, and the batbros see Damian acting weird (and blushing) before they realize he has a crush on Jon, and they keep making fun and silly jokes in front of Jon about Dami's crush(Btw jon has a crush o dami too). Sory about my weird ideea but thanks if you understand my weird ideea 😅
“Okay, it’s your turn to roll, Damian,” Jason said.
Damian shook his hand and threw the dice.
“Five and six,” Damian said triumphantly. “Drake, my legionnaires are going to invade your territory.” He moved three small green plastic cavalry figures over to Tim’s side of the board.
“Why me?” Tim protested. “Jon’s border is literally next to yours and he has a smaller army!”
“Well…” Damian paused. He lost his swagger for a few seconds as he struggled to find an excuse. “Well, attacking you is more tactically satisfying, so there,” he said with finality.
“Tactical satisfaction is not a thing,” Tim grumbled. He removed three of his own black horsemen. He glared at Jon, and the younger boy gave him an apologetic look.
“There, there, Tim,” Dick chimed in as he patted Tim’s back. Both he and Jason were laughing now. “That’s the way war goes.”
“Well,” Tim began, “It’s pretty hard fighting against a conjugal army,” he said, emphasizing the word.
“An unspoken union between two armies is good strategy,” Jason mused. “For rich and for poor, in sickness and in health, till game over do them part,” he finished with a wink.
Dick snorted back another fit of laughing. The former Robins were laying on the teasing quite thickly. Damian’s feelings became obvious to them as the game went on. Damian and Jon wouldn’t look at each other directly, but they’d often steal glances of each other. They didn’t even decide their seating arrangements, but Jon and Damian just naturally sat together. Their faces would flush whenever they’d accidentally rub elbows, and they always avoided attacking each other’s side of the board, as if they’d teamed up with each other without saying it.
The littlest Robin was sporting a crush on Superboy, and it seemed like the feeling was mutual.
Dick turned to Jon. “Okay, it’s your turn,” he said with a smile.
“Okay,” Jon gulped. The way the board was stacked, he could only attack Dick or Damian, and if he attacked Dick, his meager army would get crushed. “Uhm…I attack…”
“If you’re going to attack me, be my guest,” Dick interrupted. “I’m going to do a tactical retreat.”
“What?” Jon blinked innocently. “Why?”
“I’m shoring up my forces for a big attack later,” Dick said with a wink.
“Okay…well then, I attack you!” Jon declared.
Dick took off two of his pieces and then turned to Jason and Tim with a manic glint in his eyes.
“Okay, for my turn,” he began mischievously. “I’m going to use all my forces to attack both of you.”
“But you can’t do that, you’ll lose the game if you don’t have a single defender.” Jason counted Dick’s horses with a finger.
“Dick, that’ll kill all three of us,” Tim complained.
“It’s called a kamikaze,” Dick explained. “And yes, it’s a thing.”
“I know what a kamikaze is,” Tim grumbled.
Dick gave the two former Robins a knowing look. They both nodded and then he herded them out of the room, leaving Damian and Jon alone.
“You think this will work,” Dick?” Jason asked as he closed the door.
“It’ll at least help,” Dick said. “Damian just needs a bit of privacy to let his walls down around Jon. Besides, if they still need to work at it, we have more board games.”
“Monopoly?” Tim suggested.
“Are you crazy?” Jason chided. “Remember the last time the League came over to play Monopoly? Alfred nearly had a heart attack when he saw the laser burns on the upholstery.”
“And it took us a week to get rid of the slimy fish smell out of the carpet,” Dick added.
“Fine, fine.” Tim threw his hands up. They agreed to never mention Monopoly ever again.
Sighing heavily, Tendou watches from across the room as you
make your way to the bar, eager to gather more libations. The past few months
have been tough on him, having to leave everything he’s known for the great big
bad world. Even though it was his decision to stop after high school, he misses
volleyball. He misses his friends a lot more than he thought he would for
telling himself he prefers to be a loner.
That’s all bullshit and he knows it.
He ended up coming to this school just because you’re here.
Because he’s been in love with you all through high school and a part of him
always hoped you’d “wake up” and see what was right in front of you.
Don’t have direction,
I’m just rolling down this road
Waiting for you to
bring me in from out the cold
But it wasn’t too long after you’d both settled into your
new routines that you added an unexpected element to yours; a boyfriend. And that’s
when the insomnia started for him.
You’ll never know the
endless nights, the rhyming of the rain
Or how it feels to
fall behind and watch you call his name
Tendou should have left then or at least pulled away a bit
to give himself room to get used to this, but he’s a masochist, choosing to
stay close to the girl he loves while she wastes her time on someone who doesn’t
deserve her. And he knows the guy doesn’t because most of the conversations you
and he have about the boyfriend consist of you either complaining about
problems or excusing them away.
And lately his thoughts have been consumed with asking you
to come to your senses and see this guy just isn’t worthy of you.
Leave your lover,
leave him for me
“Things are getting better,” you comment sitting down.
He hums in acknowledgment of your words, though he’s only
half listening at this point, taking a long swig of his beer.
“I think after this semester we’ll be more settled. It’s challenging
with our schedules, you know? Like, he has practice so much and family
obligations. It’s just hard but we’ll get through it.”
Tendou doesn’t know if you’re trying to convince him or
yourself at this point. And he really shouldn’t be annoyed with you; as your self-proclaimed
best friend he should be a supportive, listening ear but he’s reaching the end
of his tether and it’s about to snap.
Another beer lands before him, Tendou sending a look of
thanks to the waitress who winks at him. He barely catches it, but you see it
“Just think, Satori-kun, someday we’ll be sitting here or
somewhere similar toasting to one another because we finally found true love,”
you say, giggling slightly under the influence of the large pint you’ve already
consumed as you raise your hand for another.
We sit in bars and
raise our drinks to growing old
Oh, I’m in love with
you and you will never know
He chuckles mirthlessly. Tendou doesn’t know if he’s being
over dramatic, but he really feels in the depth of his heart that he will never
find a more perfect girl for him than you, so even the thought of anyone else
sets his teeth on edge. But he won’t tell you that, you don’t need that burden.
But if I can’t have
you I’ll walk this life alone
Spare you the rising
storms and let the rivers flow
The sound of your cell phone ringing pierces through the
hubbub of the bar. When your eyes light up, he knows it’s him.
“Hi sweetie,” you coo into the phone, sending a bright smile
to Tendou that makes his stomach flip. But the next moment, he’s frowning,
watching your face begin to fall as you listen to whatever your “perfect prince”
“But we had it planned for months!” you protest, tone
bordering on whining. A few tears prickle the edges of your eyes, your grip on
the phone tightening. “I understand that but can’t he make an exception?” More
tears, some sliding down your cheeks and Tendou feels his own fist clench in
anger; what the hell is saying to make you cry?
“Fine, yeah, whatever,” you say breathlessly, snapping your
phone down and shoving it in your purse.
There’s silence between you and Tendou, your eyes cast down
to the table.
“Sorry, Satori-kun, he-“
“Leave him,” Tendou says firmly and your head shoots up,
He takes your hand, stemming your speech and repeats slowly,
“Leave him,” his eyes filled with the truth of his affections.
Pack up and leave
Don’t you see what I
You shake your head a little, unclear what he means. “Satori-kun,
I appreciate your concern but-“
He interrupts again, “This has nothing to do with concern and
everything to do with the fact that I’m in love with you!”
Can’t keep this
beating heart at bay
He feels you jump at his words. “I never told you before because
I was too damn scared, but I’m telling you now and I know I’m better for you that he is. So please,” he stands, walking
slowly around the table to stand before you on your stool, hand cupping the
side of your face. “Let me show you what it means to be someone’s everything.”
Set my midnight sorrow
I will give you all of
Just leave your lover,
leave him for me
Tendou sees you swallow, your body quivering a bit as you
look up at him. The slightest lift of your head sends his coursing down to
plant his lips against yours, his arm wrapping around your waist. You sigh into
the kiss, body releasing its tension as he holds you upright.
When you part, he can see you’re still crying but the light
shining in the center of your irises gives him hope that they are tears of joy.
You confirm his suspicions when you whisper, “Finally.”
Syrian refugee crisis: All your questions answered
The Syrian refugee crisis remains one of the largest humanitarian crises since the end of World War II. The number of refugees who have fled the country now exceeds five million, including more than 2.4 million children, and millions more have been displaced internally, according to the United Nations.
Syrians have poured across their borders since anti-government protests in 2011 spiralled into a full-blown war between rebels, government troops and foreign backers.
The first three months of 2017 saw more than 250,000 additional Syrians register as refugees, bringing the total to 5.1 million, according to the UN’s refugee agency, UNHCR.
“It’s not about the number, it’s about the people,” UNHCR spokesman Babar Baloch said, noting that the conflict has now lasted longer than World War II. “We’re trying to look for understanding, solidarity and humanity.”
Turkey continues to host the highest number of displaced Syrians, at nearly three million, with an increase of 47,000 since February, Baloch said.
When is a person considered a refugee?
Refugees are persons forced to leave their homes and countries because their lives and freedoms are in danger.
The 1951 Geneva Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees describes a refugee as any person who, “owing to well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group or political opinion, is outside the country of his nationality and is unable or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to avail himself of the protection of that country”.
But this definition has been broadened to cover persons who are forced to leave their countries because of widespread violence, war and foreign occupation that has put their lives at risk in their home countries.
The reason for leaving one’s country is considered as the main factor in distinguishing refugees from migrants.
How and when did the Syrian refugee crisis start?
The flow of Syrian refugees to neighbouring countries started during the onset of the civil war in 2011.
The Arab Spring in Tunisia, Egypt and other Arab countries inspired protests in Syria, prompting a crackdown by the Syrian army. As Syria descended into a civil war, it became divided into a complex battle between the government, rebel groups and foreign backers.
By May 2011, the number of refugees crossing the Turkish border was estimated at just 300.
What countries have taken in Syrian refugees, and which country has the most?
According to Amnesty International, Syrian refugees have sought shelter in five countries throughout the Middle East, including Turkey, Lebanon, Jordan , Iraq and Egypt.
Turkey is the largest host country of registered refugees, with nearly three million.
None of the six states that form the Gulf Cooperation Council - Saudi Arabia, Oman, the United Arab Emirates, Kuwait, Bahrain and Qatar - has signed the UN convention on refugees, which has governed international law on asylum since World War II.
However, the Gulf states say they have taken in hundreds of thousands of Syrians since the civil war began - just not as refugees.
In 2016, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan said that Syrian refugees living in Turkey could eventually be granted citizenship, but he gave no details on eligibility criteria or how long the process would take.
In Jordan, more than 26,000 Syrians have obtained work permits, but refugees do not automatically acquire rights to residency.
More than one million Syrian refugees have made Lebanon their temporary home, but last year, President Michel Aoun vowed to send them back to their home country.
Egypt also became a major destination for Syrian refugees, but many have since fled their adopted homeland, in part because of a rising tide of anti-Syrian sentiment that took hold during the unrest following the toppling of the country’s first democratically elected president, Mohamed Morsi, in 2013.
A refugee holds a message, “Thank you EU for closing the border” during a
protest asking for the opening of borders at a makeshift camp at the
Greek-Macedonian border near the village of Idomeni, Greece, March 18,
2016. REUTERS/Alkis Konstantinidis
Turkey’s security forces closed the border with Syria through which thousands of Kurds are trying to flee IS, after clashes between Kurds and soldiers on the Turkish side of the divide. The separatist Turkey-based Kurdistan Workers Party (PKK), which is classed as a terrorist organization by Istanbul, called for a solidarity demonstration, after 70,000 Kurds crossed from Syria in just 24 hours. Hundreds of Kurds duly showed up near the barbed wire border fence - some volunteering to join the struggle against IS, others asking to bring over aid to the refugees on the other side of the border. Sep22 2014 Reuters/AFP
Solas looked up to see Cassandra, book in hand, opposite him at the wooden dining table. He was surprised to have missed her approach, with the great hall all but empty after the lunch crowd had trickled away. He glanced to either side of him and found, as suspected, that he was the only one remaining at the table.
“Please do. I would be glad of the company.” A small bowl of firm pears sat on the table next to his own book, and he shifted it to the side to make room for her.
“Thank you, Solas.”
For a time they read together, the turn of a page or the lift of his wine glass the only conversation between them, the sound of archery drills muffled through the nearby wooden doors.
Occasionally an advisor passed through on their way to the war room, and once a raven flew in from the rotunda, clearly lost, but it soon settled itself in the rafters and seemed content to nap away from the cacophony of the rookery.
The archery drills had long since died down, the courtyard peaceful again when Cassandra made a sound of protest, bordering on disgust.
He lifted his gaze from his book, a poorly researched account of a famous Orlesian general in the war against Fereldan. In truth, he might’ve said the same of his own reading material.
“Is the book not to your tastes?”
“It is not.” Cassandra paused, her lips a thin line. “Never tell him I said so, but Varric’s book was much better. This book is far too…” she turned the book over in her hands, scrutinizing the lurid cover. “Ridiculous.”
“Was it not meant to be humorous?”
“It was meant to be romantic! The woman at the centre of the story is content to let everything happen to her, but makes no move herself. She waits on everything. Women are not like that. Or if they are, I suppose have no interest in reading about them.”
"Ah. How would you change it, if you could?” He slid the bowl of pears closer and helped himself to the nearest piece of fruit - a bright, sunny yellow.
“It is not worth changing. I would leave it to molder and find another if I thought the library contained more.”
"It seems to be mostly reference,” he agreed, rubbing his modest lunch against the nap of his sleeve. “Forgive a foolish question - have you ever considered writing one of your own?”
“I am capable of a great many things, but that is surely not one of them. Have you ever written anything romantic? It would not surprise me if you had.”
“Poetry, but that was some time ago.”
“I imagine she enjoyed it a great deal.” Before he could reply, Cassandra lifted her book, scanning the prose for something to illustrate her indignation.
“Oh! Listen to this! ‘When it became clear he wasn’t coming to the ball, Alma threw herself onto the bed. I suppose I will just lock myself inside and refuse to eat. When he finds me, I shall have wasted away terribly. I hope he feels wretched!’”
“She has resigned herself to a rather preventable fate,” Solas said, before taking a small bite. It was no wonder the pears were untouched - it was still alarmingly bitter. His nose wrinkled, but the unpleasant bite was swallowed all the same.
“Is it terrible. And the man himself is far less charming than he supposes. He is hardly worth waiting for.” She sighed and set the book on the table top, arms folded just under it, the buckles at her wrists scraping along the wood.
He waited a moment for her to continue, but when it became clear that she’d resumed her reading in earnest, his own gaze returned to an account of a nameless battle on the Bannorn, the bitter little fruit placed next to his forgotten wine glass.