Embassy staffer puts up 'wanted' posters for Israeli PM Netanyahu; MHA informed, Delhi Police say
Sources said that Chanakyapuri station police personnel spotted two such posters pasted on street light poles around 7.15 am, one near Malcha Marga and another near the American Embassy School. Several foreign missions are situated in the area, sources said.
A police source said that they had informed their seniors about the posters and they had in turn informed the MHA.
Police had been instructed to scan CCTV footage in the area from the past one week to identify the culprit, he added.
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Time of India
20 minutes ago
- Time of India
TikTok hires former Israeli instructor Erica Mindel as hate speech policy chief amid rising antisemitism scrutiny
TikTok has appointed Erica Mindel , a self-described 'proud American Jew' and former Israeli military instructor, as its new Public Policy Manager for Hate Speech, a move that comes amid heightened scrutiny over the platform's handling of antisemitic and extremist content. TikTok has not issued an official comment on the appointment. Mindel assumed the full-time, New York-based role in July. She is tasked with shaping the company's hate speech policy, leading strategic initiatives, and serving as TikTok's internal and external expert on antisemitism , according to her LinkedIn profile and job description. Explore courses from Top Institutes in Please select course: Select a Course Category Operations Management others Technology MCA Artificial Intelligence Digital Marketing Project Management MBA Data Science Data Science Others Product Management Finance Healthcare CXO Cybersecurity Management Public Policy healthcare Leadership Design Thinking Degree Skills you'll gain: Quality Management & Lean Six Sigma Analytical Tools Supply Chain Management & Strategies Service Operations Management Duration: 10 Months IIM Lucknow IIML Executive Programme in Strategic Operations Management & Supply Chain Analytics Starts on Jan 27, 2024 Get Details Mindel's hiring comes against the backdrop of mounting pressure from US lawmakers, advocacy groups, and Jewish organizations, who have accused TikTok of allowing antisemitic content to flourish, especially in the wake of the October 7 Hamas attacks on Israel and the subsequent war in Gaza. by Taboola by Taboola Sponsored Links Sponsored Links Promoted Links Promoted Links You May Like Villas Prices In Dubai Might Be More Affordable Than You Think Villas In Dubai | Search Ads Get Quote Undo Eric Fingerhut, CEO of the Jewish Federations of North America, publicly criticized TikTok for what he called a "horrific spike in antisemitism that our communities are feeling every day,' calling on the company to take decisive action. Background in diplomacy and defense Live Events Before joining TikTok, Mindel worked as a contractor for the US State Department under former President Biden, advising Ambassador Deborah Lipstadt, the Special Envoy to Monitor and Combat Antisemitism. She also served as Assistant Director of Program Development at the American Jewish Committee (AJC), where she organized policy delegations to Israel involving US media, civic, religious, and academic leaders. Mindel holds degrees in Political Science from the University of Michigan and Public Policy from Johns Hopkins University. In a 2023 AJC video, Mindel recalled being raised in a conservative Jewish household and said her advocacy against antisemitism began during her first month of college, when she fought a pro-BDS resolution. She later made aliyah to Israel, where she served for over two years in the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) as an instructor in the Armored Corps. The decision to place a former Israeli soldier in charge of hate speech policy has sparked strong reactions online and across civil society. Supporters of the move, including the ADL and Jewish advocacy groups , view it as a timely and necessary step in countering online antisemitism. Critics, however, worry that the appointment could stoke bias in moderation practices, particularly concerning pro-Palestinian voices. TikTok's broader struggles TikTok has long faced criticism for its inconsistent enforcement of content moderation policies and its opaque algorithm, which critics say has amplified extremist, racist, and antisemitic messages. The platform, owned by China's ByteDance , is also contending with potential legislation in the US and Europe that could force stricter regulation of harmful content. In its defense, TikTok has repeatedly said it is committed to making the platform safe for all users and has invested in internal audits and partnerships with NGOs. Mindel's role is one of several new policy-focused hires as TikTok aims to rehabilitate its public image and avoid further government intervention. With antisemitism reportedly at record highs globally, TikTok's next moves will be closely watched. Mindel's challenge lies not only in refining hate speech policy, but also in walking a tightrope between protecting vulnerable communities and preserving freedom of expression in one of the world's most politically charged digital spaces.
Mint
an hour ago
- Mint
Why isn't enough food getting into Gaza?
JERUSALEM—About 10 miles stand between truckloads of food and flour and the more than two million hungry Palestinians who need it. Yet only a trickle is reaching them. The biggest obstacle right now between stockpiles of food just beyond the border and Gaza's most vulnerable people—starving children, women, elderly and injured—is a breakdown of law and order. Chaotic mobs ransack every food-bearing truck that enters, aid workers say. The masses are largely made up of desperate civilians, armed criminals looking to sell it on the black market—or a dangerous mix of both. Officials and aid groups have no control over where it goes from there. Antoine Renard, a United Nations official in Gaza, recalls how a wave of gaunt-faced men converged on his armored vehicle and the convoy of aid trucks following him as they tried to reach the central Gazan city of Deir al-Balah on Tuesday. He said the vehicle rocked from side to side as the men swarmed, jostling over the cargo. 'I've never seen anything even a little bit like this," said Renard, who has worked with the U.N.'s food agency, the World Food Program, for more than 20 years and now heads its operations in the Palestinian territories. 'I have never, ever seen this level of despair." Israel and the U.N. have traded blame for the worsening hunger crisis that experts warn is now tipping into famine. Israel says the U.N. has failed to distribute the food that it allowed in. The U.N. says Israel created impossible conditions that put staff and civilians at risk, while impeding their work with delays and restrictions on movement. At the core of the crisis is extreme and widespread food scarcity. Israel banned all aid and commercial goods from entering Gaza in early March in what it said was an effort to pressure Hamas. Israel says the group steals aid to fund its war effort, which Hamas denies. Aid groups say they have seen no evidence of systematic diversion. Israel started letting in much smaller volumes of aid in late May as food supplies dwindled, but it hasn't been nearly enough. The World Food Program says almost 95% of its trucks entering the Gaza Strip are looted before they reach their destination. It says the only solution is to flood the enclave with food until scarcity no longer drives civilians to risk their lives for a bag of flour, or provides an opportunity for militants and criminals to exploit their desperation. Under growing international pressure, Israel took steps recently to ease the flow of aid. It started with airdrops, then announced a pause in fighting in some parts of the strip and the creation of humanitarian corridors. Israeli officials say the country isn't blocking aid and is doing more to facilitate it. 'The bottleneck, regarding food reaching the people of Gaza, is the U.N. agencies not distributing the aid, not picking it up and not distributing it," a senior Israeli military official told The Wall Street Journal. Until Israel recently eased some restrictions, the U.N. also had difficulty getting aid in at all. Part of the problem stemmed from the overall unworkable conditions of destroyed roads, chronic fuel shortages and frequent fighting along what few routes were available, despite deconfliction efforts. Medical workers say they are now battling the worst hunger crisis to grip the enclave since the Hamas-led attack on Israel on Oct. 7, 2023, sparked the war in Gaza. The Integrated Food Security Phase Classification, or IPC, a group of experts set up to study hunger crises around the world, said Tuesday that the 'worst-case scenario of famine" is currently unfolding in Gaza. Since a cease-fire collapsed in March, Israel has taken control of roughly 70% of Gaza, Israeli officials say, pushing the population into a small area along the coast and creating a large civilian-free zone all around them occupied by soldiers. To reach population centers, aid must traverse this territory. Aid can enter Gaza through one of four border crossings, a senior Israeli military official told the Journal, but the lion's share comes through just two—Zikim in the north and Kerem Shalom in the south. The most perilous part of the journey is when an aid convoy crosses out of Israeli-held territory, as crowds must come close to Israeli military positions to be first to grab the supplies. They frequently overtake the aid convoys, swarming the trucks and taking everything they can carry, at times drawing deadly fire from Israeli soldiers. In the north, Palestinians often go deep inside Israeli-held territory, which the military refers to as a dangerous combat zone and warns them not to enter, to intercept aid convoys a mile or two from the border, according to the WFP. And in the south, Egyptian officials told the Journal that almost all aid coming from the country is ambushed by criminal gangs almost immediately after it enters through the Kerem Shalom border crossing. Some of it is sold for exorbitant prices at markets, they said. Most is completely unaccounted for. 'Some aid makes it in, yeah…but thieves steal 90% of it and sell it for insane prices," said Mohammed Al-Saafin, a 25-year-old Gazan sheltering in Deir al-Balah. 'Total robbery, but we have no choice," he said. Currently, there are two distribution channels for aid. One is the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation, or GHF, a controversial new initiative backed by Israel and run by private American contractors. The other is a U.N.-led system it was meant to replace. Israel allowed both to start bringing aid into Gaza in late May. Both have been completely overwhelmed, as hunger was already widespread by then. Palestinians carrying aid in the central Gaza Strip on Friday. GHF has four distribution points, three of them in the south, all within areas under Israeli control. That meant Gazans largely have to travel by foot or donkey cart through a militarized zone to get there. Large crowds drawn to the sites have at times come under fire by Israeli soldiers when they were perceived to pose a threat. Before the blockade, the U.N. had a network of more than 200 distribution sites throughout the Gaza Strip. It has warehouses peppered around dense areas like Deir al-Balah and Gaza City, which it kept regularly stocked with food from its stockpiles kept in Israel's Port of Ashdod, as well as in Jordan and Egypt. From there, partner organizations would load up and take it to community kitchens or pickup points closer to where people live. Since the U.N. was allowed to resume aid distribution on May 21, almost none of World Food Program's trucks have reached the warehouses, and its distribution network has collapsed, according to U.N. officials. Part of the problem is that even when Israel technically allowed the U.N. to start delivering aid again, the military frequently denied its movements. This meant that from May 21, when aid resumed, to July 26, the day before Israel started easing restrictions, there was very little aid entering the Strip and people were largely relying on food stored during the cease-fire. The U.N. uses a standard protocol in many of the war zones where it operates around the world called the Humanitarian Notification System, according to U.N. officials. In noncombat zones, it notifies armed actors of movements by its agencies and partners so they can avoid harming aid workers. In battle zones, it coordinates with the warring parties to ensure a safe route. In the period from May 21 and July 26, 53% of U.N. requests to coordinate movements were either denied or impeded by Israeli authorities, according to data provided by the U.N.'s humanitarian agency, OCHA. During that time, the U.N. said 271 movements were facilitated, which means they were approved and accomplished, while 288 were denied by Israel. Another 99 were canceled by the U.N. or its partners, either because they determined it wasn't safe, were routed on roads known to be impassable or for other prohibitive reasons, OCHA said. An Israeli military vehicle near the Gaza border recently. A further 119 movements were in some way impeded by Israel, OCHA said. That could mean that the military caused long delays, detained their staff, changed their route with little notice or hindered them in other ways that kept them from being fully accomplished. The Israeli military unit charged with humanitarian coordination, called COGAT, didn't respond to a request for comment on the figures. A senior Israeli military official told the Journal recently that delays and denials are made out of necessity to avoid potential conflicts. Since Sunday, the proportion of requests that are approved has markedly increased, raising questions by aid groups about how Israel is able to facilitate more movements now than it could before, even though conditions on the ground have deteriorated further. 'Aid doesn't reach people because of the chaos," said Nahid Shuhiber, who runs a transportation company that provides trucks for aid agencies inside Gaza. Israel, he said, 'is not interested in creating order." Write to Feliz Solomon at
Scroll.in
3 hours ago
- Scroll.in
Two visions of Berlin pride: Club music at one event, mourning for Gaza at the other
There were two pride marches in Berlin on July 26. One, organised by CSD Berlin, a registered NGO, was supported by major brands and corporations. Trucks bearing corporate logos rolled through the streets. Brand slogans floated on flags, club-style music blared from sound systems. Behind them, groups of revellers danced, posed, and marched in festive clusters. In keeping with Berlin's character, it is a technicolour procession, heavy on spectacle. 'This is a party,' said Yassi, 24, who works in hospitality. She identifies as lesbian. I was with two other queer friends, Lisa and Charlie. We had taken the S-Bahn from Potsdam to Berlin and reached the Victory Column just as the CSD parade reached its final stop behind the Brandenburg Gate. The mood there was jubilant, and familiar, much like the previous three prides I had attended. But we weren't staying. We turned and left for the second march: the Internationalist Queer Pride. Charlie, our usual route-finder, found us a back way after metro stations nearby were blocked off. On the Telegram channel, IQP had just posted an alert: the police had attacked the demonstration; the march had temporarily stopped. More updates followed, hinting at escalating tensions. Days earlier, the organisers had issued an advisory, not on party etiquette and sunscreen, but on protest safety. 'Carry a lawyer's number; avoid oil-based creams that worsen the effects of pepper spray; stay calm, stay together.' The anticipation of arrest and police action was evident. It was a sober primer for navigating a demonstration under duress, a telling indicator of how Berlin's police treats political dissent. The Internationalist Queer Pride insisted that pride remains a political demonstration, anti-racist, anti-capitalist and internationalist in makeup. There were no trucks or floats. It was attended by blocks from a wide range of marginalised collectives, disability and minority groups and migrant organisations. The speeches were raw and unsparing. They conjured not rainbow euphemisms, but Gaza, hunger, incarceration, and memory. They spoke of 'every child in Gaza crying from hunger… dying from the hunger that wraps itself around every cell'. They spoke of stones, not as metaphors, but as resistance – recalling Faris Odeh, the 14-year-old killed by Israeli forces after hurling rocks at tanks during the Second Intifada. The International Jewish Anti-Zionist Network denounced 'pinkwashing' – the appropriation of queer rights to obscure state violence. 'The Israeli Occupation Forces flies rainbow flags over ruins they have bombed,' one speaker said. 'Zionism has never made Jews safer, only the world more dangerous.' For context: in the West Bank, the Israeli state continues to authorise settlement expansion in violation of international law. Just this week, Awdah Hathaleen, a Palestinian activist from Masafer Yatta, featured in the award-winning documentary No Other Land, was killed near Umm al-Khair. He was 31. He had three children. He was killed by Yinon Levi, a Jewish settler previously sanctioned by the Biden administration, whose sanctions were later reversed under Trump. We reached the scene near Cottbusser Damm. On a canal wall, a banner read: 'No genocide in anti-semitism.' Nearby, three masked figures stood behind an Antifa flag. One held a placard delcaring, 'Against antisemitism and hate of Israel.' I heard a heated exchange. A woman called the IQP march anti-Semitic. A cyclist had paused beside two women in disagreement. 'It's a queer march,' he insisted. 'Not against Jewish people.' One woman scoffed and shifted the argument, 'You know why there's no ceasefire? Hamas pulled the plug last minute,' before clapping her hands and gesturing dismissively. The entire road was swamped with police officers, police surveillance vehicles and dog squads. We continued. The demo approached. There were no corporate trucks. One placard read, 'Queer as in Free Palestine.' Another asked, 'Who were you before you obeyed into silence?' A long black banner stretched across the street: 'Germany you cry 'never again' while funding it again.' On the reverse: 'If Jewish life is safe only in Israel, what does that say about Germany?' I spotted Yassi. 'This is where I belong,' she said. 'Not the other pride. This reminds me why we do this, why we march. It's political, it's for freedom, it's for everyone.' I asked if she was worried about police violence or feared arrest. 'I'm relatively privileged,' she said. 'I'm German-Moroccan and I pass as white. My risk is lower than others who've faced violence.' The march was halted. A line of police blocked the road. A group of officers charged into the crowd. There was panic among people. The police pinned an individual to the ground. The crowd chanted, 'Let them go!' Others tried to protect a demonstrator being dragged. As a photojournalist and immigrant in Germany, I was frightened. I have read about such police violence, watched videos from a safe distance. But being there, seeing it unfold metres from me, hearing people scream, watching someone pinned to the pavement, their shirt pulled over their head, it was something else entirely. It was not televised, but immediate. I stayed. The police dissolved the protest, citing threats to public safety. IQP legal observers contested it, arguing the protest had been peaceful. At the time of writing, their challenge remains unresolved. I met Sandra, a German-American woman. 'We were peaceful,' she said. 'Even when police attacked people without reason. Who are they protecting? Who are we threatening? The people are cheering us from their windows. They are not threatened.' Sandra, who grew up in East Germany, continued, 'The German police today aren't different from Nazi police.' I ask her what she thinks of freedom of assembly, democracy in Germany. Sandra's friend added, 'We're fucked. There is no freedom. They'd never treat a Zionist march like this.' While we spoke, a woman was thrown to the ground. Her shirt ripped up, her bare chest scraped against the street. People shouted, 'At least show respect for the frau.' A woman in a blue vest, perhaps part of the organising team, pleaded with police to let participants leave safely. She moved from one officer to the next, make her request. I took photos, then tried to approach the police vehicle where demonstrators were being taken. A line of officers closed in, shielding the police van. One of the officers pushed me. I stated clearly that I was a journalist and duty bound to record their actions. My camera was brushed aside without acknowledgment. I was pushed further. They moved forward as a wall. I was forced backwards. There are moments when the work of reporting blurs with the impulse to flee, to protect oneself. I was torn between documenting this story and being a part of it – between being a witness and being seen, suspended between being a body in the crowd and the one meant to observe it.
