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What's the Issue?

What's the Issue?

Author: by Tomas Yoko
Date: 2025-08-27

Benjamin "Oopsie" Netanyahu is back on stage, this time with his latest tragicomedy: The Hospital Was in the Way. Another five journalists dead, dozens more civilians erased in seconds, and the Israeli president (yes, let's call him president, since "prime minister" no longer fits the size of his ego) waves his blood soaked hands and mutters, "tragic mishap." That's not an apology, it's a smirk. The tragedy is not the mishap, the oops. The tragedy is that we live in a world where this explanation flies, where the global audience yawns and turns back to TikTok.

The numbers are staggering. One hundred and ninety-three Palestinian journalists killed since October. That's more than the number of journalists killed in the rest of the world in the last three years combined. The Committee to Protect Journalists may as well rename itself the Committee to Count Journalist Deaths, because protection is clearly off the table.

The West wrings its hands. Macron says the hospital bombing is "intolerable." Trump says he's "not happy about it." That's the vocabulary of spoiled children, not leaders of nations. Intolerable? Not happy? A hospital reduced to ash and twenty corpses lined in plastic bags is not an undercooked steak. Yet here we are, stuck in the theatre of polite disapproval while Netanyahu test-drives his next "oopsie." Tell me they are not both captured, the US and the EU.

In the other major conflict, the most disingenuous president ever to be appointed by an American coup, the short guy with the olive green tee shirt, has struck out at Russia in the most inopportune moment. One minute his constitution is sacrosanct and the next it is suspended, like he has a pause button on a remote control. Driven by the warmongers of the EU, their political positions coupled to the deaths of Christian soldiers on the battlefield. But keep peeling away the onion layers of deceit and soon the lure of the bankers will be discernible.

Closer to home, Gayton McKenzie is discovering the internet never forgets - even if he does. Our Minister of Sport, Arts and Culture (though he seems allergic to culture and indifferent to sport) is under investigation for using apartheid's favourite racial slur in old social media posts. The Human Rights Commission calls it hate speech; McKenzie calls it politics. He won't apologize, won't delete, won't acknowledge. Instead, he accuses the watchdog of defamation, as though pointing out the slur is somehow slander. Picture a burglar suing the homeowner for noticing the broken window. That's where we are. We wont even talk about the Madlanga Enquiry. Add expletive here . . .

Meanwhile, the circus in Washington continues. Donald Trump, back in the Oval Office, is reviving his greatest hits: Dinner Dates with Dictators. He wants another photo-op with Little Rocket Man, preferably this year. The language is almost romantic - "I look forward to meeting him in the appropriate future." You can practically hear the violins. At the same time, Trump waves his tiny stick at Putin and Zelenskyy, warning of "very big consequences" if they don't meet. No details, no plan, just vibes. He's like a substitute teacher threatening detention while the classroom burns. And the bombs rain down on the starving Palestinians. Pass the remote.