A handwritten letter in the mail will make this veteran's day.
The ceremony comes after an apology in September.
The “moderate rebels” Western and Gulf states said they were funding didn’t exist in any meaningful way for much of the conflict.
The world's newest country is once again facing conflict and drought that are producing a new generation of internally displaced people and refugees.
U.S. President Donald Trump visited the Middle East and met with leaders of many countries in a few short days. During this brief visit he seems to have solidified his position to an extent that makes it possible to push a deal between the Israelis and the Palestinians. Is it good news? I am not so sure.
I'm tired of pacifists. I'm not going to be polite around them anymore. I'm not going to be accommodating in polite society and pretend that while I differ, I respect the pacifist opinion. I don't. Pacifists are wrong, and this is why. Pacifism tolerates, even abets, terrorism and fascism -- and the war and violence that come from them.
As I watch Donald Trump giddily dropping the "mother of all bombs" on Afghanistan, or bombing Syria, or sending a U.S. soldier to his death in Yemen, or threatening war with North Korea, I think of a bearded guy in New Hampshire, washing his pickup truck one sunny Saturday morning in August. He warned us.
Libya is a beautiful country, but my welcome to it was anything but. I had been in Tripoli less than a week and already my parents' worst nightmare was coming true. Our compound, which was home to most UN agencies and several embassies including Canada's, was under attack.
We have a problem, rather, a preoccupation with power. It is human nature to want and crave it, but the ways we get it and keep it are usually inhumane. The simplest, most base feeling of power is that of physical might. The ability to defeat one's foes in combat.
I write this with the crippling cries of a small child playing in my earphones, nerve gas choking him literally to death, his desperate rasping gasps for breath ringing in my ears and unnerving my insides, his agony repeating over and over in the background as a foaming espresso machine steams beside me at the counter.