Thursday, February 08, 2024

‘If You Scream You Are a Dead Duck’: At 14, my Mother Left me Alone All Summer – Then the Man With a Knife Found Me

This excerpt from Everywhere the Undrowned by Stephanie Clare Smith is a disturbing read, but demonstrates Smith’s skill in getting beneath the skin of her feelings, pulling them out to lay them bare on the page. It’s gripping writing, and it’s all too real.

I left my shoes and underwear on the floor of his truck. Two men on the sidewalk shouted something at me. The way I hated them. I looked back to see if they were chasing me, if the truck was circling around for me. The way pain shot through me as I ran, and blood dripped down my legs and soaked the crotch of my pants. The way I bled for three days.

That Thursday night, for the first time, I piled three silver pots and some glass ashtrays in front of the door, like Laura Petrie did on the Dick Van Dyke Show. I began my practice of laying my head where my feet used to go, so I could see through the living room to the big front door with the too-little lock and my homemade alarm. That way I could sleep until it came crashing down.



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The ‘Into the Wild’ Bus Was a Pilgrimage Site in the Wilderness. Can It Hold Up in a Museum?

The bus made famous by Jon Krakauer’s book “Into the Wild,” has been relocated. Eva Holland explores the history of this former city transit vehicle—and how it came to hold a special place in people’s imagination. Will it be the same now it’s out of the wild?

I first read Into the Wild not long before the movie came out. At the time, I was around the same age Chris was when he died. It was early in my writing career, and I worked for a website blogging about travel news and trends. That’s how I learned about the dilemma of the bus, the hikers who sought it out and the rescues they sometimes required. Two years later, at 27, I set out on my own big, wild adventure. I bought an aging Jeep and drove west across Canada to the Yukon, where I now live.



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Rubble From Bone

Four months since Israel launched Operation Iron Swords, Tom Stevenson assesses the devastation in Gaza, situating it alongside the precedents and norms of modern warfare. This essay is a pitch-perfect example of letting the details speak for themselves:

Palestinian men and boys between the ages of 12 and 70 are stripped, cuffed, blindfolded and then loaded onto the backs of trucks to be taken for interrogation. Some have numbers written on their arms. Hundreds detained in Gaza have been transported to the desert prison of Ketziot, near the border with Egypt. Others have probably been taken to nearby military bases. Some men who were taken prisoner in Beit Lahiya were stripped and transported to fenced-off camps where for days they were tied up, beaten and tortured. Others have disappeared. The IDF has subsequently said that between 85 and 90 per cent of these detainees were civilians. Israeli forces have repeatedly raided UN schools and detained any men found inside. The Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights documented an incident on 19 December when the Israeli army surrounded and then entered a building in the Remal neighbourhood of Gaza City. “The IDF allegedly separated the men from the women and children, and then shot and killed at least eleven of the men, mostly aged in their late twenties and early thirties, in front of their family members.”

From the beginning, Operation Iron Swords has been an all-out assault on a captive and overwhelmingly civilian population. Israeli tactics have little in common with standard counterinsurgency doctrine or rules of engagement. The war on Gaza is at its core retributive: an act of collective punishment. Like all punishment, to ask whether or not it ‘works’ misses the point that punishment is often an end in itself. But the conduct of the war also has an orgiastic quality. The celebrations of the killing by Israel’s political leaders; the fantastic schemes for the removal of Palestinians to Sinai, or Europe, or Congo; the public figures signing bombs to be dropped on what’s left of Gaza; the gleeful recordings made by individual soldiers—all combine malice and mirth.



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Wednesday, February 07, 2024

What Really Caused the Sriracha Shortage?

In this piece, Indirani Sen dishes up the gossip on what went down between the two companies responsible for sriracha: their fiery dispute led to a shortage of this iconic sauce and cost millions. An interesting look at how a crucial business friendship turned sour.

Ominously, there were no unprocessed chilies on hand—none had come in lately. Part of the problem, Tran and Lam explain, is quality control: Freshness is what makes Huy Fong’s sauce better than the competition, and Tran says he often has had to turn away truckloads of that delicate red jalapeño because they didn’t make the journey from suppliers intact, were not properly refrigerated, or were picked when green.



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Misplaced Trust

This project expands on previous research on land-grab universities, as published at High Country News.

Signed into law by Abraham Lincoln in 1862, the Morrill Act used land taken from Native communities to fund public colleges across the US. For this project, a team of Grist reporters examined publicly available data to locate and map these trust lands. They also identify 14 land-grant universities that continue to benefit from colonization and the natural resources on stolen Indigenous land, including the University of Arizona, New Mexico State University, Texas A&M, and Washington State University.

State trust lands just might be one of the best-kept public secrets in America: They exist in 21 Western and Midwestern states, totaling more than 500 million surface and subsurface acres. Those two categories, surface and subsurface, have to be kept separate because they don’t always overlap. What few have bothered to ask is just how many of those acres are funding higher education.

In 2022, the year Sierra enrolled, UArizona’s state trust lands provided the institution $7.7 million — enough to have paid the full cost of attendance for more than half of every Native undergraduate at the Tucson campus that same year. But providing free attendance to anyone is an unlikely scenario, as the school works to rein in a budget shortfall of nearly $240 million.

Students like Alina Sierra struggle to pay for education at a university built on her peoples’ lands and supported with their natural resources. . . .

In December 2023, Sierra decided the cost to attend UArizona was too high and dropped out. 



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The Year of Silt

In this feature for New Zealand Geographic, Rachel Morris writes about the aftermath of Cyclone Gabrielle, which devastated the North Island of New Zealand in February 2023 and left thousands of homes filled with silt. As Morris reports, cyclone survivors felt abandoned, not receiving much help from the government or aid organizations like the Red Cross. Instead, silt removal was done almost entirely by volunteers. Morris spent several months with one of these volunteer crews, who provided help to some of the region’s hardest-hit residents.

Unlike the 2011 Christchurch earthquake, which destroyed large swathes of the city, the damage from Gabrielle was intensely concentrated in a handful of communities on the outskirts of Hastings and Napier. Within a few weeks, the main urban areas had essentially returned to normal, while places like Esk Valley, Pakowhai, Omahu, Waiohiki, Puketapu, Rissington, Dartmoor and Pōrangahau remained little apocalyptic pockets, easily bypassed by those who preferred to avoid the mess. So it wasn’t surprising when, about five weeks in, the outpouring of volunteers began to ebb. (As one organiser observed, locals “wanted their weekends back”.)

It’s sweaty, strenuous work, but it was worse before the silt solidified. (“Like shovelling diarrhoea” is the most memorable description.) By now, Peni is a connoisseur of the silt’s geographical variations: in Pakowhai, it has congealed into bricks, like moist clay; in Omahu, it’s sticky mud; in Esk Valley, it floats through your fingers like fine sand.



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A Teen’s Fatal Plunge Into the London Underworld

A security camera caught 19-year-old Zac Brettler jumping to his death from a fifth-floor apartment in London. But did he commit suicide? Brettler’s parents’ attempts to answer that question led to shocking revelations, including that their son was posing as the heir of a Russian oligarch, and that he had fallen in with a known gangster, Dave Sharma:

The morning Zac’s body was identified, the private investigator the Brettlers had hired, Clive Strong, visited Sharma at Riverwalk. Sharma, who was short, sharp-featured, and physically fit, liked to box, and told Strong that he’d just returned from a sparring session. According to Strong’s notes, Sharma said that Zac had presented himself as someone whose “father was an oligarch,” and had claimed that he’d clashed so much with his mother—who lived in Dubai, along with four of his siblings—that she’d barred him from their various luxury properties in London. He was therefore homeless, despite being fantastically rich. “I felt sorry for the young man,” Sharma told Strong. “I said that he could stay in my flat”—the Riverwalk apartment.

Sharma, the last person to see Zac alive, told much the same story as Shamji: the previous Thursday evening, Zac and Shamji had come to Riverwalk; Sharma’s daughter, Dominique, joined them; after a few hours, Shamji and Dominique left; Sharma fell asleep, and when he awoke, at 8 a.m., Zac had vanished. In Sharma’s opinion, Zac had been a troubled kid who was “becoming suicidal.” Sharma noted that he was happy to talk to Strong, because he was a private investigator, but he preferred not to speak with the police, as he’d had some “bad experiences in the past.”

Sharma didn’t volunteer what those experiences were, but he did have a history with law enforcement. In 2002, he was arrested on heroin-smuggling charges. He was later implicated in the murder of a bodyguard turned night-club owner, Dave (Muscles) King, who was killed in a drive-by shooting in 2003, as he was leaving a gym in Hertfordshire. It was the first time that a fully automatic AK-47 had been used to murder someone in England. At a high-profile trial, the judge described the assassination as “thoroughly planned, ruthless, and brutally executed.” The gunman and the driver were each sentenced to life in prison.

Sharma had been one of Muscles’ friends in the drug trade, but they fell out. When authorities arrested Sharma and others in the 2002 heroin bust, the only suspect they didn’t end up prosecuting was Muscles, and in front of witnesses in open court Sharma angrily called him a “grass”: an informer. Moments after Muscles was shot to death, the assassin called a mobile phone in France, which the police subsequently linked to Sharma. I spoke to a former official who was involved in the investigation, and he said that Sharma was a dangerous person. At the time of the murder trial, authorities had tried to locate him in France for questioning, but he’d gone underground. “I’ve no doubt Sharma was involved in organizing the shooting,” the former official told me. “But we didn’t have enough evidence to charge him.”



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