Time keeps on ticking... more precisely into a dangerous future?

Do increasingly materialistic conceptualizations of time contribute to a more precise and thus even more immediate concept of present moment and presence there to?

Could making the present moment smaller somehow be limiting or reducing the conscious experience range of presence?

Revelation 17 is one of the most misunderstood, sensationalized, and mishandled chapters in the entire Bible. It is often reduced to speculation, fear-based headlines, or rigid timelines that miss the deeper spiritual weight of what John is actually shown. When people rush through this chapter looking only for modern names, political systems, or conspiracy markers, they often miss the uncomfortable truth embedded in the vision itself: Revelation 17 is not primarily about identifying a villain “out there,” but about exposing a pattern that humanity has repeatedly embraced, applauded, and defended throughout history. This chapter does not merely warn of something that will happen someday. It reveals something that has been happening for a very long time — the seductive marriage between power, spirituality, wealth, and influence that looks impressive on the outside but is hollow, corrupt, and destructive at its core.

John is not shown a battlefield first. He is shown a woman. That alone should slow us down. Scripture often uses symbolic imagery to communicate truths that logic alone cannot carry, and Revelation 17 is rich with symbolic language meant to pierce the heart, not just stimulate the intellect. The woman John sees is not struggling, not hunted, not marginalized. She is clothed in luxury. She is confident. She is seated. She is riding the beast rather than being crushed by it. This matters. Evil in Revelation 17 does not present itself as chaotic or desperate. It presents itself as stable, beautiful, influential, and successful. That detail alone should unsettle anyone who assumes corruption always looks ugly or weak.

The angel who speaks to John does not invite him to admire this woman. He invites him to understand her judgment. That distinction is critical. The woman is not shown as someone to be feared in the traditional sense, but as someone whose time is limited and whose apparent dominance is deceptive. Revelation 17 pulls back the curtain on a system that has learned how to thrive by blending moral language with immoral ambition, spiritual symbolism with political force, and religious appearance with economic exploitation. This is not merely about one city, one empire, or one future leader. It is about a recurring structure of power that rises whenever humanity trades truth for influence and devotion for control.

John calls her “the great whore,” language that shocks modern readers but carried deep covenantal meaning in Scripture. Throughout the Old Testament, spiritual unfaithfulness was described using the imagery of adultery, not because God trivializes sexual sin, but because covenant betrayal is relational at its core. This woman represents a system that claims intimacy with God while offering herself to power, wealth, and domination instead. She is not openly atheistic. She is not portrayed as rejecting God outright. She is portrayed as unfaithful — still religious, still influential, still convincing, but no longer loyal to truth.

This matters deeply for anyone living in a world where faith can be branded, marketed, politicized, and monetized. Revelation 17 is not primarily condemning unbelief. It is condemning compromised belief. The woman is drunk, not on ignorance, but on power. She is intoxicated by influence. She has learned how to sit atop systems of control and call it righteousness. She has learned how to wear spiritual language like jewelry while benefiting from violence, injustice, and exploitation beneath her feet.

The beast she rides is not independent of her, nor is it her servant in the way many assume. Their relationship is transactional. The beast gives her power, reach, and protection, while she gives the beast legitimacy, narrative, and moral cover. This is where Revelation 17 becomes deeply uncomfortable for religious institutions, political movements, and even individual believers who prefer clean lines between “faith” and “power.” John is shown that when faith seeks control instead of transformation, it inevitably mounts the beast rather than resisting it.

Notice how the woman is described as sitting on many waters. Scripture later explains that these waters represent peoples, multitudes, nations, and tongues. This is not a small, fringe influence. This is global reach. This woman has learned how to speak to everyone without truly belonging to anyone. She is adaptable. She changes language without changing loyalty. She moves easily across cultures because her core commitment is not truth but dominance. Wherever power flows, she flows with it.

Her clothing tells another story. Purple and scarlet were colors of royalty, wealth, and priestly authority. Gold, precious stones, and pearls are not symbols of poverty or marginalization. This woman is not persecuted by the world. She is celebrated by it. That detail alone overturns many simplistic end-times narratives that assume corruption will always be opposed by society. Revelation 17 suggests the opposite: that the most dangerous spiritual corruption is often embraced, funded, and protected because it benefits those in power.

The golden cup she holds is perhaps one of the most revealing details in the entire chapter. It is beautiful on the outside but filled with abominations and filthiness within. This is not accidental imagery. Scripture consistently warns that outward righteousness without inward transformation is not neutral — it is dangerous. A golden cup suggests something offered, something appealing, something meant to be consumed. The woman is not forcing the world to drink. She is offering a version of spirituality that looks enriching but poisons slowly. That is far more effective than open hostility.

John’s reaction is telling. He marvels. He does not recoil in immediate disgust. He is astonished. That reaction exposes something deeply human: the capacity to be impressed by what God is in the process of judging. Revelation 17 does not flatter the reader by assuming immediate discernment. It shows even an apostle momentarily stunned by the confidence, beauty, and apparent dominance of this system. Discernment, the chapter implies, is not automatic. It must be given. It must be taught. It must be revealed.

The angel corrects John’s astonishment not by dismissing the vision, but by explaining it. Revelation 17 is one of the few chapters where interpretation is built directly into the text. This tells us something important: God does not want this chapter to remain vague. He wants it understood — not as a puzzle to inflate egos, but as a warning to guard hearts. The beast has seven heads and ten horns, imagery that immediately signals composite power — layered authority, accumulated dominion, and historical continuity. This is not a one-time phenomenon. It is a recurring structure that evolves but never truly disappears.

The beast “was, and is not, and yet is.” This strange phrase has led many into endless speculation, but its core meaning is simpler and more sobering. The systems of domination John sees are not new inventions. They rise, fall, retreat, and return in altered forms. Power does not disappear when empires collapse; it rebrands. Corruption does not vanish when leaders die; it migrates. Revelation 17 is not predicting novelty. It is exposing repetition.

The inhabitants of the earth whose names are not written in the Book of Life marvel at the beast. Again, admiration is the danger. This chapter does not describe people trembling in fear as much as it describes people impressed, aligned, and invested. The warning is not “do not be afraid,” but “do not be seduced.” That distinction matters in a world where allegiance is often won through comfort, convenience, and perceived security rather than coercion.

The seven heads are explained as seven mountains and seven kings. Much ink has been spilled trying to lock this into a single historical framework, but Revelation’s symbolic language resists reduction. Mountains in Scripture often represent seats of power, not just geography. Kings represent authority structures, not merely individuals. Five have fallen, one is, and one is yet to come — language that captures the ongoing flow of human governance rather than a neat timeline chart. The message is not “identify the correct list,” but “recognize the pattern.”

Even the beast itself is described as an eighth king who belongs to the seven. This paradoxical phrasing reinforces the idea of recycled power. What rises later often carries the DNA of what came before. Revelation 17 is not obsessed with novelty. It is concerned with continuity. Evil rarely invents. It repackages.

The ten horns represent kings who receive authority for a short time. Their unity is not ideological but strategic. They share one mind because shared ambition temporarily outweighs internal differences. This alliance exists for one purpose: to give power to the beast. Revelation 17 strips away romantic notions of unity and exposes how often cooperation is built on self-interest rather than shared truth.

These powers make war with the Lamb, and this is where the chapter pivots from exposure to assurance. The Lamb is not scrambling for survival. He overcomes. His victory is not in question. He is Lord of lords and King of kings. That declaration is not poetic filler. It is the theological anchor of the chapter. No matter how entrenched, wealthy, or dominant corrupt systems appear, they are temporary. The Lamb’s authority is not borrowed, negotiated, or maintained through violence. It is intrinsic.

Those who are with Him are called, chosen, and faithful. That sequence matters. Calling comes before choosing, and choosing before faithfulness. Faithfulness is not the entry point; it is the response. Revelation 17 is not calling readers to panic or obsession, but to loyalty. In a world where compromise is rewarded and conviction is costly, faithfulness becomes the distinguishing mark of those aligned with the Lamb.

Then comes one of the most unexpected reversals in the chapter. The very powers that supported the woman turn on her. The beast and the horns hate the prostitute. They strip her, devour her, and burn her with fire. This is not divine intervention alone; it is internal collapse. Corrupt systems eventually consume their own. Alliances built on convenience do not survive conflict. Power that uses spirituality eventually discards it when it becomes inconvenient.

This detail dismantles the illusion of safety within compromised systems. The woman thought she was secure because she rode the beast. Revelation 17 shows that proximity to power is not protection. It is vulnerability. When faith ties itself to dominance instead of truth, it becomes disposable. The same systems that once benefited from her influence now see her as excess baggage.

The chapter closes with a blunt identification: the woman is the great city that reigns over the kings of the earth. This is not merely a geographical statement. It is a spiritual diagnosis. “City” in Scripture often represents organized human civilization. Revelation 17 is not condemning urban life; it is exposing a civilization model built on exploitation, control, and spiritual compromise.

The weight of Revelation 17 is not in decoding names or predicting dates. It is in recognizing temptation. The temptation to be influential rather than faithful. The temptation to be admired rather than obedient. The temptation to ride power instead of resist it. This chapter asks an uncomfortable question of every generation: when faith becomes attractive to power, who is actually using whom?

Revelation 17 does not invite fear. It invites clarity. It exposes the cost of confusing success with righteousness and stability with truth. It warns that spiritual language without spiritual loyalty is not harmless — it is deadly. And it reassures that no matter how impressive the structures of domination appear, they are already marked for collapse.

This chapter does not end with the woman’s victory because her victory was never real. It was borrowed, temporary, and conditional. The Lamb does not need to borrow power. He is power. And those who remain faithful to Him do not need to fear being on the wrong side of history, because Revelation 17 makes it clear: history bends, systems rise and fall, alliances shift — but the Lamb remains.

What Revelation 17 ultimately reveals is not the strength of evil, but the fragility of anything built on compromise. And in a world increasingly comfortable blending faith with influence, that truth is not just prophetic — it is urgent.

Revelation 17 does not merely diagnose corruption; it presses the reader to ask where allegiance quietly drifts when pressure mounts. The chapter lingers in the tension between appearance and reality, between what looks powerful and what actually endures. The woman’s fall is not dramatic because of sudden divine fire from heaven, but because the very systems she relied on turn against her. This is one of Scripture’s most sobering lessons: compromise never creates lasting security. It creates dependence, and dependence eventually becomes betrayal.

The kings who once benefited from her influence do not mourn her because of moral awakening. They mourn her because the arrangement no longer serves them. Revelation consistently reveals that ungodly alliances do not end in repentance but in abandonment. Power has no loyalty. It only has utility. When faith makes itself useful to power rather than obedient to God, it forfeits protection the moment usefulness expires.

This detail matters deeply for believers navigating modern culture. Revelation 17 is not primarily asking, “Who is Babylon?” It is asking, “Where does Babylon still live?” And more uncomfortably, “Where is Babylon tolerated, excused, or even defended under the banner of faith?” The chapter is less about locating evil on a map and more about locating it in motives, methods, and misplaced hopes.

The woman’s confidence is one of her greatest deceptions. She does not anticipate judgment because she has never lacked endorsement. She has kings, wealth, and admiration. She has influence over conscience and commerce alike. In many ways, she represents the temptation to believe that blessing is measured by reach rather than obedience, by visibility rather than holiness. Revelation 17 dismantles that assumption. Influence does not equal approval. Prosperity does not equal righteousness. Longevity does not equal truth.

There is something deeply unsettling about how familiar this pattern feels. Throughout history, faith has repeatedly faced the same crossroads: remain prophetic and marginalized, or become influential and compromised. Revelation 17 does not pretend this choice is easy. The woman’s success is real. Her reach is undeniable. Her cup glitters. Her language persuades. This chapter does not mock her appeal; it exposes its cost.

The Lamb’s role in this chapter is striking because He is not frantic. He does not appear as a desperate revolutionary trying to overthrow the system by force. He is simply described as overcoming. His authority is so complete that it does not require spectacle. This is consistent with the Lamb imagery throughout Revelation. He conquers not by imitating the beast’s methods, but by outlasting them. His power does not need escalation because it is not threatened by time.

Those who follow Him are described with three words that quietly dismantle the woman’s entire strategy: called, chosen, faithful. None of these words describe dominance. They describe relationship. Calling implies invitation. Choosing implies intention. Faithfulness implies endurance. Revelation 17 contrasts two communities — one built on leverage and fear, the other built on loyalty and trust. One thrives briefly by riding power. The other endures by walking with the Lamb.

The destruction of the woman is not framed as tragic loss, but as inevitable consequence. Scripture does not portray her downfall as injustice. It portrays it as exposure. Everything hidden is revealed. Everything borrowed is reclaimed. Everything unstable collapses. Revelation 17 reassures the faithful that what appears invincible often depends on far more fragile arrangements than it admits.

This chapter also reframes the idea of persecution. The woman is not persecuted by the world; she is devoured by it. Her suffering does not come from standing for truth, but from standing too close to power. This distinction matters in a time when faith communities sometimes confuse loss of privilege with persecution. Revelation 17 suggests that true persecution comes from resisting the beast, not riding it.

John is shown that God’s sovereignty is not threatened by the existence of corrupt systems. Even their internal conflicts serve a larger purpose. The text states plainly that God puts it into the hearts of the kings to carry out His purpose, even as they act according to their own desires. This does not excuse their actions; it reveals God’s ability to work even through human ambition. Nothing in Revelation 17 suggests God is scrambling to regain control. The judgment unfolds because history is already under His authority.

The phrase “until the words of God are fulfilled” is quiet but decisive. It reminds the reader that time belongs to God, not to systems of power. The woman’s reign feels long only from a human perspective. From eternity’s view, it is brief. Revelation 17 gently but firmly pulls the reader out of panic and into perspective.

Perhaps the most piercing question the chapter leaves unanswered is the one it places before the reader: if admiration is the danger, where is admiration quietly being given? The woman is not followed because she terrorizes. She is followed because she promises stability, prosperity, and moral clarity without transformation. She offers belonging without repentance. Influence without surrender. Revelation 17 forces a confrontation with the temptation to accept those terms.

This chapter also speaks to exhaustion. Faithfulness is hard when compromise is rewarded. Loyalty feels costly when unfaithfulness is applauded. Revelation 17 does not deny this tension. It acknowledges it. But it also reminds the reader that the applause of the world is not a reliable indicator of God’s favor. The Lamb’s followers are not promised ease; they are promised victory. And victory, in Revelation, is measured not by survival of institutions, but by perseverance of allegiance.

The woman’s name, written on her forehead, announces her true identity even while she disguises it. That detail matters. In Scripture, what is written on the forehead signifies ownership and allegiance. Revelation 17 contrasts the mark of Babylon with the seal of God’s servants elsewhere in the book. One identity is chosen for prestige. The other is given for protection. One fades. The other endures.

Revelation 17 ultimately exposes the illusion that faith can be safely fused with domination. It cannot. Faith can influence culture, but it cannot surrender to it. It can speak to power, but it cannot depend on it. The moment faith mounts the beast, it trades its prophetic voice for temporary access. And Revelation 17 assures us that access always expires.

The chapter does not end with despair. It ends with clarity. Evil is not eternal. Corruption is not clever enough to survive its own appetite. The Lamb does not need to compete for attention because His authority does not fluctuate with public opinion. Revelation 17 reassures believers that remaining faithful is not naive — it is aligned with reality.

For those reading this chapter in a world of shifting alliances, politicized religion, and spiritual branding, Revelation 17 is not a call to withdraw from society, but to examine loyalties within it. It asks whether faith is being used as a means to an end, or lived as an end in itself. It challenges readers to decide whether they want influence now or faithfulness forever.

The woman falls because she trusted the beast. The Lamb reigns because He does not need one. That contrast is the heart of the chapter.

And when the systems of this world finally exhaust themselves — when power turns inward, alliances fracture, and glittering cups are revealed to be empty — the Lamb will still stand, and those who remained faithful with Him will discover that nothing they surrendered was ever truly lost.

That is the quiet, steady hope beneath Revelation 17. Not that evil will never look impressive — but that it will never last.

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C’était trop beau pour durer, hein ? Cette petite parenthèse enchantée où l'on pouvait discuter avec l'intelligence artificielle sans se faire agresser par une bannière clignotante pour un VPN ou une crème anti-rides. Eh bien, sortez les mouchoirs (ou préparez-vous à en acheter via un lien sponsorisé), car la fête est finie. OpenAI a décidé qu'il était grand temps de transformer son chatbot prodige en panneau publicitaire interactif.

L’entreprise américaine préférée des français (non, j’avoue, je n’ai aucune source) a annoncé aujourd’hui la grande nouvelle que personne n'attendait avec impatience, le début des tests publicitaires dans ChatGPT. Pour l'instant, ce privilège douteux est réservé aux États-Unis, mais ne vous inquiétez pas, cette “innovation” traversera l'Atlantique bien assez vite pour venir polluer nos écrans européens.

L'idée est simple. Vous demandez à ChatGPT de vous aider à organiser un voyage à New York ? Il vous répondra gentiment, mais en profitera pour glisser, juste en dessous, un encart clairement étiqueté (selon leurs termes rassurants) vous proposant un hôtel charmant mais hors de prix. Fidji Simo, la responsable des applications chez OpenAI, nous assure la main sur le cœur que les réponses resteront objectivement utiles et ne seront jamais influencées par la pub. Bien sûr, et moi je suis le conseiller d’Elon Musk en communication infantile. On nous demande de faire confiance au fait que l'IA ne va pas subtilement nous orienter vers les sponsors les plus généreux. L'espoir fait vivre.

L'offre “Go” ou l'art de payer pour être un homme-sandwich

C'est là que le génie marketing de la société de Sam Altman atteint des sommets d'absurdité comique. Ils lancent globalement une nouvelle offre d'abonnement appelée “ChatGPT Go” pour 8 dollars par mois. Ce forfait, qui se glisse entre la version gratuite et l'offre “Plus” à 20 dollars, vous donne droit à plus de messages, plus d'uploads de fichiers et l'accès au modèle GPT-5.2.

Mais attendez, voici la chute. Même en payant cette somme, vous aurez droit aux publicités ! C'est fantastique, non ? Payer pour consommer de la réclame, c'est un concept avant-gardiste que seule la Silicon Valley pouvait inventer. Si vous voulez la paix royale et un écran vierge de toute sollicitation commerciale, il faudra débourser les 20 dollars mensuels pour l'offre Plus, Pro ou Enterprise. Les pauvres (et les semi-pauvres à 8 dollars) serviront de cible marketing. Les riches, eux, auront le droit de réfléchir en paix.

Vos données sont en sécurité (promis juré craché)

Évidemment, OpenAI a sorti l'artillerie lourde côté communication pour nous rassurer sur la confidentialité. Non, ils ne vendront pas vos conversations aux annonceurs. Quelle générosité. À la place, ils utiliseront “juste” les thèmes de vos discussions pour cibler les pubs. Nuance subtile. Si vous parlez de jardinage, vous verrez des tondeuses. Si vous parlez de la crise de la quarantaine... eh bien, on verra ce que l'algo vous propose (une voiture de sport ou une perruque ?).

Ils jurent aussi qu'il n'y aura pas de pubs sur les sujets sensibles comme la santé, la politique ou pour les mineurs. C'est touchant cette éthique à géométrie variable. On sent bien que l'entreprise essaie d'éviter le destin tragique des réseaux sociaux devenus des usines à clics, ce phénomène poétiquement appelé “enshittification” du web. Mais avec 800 millions d'utilisateurs et des factures de serveurs qui se comptent en milliards, il fallait bien que l'argent rentre. Le PDG en place a beau avoir levé 64 milliards de dollars, l'électricité, ça coûte cher.

Vers un futur sponsorisé

Au final, cette évolution était inévitable. Google Gemini et les autres concurrents mettent la pression, et OpenAI ne pouvait pas rester éternellement une association caritative technologique brûlant du cash. Mais cela marque tout de même un tournant. L'IA conversationnelle, qui promettait de révolutionner notre accès au savoir, commence doucement à ressembler à une recherche Google glorifiée avec ses liens sponsorisés en tête de page. Alors préparez-vous. Bientôt, quand vous demanderez à ChatGPT le sens de la vie, ne soyez pas surpris s'il vous répond que le bonheur se trouve peut-être dans l'achat d'une nouvelle machine à café, livrable demain avec Amazon Prime. Le futur est en marche et il est sponsorisé.

There are moments in a nation’s life when the noise becomes so constant that people stop noticing it. Authority speaks more often. Decisions arrive faster. Language sharpens. Fear gets normalized. And slowly, almost without realizing it, people adjust their expectations of leadership downward while telling themselves it’s necessary, temporary, or justified by the moment. I find myself living in one of those moments now, not as a political observer first, but as a follower of Christ who is trying to stay awake in a time that encourages sleepwalking.

Before anything else is said, it matters to say what this reflection is and what it is not. This is not an attempt to persuade anyone politically. It is not an argument for or against a party, a platform, or a personality. It is a pastoral examination of conscience in real time, shaped by Scripture and by the unsettling feeling that arises when power no longer sounds like stewardship but like command. It is written for people who feel something shifting beneath their feet but are unsure how to name it without anger, shame, or fear.

Following Jesus has never been about attaching faith to authority. It has always been about holding authority up to the light of Christ. That distinction matters now more than ever, because when leadership becomes louder, conscience must become quieter in order to listen. Loud power drowns out careful thought. Loud power demands loyalty before understanding. Loud power rewards certainty and punishes hesitation. And yet the Jesus I follow consistently moves in the opposite direction. He lowers His voice. He slows the moment down. He asks questions instead of issuing ultimatums. He refuses to trade truth for urgency, even when urgency would make things easier.

What I am watching unfold in this country right now unsettles me not because I dislike order or law or decisiveness, but because I see order drifting away from accountability, law drifting away from due process, and decisiveness drifting away from restraint. I see decisions made rapidly, enforced aggressively, and justified afterward rather than examined beforehand. I see authority exercised with confidence but not always with care. And I recognize something important in myself as I watch this happen: the temptation to excuse what I would otherwise question, simply because the voice issuing the command sounds strong.

That realization alone is worth sitting with. Strength has always been persuasive. People gravitate toward it in uncertain times. When life feels unstable, strong language can feel like safety. Firm action can feel like protection. Decisive movement can feel like leadership. I understand that pull because I feel it too. There are moments when part of me wants someone to take control, move quickly, and silence the chaos. But faith demands that I examine that impulse rather than surrender to it.

Jesus makes a clear distinction between the way power works in the world and the way power works in the kingdom of God. He does not blur that line. He draws it sharply. He tells His followers plainly that the rulers of the world “lord it over” others, that they exercise authority through dominance, fear, and control. Then He says something radical and deeply inconvenient. He says that this must not be the way among those who follow Him. Not sometimes. Not ideally. Not eventually. Now.

That teaching is not abstract. It is practical. It speaks directly into moments when authority begins to feel centralized rather than accountable, when enforcement feels intimidating rather than transparent, when obedience is demanded rather than earned. Jesus does not deny that authority exists. He redefines how it is meant to function. Authority, in His view, is not proven by how quickly it acts or how forcefully it enforces. It is proven by how carefully it listens, how slowly it moves when lives are at stake, and how willing it is to limit itself.

What troubles me most in the present moment is not any single policy or decision in isolation, but the pattern forming beneath them. Patterns tell the truth long before outcomes do. When leadership begins to rely heavily on commands rather than consensus, orders rather than deliberation, enforcement rather than explanation, something fundamental shifts. Power stops asking permission. Power stops explaining itself. Power begins assuming its own righteousness.

Jesus never operates that way. Even when He possesses ultimate authority, He refuses to bypass conscience. He persuades rather than compels. He invites rather than intimidates. He reasons rather than threatens. When confronted with opposition, He does not escalate. He clarifies. When misunderstood, He does not punish confusion. He teaches patiently. When betrayed, He does not retaliate. He absorbs the cost.

That posture is not weakness. It is restraint. And restraint is one of the clearest signs of godly authority.

As I watch the current use of power in this country, I find myself asking a set of simple questions that cut through complexity. Do these actions produce peace, or do they cultivate fear. Do they build trust in institutions, or do they erode confidence and replace it with anxiety. Do they protect human dignity, or do they treat people as problems to be managed rather than neighbors to be seen. These are not political questions. They are moral ones. They are the kinds of questions Jesus trains His followers to ask.

It would be easy to frame this reflection as criticism, but that would miss the deeper work happening here. This is not about condemning others. It is about correcting myself. I am learning in real time how easily I once confused confidence with character, speed with wisdom, and force with effectiveness. I am learning how tempting it is to excuse behavior I would otherwise challenge simply because it promises order. And I am learning how dangerous that temptation can be.

History offers countless warnings about what happens when power loses restraint. Scripture does the same. Again and again, the Bible tells stories of leaders who begin with good intentions and end with unchecked authority, convinced that their position justifies their actions. The danger is rarely obvious at first. It creeps in through necessity, through crisis, through urgency. People tell themselves there is no time for process, no room for delay, no patience for dissent. And before long, power no longer serves the people. It demands submission.

Jesus confronts that impulse directly. He refuses to let necessity override love. He refuses to let urgency silence truth. He refuses to let power justify itself. Even when His own followers push Him toward domination, toward retaliation, toward force, He stops them and asks a sobering question. He asks what spirit is driving them. That question echoes in my mind now more than ever.

What spirit is shaping our response to uncertainty. What spirit is guiding our use of authority. What spirit is being formed in us as we watch, support, excuse, or resist the exercise of power. These questions do not have easy answers, but they are necessary ones. Faith that avoids them becomes decoration. Faith that confronts them becomes formation.

I am not interested in performative outrage or righteous posturing. I am interested in fidelity to Christ. And fidelity requires that I slow down when the world tells me to hurry, that I listen when the world tells me to shout, and that I examine my own heart before examining anyone else’s actions. It requires that I refuse to baptize power simply because it claims to protect me.

The longer I sit with these thoughts, the clearer one thing becomes. Jesus never leads by intimidation. He never governs by fear. He never treats people as disposable. His authority flows from love, not from control. And any form of leadership that moves in the opposite direction deserves careful, prayerful scrutiny from those who claim His name.

This reflection does not leave me angry. It leaves me sober. It does not push me toward withdrawal. It pushes me toward vigilance. It reminds me that faithfulness in uncertain times rarely looks dramatic. It looks like paying attention. It looks like refusing to rush to judgment. It looks like holding power to account without surrendering compassion.

Most of all, it reminds me that my hope cannot rest in leaders, systems, or strength as the world defines it. Those things shift too quickly. They demand too much. They disappoint too often. My hope rests in Christ, whose authority never needs to shout, whose leadership never needs to threaten, and whose power never requires fear to sustain it.

That is where I am choosing to stand now. Quietly. Watchfully. Prayerfully. With my eyes open and my heart anchored.

As I continue sitting with this moment, I become more aware of how easily people mistake discomfort for danger. Discomfort invites reflection. Danger demands reaction. The problem arises when leaders blur that distinction and treat discomfort as something to be crushed rather than something to be addressed. Faith teaches patience in moments like these. It teaches us to pause long enough to tell the difference between a threat and a challenge, between disorder and dissent, between fear and conviction. Jesus never rushed that discernment. He always slowed it down.

What troubles me is not that leaders act. Leadership requires action. What troubles me is when action becomes insulated from accountability and urgency becomes an excuse to bypass reflection. When decisions are framed as too important to question, too necessary to debate, or too urgent to delay, conscience begins to shrink. People stop asking whether something is right and settle for whether it is effective. That shift is subtle, but it is dangerous.

The Gospels show Jesus resisting that temptation at every turn. When crowds want Him to seize power, He withdraws. When followers want Him to escalate conflict, He refuses. When authority figures pressure Him to conform or comply, He answers carefully, never surrendering truth for safety. Even when His silence is mistaken for weakness, He remains restrained. That restraint is not passivity. It is moral clarity.

Watching current events unfold, I sense how easily restraint is portrayed as indecision and humility as weakness. Yet Jesus consistently inverts those assumptions. He teaches that those who hunger for power reveal their insecurity, while those who restrain themselves reveal strength. He teaches that leadership is proven not by dominance but by service, not by command but by care. That teaching remains profoundly relevant now.

I notice how fear travels quickly in moments like this. Fear spreads faster than understanding. Fear simplifies complex realities into threats and enemies. Fear rewards certainty and punishes nuance. And fear is incredibly useful to those who wish to consolidate authority. Scripture never denies the presence of fear, but it repeatedly warns against letting fear rule. “Fear not” is not a sentimental phrase in the Bible. It is a command grounded in trust.

When fear becomes a tool of governance rather than a condition to be addressed, something breaks. Communities fracture. Compassion narrows. People begin to justify actions they would once have condemned. I recognize that temptation in myself, and that recognition humbles me. Faith does not exempt anyone from fear. It teaches us how to confront it honestly.

Jesus confronts fear by refusing to exploit it. He does not promise safety through force. He promises peace through truth. He does not rally people against perceived enemies. He invites them to love even those they fear. That posture is deeply uncomfortable, especially in times of uncertainty, but it is unmistakably Christlike.

The longer I reflect, the more I realize how important it is to name this moment without becoming consumed by it. There is a difference between vigilance and obsession, between attention and fixation. Faith calls for the former, not the latter. Staying awake does not mean living in constant alarm. It means remaining grounded enough to notice when something no longer aligns with the teachings of Christ.

I am learning to resist the pressure to react quickly or declare certainty. Instead, I am choosing to stay curious, prayerful, and anchored. That choice does not always feel satisfying. It does not provide instant clarity or emotional release. But it keeps my conscience alive. It keeps me from surrendering discernment to urgency.

One of the most important lessons Scripture teaches is that God does not rush formation. Growth takes time. Wisdom develops slowly. Character is revealed over seasons, not moments. When leadership demands immediate allegiance and discourages reflection, it runs counter to the way God works. That insight matters deeply to me right now.

I also think about those who feel silenced or afraid to speak. When authority becomes intimidating, people retreat inward. They second-guess themselves. They wonder whether asking questions will cost them safety or belonging. Jesus never creates that atmosphere. He welcomes questions. He invites doubt. He treats honest inquiry as faith in motion, not rebellion.

This reflection pushes me to examine how I respond when others express concern. Do I listen, or do I dismiss? Do I remain open, or do I retreat into certainty? Faithfulness requires humility not only toward leaders but toward neighbors. It requires patience with disagreement and charity in conversation.

I am aware that some will misunderstand this reflection. Some will hear criticism where none is intended. Others will hear caution as betrayal. That risk comes with speaking honestly in charged times. Jesus faced the same risk. He was misunderstood by authorities, followers, and crowds alike. Yet He continued to speak truth with gentleness and clarity.

Ultimately, this reflection brings me back to where my hope rests. It does not rest in outcomes or assurances. It does not rest in strength as the world defines it. It rests in Christ, whose kingdom does not advance through fear or force, whose authority does not require intimidation, and whose leadership never sacrifices love for control.

That hope steadies me. It reminds me that no moment, no leader, no system stands outside God’s sovereignty. It reminds me that my calling is not to predict outcomes but to remain faithful. Faithfulness looks like discernment, prayer, humility, and courage to speak when conscience requires it.

As I close this reflection, I return to a simple commitment. I choose to stay awake. I choose to remain anchored. I choose to measure leadership by Christ’s example rather than by my comfort or fear. I choose to resist the temptation to confuse power with righteousness or urgency with wisdom.

This is not a declaration of certainty. It is an act of faith. Faith that God continues to speak through conscience. Faith that truth does not need volume to endure. Faith that restraint is not weakness, and humility is not defeat.

I remain hopeful, not because circumstances are easy, but because Christ remains faithful. His voice still cuts through the noise. His example still clarifies the path. And His love still calls people—not to panic or polarization—but to prayer, discernment, and trust.

That is where I stand. That is how I choose to live. And that is the posture I pray will shape me, whatever comes next.

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

Support the ministry by buying Douglas a coffee https://www.buymeacoffee.com/douglasvandergraph

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

Things are still the same, though not as they used to be.

There have been improvements. I’m less afraid to speak up. Less afraid to challenge what doesn’t feel right. More settled in saying no to things that don’t meet my needs in the moment. I can sense myself taking up space in ways I once avoided, or ways that used to feel overshadowed.

There have also been moments of connection, conversations that felt productive, vulnerable, and even hopeful. Yet, I’m not settled. Something still feels unresolved, like I’m constantly reaching for the faint whisper of something solid that doesn’t quite make sense through the heavy, choking fog.

What I keep coming back to is the suppressed exhaustion: the feeling that being seen and heard requires constant effort. The limpidity that only comes if I ask for it explicitly, repeatedly, carefully. And even then, it doesn’t always land.

I don’t question the presence of love. That part feels clear. We care deeply for one another, and much of what we do is in service of that care. But I’m starting to understand that love alone doesn’t automatically create partnership, and naming that feels both cliché and strangely brave.

I’m realizing how much of myself I’ve spent trying to translate my needs into the “right” language. How often I’ve assumed the roles of initiator, interpreter, and emotional regulator. How quickly exhaustion sets in when the responsibility for change feels one-sided, even when intentions are good.

What hurts most isn’t conflict itself; it’s the lack of resolution. When tension dissolves without being addressed, it can feel like peace to one person and purgatory to the other. I’m learning how deeply unfinished conversations affect me, and how much I need more semblance of closure to feel safe.

Recently, I’ve been told that my disquietude comes from not knowing who I am or what I want. I’m not sure that’s true. If anything, I feel closer to myself than I have in a long time. And that clarity brings its own fear, because it forces me to ask what I’m willing to keep fighting for, and what I might one day need to stop fighting against.

There are bright spots. New beginnings. A future that looks full of possibilities. And still, I’m noticing how easily external gestures can be mistaken for repair, how often material progress is expected to compensate for emotional distance. I’m learning that gratitude and grief can coexist, even when that feels disagreeable.

What surprises me most is this: I’m no longer afraid of what happens either way. I know I will survive. That knowledge is both grounding and confounding.

I’m still choosing to fight for love, growth, and understanding. But I’m also paying attention to my limits — how much fight I have left and the parts of myself that have been quiet for a long time, asking not for answers but for fidelity.

Lately, I’ve been exploring faith again — not as certainty, but as a form of inquiry. Not as blind belief, but as something to sit with. I don’t know what I believe yet. I only know that I’m trying to loosen my grip on control and see what happens when I stop carrying everything alone.

I don’t have conclusions, only observations. And a growing sense that reconnecting with myself means telling the truth gently, even when it complicates the story.

For now, I’m trying something. And I’m staying curious about where it leads.

Perhaps there is nothing more humbling than running a top-notch barber shop for balding men.

I have recently read – and then subsequently listened – to Michael Warren’s book; The Cuckoo’s Lea which the blurb describes as a captivating journey through Britain's history, uncovering the powerful connections between birds, place names, and human identity in ancient landscapes.

I absolutely loved it and I had no real idea that so many of our towns, villages and hamlets were named after birds.

One thing I kept thinking about while reading it was how beautifully it emphasised the bond between people, the places they live in and their surroundings, be it nature, wildlife or indeed, birds.

It’s an idea that I’ve long been fascinated by and it brought to mind – like many things these days seem to do – a favourite quote of mine from G. M. Trevelyan, and one which inspired this blog’s name.

I was so enthused by Warren’s book and it’s themes that I bought an old copy of The Place-Names Of The East Riding Of Yorkshire And York.

This is one of dozens of volumes (91 at the time of writing) from the English Place-Name Society who have carried out a county-by-county survey of the place-names of England to discern their historic meanings.

The book – and others in the series – are fascinating in their own right, but what I wanted was to discover was if I had any places near my home that took their names from the birds, which Warren had so brilliantly explored in The Cuckoo’s Lea.

So, with a cup of tea (Yorkshire, decaf, for anyone interested) and a handful of pink Post-it notes to hand, I flicked through the entire book, marking any bird-related place names I could find.

It took a little while, but among the plethora of -thorpes (villages), -bys and -tons (farms), -wicks (dairy farms), and -hams (homesteads), there they were, nestled unassumingly: eight instances of ornithological place names.

Some names I were vaguely aware of, others I had passed several times, indeed, one was only a few miles from but my home, but until then, I had no idea they had any etymological links with birds.

I shall certainly be visiting these places in the future, to explore their surroundings and to give myself somewhere new to wander, photograph and write about.

For now, though, I note them below and simply imagine what it might have felt like to live near an “owl-haunted stronghold”; a presence so strong that it gave the place its name;

Oubrough – TA 15534 37008 - “Owl Haunted Stronghold”

Arnold – TA 12637 41443 - “Nook of land haunted by eagles”

Dotterel Inn – TA 13123 74632 - “named from the bird”

Dotterel Cottage – SE 95650 71350 - as above

Feather Holm – TA 07930 52030 - “a similar name is found in Denmark and it is thought that this name arose because great flocks of birds had lived in the neighbourhood”

Gowthorpe – SE 76387 54539 - “‘Gauk’s village’ or ‘cuckoo village’”

South Duffield – SE 68098 33445 North Duffield – SE 68380 37187 - “Tract of land frequented by doves”

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It should be noted that the eight places listed above are only those described in the EPNS East Riding of Yorkshire volume. There are likely to be many dozens more place-names on the map that reference birds in one way or another.

For example, just six miles west of the Feather Holm noted above, there is Bustard Nest Farm, shown on modern Ordnance Survey maps and also on the six-inch maps of 1855. It seems likely that this, and many similar places, take their names from avian counterparts (like the Dotterel above), but that is a subject – and potentially several other blog posts – for another day.

Lydia's Weekly Lifestyle blog is for today's African girl, so no subject is taboo. My purpose is to share things that may interest today's African girl.

This week's contributors: Lydia, Pépé Pépinière, Titi. This week's subjects: Ankara Reimagined: Blending African Prints with Power Dressing — The Accra Corporate Girl Edition, Straight hair or straight death? The Mahama hospitality index, and Valentine’s Day

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Ankara Reimagined: Blending African Prints with Power Dressing — The Accra Corporate Girl Edition Where culture meets confidence in the boardroom. There’s something undeniably powerful about a woman who walks into a room wearing colour — not just any colour, but Ankara, that bold, unapologetic symphony of pattern and pride. For the Accra corporate girl, African prints aren’t just fashion — they’re identity, heritage, and a statement that says, “I can be powerful and vibrant at the same time.” Gone are the days when corporate wear meant dull greys and strict suits. Today’s Accra professional knows how to weave her roots into her rhythm, one print at a time The New Corporate Power Look: Modern power dressing is no longer just about shoulder pads and monochrome suits — it’s about expression. In Accra, where creativity meets commerce, the corporate wardrobe has evolved. Imagine a fitted Ankara blazer layered over crisp white pants. Or a pencil skirt in a muted kente print paired with a silk blouse. It’s structure meets story — and it commands attention without saying a word. The key? Balance. Let one piece shine. If your Ankara skirt is vibrant, pair it with solid tones — think camel, cream, or navy. You want to say, “I’m bold, but I’m in control.” Print Meets Professionalism: Wearing prints at work doesn’t mean dressing for a festival. It’s about tailoring and tone. Choose Ankara pieces with cleaner patterns and softer palettes for a refined, office-ready finish. Earth tones, navy blues, and pastels make prints feel elegant and powerful — not overpowering. A structured Ankara jacket, for instance, instantly elevates a plain shift dress. Or try a high-waisted wax print trouser with a tucked-in chiffon blouse for that “I came to close deals and turn heads” energy. Accessorize with Intention: When you’re working with bold patterns, accessories should whisper, not shout. Go for minimal jewelry — gold studs, thin bangles, or a classic wristwatch. Pair with nude or black pumps to keep the focus on your statement piece. And bags? A structured leather tote or clutch in a neutral tone balances the vibrance beautifully. Cultural Confidence: What makes the Accra corporate girl so inspiring is how effortlessly she blends the modern with the traditional. Her wardrobe tells her story — global, grounded, and unapologetically Ghanaian. When you wear African prints to the boardroom, you’re not just dressing up — you’re carrying generations of creativity, craftsmanship, and culture with you. It’s more than style; it’s representation. Blending African prints with corporate fashion is an art — one that the Accra woman has mastered with grace. It’s about walking into every room knowing that you belong there, colour and all. Because power dressing isn’t just about suits anymore. It’s about showing up in your truth — wrapped in prints that speak volumes, stitched with purpose, and styled with confidence. So go ahead— wear your Ankara to the boardroom. Make the culture look corporate. Straight hair or straight death? Some of us want to get rid of the curls. But think twice and ask a few questions. And read what's next. 17-year-old girl hospitalized for kidney failure after hair straightening. A 17-year-old girl who underwent a hair straightening treatment was hospitalized with severe kidney failure at Shaare Zedek Medical Center, Israel, the hospital reports. Another woman, 25, also suffered from kidney failure caused by hair straightening a little over a month ago. The girl, suffering from vomiting, dizziness, and severe headaches, was hospitalized with acute kidney failure for several days in the pediatric department. She was released on Monday and will continue outpatient follow-up at the hospital’s pediatric nephrology institute. A study published by Prof. Linda Shavit, head of the hospital’s nephrology institute, and Dr. Alon Benaya, a physician at the institute, in 2023 documented 26 cases of women aged 14 to 58 with no underlying medical conditions who arrived at emergency departments across the country with severe kidney failure. The researchers found that all of them had undergone hair-straightening treatments containing glyoxylic acid. The Health Ministry has since revoked licenses for dozens of cosmetic products containing glyoxylic acid. “It is essential not to apply hair-straightening products directly to the scalp or the hair roots, but to maintain a distance of at least 1.5 centimeters from them,” says Shavit. “In addition, both hairdressers and clients must be careful not to heat the product and to act only according to the manufacturer’s instructions.” And in Ghana? Is glyoxylic picked up by customs at the border? For sure not at our porous borders. Or how about this one: “At 27, she has the kidneys of an 80-year-old thanks to Brazilian straightening.

The Mahama hospitality index. Our President has said it, service in our restaurants and hotels often is below acceptable standards. I recently travelled and booked into a nice guesthouse. No towels, the toilet was not flushing, the door could not properly lock. I had to threaten with the Ghana Tourist Board to get a bucket to flush the toilet. And everybody wonders why you make such a fuzz. But they had fresh coffee and fruit juices on the menu. I ended up drinking Nescafe and they only had pineapple juice. And to get butter with the toast one has to ask, that is if one can find the waiter. Who has delivered your breakfast and considers his job done. Yeah, the Mahama hospitality index. We need that more than the ratings you see on the search engines.

And Valentine’s Day is in a month from now, a good opportunity to try some of the new restaurants that keep popping up.

Lydia...

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If you follow me, you might already know Tech Workers Coalition (TWC). For everybody else, TWC is an international organization that supports union and political organizing of workers within the tech sector. It's heavily decentralized and has chapters spread throughout North America and Europe. It includes every kind of profession in the field: developers, content moderators, designers, testers, sysadmins, data workers, customer service, and so on.

The organization, over the years, tried different paths to communicate to the outside what it does, why it does what it does, and what it would like to do in the future. The most recent iteration is probably this Identity Document, which gets regularly printed into flyers and handed to newcomers during onboarding sessions.

The challenge comes from different factors:

• Chapters across the world employ different strategies.
• TWC often has a complementary role, a relational role, or a role of stewardship, rather than striving for a direct impact. It's hard to explain TWC without explaining its local peers and their needs. It gets abstract very quickly.
• There aren't similar organizations taking a similar role at a global scale in other labor sectors. Therefore, it's hard to draw comparisons well-known to people.

I've been part of TWC for 7 years now. I helped start the Berlin chapter, then the Italian chapter, and in the last two years, the Global chapter. I've talked with hundreds of people participating in the communities, coached many chapter organizers, given workshops and onboarding sessions, and facilitated hundreds of meetings within TWC. It is now an integral part of my present and my past.

In this article, I want to give my take on why I do this, why I think it's important, and why some of you might want to join us. Because, ultimately, it is not so obvious and linear why somebody should be contributing their time to TWC rather than, for example, a union.

Let me preface by saying that I strongly believe that any healthy political ecosystem is composed of organizations aware of their own role. Constructive relationships are also built by behaving in a way that fosters the success of your peers and the health of the whole ecology, rather than by exclusively pursuing the success of your own ideas, your own model, and your own issues. In the context of political participation and activation, this often translates into growing the organization with just the right people, rather than growing indefinitely. Trying to incorporate everybody and preventing them from joining organizations with slightly different values or goals turns political engagement into a zero-sum game. That means that we often invite workers NOT to join TWC if it's not the right thing for them, and rather do direct workplace organizing, join a union, or a party.

This article, then, while advocating for the merit and worth of participating in TWC, should be seen primarily as a useful tool to decide if you might be a good fit for TWC or if you should rather join a different space.

So, why Tech Workers Coalition? Why should you join? And how would your effort translate into impact?

Unions struggle to reach, involve, and connect tech workers

One of the most recognized contributions of TWC has always been its ability to complement unions at the local level. Often stuck in a Fordist mindset, unions struggle to grasp the implications of cognitive labor and its specificities, worsening the gap of language, culture, and aesthetics between unions and office workers in the tech sector.

This doesn't happen magically: TWC organizers create offline and online community spaces, conferences, and events for green and experienced tech organizers to connect. They develop relationships with unions and link them to workplaces that are interested in organizing. They translate in both directions and facilitate interactions. They offer educational activities specific to labor organizing in the tech sector that unions overlook.

Unions are often big organizations, slow to adapt and transform. Cognitive work poses deep challenges that are still unsolved at a global strategic level. TWC allows tech unions to still develop and thrive on the ground by filling the gaps in the areas traditional unions cannot yet see.

The Tech sector is a critical space of organizing in this age

The more we go on, the more we realize how the tech elites, especially in the USA, are openly supporting a return to Fascism and other forms of oppression. They are reshaping the global economy to entrench themselves in the productive processes and state machinery. They imprint their values and beliefs on the psychic landscape of the ever-increasingly alienated modern and post-modern worlds.

Many are fighting the tech oligarchs from without: hackers and FOSS communities, environmental activists, NGOs, and sometimes even governments. The truth is, though, that the real leverage is between the office chair and the keyboard. We could talk extensively about economics, infrastructure, power analysis, and even draw historical comparisons with the organizing of early factory workers, when only a few, like Marx, were advocating for focusing on them rather than organizing farmers, like most socialists were doing. It would be a long and boring analysis. Suffice to say that there's a lot of power in the tech industry, and that's a lot of power that could be contested and won by tech workers. We are uniquely positioned to bind such power enough to, at the very least, limit the harm the tech industry is doing to the rest of the world or, in the best scenario, reshape how and why technology is produced.

What if you believe this, but you don't work in tech? Well, join TWC anyway. Workplace organizing is not possible for everybody: geography, workplace conditions, or, as I said, a different career path might prevent you from doing “the Thing”. TWC is a space where you can help others do “the Thing”. It's meta-organizing, baby. For some, it is frustrating: they want to be directly involved, they want the tension of a high-stakes union election, or the thrill and risk of a direct action during a protest. For others, it is cozy and reassuring: you help a hundred plants grow, and some of them for sure will bear fruit.

You get to create something new

The tech labor movement is, worldwide, a relatively young phenomenon. In some countries, it's unheard of. In some others, it is growing and exploring what's possible. While we are beginning to understand what works and what doesn't, nobody really has found a magic formula that solves it all. Contrary to other forms of labor organizing, where ideas decades old are crystallized and organizations struggle to keep up with social and political changes, in the tech sector there's a lot of experimentation going on.

On one side it is stressful for many: some workers just want to improve their workplace and would like to have a cookiecutter strategy to apply. On the other side, for the more creative and ambitious, there's a lot of room to try new approaches. For example, we are still not set on what a strike in tech looks like. Some workers just stop working. Some employ traditional forms like picketing or marching instead of going to the office. Some others do more fun and creative stuff to keep busy and attract attention: live streaming, union-themed game jams and hackathons, and so on and so forth.

TWC acts as a network throuch which these ideas travel. Traditional media or social media don't always cover these topics, especially outside the USA. Established networks of unions often talk high-level strategy and rarely go into such level of detail. TWC instead often sees meetings with tech workers from all over, sharing their stories and circulating know-how they didn't know they had. In a way, being in TWC feels like the early internet: tech labor is fragmented and disconnected across national boundaries, and absent from traditional media. TWC acts as a network for the first time, allowing tech workers to discover that in Czechia, India, or the Philippines, there are people like them, with similar issues, but maybe completely different approaches, ideas, and aesthetics.

Join TWC, see the world.

Beyond workplace organizing

As we said, the fight against Big Tech takes many shapes. TWC doesn't collaborate only with labor organizations, but, especially at a local level, acts as an aggregator for people working professionally on the political side of technology: researchers, investigators, artists, occultists, cooperative entrepreneurs, sometimes even party politicians.

This means that many members of TWC get involved in a lot of different and interesting initiatives happening at the fringes of our network: experimental commoning of technology, litigations, hackatons, policy-making, campaigns, performances, exhibitions, and so on.

In many places, especially smaller cities, TWC becomes a beacon for anybody working with radical technology but dissatisfied with the more traditional aggregation around hackerspaces or technical communities.

For some of us, this turned into a whole new career. Workplace organizing is fundamental, but after you're done, after you have your union in place, the company will probably still be working on how to feed the souls of innocent babies into a spirit-grinding, high-performance, demonic contraption. It takes a long time before the union is strong enough to push the company away from the business of butchering baby souls and towards more useful endeavors.

There are many cases of members that, after several years of TWC, decide to abandon their career in the tech startup or corporate world and go do something different. Some get employed by unions. Some start their own cooperative with their friends. Others join TWC meetings after waking up early to work on a farm. Some go teach in a movement school or join an NGO. Personally, participating in TWC allowed me to connect with people who eventually got me involved into AI Forensics first, and Reversing.works later. The full story here.

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I hope this article gave a compelling overview of what I helped build through a whole fifth of my life and I will keep building going forward. A journey that thought me agency, compassion, patience, dedication, and especially the ecstactic joy of seeing the world and the life of people around you change and get better over time.

If you're tired of arguing on the internet, if you think there's nothing to be done to form a union at work, if you're forced to “monitor the situation”, join TWC.

Someone I don't know came up to me at the New Year's Eve party I attended and had very nice things to say about THE SOLAR GRID. Immensely flattering and humbling, but I was a little surprised and caught off guard, mainly because when anyone in Cairo approaches me with nice things to say about my work, it's usually about my street-art from many moons ago, or about one of my exhibitions, or occasionally about my graphic design work.

So this... this is quite new.

In other news, I've become one of those people who play ambient cafe chatter in the background instead of music.

#journal

This week I've read several articles on philanthropy and giving, and this piece from MacKenzie Scott stuck with me:

the total donated to US charities of all kinds in 2020 was $471 billion, nearly a third of it in increments of less than $5,000. There was also $68 billion in reported financial support sent to family members living in other countries, tens of billions in crowdfunding, $200 billion in volunteer labor at service organizations, and nearly $700 billion in wages for the paid employees who chose to take jobs delivering those services over jobs where they might have earned more.

The people making the world a better place is us, not the billionaires. They're a drop in the bucket. Don't get me wrong: I think the work that MacKenzie Scott is doing is great. As she herself point out in her essay, it's but a tiny fraction of the personal expressions of care being shared into communities.

Everything adds up, so when you get that opportunity to help someone, to make even a small difference, take it. Making a difference by working together is our superpower – don't let the fools tell you otherwise.

Our Father Who art in heaven Hallowed be Thy name Thy Kingdom come Thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven Give us this day our daily Bread And forgive us our trespasses As we forgive those who trespass against us And lead us not into temptation But deliver us from evil

Amen

Jesus is Lord! Come Lord Jesus!

Come Lord Jesus! Christ is Lord!