Latest news with #CheGuevara
Observer
3 days ago
- Politics
- Observer
The Mossad inside Iran: where were the nine bullets?
The recent Israeli-American strikes on Iran have reignited debates about a troubling reality: the Mossad's successful infiltration of Iranian territory and its ability to carry out precise and damaging operations deep inside the country. High-profile assassinations, targeted bombings, and the compromise of nuclear facilities raise serious questions about how Israeli intelligence has manoeuvred so freely, and why Iranian security agencies failed to detect and stop such breaches. Che Guevara once said, 'If you want to liberate a nation, load your gun with ten bullets — nine for the traitors within, and one for the external enemy. If not for the traitors, the enemy would never dare attack.' Guevara's statement encapsulates the Iranian dilemma. Tehran seems to have waited too long to aim those metaphorical nine bullets inward. Despite numerous arrests and even executions of alleged collaborators, the real players — those in influential positions — appear untouched. In a striking moment in 2021, former President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad revealed in a televised interview that Iran's top counterintelligence official was himself an Israeli spy. He highlighted how Mossad agents managed to steal truckloads of sensitive documents, questioning how such an operation passed through checkpoints unnoticed. The operation in question took place in January 2018, as confirmed by former Mossad chief Yossi Cohen in an interview with Israeli Channel 12. The stolen files related to Iran's nuclear and space programmes were later revealed by Israel as a major intelligence triumph. But rather than shake the Iranian establishment into a deep internal reckoning, these revelations were met with limited action. Assassinations of scientists continued. Explosions struck military sites. Israeli agents reportedly reached the very heart of Iran's Revolutionary Guard command. Following the most recent Israeli air strikes, Iranian authorities announced the arrest of 18 alleged Mossad operatives in Mashhad, accused of manufacturing suicide and reconnaissance drones. Reports suggest the plan had been to eliminate senior Iranian figures on the ground while Israel launched air strikes from above. Iranian Parliament Speaker Mohammad Bagher Ghalibaf later admitted that 'a large part of the enemy's operations are carried out through infiltrators from within.' While Tehran has now launched a campaign against espionage—with more than 700 arrests reported in 12 days — the sheer scale of infiltration points to a longstanding and well-entrenched network. The critical question now is: why do citizens become willing tools of foreign intelligence services? Iranian media argue that Mossad exploits economic hardship and social marginalisation, particularly among minorities. The use of encrypted apps and cryptocurrency helps facilitate the secure transfer of intelligence. Recruits, reportedly trained in countries like Georgia and Nepal, are equipped with tools and knowledge to operate covertly. And while poverty may explain the motivations of some, the more unsettling reality is the presence of wealthy and influential collaborators — those whose betrayals are not born of desperation but opportunism. Israel's deep interest in Iran is hardly a secret. According to Ronen Bergman's book 'Rise and Kill First: The Secret History of Israel's Targeted Assassinations', Mossad's former chief Meir Dagan prioritised the Iranian nuclear threat when he assumed leadership in 2002. Dagan restructured the agency around two goals: preventing Iran's acquisition of nuclear capabilities and countering armed movements like Hezbollah and Hamas. His 2003 strategy included a combination of sabotage, assassinations, cyber warfare, support for opposition groups, and economic pressure. The story is all there in Bergman's book — published in 2018, well before the recent strikes. This brings us to a troubling question: with so much information already public, why wasn't Iran prepared? The conversation has now widened to include concerns across the region. Gulf nations are questioning their own security vulnerabilities, especially in light of reports that some Asian companies working in the Gulf have connections with Mossad. These revelations, surfacing after the Israeli strikes, raise alarm over potential breaches across multiple sectors, particularly as many Gulf states rely heavily on foreign contractors. The Iranian breach — despite the country's strong military and intelligence capabilities—sends a sobering message to the Gulf. It's not just the strength of your military that ensures security, but your vigilance against traitors within. Gulf citizens have voiced growing concerns online about 'fifth column' elements operating under the guise of expatriate labour or business partnerships. The fear is not just espionage, but betrayal from those benefiting from the country's wealth while working for its enemies. Ultimately, no foreign adversary can inflict such damage without help from within. It's not just the enemy at your door — it's the one already inside your house. Translated by Badr al Dhafri. The original version of this article was published in Arabic in the print edition of the Oman Daily newspaper on July 14. Zahir al Mahrouqi, Al Mahrouqi is an Omani writer and the author of 'The Road to Jerusalem'
Yahoo
3 days ago
- Politics
- Yahoo
Mexico City bids adiós to monument to Castro and 'Che' Guevara
Goodbye, Fidel. Hasta la vista, Che. Denunciations and accolades greeted the abrupt removal this month of a controversial monument in the Mexican capital commemorating the two revolutionaries, Fidel Castro and Ernesto 'Che' Guevara. The monument, a pair of bronze, life-sized sculptures of Castro and Guevara chilling on a bench, recalls a consequential moment in both Mexican and Cuban history — the pair's first meeting, which took place in an apartment in Mexico City in June or July 1955, according to historians. At the time, both were twentysomething militants in the formative stages of their transformation into leftist icons who would inspire a global generation of revolutionaries and activists. A leftist Mexico City government installed the monument in 2017 in a small park in the capital's Colonia Tabacalera neighborhood, not far from where the storied duo first met in a Cold War encounter that has taken on near-mythical dimensions among many on the left. In the two sculptures, both men stare straight ahead and are decked out in light combat garb — Guevara in his trademark beret (a look immortalized on T-shirts across the globe) and Castro sporting a fighter's cap. His legs crossed, Castro grasps a cigar in his left hand, and a book on his right. Guevara's right hand secures a pipe. The sculpture has long sparked polemics: While adherents of the left generally applauded it, and some visitors would leave flowers, critics assailed the artwork as a tasteless shrine to a bloody communist dictatorship. 'Ideological censorship' César Huerta, left-wing journalist, on the statues' removal Spearheading its removal Wednesday was Alessandra Rojo de la Vega, conservative borough president of the capital's central Cuauhtémoc district, where the bench (known as Encuentro or Encounter) was situated. Her decision, Rojo de la Vega initially explained on social media, was based on legality — not politics. She said there wasn't "one single paper" authorizing the monument's installation. Its removal, she added, would allow park denizens to stroll in "liberty and security." Read more: Case of 'El Chapo' son cooperating with U.S. prosecutors roils Mexico She posted images of city workers prying out the two figures from the bench and the bronzed Castro and Guevara being ignominiously hauled away in a bulldozer. But the borough president later pivoted to a more ideological rationale. "This city cannot ... promote or provide refuge for figures who injured human dignity, be it in Mexico or the rest of the world" Rojo de la Vega told Radio Formula. As to the fate of the dual bronzes, she said that officials may consider a sale, using the proceeds — likely from lefty purchasers enthralled with the Cuban uprising — for park upkeep. Read more: Many Mexican immigrants swept up in L.A. raids are deeply rooted in U.S. "If we auction them off, it will mark a first — the communists will use their money, not someone else's," Rojo de la Vega said. "If they love them so much, they can put them in their garden, or their patio." Not pleased was Mexico's leftist president, Claudia Sheinbaum, who said she would speak to the Mexico City mayor — a political ally — about placing the monument elsewhere. The question isn't whether one embraces or rejects the views of the two protagonists, Sheinbaum argued to reporters on Thursday. The Castro-Che encounter, the president said, recalled "a historic moment" that unfolded in Mexico and merited a display of memory. The contretemps here echoes spats in the United States about monuments glorifying Confederate generals: Critics decry the displays as exalting traitors and white supremacists, while others argue that the statues just reflect history. 'An assassin with good press' José Luis Trueba Lara, radio commentator, on Ernesto 'Che' Guevara In the case of the Castro and Guevara likenesses, Sheinbaum suggested that their removal was partisan payback for her own signature monument-canceling moment — the banishment of one of Mexico's most illustrious landmarks, a virtual symbol of the city. In her former post, as mayor of Mexico City, Sheinbaum ordered the removal of a soaring bronze of Christopher Columbus, which, for more than a century, graced a pedestal in the capital's elegant Paseo de la Reforma. The stylized tableau depicted Columbus as a noble conqueror: one hand raised to the horizon, the other lifting a veil from a globe. For years, Indigenous activists and others staged protests at the statue, labeling Columbus and other conquistadores as perpetrators of genocide. In 2020, Sheinbaum finally ordered that the Columbus monument be taken down for renovations; it was never returned to its lofty perch. Its ejection enraged both Columbus' admirers and others who viewed the monument as an integral marker of the Mexican capital. They accuse Sheinbaum of bowing to political correctness. The traffic circle where Columbus long lent his presence has now been renamed the Women Who Fight roundabout, a rallying point for Indigenous, feminist and other protesters hoisting handwritten placards. The grandiose Columbus figure, meantime, remains out of public sight in museum storage. The Castro-Guevara bench, situated in an easy-to-miss park, didn't compare in size or significance to the towering Columbus of the stylish Paseo de la Reforma. But its removal lit up social media, rekindling historic enmities. "An intent to erase the symbols of battle, of resistance, of Mexican-Cuban humanity," César Huerta, a left-wing journalist, wrote on X, blasting the action as "ideological censorship." Read more: How 'El Diablo,' a corrupt Mexican lawman, helped create a narco-state A radio commentator, José Luis Trueba Lara, bid good riddance, calling Guevara "an assassin with good press" and Castro a "bloodcurdling dictator." Carlos Bravo Regidor, a columnist, berated the left for being more concerned "about the retirement of some miserable statues of Fidel and el Che than for the misery suffered by those who live beneath the yoke of the Cuban dictatorship." At the time of his 1955 encounter with Guevara, Castro, then 28, was not long out of a Cuban prison for an insurgent attack against the U.S.-backed Cuban dictatorship of Fulgencio Batista. Guevara, one year younger, was a physician from a middle-class Buenos Aires' upbringing brimming with revolutionary fervor — and a vision of a pan-Latin American socialist union, free of U.S. "imperialism." The two young men immediately hit if off, historians say, embarking on a lifelong friendship and collaboration in the revolutionary project. Both would be among 82 fighters aboard the yacht Granma that, in November 1956, set sail for Cuba from Mexico's Gulf coast. Their voyage, and subsequent guerrilla campaign, would culminate in 1959 in a historic overthrow of Batista and the imposition of a communist government in Havana. Fidel and el Che are long gone, and the book on the Cold War officially closed more than a quarter-century ago. But, as the fiery debate here about an unassuming bench statue illustrates, the ideological fault lines of the Cold War are far from completely obscured, at least not in Latin America. Special correspondent Cecilia Sánchez Vidal contributed. Sign up for Essential California for news, features and recommendations from the L.A. Times and beyond in your inbox six days a week. This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times. Solve the daily Crossword
Yemenat
5 days ago
- General
- Yemenat
The First Time I Boarded an Airplane
It was the first time I saw an airplane up close, boarding it via a ladder I wasn't sure was independent or part of the aircraft itself. I settled into my designated seat, and by good fortune, it was next to the window. The plane moved slowly across the airport tarmac, and the instructions to fasten our seatbelts were issued. The flight attendant passed by to ensure that the passengers adhered to these instructions, while I had already managed to overcome my clumsiness in fastening the belt. The plane began to accelerate on the ground, gaining speed more and more, as I, like a child, watched the details of my surroundings through the window. Then, the aircraft took off from Aden International Airport. As the plane ascended, I felt a surge of anxiety. A vast void seemed to fill my chest, larger than my own body, as expansive as the sky the plane was piercing through in its ascent. My heart felt as if it might leap from its place, engulfed by a profound tension. Nothing holds you now as you ascend into the heavens in an airplane. You feel as though your spirit is grasped solely by fate. The fate of the seventy diplomats and crew members who perished in a plane crash in the early seventies in Aden crossed my mind, or perhaps the one that was blown up by a malicious hand… a heinous crime by any measure. I imagined their terrifying end, scattering through the air like shrapnel from a bomb. What dreadful and horrifying luck. Despite the fear that coursed through my veins and seized my being, I tried to muster my courage, while my curiosity proved stronger than both my anxiety and fear. I began to talk to myself: I must suppress my fears. I must overcome my anxiety. Today, I have become an officer; how can I encourage my future soldiers to be brave and valiant? How can I call upon them to be fearless while I am gripped by such terror? Isn't it Che Guevara, the figure I admired, who said that a revolutionary or leader is 'the last to sleep and the first to wake, the last to eat and the first to die'? A leader should not fear death, let alone be paralyzed by anxiety. I sought to bolster my resolve and strengthen my will against the phobia that toyed within me, conversing with myself: 'My brother Ali Saif Hashed was a parachutist who jumped from planes; how can I be less than him? I want to be as brave as he was…' I then recalled a story he once shared about a man who refused to jump from the plane until he received a strong kick from the foot of an Egyptian officer. I continued to speak with myself: 'I don't want to be a coward, nor do I need a kick to learn courage. A coward is more shameful than one who is kicked by every foot. I must be brave enough to overcome this complex. I need to crush this fear that grips me. I must unleash my curiosity that challenges and deserves admiration. I should savor, as much as I can, the view of this fantastical world from this great height…' * * * I pressed my cheek and side of my face against the glass of the window beside me and told myself: I must see the world below from this lofty altitude. I want to know how the earth appears to the eye from the sky! I must know how Aden looks from this height! It's my first time seeing the city of Aden from such an elevation—the streets, buildings, ships, sea, beaches, and its overall geography. Then Aden shrank and faded behind us as the plane devoured the distances, while I barely felt the speed of the aircraft, except gradually, as I noticed what was ahead fading behind us. For the first time, I found myself above the clouds. To be higher than the clouds, or to see them beneath you from above, fills you with wonder and awe. It captivates your attention with what you have never known or seen before. What magic it is to see the clouds below you, spread like cotton scattered in thick layers across vast, fantastical expanses. Viewing the clouds from above is different from seeing them from below; it feels as if you are discovering your world for the first time or anew. I am now discovering the difference. I drift into imagination and wishful thinking, often surpassing the bounds of reason. I wished that the clouds were indeed made of cotton, to cushion us if the plane were to fall for any reason. Their appearance was tempting and alluring, but I quickly reminded myself: 'What a deceptive sight…' The clouds look like layers of soft cotton, but the reality is striking. It reflects the behavior of many politicians who deceive their people with grand promises, ascending to high ranks from which they govern those below, only for the people to discover their great delusion, having fallen from a great height and crashing into a hard reality, resulting in catastrophic consequences. I also recalled a tale I heard in my childhood about a fool who wanted to ride a mule and fell from a height, getting stuck in 'Al-Areeb' tree, summarizing his plight and experience with the words: 'If it weren't for Al-Areeb tree… my Lord would have been merciful.' My curiosity refused to sleep or rest; it felt neither fatigue nor boredom, instead growing more passionate and inquisitive. I gazed from the airplane window at mountains, valleys, the sea, and everything the plane passed over. My love for exploration and knowledge fueled my curiosity, and many questions arose in my eager mind. It was disappointing not to find anyone to answer them, with no guide at hand to respond now. Yet, there is solace in knowing that these questions remain alive, refusing to die. They continuously knock on the doors of my mind and awareness, always seeking an answer, and nothing quenches their burning desire but the rain of knowledge. * * * The plane brought us to the skies of Cairo. Seeing Cairo from the air grants you profound knowledge and longing. You wish to land there, to tread upon its ground step by step. I spoke to myself as I soared above it: Here are the pyramids and all the towering, magnificent buildings. Here was Pharaoh and a civilization. Proud Egypt, the mother of the world, where the people say 'except Egypt.' Where is Port Said, about which I read of the heroism of its sons when I was in the third or fourth grade? Here is Egypt, which defeated the tripartite aggression in 1956, nationalized the Suez Canal, and triumphed in the October War of 1973. Here was a leader of Arab nationalism, Gamal Abdulnasser, and there were betrayals and treachery by small, vile men. My thoughts surged from grand concepts to the smallest details as I conversed with myself: Here are all the great figures, alive and dead. Here was the exiled nationalist Saad Zaghloul, and the enduring hope Mustafa Kamel, who taught us that 'there is no despair with life.' Here stands the dean of Arabic literature, the towering figure Taha Hussein, the exceptional novelist Nageeb Mahfoudh, the prince of poets Ahmed Shawqi, and the legal scholar Sennari. Here is the star of the East, Umm Kulthum. Here lies culture, civilization, and giants of every kind. Here is the Egyptian left in all its diversity and luminaries—poets, writers, journalists, philosophers, and artists. Poets like Amal Dunqul, Ahmed Fouad Negm, and Al-Abnoudi; the people's artist SheikhE mam; the fierce advocate against racial discrimination towards women, Dr. Nawal El Saadawi; the philosopher and scholar Mahmoud Amin El-Alam; and the writer and critic Farida El-Nakash. Here too are the leftist politicians Khaled Mohy El-Din, Rifaat El-Said, Ibrahim Eissa, and Samir Amin. Here stands the great journalist, researcher, and writer Mohamed Hassanein Heikal. Here is the lightheartedness and beautiful Egyptian spirit—the School of Troublemakers and its grand heroes, a play that never tires to be watched for the thousandth time. Here is the beloved nightingale Abdelhalim Hafez, and artists like Farid Al-Atrash and Mohamed Abdelwahab, as well as Shadia, Farid Shawqi, Ismail Yassin, Madbouli, El-Meligy, Fouad El-Mohandes, Ahmed Zaki, and Nour El-Sherif. My brother lived here for about six months, studying in the Signal Corps after graduating from the Military Academy in Sana'a in the 1960s, when Egypt supported the republican regime in Yemen. Egypt, the heart of Arabism, led by a leader who sought to unite our scattered fragments and restore our shattered dreams; yet he was betrayed by the vile, surrounded by traitors to the homeland, historical rotters, and indebted politicians. Here resided the Algerian singer Warda, alongside actresses like Yousra, Shams El-Baroudi, Faten Hamama, Souad Hosny, Najlaa Fathi, and Laila Taher, whose enchanting beauty captivated us, allowing our wandering imaginations to soar during our times of deprivation in the throes of youth and the years of repression that followed. Now, the plane descends, carrying us onward. The plane lands at Cairo International Airport. We remained for about an hour waiting inside, as we were not allowed to exit to the airport lounge or even to transit due to the severed relations with the Egyptian regime by the countries of the steadfast front, including Democratic Yemen, from which we had come, following President Anwar Sadat's signing of the Camp David Accords. After an hour of waiting inside the aircraft, the next plane arrived to take us to Kyiv in Ukraine, and then on to Moscow. We prepared to transfer to it.
The Herald Scotland
12-07-2025
- The Herald Scotland
The King and I, a tiger skin rug and a bottle of Bell's
I have travelled a lot and as global tourist infrastructure has improved, so has the 'Airbnbfication' of even the furthest flung places, hitting the road feels an ever more homogeneous experience. Côte d'Ivoire? This felt like an opportunity for real adventure, to discover somewhere no one else I knew had ever been. I'm ashamed to say I knew almost nothing about Côte d'Ivoire, the French speaking West African country of 31 million, neighboured by Ghana, Liberia, Guinea and Mali. Its troubled history of two civil wars in the noughties, was my main point of reference. Certainly, I couldn't have imagined its pristine beaches rivalling Thailand, an incredible culinary scene, the unforgettable nightlife of Abidgan or the thriving contemporary art movement. I did read in advance about how diverse this country is - Abidjan with so many skyscrapers it's known as the Manhattan of West Africa, the cocoa cooperatives producing more than 40% of the world's cacao, more than 60 ethnicities and 70 languages. 'I'm ashamed to say I knew almost nothing about Côte d'Ivoire, the French speaking West African country of 31 million' (Image: Kerry Hudson) But, how did I end up drunk in a King's compound, wearing traditional tribal dress? I wake up under a mosquito net in a stilted hut overlooking wildlife reservation N'zi Lodge. As we drive the minibus down the rocky road, we catch glimpses of antilope, warthogs and a rescued White Rhino - once given as a gift to the first President. On the journey to the political capital, Yamoussoukro, where we'll spend the next 24 hours, I watch as life spills out of roadside markets. It's two days before Eid al-Adha, also known as, The Feast of Sacrifice, and, with almost half the country Muslim, there are hundreds of goats - being led by ropes like stubborn dogs, lying on top of bright buses and crammed into red dust cattle markets - unaware of their fate. In the middle of traffic, men sell Space Hoppers, machetes and bags decorated with seashells. Beside us, a truck drives by with a row of hammocks strung across the flatbed where labourers sleep, a bus passes featuring a mural of Che Guevara looking uncannily like Robbie Williams. We pass something called a 'China Mall', mannequins by the side of the road with large round backsides that make me optimistic I might find clothes that fit me. A woman balances a huge basket of limes on her head, laundry is laid out flat on scrubby patches of grass to dry and stalls are piled high with sun-faded Manchester United tops. Read more Kerry Hudson It is said you cannot visit Yammousoko without also visiting The Basilica of Our Lady of Peace, which holds the Guinness World Record as the biggest church in the world. To murder a Groucho Marx quote, 'I refuse to join any religion that would have me as its member' but, in the way I have felt in mosques, temples and cathedrals around the world, I feel a tearful sense of peace in this construct of hope over experience. Built in the 1960s by the first president, Félix Houphouët-Boigny, who wanted to honour what he believed was a time of 'God given' peace. Its 24 epic stained glass windows were designed and created by artisans in Burgundy, France and I'm told not a single pane broke in transit - an act of God indeed. There is also an altar carved with marble from Carrera, Italy, and a teak Virgin Mary statue carved by a prisoner of Muslim faith and it was designed by a Lebanese Ivoirian architect, Pierre Fakhoury. Quite the international affair. The next stop is to the village of Kondéyaokro via, sure, why not, a river of two-hundred crocodiles, in the centre of the city. They are apparently very popular and judging from the way they all swim to the edge and stare at us with unsettling gimlet eyes, I can only assume they're expecting dinner in one form or another. We are accompanied to the village, 40 minutes out of town, by a truck of armed guards with automatic rifles. I'm told reassuringly, this is normal for official delegations. After a Goli Dance, a traditional masked performance, we're invited into King Nana Yao Daniel's compound, a large, squat bungalow with five gold and velvet thrones accommodating the fully-robed king and with his most trusted advisors. The decor is gilded maximalism, there are swan vases stuffed with plastic flowers, carved teak elephants, a tiger skin rug, and, on the back wall, a big TV with the 'Action Channel' on mute showing a very young Dwayne Johnson. I don't know what I expected from a king - I turned down my last invite to Buckingham Palace - but I'll come here any time. We're given large measures of Bell's whisky (as the only Scot, I am given double). The men in our party are bestowed a tuft of tiger fur from the rug, the women a strand of horse tail, both for good fortune. Côte d'Ivoire is off the beaten track for tourists (Image: Kerry Hudson) Then there is more, so much more, whisky and photos before we're called outside for a dinner of carp, tomato and onion salad, boiled yams and the gifting of our tribal robes. Each of the armed guards is given a carton of local red wine, the visitors, a bordeaux as a sign of hospitality. A dog called Commander and a straggle of rangy ginger kittens roam about. It's a party. Even when the heavens open with thunder and lightning and we carry our tables to the porch, the night is full of laughter. At around 11pm, as is tradition, we ask the king, 'for the road' and drive through a man-made slalom of sandbags and plastic barrels, ingeniously designed to stop speeding. Was it all a show for us visitors? Perhaps. But it felt deeply genuine. Everyone in our group, most far better travelled than me, agreed, 'This is the sort of thing you get on a plane for!' The Côte d'Ivoire offers a perfect adventurous experience, to see things others don't, to connect with people you might never have met, to raise a glass of Scotch, maybe even a double, to an entirely different way of life. Kerry Hudson is an award-winning, bestselling novelist and memoirist. You can find her on Instagram and on Threads @ThatKerryHudson
Economist
04-07-2025
- Politics
- Economist
Leung Kwok-hung, Hong Kong's shaggy agitator for democracy
Leung kwok-hung understands the power of images. One of Hong Kong's most famous pro-democracy lawmakers for two decades, he spurned suits for t-shirts emblazoned with the face of his idol, Che Guevara. The side of his van bore a large cartoon of Mr Leung kicking the bottom of one of the city's former leaders. In 2010 he bought a licence plate that read 'd0naldpk'—an abbreviation that suggested that the city's then leader, Donald Tsang, should drop dead (puk kai in Cantonese). His mane, seemingly as untamable as its owner, is so well known that Hong Kongers call him simply 'Long Hair'.
