Roma People Quotes

A long time ago, Roma had told Juliette that her anger was like a cold diamond. It was something she could swallow smoothly, something to be placed upon other people, gliding along their skin in glitter and glamour before they realized far too late that the diamond had sliced them into pieces. He had admired her for it. Mostly because his own anger was the precise opposite—an uncontrollable wave of fire that knew no subtlety.

I mourned,” Roma said just as softly. “I mourned for months, years outside the gates of the cemetery. Yet I don’t regret choosing you. No matter how cruel you think yourself, your heart beats for your people. That’s why you shot him. That’s why you took the chance. Not because you are merciless. Because you have hope.” Juliette looked up. If Roma turned, even the slightest, they would be nose to nose. “I regret that I was ever put in the position to choose,” Roma continued. His words were faint, whispered into the world while the streets roared with sirens, the building beside them teemed with chaos, and policemen along every street corner screamed for order. But Juliette heard him perfectly. “I hate that the blood feud forced my hand, but I can’t—I did what I had to do and you may think me monstrous for it. The feud keeps taking and hurting and killing and still I couldn’t stop loving you even when I thought I hated you.

No," Roma finally said. "Then we would not have met. Then I would have lived an ordinary life, pining for some great love I would never find, because ordinary things happen to ordinary people, and ordinary people settle for something that satisfies them, never knowing if there would have been greater happiness in another life." His voice was rough, but it was certain. "I will fight this war to love you, Juliette Cai. I will fight this feud to have you, because it was this feud that gave you to me, twisted as it is, and now I will take you away from it.

Don’t get me wrong, marriage is good. Good for other people.” “Oh, honey, I can’t wait till it’s your turn. You are going to be so fun to watch when you fall in love.” “That may just be the meanest thing you have ever said to me.

Let people pray to God, it’s nothing to me. Some good may even come of it, if goodness is something that matters to you. Trap him in churches if you must, and lament him there. But Roma? Roma is a weapon used against us. A poison flavoured sweet and given to hungry men.

Now there are no priests or philosophers left, artists are the most important people in the world.

If you want to keep any human group isolated – women, Jews, Roma, gays, blacks – the best way to do it is convince everyone that these people are a source of pollution

If you want to keep any human group isolated – women, Jews, Roma, gays, blacks – the best way to do it is convince everyone that these people are a source of pollution.

I still identify as Black. Not because I believe Blackness, or race, is a meaningful scientific category but because our societies, our policies, our ideas, our histories, and our cultures have rendered race and made it matter. I am among those who have been degraded by racist ideas, suffered under racist policies, and who have nevertheless endured and built movements and cultures to resist or at least persist through this madness. I see myself culturally and historically and politically in Blackness, in being an African American, an African, a member of the forced and unforced African diaspora. I see myself historically and politically as a person of color, as a member of the global south, as a close ally of Latinx, East Asian, Middle Eastern, and Native peoples and all the world’s degraded peoples, from the Roma and Jews of Europe to the aboriginals of Australia to the White people battered for their religion, class, gender, transgender identity, ethnicity, sexuality, body size, age, and disability. The gift of seeing myself as Black instead of being color-blind is that it allows me to clearly see myself historically and politically as being an antiracist, as a member of the interracial body striving to accept and equate and empower racial difference of all kinds.

They knew where they were headed but they didn’t know where they were going. Retina shrugged the thought. Roma complained about the possibility they were walking into a trap. After all, he was one of the scientists that decided Solstice’s fate. Retina was adamant no one knew him. Lorenzo didn’t care about anything much but reaching Zharfar after Retina surgically removed his Unicell Groper. They were headed to Africa in what seemed a semi commercial private plane. Eight people including the pilots travelled. They weren’t supposed to know any more particulars. But Lorenzo’s watch placed the coordinates in both numbers and words. They were in West Africa, country Nigeria, state Osun, and township Isura. None of them had ever heard of it, the town, but they were there. And they had travelled for miles, over highly forested nonresidential areas and mountain peaks before they stopped. Wherever they were going was greatly isolated, Roma thought.

As every close observer of the deadlocks arising from the political correctness knows, the separation of legal justice from moral Goodness –which should be relativized and historicized- ends up in an oppressive moralism brimming with resentment. Without any “organic” social substance grounding the standards of what Orwell approvingly called “common decency” (all such standards having been dismissed as subordinating individual freedoms to proto-Fascist social forms), the minimalist program of laws intended simply to prevent individuals from encroaching upon one another (annoying or “harassing” each other) turns into an explosion of legal and moral rules, an endless process (a “spurious infinity” in Hegel’s sense) of legalization and moralization, known as “the fight against all forms of discrimination.” If there are no shared mores in place to influence the law, only the basic fact of subjects “harassing other subjects, who-in the absence of mores- is to decide what counts as “harassment”? In France, there are associations of obese people demanding all the public campaigns against obesity and in favor of healthy eating be stopped, since they damage the self-esteem of obese persons. The militants of Veggie Pride condemn the speciesism” of meat-eaters (who discriminate against animals, privileging the human animal-for them, a particularly disgusting form of “fascism”) and demand that “vegeto-phobia” should be treated as a kind of xenophobia and proclaimed a crime. And we could extend the list to include those fighting for the right of incest marriage, consensual murder, cannibalism . . . The problem here is the obvious arbitrariness of the ever-new rule. Take child sexuality, for example: one could argue that its criminalization is an unwarranted discrimination, but one could also argue that children should be protected from sexual molestation by adults. And we could go on: the same people who advocate the legalization of soft drugs usually support the prohibition of smoking in public places; the same people who protest the patriarchal abuse of small children in our societies worry when someone condemns a member of certain minority cultures for doing exactly this (say, the Roma preventing their children from attending public schools), claiming that this is a case od meddling with other “ways of life”. It is thus for necessary structural reasons that the “fight against discrimination” is an endless process which interminably postpones its final point: namely a society freed from all moral prejudices which, as Michea puts it, “would be on this very account a society condemned to see crimes everywhere.

LightWorkers has sparked a movement on social media, where we’ve been able to engage across different platforms sharing positive messages of hope and encouragement. My motto has always been that it’s better to light one candle than to curse the darkness. My hope is that LightWorkers.com will invite others to do the same, inspiring them to shine their own light within their communities to remind us that there are good people doing extraordinary things everywhere

Throughout history, and in almost all societies, concepts of pollution and purity have played a leading role in enforcing social and political divisions and have been exploited by numerous ruling classes to maintain their privileges. The fear of pollution is not a complete fabrication of priests and princes, however. It probably has its roots in biological survival mechanisms that make humans feel an instinctive revulsion towards potential disease carriers, such as sick persons and dead bodies. If you want to keep any human group isolated – women, Jews, Roma, gays, blacks – the best way to do it is convince everyone that these people are a source of pollution.

Above all, I extend remembrance and honor to more than eleven million Jews, homosexuals, political opponents, Roma and Sinti, Jehovah’s Witnesses, houseless persons, and people with disabilities murdered by the Nazi regime; the seventy million military personnel and civilians who were killed during the war; and the countless millions of survivors whose lives were upended by it. May their legacies inspire us to work tirelessly today for peace.

A decree prohibiting the separation of Romani families through the sale of slaves was adopted in Wallachia in 1850. The ownership of private slaves finally became illegal in Moldavia in 1855 and in Wallachia in 1856.

Claims for compensation for physical damage through sterilization and for psychological damage through incarceration were not recognized for this reason. Claims for lost possessions were rejected on the basis of a wholesale prejudice that Gypsies did not own possessions. Claims for compensation for lost income on the basis of a reduction of earning capacity (as a result of physical and psychological damage and years lost due to imprisonment) were rejected on the grounds that Gypsies were unlikely to have sought employment even under more favourable circumstances. Like the German Jews, the Roms had been stripped of their citizenship rights by the Nazi regime's racist legislation.

There was every proof that the persecution and genocide against Romani minorities had been carried out on the basis of racial ideology. Nevertheless, many Roms encountered difficulties reclaiming their German citizenship. As a result they were also considered to be ineligible for compensation payments, which according to the West German compensation law could be made only to German citizens. By the time their citizenship had been reinstated and compensation claims were filed again, claimants were often informed that the deadline for submitting claims had passed.

Many Romani activists are in fact of mixed parentage. They are often individuals who grew up within the mainstream culture, ashamed of, or afraid to acknowledge, their Romani family connections. Others are persons of Romani background who acquired an education and spent the early years of their careers capitalizing on their Romani connections by engaging in academic research on Romani culture or providing expertise to public services and institutions on Romani society. They feel a strong commitment to challenging prejudice and to improving the destiny of their people. But many years of their lives have been spent struggling for recognition and acknowledgement among their non-Romani colleagues and peers.

They were mostly from Austria, Mrs. Henderson told me, all Jewish but for one young woman – a ballerina – whose Romany parents had been put in prison by the Nazis. She was called Lyuba Zingari, which I thought a marvellous name, and was trying to get to America to become a famous dancer. ‘Hitler’s persecuting the Roma people too,’ Mrs. Henderson explained. ‘It’s dreadful. I often wonder where it will all end.

Because, Lucius, without the discipline of philosophy to give rigour to their thinking, people can and will believe anything, no matter how absurd.

Maybe it is because we are treasured, as John once said, but it is one thing to be treasured and it is another to be a treasure. One is valued, one is possessed, and people aren't possessions.

Concepts of purity and impurity were essential elements in Hindu religion, and they were harnessed to buttress the social pyramid. Pious Hindus were taught that contact with members of a different caste could pollute not only them personally, but society as a whole, and should therefore be abhorred. Such ideas are hardly unique to Hindus. Throughout history, and in almost all societies, concepts of pollution and purity have played a leading role in enforcing social and political divisions and have been exploited by numerous ruling classes to maintain their privileges. The fear of pollution is not a complete fabrication of priests and princes, however. It probably has its roots in biological survival mechanisms that make humans feel an instinctive revulsion towards potential disease carriers, such as sick persons and dead bodies. If you want to keep any human group isolated – women, Jews, Roma, gays, blacks – the best way to do it is convince everyone that these people are a source of pollution.

No,” Roma finally said. “Then we would not have met. Then I would have lived an ordinary life, pining for some great love I would never find, because ordinary things happen to ordinary people, and ordinary people settle for something that satisfies them, never knowing if there would have been greater happiness in another life.” His voice was rough, but it was certain. “I will fight this war to love you, Juliette Cai. I will fight this feud to have you, because it was this feud that gave you to me, twisted as it is, and now I will take you away from it.

ethnic groups, but to say that we don’t divide each other into races would be to ignore thousands of years of human history. Not to mention the fact that white people drive a car like this: Fig. 3 While black people drive a car like this: Fig. 4 Despite increasing globalization and intermarriage, or “miscegenation,” there are still distinct and important differences between members of the different races. Since the subtlety and scope of those differences are far too complicated to be helpful to us in everyday life, we employ certain heuristics, or “stereotypes,” to better understand and more comfortably interact with those different from ourselves. Like the Maori. Such stereotypes are sometimes controversial, because they can oversimplify the differences between individuals. Every person is different, and it is rare for someone to fit a stereotype perfectly. Except for so-called “walking stereotypes,” like Carson from Queer Eye.2. Others don’t have any of the characteristics ascribed to their race in such stereotypes. It’s an imperfect science at best. For example, just because the Maori are, in general, lazy, selfish, and long-winded, that does not mean that noted Maori opera singer Kiri Te Kanawa is any of those things. In fact, she is only two of them, because she is a soprano, and sopranos tend to be very succinct. Even so, stereotypes can be very useful in our everyday social interactions and decision-making. They are actually a kind of survival instinct—a crude form of received inductive reasoning that can help us make snap judgments in situations where we don’t have all the facts. When entering into a business deal with someone of Roma descent, for instance, I am very careful of my possessions. Knowing the stereotype that gypsies are tramps and thieves,3. I am able to better protect myself when coming into contact with them,

There is empirical data on relationship dynamics that states pairings are often based on a combination of attractiveness, things people have in common and other various factors, however, generally speaking, those terms are usually within a variance of the quotient of the higher individual’s measure on a quantitative scale using a divisor of two.” “What?

As an old friend of the family—and particularly Miss Hathaway—I’ve taken it upon myself to help them.” The phrase “particularly Miss Hathaway” uttered with just a hint of ownership, nearly shattered Cam’s self-control. He, who had always congratulated himself on his equanimity, was instantly overrun with hostility. “Perhaps,” he said, “you should have asked first. As it turns out, your services aren’t needed.” Frost’s face darkened. “What gives you the right to speak for Miss Hathaway and her family?” Cam saw no reason to be discreet. “I’m going to marry her.” Frost nearly dropped the iron bar. “Don’t be absurd. Amelia would never marry you.” “Why not?” “Good God,” Frost exclaimed incredulously, “how can you ask that? You’re not a gentleman of her class, and … hell and damnation, you’re not even a real Gypsy. You’re a mongrel.” “All the same, I’m going to marry her.” “I’ll see you in hell first!” Frost cried, taking a step toward him. “Either drop that bar,” Cam said quietly, “or I’ll dislocate your arm.” He sincerely hoped Frost would take a swing at him. To his disappointment, Frost set the bar on the ground. The architect glared at him. “After I talk to her, she’ll want nothing more to do with you. I’ll make certain she understands what people would say about a lady who beds down with a Gypsy. She’d be better off with a peasant. A dog. A—” “Point taken,” Cam said. He gave Frost a bland smile designed to infuriate. “But it’s interesting, isn’t it, that Miss Hathaway’s previous experience with a gentleman of her own class has now disposed her to look favorably on a Roma? It hardly reflects well on you.” “You selfish bastard,” Frost muttered. “You’ll ruin her. You think nothing of bringing her down to your level. If you cared for her at all, you would disappear for good.

If you’re assuming that my plans to leave are nothing more than a reaction to Miss Hathaway … I’ve been considering this for a long time. I’m not an idiot. Nor am I inexperienced with women.” “To say the least,” St. Vincent commented dryly. “But in your pursuit of women—or perhaps I should say their pursuit of you—you seem to have regarded them all as interchangeable. Until now. If you are taken with this Hathaway creature, don’t you think it bears investigating?” “God, no. There’s only one thing it could lead to.” “Marriage,” the viscount said rather than asked. “Yes. And that’s impossible.” “Why?” The fact that they were discussing Amelia Hathaway and the subject of marriage was enough to make Cam blanch in discomfort. “I’m not the marrying kind—” St. Vincent snorted. “No man is. Marriage is a female invention.” “—but even if I were so inclined,” Cam continued, “I’m a Roma. I wouldn’t do that to her.” There was no need to elucidate. Decent gadjis didn’t marry Gypsies. His blood was mixed, and even though Amelia herself might harbor no prejudices, the routine discriminations Cam encountered would certainly extend to his wife and children. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his own people would be even more disapproving of the match. Gadje Gadjensa, Rom Romensa … Gadje with Gadje, Roma with Roma. “What if your heritage made no difference to her?” Westcliff asked quietly. “That’s not the point. It’s how others would view her.” Seeing that the older man was about to argue, Cam murmured, “Tell me, would either of you wish your daughter to marry a Gypsy?” In the face of their discomforted silence, he smiled without amusement. After a moment, Westcliff stubbed out his cigar in a deliberate, methodical fashion. “Obviously you’ve made up your mind. Further debate would be pointless.

If you can’t get up on your own that's where your community came in. Someone would help you up. Sometimes you were helped up with a laugh. Sometimes it took more effort. But I love the different ways that people find to cope and to triumph.

I want to build a community of hope, to get people in that strong place where we can help each other. In that sense of belonging we are reminded that we are a community. Today more than ever that’s so important.

We're looking for the stories of positivity, encouragement, and hope more and more. The reminders that despite it all there is still good in the world. That there are wonderful people doing amazing things

men ran to fill all ten positions. To pull that off required the cooperation of men who would normally have been your rivals.” “And the same thing will happen again this year, because the people will demand it!” Lucius thought otherwise,

No city is conquered unless its people have offended the gods; for the conquerors to kill or enslave the inhabitants is pleasing to the gods. The people of Roma have always known this. The humiliation of our enemies is one of the ways by which we please the gods, and by pleasing the gods, we continue to prosper.

If you want to keep any human group isolated – women, Jews, Roma, gays, blacks – the best way to do it is convince everyone that these people are a source of pollution. The

But if the gradualness of this process misled the Romans there were other and equally potent reasons for their blindness. Most potent of all was the fact that they mistook entirely the very nature of civilization itself. All of them were making the same mistake. People who thought that Rome could swallow barbarism and absorb it into her life without diluting her own civilization; the people who ran about busily saying that the barbarians were not such bad fellows after all, finding good points in their regime with which to castigate the Romans and crying that except ye become as little barbarians ye shall not attain salvation; the people who did not observe in 476 that one half of the Respublica Romanorum had ceased to exist and nourished themselves on the fiction that the barbarian kings were exercising a power delegated from the Emperor. All these people were deluded by the same error, the belief that Rome (the civilization of their age) was not a mere historical fact with a beginning and an end, but a condition of nature like the air they breathed and the earth they tread Ave Roma immortalis, most magnificent most disastrous of creeds!

Marcus could see why the biographies were so popular. The stories told by Suetonius were brutal, funny, and shocking. The people he described were, for the most part, appalling. Had Caligula really given his horse Incitatus a stall of marble, a manger of ivory, purple blankets, and a collar of precious stones, all in preparation for making him a consul? Had Nero really tried to kill his mother by putting her on a collapsing boat? Had Domitian invited guests to a black room where he treated them like men already dead, and then released them, making a joke of their despair? What amazing and terrible times Marcus’s father and grandfather and great-grandfather had lived through—and how very

Marcus could see why the biographies were so popular. The stories told by Suetonius were brutal, funny, and shocking. The people he described were, for the most part, appalling. Had Caligula really given his horse Incitatus a stall of marble, a manger of ivory, purple blankets, and a collar of precious stones, all in preparation for making him a consul? Had Nero really tried to kill his mother by putting her on a collapsing boat? Had Domitian invited guests to a black room where he treated them like men already dead, and then released them, making a joke of their despair? What amazing and terrible times Marcus’s father and grandfather and great-grandfather had lived through—and how very little Marcus knew about their lives!

Is it a hallucinogen?” he asked. “Yes, there is a component in wormwood that can cause hallucinations. It is toxic if used too much,” I replied. I’d seen people die from overdoing it on absinthe. Even fairies. The gypsy folk that I traveled with in Europe used to brew it. It was the moonshine of the Roma.

The reason people fought and resisted the Germans and saved people and died in the war . . .’ Jake said. ‘Wasn’t it so that the Jews and the Roma and the gays and the communists and the disabled and everyone else who wasn’t a perfect, blond, blue-eyed German could live an ordinary life? Wasn’t it precisely so that you could live your ordinary life and get married, and have us, and we could grow up and not have to be Nazis? Wasn’t it so that we could all live normal lives?

the People’s Republic of China has rounded up as many as three million of them, as well as other Muslim ethnic groups, into what it euphemistically calls “reeducation camps.” These arrests are extrajudicial, based on an individual’s race, ethnicity and religion, the same criteria used by Nazi Germany to round up Jews and Roma.

Roma?” I was surprised, though I knew Roma was a perennial problem. She could be cruel, but despite a few truly alarming incidents, I tried to believe that Roma was, at heart, a good person. Charlie had once asked, “Mom? What do I do if every time I see someone, I feel bad about myself?” “Sweetheart,” I’d said, “you can try to make friendships work, but it’s OK to just let some people go.

So entrenched is our fictional image of Gypsies that we often brush aside real-world experiences as a mirage when they contradict the picture that we have absorbed and internalized.

Their flag has two background colours: green representing the ground below, and blue for the sky above. In its centre it depicted a wheel: this symbolized the image of the Romani people as travellers and, resembling the 24-spoke wheel known as the Ashoka Chatra which features in the centre of the flag of India, it served as a reference to the Roms' historical country of origin.

I believe that it is not beneficial either to idealize Romani culture or treat it as exotic. Romani culture is not simply Indian or Asian, though some aspects of it clearly reflect its historical origins in India, language being one of the most obvious. Nor is it inherently a culture of poverty or a culture of resistance or defiance against mainstream norms.

But I do hold the view that we need to rethink and revise our picture of the Romani people and to move away from the literary images and brands, and on to understanding the real everyday lives and aspirations of a real people.

The thought of even more permanent separation of children through boarding schools or foster homes is even more troublesome, and Roms in countries such as Norway, Sweden, Hungary and Switzerland are still haunted by the memory of periods in the history of their communities during which the practice of separating Romani children from their families was encouraged by authorities as a means of forcibly integrating the young generations of Roms into mainstream society.

People are often surprised to hear that Romani is in fact a fully fledged language just like any other, that it has its origins in India, that it is related to Sanskrit, an ancient language associated with Indian scholarship and religion, and that it has been preserved by the Romani populations through oral traditions and in a variety of dialects for many centuries.

I recall my Romani friend who drives from village to village to offer his services to potential clients and who claims, when asked about his origin, to be Irish or Italian. 'I make a living by denying who I am,' he says.

While Jews suffered by far the highest death toll, they were not the only communities targeted in the Holocaust. In the Nazi bid to create its pure Aryan state, millions deemed racially inferior—not just Jews but also Slavic people, including Poles, other central and eastern Europeans, or anyone with “Asiatic” features—were deported from occupied territory to concentration and forced labor camps, or murdered. Nazis killed up to 1.9 million non-Jewish Polish civilians during World War II. More than 200,000 Roma and Sinti peoples were murdered or died from disease and starvation in a genocide they called Porajmos (“the Devouring”). Many more were forced to labor or subjected to sterilization and medical experimentation. Others targeted included the gay community, disabled people, and religious minorities. The Nazis imprisoned more than 50,000 gay men, and sent up to 15,000 to concentration camps, where most perished. Many gay men remained in prison after the war, as the Allies refused to repeal the German penal code outlawing homosexuality. The Nazis also murdered around 250,000 disabled people in euthanasia programs. Jehovah’s Witnesses were among the religious groups persecuted; more than 8,000 were sent to camps and around 1,500 killed. Tens of thousands of people were complicit in the Holocaust, but just 199 Nazis were tried for war crimes at Nuremberg. Of those, 161 were convicted, 37 of whom were sentenced to death.

Roma shifted to face the wall. Perhaps with enough effort, he could peer right through and see Juliette there, lying next to him. Perhaps with enough effort, he could understand the girl he had been working with these past few weeks, who had killed the people he loved without remorse, yet looked at him like they were still kids playing with marbles on the Bund.

Can you have a girl without the heart? Roma blew a puff of air onto his cold hands, scrunching them up against his neck. She cared for him. He could see that now. So, what then? Would he have her even with hatred running through her veins, even if she would betray him when the Scarlets asked? Just to have her near, might he pretend that she wouldn’t keep cutting down the people he loved simply because he loved her most?

She retrieved her hand from inside the blankets and brought it to Roma’s cheek. “I wish we had been born as other people,” she whispered. “Born into ordinary lives, untouched by a blood feud.” Roma’s hand came up too, curled loosely around hers to keep her touch remaining upon him. For a long while, he looked at her, taking in her eyes, her mouth, gaze roaming like he had once been starving and this now was a feast. “No,” Roma finally said. “Then we would not have met. Then I would have lived an ordinary life, pining for some great love I would never find, because ordinary things happen to ordinary people, and ordinary people settle for something that satisfies them, never knowing if there would have been greater happiness in another life.” His voice was rough, but it was certain. “I will fight this war to love you, Juliette Cai. I will fight this feud to have you, because it was this feud that gave you to me, twisted as it is, and now I will take you away from it.” Juliette searched his face, searched for any hint of hesitance. Roma didn’t waver. “What pretty words,” she whispered. She tried to play it cool, but she knew Roma could hear her breathlessness. “I mean them all,” Roma replied. “I would engrave them onto stone if that would have you believe me more.” “I believe you.” Juliette finally let herself smile. “But you shall not engrave it onto stone, because I don’t need you to take me away from the feud. I’ll be running by your side.

Amelia went to a built-in bookshelf and inspected the volumes as she asked idly, “Why is it, do you think, that Mr. Rohan was reluctant to take money from Lord Selway?” Merripen cast a sardonic glance over his shoulder. “You know how the Rom feel about material possessions.” “Yes, I know your people don’t like to be encumbered. But from what I’ve seen, Romas are hardly reluctant to accept a few coins in return for a service.” “It’s more than not wanting to be encumbered. For a chal to be in this position—” “What’s a chal?” “A son of the Rom. For a chal to wear such fine clothes, to stay under one roof so long, to reap such financial bounty … it’s shameful. Embarrassing. Contrary to his nature.” He was so stern and certain of himself, Amelia couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “And what’s your excuse, Merripen? You’ve stayed under the Hathaway roof for an awfully long time.” “That’s different. For one thing, there’s no profit in living with you.” Amelia laughed. “For another…” Merripen’s voice softened. “I owe my life to your family.” Amelia felt a surge of affection as she stared at his unyielding profile. “What a spoilsport,” she said gently. “I try to mock you, and you ruin the moment with sincerity. You know you’re not obligated to stay, dear friend. You’ve repaid your debt to us a thousand times over.” Merripen shook his head immediately. “It would be like leaving a nest of plover chicks with a fox nearby.” “We’re not as helpless as all that,” she protested. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of the family … and so is Leo. When he’s sober.” “When would that be?” His bland tone made the question all the more sarcastic

One never knows what fate has in store.” Turning toward Rohan, Amelia discovered he was glancing over her in a slow inventory that spurred her heart into a faster beat. “I don’t believe in fate,” she said. “People are in control of their own destinies.” Rohan smiled. “Everyone, even the gods, are helpless in the hands of fate.” Amelia regarded him skeptically. “Surely you, being employed at a gaming club, know all about probability and odds. Which means you can’t rationally give credence to luck or fate or anything of the sort.” “I know all about probability and odds,” Rohan agreed. “Nevertheless, I believe in luck.” He smiled with a quiet smolder in his eyes that caused her breath to catch. “I believe in magic and mystery, and dreams that reveal the future. And I believe some things are written in the stars … or even in the palm of your hand.” Mesmerized, Amelia was unable to look away from him. He was an extraordinarily beautiful man, his skin as dark as clover honey, his black hair falling over his forehead in a way that made her fingers twitch with the urge to push it back. “Do you believe in fate too?” she asked Merripen. A long hesitation. “I’m a Roma,” he said. Which meant yes. “Good Lord, Merripen. I’ve always thought of you as a sensible man.” Rohan laughed. “It’s only sensible to allow for the possibility, Miss Hathaway. Just because you can’t see or feel something doesn’t mean it can’t exist.

He saw what no one else did: that a mantle of despair was settling like fine grey dust on the distant island, clogging the air, blotting out its brilliance and choking its people. And, as the dense rain-forests turned slowly into pockets of ruins, and the last remnants of peace began to vanish, it seemed to those who loved the place that the dazzling colours of paradise would never be seen again.

In order to oppose racism, we have to actually be concerned with oppression writ large. This means drawing critical connections between the plight of people of color and the poor in the United States and the broader struggle for freedom and tolerance on our small planet. It means fighting ethnic and religious bigotry throughout Asia and standing in solidarity with the Roma in Europe as well as African migrants. It means denouncing the immoral violence of anti-Semitism as well as Israel’s immoral destruction of the Palestinian people. It means taking a stand against ethnocentrism and genocide in Rwanda and standing up against antiblack racism in Brazil, Latin America, and the Arab world. As antiracists, we have to cultivate concern and compassion for the suffering marginalized people in our own communities and on the other side of the world.

The big-name, big-budget film stars fell away with the last Autolite show, and from 1955 on, the leads were largely carried by radio people. Suspense is the happiest of stories for the confirmed audiophile. Of the 945 shows broadcast, at least 900 are available, most in superior sound, many in full fidelity. The first two years contain shows that may strike the ear of a modern listener as contrived or stilted. Things look up with the arrival of Roma Wines and a budget. The celebrated Sorry, Wrong Number is here in all its versions, though this listener joins those who find it rather boring: the remarkable performance by Agnes Moorehead is lost in its unbelievable premise. So much better were The Diary of Sophronia Winters, The Most Dangerous Game, August Heat, The House in Cypress Canyon, and the marvelous Mission Completed, which cast James Stewart as a paralyzed war veteran driven to murder by the sight of a man who resembles his former Japanese torturer.

In one life she was a travel vlogger who had 1,750,000 YouTube subscribers and almost as many people following her on Instagram, and her most popular video was one where she fell off a gondola in Venice. She also had one about Rome called 'A Roma Therapy'. In one life she was a single parent to a baby that literally wouldn't sleep. In one life she ran the showbiz column in a tabloid newspaper and did stories about Ryan Bailey's relationships. In one life she was the picture editor at the National Geographic. In one life she was a successful eco-architect who lived a carbon-neutral existence in a self-designed bungalow that harvested rain-water and ran on solar power. In one life she was an aid worker in Bostwana. In one life a cat-sitter. In one life a volunteer in a homeless shelter. In one life she was sleeping on her only friend's sofa. In one life she taught music in Montreal. In one life she spent all day arguing with people she didn't know on Twitter and ended a fair proportion of her tweets by saying 'Do better' while secretly realising she was telling herself to do that. In one life she had no social media accounts. In one life she'd never drunk alcohol. In one life she was a chess champion and currently visiting Ukraine for a tournament. In one life she was married to a minor Royal and hated every minute. In one life her Facebook and Instagram only contained quotes from Rumi and Lao Tzu. In one life she was on to her third husband and already bored. In one life she was a vegan power-lifter. In one life she was travelling around South Corsican coast, and they talked quantum mechanics and got drunk together at a beachside bar until Hugo slipped away, out of that life, and mid-sentence, so Nora was left talking to a blank Hugo who was trying to remember her name. In some lives Nora attracted a lot of attention. In some lives she attracted none. In some lives she was rich. In some lives she was poor. In some lives she was healthy. In some lives she couldn't climb the stairs without getting out of breath. In some lives she was in a relationship, in others she was solo, in many she was somewhere in between. In some lives she was a mother, but in most she wasn't. She had been a rock star, an Olympics, a music teacher, a primary school teacher, a professor, a CEO, a PA, a chef, a glaciologist, a climatologist, an acrobat, a tree-planter, an audit manager, a hair-dresser, a professional dog walker, an office clerk, a software developer, a receptionist, a hotel cleaner, a politician, a lawyer, a shoplifter, the head of an ocean protection charity, a shop worker (again), a waitress, a first-line supervisor, a glass-blower and a thousand other things. She'd had horrendous commutes in cars, on buses, in trains, on ferries, on bike, on foot. She'd had emails and emails and emails. She'd had a fifty-three-year-old boss with halitosis touch her leg under a table and text her a photo of his penis. She'd had colleagues who lied about her, and colleagues who loved her, and (mainly) colleagues who were entirely indifferent. In many lives she chose not to work and in some she didn't choose not to work but still couldn't find any. In some lives she smashed through the glass ceiling and in some she just polished it. She had been excessively over- and under-qualified. She had slept brilliantly and terribly. In some lives she was on anti-depressants and in others she didn't even take ibuprofen for a headache. In some lives she was a physically healthy hypochondriac and in some a seriously ill hypochondriac and in most she wasn't a hypochondriac at all. There was a life where she had chronic fatigue, a life where she had cancer, a life where she'd suffered a herniated disc and broken her ribs in a car accident.

see myself culturally and historically and politically in Blackness, in being an African American, an African, a member of the forced and unforced African diaspora. I see myself historically and politically as a person of color, as a member of the global south, as a close ally of Latinx, East Asian, Middle Eastern, and Native peoples and all the world’s degraded peoples, from the Roma and Jews of Europe to the aboriginals of Australia to the White people battered for their religion, class, gender, transgender identity, ethnicity, sexuality, body size, age, and disability.