The West Intends Energy Suicide: Will It Succeed?

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Suicide is viewed as a crime in many countries. In a court of law, it is a serious charge and the evidence needs to be conclusive for such an accusation to stand (e.g., did you actually see him attempt to jump off the bridge?). But when societies (or at least their leaders) attempt it, one can say that it safely falls under the rubric of the sovereign right to misrule. In the hallowed tradition of Western liberal democracy, so long as its political leaders are elected in free and fair elections, misrule leading to societal death by suicide is merely an unfortunate outcome of either gross negligence or culpable intention led by, say, a death-cult ideology. Nevertheless, let us proceed with the case for the prosecution.

The Circumstantial Evidence Of Societal Suicide

The first piece of evidence is an astonishing article published last week in the Boston Review by a professor of anthropology in Rutgers University . The good professor opined that Zimbabwe and Puerto Rico “provide models for what we might call ‘pause-full’ electricity”. The West, he continues, has created a vast infrastructure for generating and consuming electricity 24/7, 365 days a year. Since this is based on “planet-destroying fossil fuels and nuclear power”, we need to emulate the aforementioned poor countries and save the climate by giving up the demand for the constant supply of electricity.

To be fair, the professor also noted that the Zimbabweans and Puerto Ricans did not choose to accept electricity rationing but were imposed upon by the gross negligence and corruption of their governments. The professor cannot be lightly dismissed, and the Boston Review shares its domicile with MIT and Harvard University, the temples of wisdom in modern Western civilization. And the Review has its share of kudos, at least for those of

Love for my daughter stopped me from committing suicide, by visually-impaired mum

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It is said that ‘A mother is a daughter’s best friend.’ Perhaps no sight best exemplifies this than that of visually-impaired Fumbi Josiah and her eight-year-old daughter, Seteminire. Aside being the eyes through which she reads and watches her environment, Seteminire also polices her very well, causing The Nation’s Gboyega Alaka to seek a conversation with both mother and daughter.

THEY were a spectacle. Mum and daughter. It was at the occasion of a workshop by the NGO, Project Alert on Violence Against Women, to enlighten a select group of persons with disabilities on the war against gender-based violence, as part of an ongoing Spotlight Initiative campaign to eliminate violence against women and girls. A card, containing a list of SGBV (Sexual and Gender-based Violence) referral centres had just been passed round to participants. Fumbi Josiah collected a copy and pronto, handed it over to her daughter, Seteminire, who proceeded to read its content to her mother.

Before then, you really may not know that the well-dressed, well-comported lady sitting in the corner of the room, had sight issues or that she was visually impaired – save for the guide cane, neatly folded on her laps. However, the quiet bond between the two, the rapport and the policeman-like posture of Seteminire, who had earlier responded with a sharp gaze, when this reporter, took the photograph of her and her mum, proved irresistible to this reporter. Just how does an eight-year-old – as he later found out – assume such responsibility and role? Is this how she has always been? How long has Fumbi herself been without her sight? As expected of nosey journalists, several questions welled up.

“I was not born blind; I lost my sight in 2002, precisely 18 years ago. I was in JSS II in boarding house

Love for my daughter stopped me from committing suicide

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It is said that ‘A mother is a daughter’s best friend.’ Perhaps no sight best exemplifies this than that of visually-impaired Fumbi Josiah and her eight-year-old daughter, Seteminire. Aside being the eyes through which she reads and watches her environment, Seteminire also polices her very well, causing The Nation’s Gboyega Alaka to seek a conversation with both mother and daughter.

 

THEY were a spectacle. Mum and daughter. It was at the occasion of a workshop by the NGO, Project Alert on Violence Against Women, to enlighten a select group of persons with disabilities on the war against gender-based violence, as part of an ongoing Spotlight Initiative campaign to eliminate violence against women and girls. A card, containing a list of SGBV (Sexual and Gender-based Violence) referral centres had just been passed round to participants. Fumbi Josiah collected a copy and pronto, handed it over to her daughter, Seteminire, who proceeded to read its content to her mother.

Before then, you really may not know that the well-dressed, well-comported lady sitting in the corner of the room, had sight issues or that she was visually impaired – save for the guide cane, neatly folded on her laps. However, the quiet bond between the two, the rapport and the policeman-like posture of Seteminire, who had earlier responded with a sharp gaze, when this reporter, took the photograph of her and her mum, proved irresistible to this reporter. Just how does an eight-year-old – as he later found out – assume such responsibility and role? Is this how she has always been? How long has Fumbi herself been without her sight? As expected of nosey journalists, several questions welled up.

“I was not born blind; I lost my sight in 2002, precisely 18 years ago. I was in JSS II in boarding house