Irish Disability rights campaigner thanks Colin Farrell for giving her voice in US

 THE PENQUIN UNDERSTANDS DISABILITY


Cara Darmody, a disability rights campaigner from Co Tipperary, has paid tribute to actor Colin Farrell

 (Family handout/PA)

By Rebecca Black,

 PAToday 

DEC 8, 2024


A teenage disability rights campaigner from Co Tipperary has paid tribute to actor Colin Farrell for giving her a voice outside of Ireland.


Cara Darmody, 14, was flown to Chicago to address an event organised by the Colin Farrell Foundation, an organisation which aims to support individuals and families living with intellectual disability.

Cara, from Ardfinnan, is the older sister of Neil and John, who are autistic and non-verbal.

She met with the last three taoisigh to discuss disability services in Ireland and told Simon Harris at a meeting in June that the Government was “breaking the law” on its obligation to children with special needs.

Parents have voiced their frustration and upset at not being able to access crucial assessments of need, therapies and school places for their children.

He's followed my campaign for quite some time and I was lucky to meet him again a few weeks ago, and I was in total shock when he asked me to be his keynote speaker, wow

Cara Darmody on Colin Farrell

Protests have been held outside the Department of Education demanding school places be secured for children with special needs, who are forced out of routines that are vital for their education and wellbeing.

Cara said Farrell followed her campaign and flew her to Chicago to be the keynote speaker at the event organised by his foundation.

During the address, she spoke about how tough it is for her family to secure support for her brothers from the HSE.

“Right now in Ireland, it can take four to five years to be assessed with an intellectual disability, with little or no services on offer afterwards, even in our schools,” she said.

“That delay causes permanent damage and once you turn 18 with an intellectual disability, you often have nowhere to go, again with no services on offer.

“Ireland is in crisis in relation to disability services for people with intellectual disabilities. I have openly said that it’s a national disgrace, but more recently I’ve described it as an international embarrassment, and nobody ever disagrees with me.

“My understanding is that the same lack of services, etc, is also here in America for over-18s. It is simply not good enough and it must be respectfully called out.”

Cara described the experience as surreal and paid tribute to Farrell.

“He’s followed my campaign for quite some time and I was lucky to meet him again a few weeks ago, and I was in total shock when he asked me to be his keynote speaker, wow,” she said.

“I’ve got to know him over the last few months and he’s just the most incredible guy ever. Now he wants to change the world for people with intellectual disabilities. I just can’t believe that he wants to be associated with me.


Cara Darmody with Taoiseach Simon Harris (Mark Darmody/PA)

“He flew me to Chicago and he’s treated me like royalty since we got here. I got to go to his private cocktail party, so that was amazing to dress up for that as well. It’s definitely better than being in school.”

She added: “I told the 1,200 invited guests on the night of how I’ve obtained almost 17 million euros in government funding, to inspire them to reach for the stars like I do.

“The Americans were really inspired by my courage and determination, and I think I’ve definitely inspired them to do way more and to really believe that they can do way more.

“To speak in front of 1,200 distinguished guests was the greatest moment of my life.

“It was only a few weeks ago that I was sitting outside the Taoiseach’s Department protesting in the lashing rain at 7am in the morning. But I’ll have no problem doing that again if the next Government doesn’t treat disability as a serious priority. The disability discrimination that I regularly talk about needs to be called out.”

Cara said she has also taken her campaign to Europe, taking part in a documentary for Arte TV that is set to air in France and Germany in January.

Her father Mark, who accompanied her to Chicago, said Cara was like Cinderella at the event.

He said: “While we don’t do the celebrity thing, it’s very hard not be impressed by Colin Farrell. We all saw what he did in Ireland recently in with the Dublin Marathon – to be honest, the guy is a legend.

“To see him embracing your daughter’s ideals, and praise her character, is beyond being proud – it’s really emotional and Cara really, really deserved this after all that she did for others, often out of the media spotlight.

“But, for now, Cara is like Cinderella and she definitely got the glass slipper last night.”

Pre-Hispanic Pyramid Structure Discovered During Roadwork in Mexico

Published Dec 08, 2024 


Roadwork uncovered a large pyramid-shaped structure dated to pre-Hispanic times in Mexico, the country's National Institute of Anthropology and History (INAH) announced.

The structure, described as a pyramidal base, was identified in the Sierra Alta region of the central state of Hidalgo, which is north of Mexico City. In archaeology, the term "pyramidal base" refers to the foundations or the lower part of a pyramid structure.

Pyramids in Mesoamerica, such as those built by the Maya, Aztec and Teotihuacán civilizations, were monumental structures often used for religious and ceremonial purposes. These pyramids, characterized by their stepped design and central staircases, often served as temples and were frequently the centerpieces of ancient cities.

Mesoamerica is a historical and cultural region in North America that extends from central Mexico through Belize, Guatemala, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua and northern Costa Rica. It is known for being the cradle of several advanced pre-Hispanic (or pre-Columbian) civilizations.

This pyramidal base was uncovered in the Mexican state of Hidalgo in June. The structure dates back to pre-Hispanic times. INAH

The initial discovery of the pyramidal base in Hidalgo was in June during the construction of a new lane on Mexican Federal Highway 105.

The structure appears to be part of a pre-Hispanic settlement named San Miguel, which has been cataloged and reported to the INAH's Public Register of Archaeological and Historic Monuments and Zones.

The heritage site consists of five sectors and at least 10 archaeological mounds, according to the INAH. It predates European colonization in the region, which began in the early 16th century.

Following the discovery of the structure, the INAH conducted an archaeological rescue project, exhaustively documenting the site with the support of drones. These were used to take images for creating digital photogrammetric models.

During the investigations, researchers also collected numerous samples from coal, earth and charred wood, among other materials, that will be studied in a lab to obtain archaeological data.

After the research project concluded, the structure was reburied for conservation purposes. Before that, it was protected with a geotextile material. A geotextile is a type of material that is sometimes used in archaeological conservation to protect and stabilize archaeological structures and sites.

Read more Archaeology

Prehistoric American Diet Was Rich in Mammoth Meat, Toddler Remains Reveal

The recent findings will contribute to the understanding of human occupation in the Sierra Alta region of Hidalgo, specifically in the Barranca de Metztitlán area, where the first settlements are thought to date back at least 14,000 years.

OPINION

Column: Trump’s predatory Cabinet choices are added proof that #MeToo is over


Pete Hegseth, President-elect Donald Trump’s pick for secretary of Defense, speaks with reporters. Will allegations of sexual misconduct matter as the Senate considers his confirmation?
(Mark Schiefelbein / Associated Press)

By Jackie Calmes

Columnist Dec. 8, 2024 

 Los Angeles Times

So this is what Donald Trump means by “Make America Great Again.” Bring back the “Mad Men” days.

As I’ve been working to keep up with the unusual number of alleged sexual predators that the president-elect, himself an adjudicated sexual assaulter, has chosen for his Cabinet, I also celebrated my younger daughter’s birthday last week. Which got me to thinking about both of my daughters in the context of the news.

They’re grown-ups now. When they were younger, I’d warned them that as they went out into the world, some man in a position of authority might think himself entitled to grab them by their genitals. I told them not to blame themselves. And to bring the risk home, literally, I told my daughters about my first such encounter — yes, there was more than one — as a young woman not long out of college and holding my first journalism job.

Seven years ago, with the birth of the #MeToo movement, my private parental action essentially went viral as women spread the word nationwide. Appropriately, that was early in the first term of Trump, a man accused of sexual assault by more than two dozen women and caught on tape bragging about his routine licentiousness.

But the movement also went bust during his presidency, with his help. I date the beginning of the end to the Senate’s contentious confirmation in October 2018 of Supreme Court nominee Brett M. Kavanaugh, who narrowly prevailed despite credible accusations that he’d assaulted three women as a teenager in high school and at Yale College.

Kavanaugh denied the allegations and, thanks to Trump and the Senate’s Republican majority, he was lionized on the right as a victim of a movement run amok. His accusers were the ones shamed, as I once figured I would be if I accused my boss of assault. Trump mocked Kavanaugh’s chief accuser at MAGA rallies, and turned on its head the sort of maternal warning I’d given my daughters: Mothers, he said, should tell their sons to beware of young women making up stories of sexual attacks.

“It’s a very scary time for young men in America, when you can be guilty of something that you may not be guilty of,” Trump told a Mississippi rally during that October six years ago. As for Kavanaugh, the then-president said, “A man’s life is in tatters.” A fan hoisted a manufactured Trump campaign sign: “Women for Trump.”

In 2023, with Trump defeated but running for office again, came the jury finding that he was liable for what the judge described as a rape of writer E. Jean Carroll. Despite that and so much more, he was reelected last month, and with the support of a majority of white women.

So now, as Trump crafts a Cabinet again, he’s explicitly rejecting the establishment types he turned to in his first term and opting for billionaire hangers-on, MAGA loyalists and … alleged sexual predators.

It’s a measure of Trump’s sense of entitlement and impunity, and his knee-jerk dismissal of allegations of sexual misconduct, that several of his earliest choices — former Florida Rep. Matt Gaetz for attorney general, Fox host Pete Hegseth for Defense secretary and Robert F. Kennedy Jr. for Health and Human Services secretary — would be the subjects of multiple accusations of predatory sexual behavior. Even one of the few women Trump has recruited, Education secretary-designate Linda McMahon, has been accused in a lawsuit of ignoring complaints that a ringside announcer for her company, World Wrestling Entertainment, sexually abused children for years.

Forget FBI background checks. Trump and his vetters should have known with simple Google searches — maybe they did know — about the alleged transgressions by those prospective nominees. “So what?” seems to be the thinking.

Yes, the execrable Gaetz has been dumped from contention. Yet his fall owed at least as much to his reputation among fellow Republicans as an all-around jerk as it did to concerns about federal and congressional investigations of his alleged sex-trafficking of a minor, among other sexual wrongs. Kennedy’s crank ideas about vaccines and medical science ought to be enough to sink his nomination — they haven’t — but there are also the reports of philandering during all three of his marriages, the diary of sexual conquests his second wife found before her suicide and the claims of a former family nanny that he molested her.

Hegseth is fighting to save his nomination, but only because Senate Republicans’ majority is so narrow. He reportedly mismanaged two conservative veterans organizations and was forced out of both, drank heavily and philandered, but he’s reformed, he claims. And that seems good enough for most Republicans — following Trump’s lead, of course. Yet as of the week’s end, Iowa Sen. Joni Ernst, a combat veteran, sexual assault survivor and possibly the decisive Republican vote on the Senate Armed Services Committee, was uncommitted and clearly troubled by Hegseth’s history.

As Ernst well knows, the military is roughly 20% female — Hegseth has said he doesn’t believe women should even serve in combat — and top brass are bedeviled by incidents of sexual harassment. To put him atop the Pentagon hierarchy would send a terrible signal to the armed forces, especially women.

Trump would know that if only the Don Draper of our times and his circle of Mad Men gave a damn about such things.

@jackiekcalmes
 Los Angeles Times

Jackie Calmes is an opinion columnist for the Los Angeles Times in Washington, D.C. Before joining The Times in 2017 as White House editor, she worked at the New York Times and Wall Street Journal, covering the White House, Congress and national politics. She served as the chief political correspondent and chief economic correspondent at each paper. In 2004, she received the Gerald R. Ford Journalism Prize for Reporting on the Presidency. Calmes began her career in Texas covering state politics and moved to Washington in 1984 to work for Congressional Quarterly. She was a fellow at the Harvard Kennedy School’s Shorenstein Center on Media, Politics and Public Policy and at the University of Chicago Institute of Politics. She is the author of “Dissent: The Radicalization of the Republican Party and Its Capture of the Court.”

Laphonza Butler, 1st LGBTQ+ Black U.S. senator, exits office as Democrats question identity politics


Outgoing U.S. Sen. Laphonza Butler (D-Calif.) speaks at this year’s Democratic National Convention in Chicago.
(Robert Gauthier / Los Angeles Times)

By Andrea Castillo
and Seema Mehta

Dec. 8, 2024 
Los Angeles Times

Butler is leaving office after 14 months as California’s junior senator.

Her tenure began after Sen. Dianne Feinstein’s death last year and ended with the defeat of Vice President Kamala Harris, a longtime friend.

WASHINGTON — Earlier this year, as Republicans sought to ban books with Black history and LGBTQ+ themes from schools across the country, the nation’s first openly gay Black senator stepped onto the Senate floor and read aloud from some of them.

“Perhaps for some of you here today, I am the face of one of your fears,” Democratic Sen. Laphonza Butler said in February, quoting 20th century poet Audre Lorde. “Because I am a Black woman, because I am a lesbian, because I am myself — a Black woman warrior poet doing work — who has come to ask you, are you doing yours?”

At the time, Butler was just a few months into her tenure as California’s junior senator, a 14-month stretch that began when she was appointed shortly after Sen. Dianne Feinstein died in 2023, and that ends Monday when Rep. Adam B. Schiff (D-Burbank) is sworn in to take her place.


Laphonza Butler reflects on her brief Senate career, the presidential race and her future  Nov. 17, 2024

The reading was part of Butler’s broader effort to put into the public record literature that’s becoming harder to access in conservative states. But it was also an expression of the identity that helped catapult her into the Senate after Gov. Gavin Newsom said in 2021 that he would appoint a Black woman to Feinstein’s seat should it ever become vacant.

As Butler — the third Black woman to serve in the Senate — leaves public office, the identity politics that were central to her rise are now under scrutiny by Democrats, who are working to understand their devastating losses in this year’s election. After a campaign in which Republicans ridiculed Vice President Kamala Harris as a “DEI hire” — a reference to diversity, equity and inclusion that suggested she was on the Democratic ticket due to her race and gender, former President Trump won in part because he gained support among Black and Latino voters.

“That’s the one thing she can’t choose, is that she is a Black woman,” Butler said, reflecting on Harris’ loss in an interview with The Times. She said chalking up the loss to only race and gender would be “intellectually dishonest,” but maintained that “those barriers, those challenges, those stereotypes and mindsets — they still persist, as much as we hope they don’t.”


Butler’s wife, Neneki Lee, holds the Bible as Vice President Kamala Harris swears in California’s junior U.S. senator in October 2023.
(Stephanie Scarbrough / Associated Press)

Butler began her time as a senator focused on youth development, voting rights and reproductive health, and spent the last few months trying to help Harris win the presidency.

The bond between the two dates back nearly 15 years, to when Harris was running for California attorney general and sought support from Butler, then the leader of Los Angeles’ service workers’ union. When Harris entered the 2020 Democratic presidential primary race, Butler became a top policy advisor to her campaign.

And when Harris stepped up as the Democratic presidential nominee this year, Butler again joined the team that was hoping to see her succeed. In numerous TV appearances, Butler defended Harris when pressed about her changing positions on issues such as unauthorized border crossings, when asked to comment on Trump’s personal attacks on Harris’ appearance, and when prompted for reasons to support the vice president’s bid for the White House.

Butler also spoke at the Democratic National Convention, telling the crowd that when her daughter heard that their friend Kamala was running for president, she asked whether she could be vice president.

“We both graduated from historically Black colleges. ... We were both raised by mothers who worked fiercely to provide for us, and we both believe that every single one of us has the power to change the world when we choose to do it together,” Butler said.

Interview: California’s newest senator, Laphonza Butler, on Trump, Gaza and her future   Jan. 18, 2024

Before joining the Senate, Butler was a political operative known for her effective behind-the-scenes organizing. She served as president of EMILYs List, an organization that works to elect Democratic women who support abortion rights; was a partner at the powerful political consulting firm that has represented Harris and Newsom; and spent years as the head of Service Employees International Union Local 15, which represents caregivers and others in the service industry in California.

Gov. Gavin Newsom, with Butler at an L.A. school event after her swearing-in, stirred controversy when he appointed her to the late Sen. Dianne Feinstein’s seat in 2023.
(Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times)

While historic, her appointment also drew some criticism. Republicans took issue with Newsom choosing someone who wasn’t living in California — Butler is a longtime California homeowner but had moved with her wife and daughter to Maryland while running EMILYs List.

Some Democrats were dismayed that Newsom did not choose Rep. Barbara Lee (D-Oakland), who was actively running for Senate at the time Feinstein died. Lee’s supporters saw her as the most-qualified candidate due to her decades of experience in Congress. In a letter urging Newsom to pick Lee, the Congressional Black Caucus said that “she is the only person with the courage, the vision, and the record to eradicate poverty, face down the fossil fuel industry, defend our democracy, and tirelessly advance the progressive agenda.”

Newsom said he didn’t want to tip the scales in the competitive primary for Feinstein’s seat. But James Taylor, a professor of political science and African American studies at the University of San Francisco, said Newsom’s choice may have been driven by conflict among California Democrats over voters seeing them as too liberal. Lee has been outspoken in condemning Israel for the war in the Gaza Strip, for example.

“Butler allowed herself to be used,” Taylor said. “If Gavin Newsom wanted to honor Black California women, he should’ve appointed Lee or [Los Angeles Rep. Maxine] Waters. He went out of his way to not give Lee that honor.”

Butler speaks with mentor Alex Padilla, California’s senior U.S. senator, during a Senate Judiciary Committee meeting.
(Alex Brandon / Associated Press)

Congress, and particularly the Senate, is known to move slowly. Partisanship can take over and compromise can require repeated conversations to reach. It’s especially hard for a short-timer with no seniority.

Butler focused her time on building relationships with colleagues and uplifting the causes she has championed throughout her career. She formed a youth advisory council, held field hearings on voting rights and worked to secure confirmation of federal judges in California. She introduced 33 bills, including legislation to address the behavioral health needs of adolescents, secure federal voting rights for people released from prison and limit the separation of migrant families detained near the border.

Sen. Alex Padilla, Butler’s closest colleague as California’s senior senator, said he expects that they will continue to collaborate no matter what she does next. While the two California senators mostly agreed, they split on at least one high-profile issue: a bipartisan border security bill that failed early this year at Trump’s urging.

California’s incoming senator, Laphonza Butler, describes her whirlwind trip into history  Oct. 3, 2023

Most Democrats, including Butler, initially voted in favor of the bill, which included significant provisions to tighten border security but no pathway to citizenship for immigrants in the country illegally. Padilla urged his fellow senators to vote against it because it failed to provide solutions for undocumented immigrants.

One of their final acts as colleagues on the Senate Judiciary Committee was securing the confirmation of Judge Anne Hwang to the U.S. District Court for the Central District of California — making her the first Korean American to serve as a federal judge in that district.

Padilla recalled calling or texting Butler daily when she first joined the Senate.

“She made me laugh a couple months in when I stopped checking in as frequently,” he said. “She asked me, ‘What happened to my morning texts?’ I said, ‘You’re doing more than fine. The training wheels have come off. It’s time for you to ride.’”

Butler said being a senator felt much like being an organizer — it was about forming tactical and strategic relationships, and finding common ground. She took her activist roots, where her job was “to push and challenge and make something happen,” to a body that she said “does today exactly what it was designed to do 248 years ago — nothing fast.”

She said she focused on working with colleagues across the aisle for legislative victories despite her personal opposition to their political perspectives.

Butler with state party Chair Rusty Hicks during a gathering of California’s delegation to the Democratic National Convention in Chicago this summer.
(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)

“I’m not there to get married. We’re not even dating,” Butler said. “This is a transaction, and no one should think anything different than that.”

She said she secured the vote of Sen. Susan Collins (R-Maine) for one of the judges she wanted to see confirmed. She and Sen. Charles E. Grassley (R-Iowa) introduced legislation aimed at preventing youth opioid use and overdoses. And she introduced a bill with Sen. Katie Britt (R-Ala.) to fund maternal mortality research, money she hoped to secure this month through the National Defense Authorization Act.

“That kind of approach to problem-solving is something that we could all learn from,” Sen. Tina Smith (D-Minn.) said Thursday on the Senate floor.

“I’ve watched you in the short time that you’ve been in the Senate — only 14 months — which, in the life of many senators, is barely a blink of an eye,” Smith said in comments directed at Butler. “And I’ve watched you figure out how to organize in this chamber for the good of the people that you represent.”

For her part, Butler has shot down any notion of further public office. She said she didn’t fall in love with the process of being a legislator or the trappings of believing she was some kind of celebrity.

Even so, she she beamed with pride as she took to the Senate floor on Thursday, not to read a banned book but to bid farewell with a speech that invoked the first and second Black female senators who preceded her in office.

“It’s been a remarkable honor — a completely unimagined adventure to follow in the footsteps of Dianne Feinstein, who so ably served in this chamber for more than 30 years, and to be blessed to walk the same hallways as Sen. Carol Moseley Braun and share the same office space as Vice President Kamala Harris,” Butler said in her final remarks from the floor. “I can only hope that for the people of California ... I was able to do half as well as those who came before me.”


Andrea Castillo
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Andrea Castillo covers immigration. Before joining the Los Angeles Times, she covered immigrant, ethnic and LGBTQ+ communities for the Fresno Bee. She got her start at the Oregonian in Portland. A native of Seattle, she’s been making her way down the West Coast since her graduation from Washington State University.

Seema Mehta
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Seema Mehta is a veteran political writer who is covering the 2024 presidential race as well as other state and national contests. She started at the Los Angeles Times in 1998, previously covered multiple presidential, state and local races, and completed a Knight-Wallace fellowship at the University of Michigan in 2019.

Santa Cruz fires: a journalist’s journey from witness to wildland firefighter

Mariela Laksman
December 8, 2024

Arriving at the firefighters’ camp in Santa Cruz felt like stepping into a world stripped down to survival. Comfort did not exist. A single makeshift shower served hundreds. Mattresses piled in one corner of the main tent provided scant relief, as firefighters collapsed side by side, snatching a few hours of rest before confronting the flames again. Their soot-covered faces told stories of exhaustion and unyielding determination. Standing among them, I felt an overwhelming sense of purpose—I was exactly where I needed to be.

journalist’s notes
interview subject

Any Paravica is a Bolivian journalist and mother of two, recognized for her courage in confronting the devastating realities of forest fires. Originally from La Paz, she transitioned from documenting environmental disasters to actively combating them, joining volunteer fire brigades to fight flames ravaging Bolivia’s forests. Her work highlights the human and ecological toll of these crises, exposing the root causes, including illegal mining, drug trafficking, and deforestation.

As both a journalist and firefighter, Any combines storytelling with action, amplifying the voices of affected communities and advocating for environmental preservation. Her efforts reflect a steadfast commitment to protecting life and fostering hope.
background information
In recent years, fires in Bolivia have escalated to alarming levels, particularly in regions like Santa Cruz, where prolonged droughts and uncontrolled human activities have fueled devastating environmental catastrophes. Millions of hectares of forest have been consumed, destroying unique ecosystems and leaving endemic species—such as jaguars, armadillos, and turtles—without habitat or escape from the flames. Indigenous and rural communities, heavily reliant on these forests for their livelihoods, have lost homes, land, and resources. Beyond the destruction, the fires have triggered serious public health crises, including widespread respiratory illnesses, particularly among children and the elderly.

Despite their critical role, firefighters—primarily volunteers—face dire shortages of supplies and support. Basic equipment such as heat-resistant boots, fireproof suits, and essential tools are often unavailable. Volunteers must improvise with limited resources while confronting life-threatening conditions. Without comprehensive structural measures and increased support, Bolivia risks losing its forests, biodiversity, and vulnerable communities to the relentless advance of these fires. For more details, see El Tribuno’s coverage of Bolivia’s environmental crisis.

SANTA CRUZ DE LA SIERRA, Bolivia — My work often brought me to the heights of La Paz, a city where forests are rare and nature seems to battle for every inch against concrete. Beneath the dry air and endless blue sky, I observed the world from behind a lens, capturing stories in images.

However, in 2019 when news of the Santa Cruz fires echoed. The flames devoured Bolivia’s green lungs, and a calling to act ignited within me. Determined, I picked up my camera and headed toward the fire zones. No longer would I only document but bear witness to the devastation firsthand.

Read more environment stories at Orato World Media.
Stepping into Bolivia’s fires

Facing the fire for the first time felt like stepping into a living nightmare. Flames engulfed the forest under an oppressive orange sky, and heat punished everything in its path. As I ventured deeper, the soles of my boots melted on glowing embers that formed a searing carpet beneath my feet. Lacking proper equipment, I relied on my bare hands to toss sand and carry water. Smoke tore through my lungs, turning every breath into a battle. The relentless roar of the flames drowned out all other sounds, but I forced myself to keep moving. Each step forward, alongside others, became an act of sheer will, driven by a shared determination to resist the destruction.

When I arrived at an animal shelter, the eerie silence struck me even harder than the heat. A place once alive with birdsong and the hum of jungle life now lay buried in ash. Rescued turtles huddled in makeshift pools, their sluggish movements highlighting the devastation surrounding them. Their resilience was humbling, a stark reminder of how fragile all life is in the face of such disasters.

I encountered communities shattered by the flames—people who had lost homes, crops, and lifetimes of effort. My camera quickly evolved into a tool of action. I recorded as I delivered water, captured images while helping reorganize spaces, and documented the human and environmental toll of the fire. Every click felt like a promise to preserve these moments, ensuring the world could not ignore what was happening.
Joining the firefighters: “My heart urged me to act”

At one point, while filming firefighters battling the flames, I felt the camera weigh me down. My heart urged me to act, so I set it aside and joined the fight. With my bare hands, I threw sand onto smoldering embers, the suffocating heat pressing against my skin like a constant warning. For the first time, I felt the satisfaction of doing rather than observing. My hands, blackened and burning from direct contact with the scorched earth, became a symbol of resistance and resilience.

In that moment, I realized I had crossed a boundary. I was still a journalist, but I was also a mother, a woman, and part of a world crying out for action. My role could no longer remain confined to documentation; I had to act, to defend what could still be saved.

That first night felt like stepping into hell. Flames tore through everything in their path, leaving behind a crunching carpet of embers beneath our feet. The air hung thick with ash and smoke, each breath scraping my throat like a punishment. Every step forward was a deliberate choice: retreat to safety or push deeper into the inferno. Watching the forest vanish in an instant made retreat impossible. The despair of witnessing nature’s destruction forced me onward.

Dawn exposed the full scope of the tragedy. The once-vibrant forest had become a graveyard of blackened trees and barren land, shrouded in an oppressive silence. Life had been reduced to ash. Standing amidst the smoldering ruins, I felt nature’s grief—not only for the lives lost but for the indifference that had enabled such devastation. I sat on the hot ground, overwhelmed, as tears fell. The enormity of what we had lost made me feel small and powerless in the face of such relentless destruction.
I was exactly where I needed to be

Arriving at the firefighters’ camp in Santa Cruz felt like stepping into a world stripped down to survival. Comfort did not exist. A single makeshift shower served hundreds. Mattresses piled in one corner of the main tent provided scant relief, as firefighters collapsed side by side, snatching a few hours of rest before confronting the flames again. Their soot-covered faces told stories of exhaustion and unyielding determination. Standing among them, I felt an overwhelming sense of purpose—I was exactly where I needed to be.

My camera, usually a powerful storytelling tool, seemed powerless in the face of such devastation. Yet, I kept recording. Someone had to document this, to ensure the world understood the magnitude of what was unfolding. The embers of the fire were fading, but the fight to preserve what remained of our land burned fiercely within me.

One of my first missions took me to the children of a community directly in the fire’s path. Amid chaos and fear, we found a moment to teach them about caring for their land. Using empty bottles and debris, we explored what could safely return to the earth and what could not. At the end, I playfully dubbed them the fire department, dousing them with a bucket of water and naming them the guardians of their home. Their laughter and tiny hands, held high as if grasping the future, offered a glimmer of hope.

That hope, however, was painfully short-lived. Days later, the flames roared back, devouring the homes of those same children who had laughed and learned with me.
Millions of hectares had been reduced to ash, leaving Santa Cruz engulfed in smoke

When I heard the news, a gut-wrenching emptiness overtook me, as if something inside me had broken. Had I done enough? Guilt gnawed at me, the memory of their hopeful eyes clashing with the devastating reality of their loss. The fire had not just destroyed forests—it had devoured dreams and futures.

As I tried to find solace, the weight of our collective frailty in the face of such a ruthless force became unbearable. The fire was not just a natural disaster—it was a reminder of how much we stand to lose when we fail to protect what truly matters.

It all began in June, when fires first ignited in Otuquis National Park near the Brazilian border. What started as a localized incident quickly spiraled into an environmental catastrophe. By September, millions of hectares had been reduced to ash, leaving Santa Cruz engulfed in smoke and an unrelenting environmental crisis. I watched helplessly as the flames consumed everything—forests, homes, and entire lives. Those months felt like an endless battle, each day a new chapter in a nightmare that changed us all forever.

My journey to the camp in Roboré felt grueling, taking over 24 hours through intense heat, exhaustion, and even stopping to assist at accidents along the way. When I finally arrived, the gravity of the situation hit me like a blow. The fire raged on all sides, consuming hectares of forest with an almost predatory ferocity. At dusk, the air filled with embers drifting like ominous warnings, while the sky glowed a suffocating orange.
No amount of mental preparation could have readied me for the devastation I witnessed

This fire was not like any I had seen before—it was a monster fueled by years of neglect and indifference. No amount of mental preparation could have readied me for the devastation I witnessed: trees reduced to skeletal ash, animals fleeing aimlessly, and a haunting silence where vibrant life once thrived. It was a sobering confrontation with the scale of destruction, a reminder of what was at stake and how much we had already lost.

From the very beginning, organization was crucial. We divided into teams to try and halt the fire’s relentless advance. One critical front was in the Tucavaca mountain range, where flames formed a double front, cutting off roads and threatening entire communities. Alongside firefighters from Spain and Ecuador, we worked tirelessly to trace defensive lines stretching hundreds of meters—an almost impossible task in the suffocating heat. The sound of shovels scraping earth, shouted orders cutting through the smoke, and the desperate faces of locals, including children barely strong enough to carry buckets of water, filled the scene. It was an uneven fight, but none of us dared give up.

The swirling fires were a terrifying spectacle, columns of flames moving with an almost sentient fury as they devoured everything in their path. The scene was apocalyptic. The heat was so oppressive that it felt like the air itself was solidifying, making every breath a struggle. Even through gloves, my hands burned from the relentless handling of sand and tools. One particularly gut-wrenching moment was discovering a charred armadillo beside an empty nest—a grim reminder that we weren’t just losing trees but also the lives that depended on them.
Doubt whispered in the back of my mind: could we stop this?

Our hands, stiff from gripping shovels, and our feet, blistered from melted boots, carried the marks of walking on embers. The fire tested our endurance, leaving blackened scars on the earth where vibrant life once flourished. It was a battle not only against flames but also against the creeping despair that threatened to consume us.

In the early hours of the morning, with only three women and two men left in the camp, a community member rushed in with urgent news: flames were closing in on the home of an elderly couple. Exhausted from days of firefighting, we had just shed our suits, hoping for a moment of rest. But there was no time. Grabbing makeshift hats and shovels, we plunged into the darkness, guided only by the ominous glow of the fire—a relentless, consuming force. The air clawed at our throats, and the thick smoke reduced our world to mere meters.

The fight lasted through the night. The fire roared like a feral beast, each falling spark a warning of how swiftly destruction could strike. We hurled sand with bare hands, dug makeshift fire breaks, and shouted instructions over the chaos of heat and smoke. Doubt whispered in the back of my mind: could we stop this? Could we save the house, which now felt like the embodiment of everything we were fighting to protect?

Fatigue wasn’t an option. My legs quaked, my throat burned, and the heat pressed against my skin like a constant threat. But I kept going, driven by the belief that every effort, no matter how small, held meaning. In those moments, survival wasn’t just an act—it was defiance, a refusal to let the flames claim everything.
Roboré: a place that felt like the threshold of hell

As dawn broke, we gathered in silence. The house stood intact—a fragile miracle amidst a landscape reduced to ash and rubble, a barren desert where life once thrived. I sank to the ground, drained, staring at that small home as if it were the only evidence that our struggle had meaning. Around me, my companions collapsed as well, their faces blackened with smoke and etched with exhaustion and relief.

We had won this battle, but the cost was undeniable. In that moment, I realized we were not just fighting the flames—we were battling oblivion, indifference, and our own vulnerability. For if we fail to save what truly matters, what remains of us?

One moment etched into my memory happened on the road to Roboré—a place that felt like the threshold of hell. Traffic was paralyzed, trapped between two raging fronts of flames devouring both sides of the road. From the horizon, fiery whirlwinds rose with a terrifying ferocity, each a spinning column of destruction, scattering embers and filling the air with the acrid stench of burning wood and something more profound, almost sinister. As we moved cautiously, the oppressive heat wrapped around us, and the forest seemed to crumble beneath a sky streaked with orange and black.

Amid this chaos, a small wild rabbit emerged, staggering on burned paws, its eyes reflecting a terror no living being should endure. A colleague gently picked it up and carried it to our makeshift veterinary station. Despite our best efforts, we could not save the rabbit. Holding its lifeless, fragile body in my hands, I felt an overwhelming grief. The group stood in heavy silence, mourning as if we had lost something irreplaceable.
I would keep fighting, no matter how much the fire took from us

On my way back, a child caught my eye, standing on a mountainside, pointing to the fire consuming his world. “Will my house stay?” he asked, his voice trembling and broken. I could not bring myself to answer, knowing the truth was too devastating to share.

That night, as I sat staring at the horizon where flames continued to burn in the distance, I made a promise to myself: I would keep fighting, no matter how much the fire took from us. Even amidst so much loss, every life saved, every house defended, every smoke-free dawn was a victory—a reminder that our effort, though exhausting, was never in vain.

The nights felt endless, with suffocating heat wrapping everything in an oppressive grip. Passing through dense smoke, I felt the air clawing at my chest, stealing my breath. One fateful day, after more than 24 hours without rest, my body finally gave out. I was rushed to a makeshift hospital, where hours of care managed to stabilize me. But I couldn’t stay still. As soon as I could stand, I returned to the front lines. I knew that every moment mattered, that the fire would not wait, and that my place was still there, fighting alongside the others.

As the flames slowly receded under our relentless efforts, we looked up to see the sky turning gray. Then, the miracle happened: an unexpected storm swept in. The first drops fell like a gentle balm on our soot-streaked faces, and soon, a downpour extinguished the remnants of the inferno. It felt as though nature, in her wisdom, was grieving alongside us.
A storm extinguished the fire, but the is far from over

Within minutes, the storm transformed the valley. What had been a suffocating haze of smoke turned into a field of mud and ash. Soaked to the bone, we stood motionless. Someone broke the silence with a nervous laugh, which quickly grew into a collective relief. In that moment, I realized firefighting entails protecting what remains of humanity. The rain became more than water; it was a reprieve, a promise that nature, despite her suffering, still responds to those who fight for her.

The rain extinguished the fire, but the work was far from over. We moved swiftly to ensure no embers remained to reignite the destruction, transitioning to aid the devastated communities. Delivering food and medicine, we witnessed the staggering losses firsthand. The storm had given us hope, but rebuilding their lives would take much longer.

Reflecting on those days, I see that fires are not just visible enemies; they reveal negligence, hidden agendas, and a society too often complacent. My time in Santa Cruz was more than a fight against flames—it was a deeper struggle to preserve what makes us human. Though the scars of that inferno remain, so does the certainty that we are not alone, and that while destruction may consume, renewal is always possible.

Being a wildland firefighter is about more than facing fire; it is about enduring the invisible scars it leaves behind. Each mission is a reminder of life’s fragility and nature’s vastness. Despite the exhaustion and loss, moments of profound hope make the fight worthwhile. This journey transformed me forever, pushing me to act, to protect a world that still holds something sacred. In every tree defended, in every life saved, I found a reflection of who we must strive to be: guardians of an earth calling for care and respect.

Mariela Laksman
ORATO WORLD

Supporters of Bangladesh Nationalist Party march in protest at attacks in India

Thousands of members of associate bodies of the Bangladesh Nationalist Party have marched toward the Indian High Commission in Bangladesh’s capital to denounce attacks on a diplomatic mission and alleged desecration of Bangladeshi flags in India

ByJULHAS ALAM 

Associated Press

December 8, 2024, 

DHAKA, Bangladesh -- Thousands of members of three youth and student bodies belonging to the Bangladesh Nationalist Party marched toward the Indian High Commission in the country's capital on Sunday to denounce attacks on a diplomatic mission and alleged desecration of Bangladeshi flags in India.

The protests came a day before India’s foreign secretary, Vikram Misri, is due to visit Dhaka amid growing tension between the two neighbors in recent months.

It will be the first high-profile diplomatic visit by an Indian official since the fall of former Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina, who is in exile in India, in August.

Bangladesh, which is predominantly Muslim, has accused the majority Hindus in India of attacking the Assistant High Commissioner’s office at Agartala in the Indian state of Tripura and desecrating Bangladeshi flags in Kolkata in West Bengal state.

India said it regretted the attacks and pledged to take action against those responsible. Bangladesh’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs also summoned the Indian High Commissioner and protested formally.

On Sunday, thousands of supporters of the BNP, which is headed by former Prime Minister Khaleda Zia, marched toward the Indian High Commission, but police stopped them by setting up barbed wire fences. They later allowed a team of six leaders of the three associate bodies of the party to hand in a letter to the High Commission.

The BNP last ruled Bangladesh in 2001-2006 in partnership with the Jamaat-e-Islami party. In the absence of Hasina, Zia's party is the main force and it is expected to win the next election if it happens sometime soon.

Hasina, whose party is seen as more secular than the BNP, is highly regarded by India as a trusted friend. Most Hindus in Bangladesh are considered to be supporters of Hasina's Awami League party.

The BNP supporters chanted slogans such as “Delhi or Dhaka? Dhaka, Dhaka!” and “Agents of India, be careful, be careful!” They also carried banners reading “We have friends overseas, but not masters.”

The protesters said India has been trying to instigate communal riots in Bangladesh to achieve political mileage since the ouster of Hasina, who fled to India following a mass uprising that ended her 15-year rule. Hasina’s party is struggling to get back on the streets while Hasina herself is facing arrest warrants on charges of crimes against humanity involving the deaths of hundreds of protesters during the uprising in July and August.

Over the past few weeks, some smaller Islamist groups and the BNP have protested against India over the attacks in Tripura and urged the interim government, led by Nobel peace laureate Muhammad Yunus, to officially raise concerns.

The situation started becoming tense after authorities in Bangladesh last month arrested a prominent Bangladeshi Hindu leader and jailed him, pending further legal procedures.

India had earlier officially raised concern over allegations of attacks on Hindus in Bangladesh after the fall of Hasina. Yunus and his close aides said the reports were exaggerated.

Bangladesh has been navigating crucial challenges since August amid mob violence, rising commodity prices, street protests and an unstable economy. The presence of Islamist groups has been visible more than ever in recent months.

The police are demoralized because many of their colleagues were killed in the protests and law and order remains a major concern, with rights groups also calling for ensuring press freedom. About 700 inmates including many criminals and radical Islamists still remain at large after jailbreaks during the political chaos in August.

Yunus has been urging people to stay calm, promising improvement.

The consequences of colonisation on Inuit culture in Greenland

Forced industrialisation and displacement from villages to cities: Denmark's political and industrial colonisation of Greenland marginalised Inuit culture, and now climate change threatens to make it melt away like the island's ice.

Published on 4 December 2024 

Federica Bonalumi, Davide Del Monte - IrpiMedia (Rome-Milan)

VOXEUROP
Translated by Ciarán Lawless
 

A view of Narsaq village, 450 km south of Greenland's capital Nuuk. 

| Photo: ©Federica Bonalumi

In the early 1970s, Nuuk, the world's northernmost capital, had a population of just over 7,000. Today there are almost 20,000, a third of Greenland's total population. In this same time span, "non-Greenlanders" have only increased from 2,000 to 4,000.

Most of Nuuk's new inhabitants are in fact Inuit – the natives of the Arctic island, who are still its main ethnic group. In a process that began to be imposed in the 1950s by the Kingdom of Denmark, the Inuit were forcibly relocated from the villages to the city. The aim was twofold: to make the Inuit more "Danish" and to transform the economy from subsistence to industry.

The Danish colonisation of Greenland was both political and industrial. It officially began in 1721, with the mission of a priest supported by the Church and the Danish Crown. Since then, ties with Copenhagen have never been severed, apart from a brief interlude during the Nazi occupation of Denmark, from which Greenland escaped.

Since the 1960s, the Inuit who inhabit the Arctic island have demanded more freedom. In 1979 they formed their own parliament, which kick-started the "post-colonial" period, and in 2009 they were granted the basis for full independence, for example through the autonomous management of their own natural resources.

At present, however, the island still remains a territory under the administration of the Danish Crown.

Against this historical backdrop, the left-wing independence party Inuit Ataqatigiit won the 2021 general election with a programme that aims for full independence from Denmark and strict control of mining licences granted to foreign companies.

These Greenlandic politicians are confident that they will be able to defend their resources from the appetites of China, Russia, the United States and the European Union, all potential new colonisers, while at the same time gaining more autonomy from Copenhagen.

What they have failed to protect over the past sixty years, however, is their cultural identity, which is increasingly at risk of extinction.
Depopulating villages

After World War II, Denmark decided it was time to develop Greenland's local economy. The large icy island offered prime opportunities for commercial fishing, particularly for shrimp and halibut, a large flatfish caught by the Inuit by dropping a line with hundreds of hooks through a hole in the ice.

Denmark introduced commercial enterprises that performed the same operation on an industrial scale and added fleets of fishing boats that started a process of profound transformation not only of the local economy, but also of the lifestyle of traditional villagers.

More : The last indigenous people of Europe, the Sámi, move closer to Brussels

Those who were once hunters and fishermen began to look for work as labourers in the new fish-processing factories in the larger settlements.

The Danish government justified the disappearance of several settlements from the map by arguing that maintaining services such as schools and clinics everywhere was too difficult and expensive and would be easier if the Inuit moved to the larger towns, where the infrastructure also already existed.

Many indigenous families thus found themselves living in large concrete buildings in Nuuk, built specifically to accommodate those who were relocated from the small settlements, completely abandoning their traditional and natural lifestyle.

Working-class buildings in Nuuk, a symbol of Greenland's urbanisation, house many of the people who were forced to leave the small settlements along the coast. 

| Photo: ©Davide Del Monte

Some Inuit traditions have already been lost in Nuuk, such as fishing practised by drilling holes in the ice.

In the town's harbour, one can see both the large fishing boats of Royal Greenland – Greenland's largest fishing company, controlled by the Greenlandic government bureau – and the small boats of local fishermen. The spoils of the latter are at least partly sold at the meat and fish market stalls from which only other Inuit buy.

The hunters, on the other hand, continue to catch their prey one by one, venturing into the mountains that cover the entire Arctic island.

Leave or return

While the industrialisation of fishing has generated economic benefits in both Greenland and Denmark, it has also limited the possibilities for small businesses and local fishermen to actively participate in the market, reducing the economic autonomy of communities and creating new social difficulties.

Narsaq, an agglomeration of less than 1,500 souls resting on a fjord more than 450 kilometres south of the capital Nuuk, has been one of the main victims of this process. Here, fifty years after opening, Royal Greenland closed its fish processing plants, condemning the village to dramatic economic and social decline.

The shrimp processing plant, opened in the 1970s as part of the Danish development plan for the fish industry in Greenland, guaranteed economic growth and stable employment for a large part of the population for several decades.

However, in 2010, problems with fish stocks – due to the fact that fewer and fewer shrimp were being caught as the species moved northward due to climate change – and the resulting higher operating costs led to the closure of the plant, leaving more than 100 people (almost 10% of the population), many of them the sole breadwinners, without work.

Many families were thus forced to leave the settlement in southern Greenland in search of new opportunities in the capital. Since 2010, Narsaq has lost 20% of its population and suffers the highest unemployment rate in Greenland.

Ole Møller is Narsaq's electrician. He left the capital Nuuk to return to his home village. This was a political choice: "My wife and I have Danish names and were born in the years when being Danish was considered better than being Greenlandic," he says. For his daughters – Qupanuk and Iluna, one and a half years and nine months old – he wanted a different situation.

In contrast to the predominance of Danish and English in the schools in Nuuk, he decided to teach them Greenlandic first: "Our fear is that the Greenlandic language will be lost, along with our traditions," he explains as she juggles cooking and looking after the two girls.

Returning to such a remote area means that getting anything done is more difficult than it should be.

"With the isolation, even the simplest necessities require months of waiting: from medicine to paint for the walls of the house, you have to wait several months," he says as he looks at the facade of his house, half fuchsia and half red. "Winter is coming and I have run out of paint, I will finish painting it next summer".

An old fisherman who once worked as a supplier for Royal Greenland now spends his evenings at the Inugssuk Cafe, one of Narsaq's few pubs.
‘Our fear is that the Greenlandic language will be lost, along with our traditions’ – Ole Møller

He introduces himself as Christian and is intrigued by the presence of foreigners in his village. As he talks, he ends up opening up about personal matters as well.

"The suicide rate in Greenland is so high that it is not an exaggeration to say that everyone has at least one acquaintance who has taken their own life," he says. He then shows photos of his grandchildren and says that his daughter, the mother of the two children, also took her own life.

As he speaks, he kisses the phone, as if unable to hold back the impulse of affection towards his two motherless grandchildren. His daughter was in her thirties and belonged to that generation that continues to wonder whether there can be a future among the fjords back home.

The Inuit of the younger generation live in a transitional phase: on the one hand, they wish to preserve the hunting tradition of their grandparents, and often also their parents, rooted in a deep connection with nature and their land; on the other, they are confused and disoriented by the expectations of an urban life.

They feel deprived of an identity, distant both from previous generations and from their peers in the globalised world. Those between the ages of 20 and 24 are the most strongly affected.
Christian lives in Narsaq and used to be a fisherman for Royal Greenland, Greenland's largest fishing company. He spends his evenings in one of the few pubs in the village. | Photo: ©Federica Bonalumi

As with other indigenous populations forced to radically change their way of life, the loss of identity began with the uprooting ordered by law by the Danes.

Along with dwellings, the Danes imposed their own language, religion and education system on the Inuit, forced them to abandon their villages and move to the cities, and discouraged the use of local traditions and language, Kalaallisut, in an attempt to turn them into Danish citizens.

In the 1970s, suicides in Greenland began to precipitate: from 1970 to 1989, the rate rose from 28.7 to 120.5 per 100,000 people. Today, the rate has slowly decreased, but remains one of the highest in the world: about 81 per 100,000 people.
If the ice disappears

Tukumminnguaq Lyberth was born in Qaanaaq, Greenland's northernmost city. They call this place Thule, the name of the imaginary island that according to ancient chroniclers marked the boundaries of the world.

Like many 30-year-old Inuit, Lyberth moved to Nuuk to work. She is a recent member of Oceans North, the association that works to preserve the rights of the Inuit, especially with regard to fishing and the protection of the marine environment.

Thinking back to her childhood, Lyberth recalls the massive hunts conducted by the men of her village on the ice floe, the floating layer of ice that covers the sea.

"The ice floe was this high," she says as she raises her arm above her head, her gaze returning with a smile to a distant place stored in her memory, "it was taller than a human being, that's why we were quiet when we crossed it to go hunting".

The situation today is different: in the last twenty years, hunting and fishing have become increasingly difficult for the inhabitants of Qaanaaq, among the few communities who still try to practice traditional hunting methods.

This is due to the melting ice.

In the north of the island, in fact, Inuit hunters and fishermen, in order to find their prey, continue to move across the ice for kilometres, until they find the right spot where they can drill a hole from which to fish and hunt marine animals.
More : Sweden’ green transition awakes neo-colonial sentiment among Sámis

"Ice for us is everything," she says, "which must be difficult for you to understand. But we get everything we need from the ice". "This deep relationship," she continues, "has allowed us to develop a culture and lifestyle in close harmony with nature, making the best use of the resources we have available to us".

The problem is that the sea used to freeze in September, when the light still dominates the long days, and so hunters could go out on sledges in search of seals to stock up for the long winter.

Today it freezes much later, towards the end of October or even November, when darkness now dominates the day. Moreover, the ice shelf remains much thinner, at risk of collapse. The result is that hunting and fishing have become increasingly dangerous: "I know several hunters who have abandoned the activity because they are unable to feed their dogs, and hunting no longer provides enough income to pay the bills. The hunting culture is at risk," says Lyberth.

Watching the ice melt is like watching the grains of sand in an hourglass running out: "If the ice disappears, we too will disappear from these places sooner or later," she concludes with certainty.
👉 Original article on IrpiMedia
🤝 This article is published within the Come Together collaborative project

'Stop using the environment as a tipping ground': British campaigner vows to protest until 'significant change'

'I thought I can either sit at home ... or come here and try to spread the message. I chose to come here and spread the message,' campaigner tells Anadolu

Burak Bir |08.12.2024 - TRT/AA


- 'I tend to keep going until significant change has come, or until I cannot do it anymore,' says Rob

LONDON

A solo campaigner in his 70s, has been protesting in central London since 2019 to put the spotlight on plastic pollution and demand more respect for the environment.

Plastic pollution, one of the most dangerous environmental problems, poses significant risks to nature and people as UN data suggests that every day, the equivalent of 2,000 garbage trucks full of plastic are dumped into oceans, rivers and lakes, making it a "global problem."

Robert, 73, who used to be a taxi driver, decided to take action to not remain silent in the face of plastic pollution because he "felt compelled" to clean up a local area, do litter picking and keep it clean as possible he can."

In the meantime, Robert, who preferred to be called Rob, started his campaign in Parliament Square to "spread the message," to reach as many people as possible to tell them about the negative effects of plastic problem.

Rob said he has been in the area almost daily, carrying a couple of signs with slogans, featuring plastic pollution. What makes his protest interesting is the many plastic bottles attached to the signs that draw attention.

"When I realized the consequence of our foolishness, of our selfishness, of our laziness and our reliability on convenience, disregarding the damage we're doing to other living things, other species, including ourselves with plastic injection, that was quite an eye-opener," he told Anadolu.

Rob said he is lucky to live near a river which allows him to better evaluate the presence of plastic pollution.

"I thought I can either sit at home ... or come here and try to spread the message. I chose to come here and spread the message. And I've been here since February 2019, and almost a daily basis," he said, noting he gets a very positive public reaction.

"I tend to keep going until significant change has come, or until I cannot do it anymore," he said.

Rob said people can avoid a lot of their own problems by having "a bit more care," such as thinking about a species.

Rob noted that he has decided not to stand outside the gates of parliament because he said that he feels politicians "will do very little regarding this."

"I chose to stand here, and my thought was to appeal to the public, to the ordinary people, rather than the politicians specifically because I felt it -- I could generate more power regarding these messages from the ordinary people and I think that's happened," he said.

He noted as an example the pollution caused by disposable vapes as 5 million disposable vapes are thrown away in the UK each week.

"The lithium content in these electronic cigarettes is sufficient to make 5,000 batteries for electric cars -- that's madness," he noted.

According to the government, 5 million disposable vapes, which "represent a huge and growing stream of hard-to-recycle waste," are thrown away every week, up from 1.3 million in 2023.

"Just stop using the environment as a tipping ground," said Rob, adding people also should stop causing untold damage to the environment which is a "very simple step."​​​​​​​​​​​​​​