Rumeysa Ozturk, approached on a Massachusetts street and arrested by Homeland Security agents in March 2025.
Last week, a young woman walked along a street in Medford, Massachusetts, on the outskirts of Boston. She was about to join friends for dinner. The PhD student was suddenly surrounded by swarm of men in hooded shirts. They pulled cloth coverings over their mouths and noses and grabbed Rumeysa Ozturk; they claimed to be police officers and arrested her. The incident was caught on video and someone off-camera calls out:
“If you’re police, why are you hiding your faces?”
Ozturk shrieked as the men confiscated her phone, handcuffed her wrists, stuffed her into an SUV and drove her away. (more…)
D-Day veteran’s son, Don Henderson (r), presents RCAF base map to Jean-Pierre Banamou. June 2024.
Last week, inside a modest-looking but sizable Quonset building, known as the D-Day Academy, in Normandy, France, Don Henderson, a visitor from Calgary, made a small presentation. From his backpack, he pulled an official RCAF map of Normandy showing where his father, Leading Aircraftman Wilbert Henderson helped construct one of the first Tactical Air Force (TAF) bases in Normandy immediately after D-Day.
“My dad landed on D-Day-plus-11,” Don Henderson began. “He was the second driver in the air force vehicle. But when the first driver was shot, my dad carried on using this map to reach B4,” site of the TAF base.
Standing next to Don Henderson in the D-Day Academy museum, its director Jean-Pierre Benamou watched as the Canadian unfolded the fragile map revealing all the Juno Beach coastline that Canadians seized from the Germans beginning on June 6, 1944.
“I’ve kept this map all my life, but I want to donate it to your museum” said Henderson, and he handed the map to the clearly moved Benamou.
“Canadian veterans and their families are always bringing important artifacts back to Normandy, so that we don’t forget,” Benamou said. “D-Day is not dead for us. We relive it every day we welcome visitors here.” (more…)
MP Michael Cooper chose to stand with the “Freedom Convoy” demonstrators, whose symbols (including the swastika on the Canadian flag) represent anything but freedom.
He thought he was standing up for rights and freedoms in Canada. And last Saturday, Michael Cooper, the MP for St. Albert-Edmonton constituency, wanted to be seen while saying so. Thousands of people blocked the streets of Ottawa with trucks and demonstrations as part of a so-called “Freedom Convoy” to protest vaccine mandates and other restrictions in response to the COVID pandemic. And Cooper chose to join the demonstrations and speak to the media, which is what all politicians do when they feel they’re on the right side of history.
“(People are) just here to send a message to the prime minister,” Cooper said as the CBC TV camera rolled.
But what the Alberta MP had not planned as part of his few seconds in the limelight was the backdrop to his statement. Fluttering in the breeze immediately behind him was an upside-down Canadian flag which was also desecrated with a swastika. (more…)
He is a veteran. He is the grandson of a veteran. As important to me as anything, however, Klaus Keast, a total stranger, has found a connection that’s brought us together unexpectedly. He recently wrote me an email requesting an autographed copy of my 2019 book Rush to Danger, about military medics. But in addition, he asked if I could acknowledge the military service of his mentor.
“He (was) a Jewish medic, who not only served in WWII,” Keast wrote, “but he also had to fight to be involved in the war effort when initially refused by (anti-Semitic) recruiters.” (more…)
The Reichstag (German Parliament) torched in 1933 by Nazis.
They gathered in front of the presidential building. Business people, magnates and hand-picked allies were invited to attend and listen to their incumbent leader. The country faced a winter election. And those invited, that day, were told their leader would assure them of victory.
“We must stand before the election,” the leader said to the assembly of his faithful. “Regardless of the outcome, there will be no retreat. [If defeated] we will remain in power by other means, with other weapons.”
The date was February 20, 1933. The location was the presidential palace in Berlin. The election was the last election in Germany prior to the World War II. Seven days later, Nazi sympathizers used a secret tunnel to enter Germany’s national assembly building. Inside the Reichstag building, they scattered gasoline and lit the fire that would destroy all but the outer shell of the Parliament (not restored until German reunification in 1990). (more…)
Winston Churchill greets public with signature V-for-Victory signduring Second World War.
It’s come back to me often the past few weeks. It’s the last scene from the movie Darkest Hour. Winston Churchill, just a few weeks into his wartime administration in May 1940, watches across the English Channel as Belgium falls to the Nazis. Then, France falls. Desperately, he entreats thousands of private boat owners in England to retrieve retreating British Army troops – 300,000 of them – from the beaches of Dunkirk. And he contemplates Hitler’s invasion of Britain, delivering in the House of Commons one of many momentous wartime speeches:
“We shall fight on the beaches…” he proclaims. “We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be.” (more…)
I met a couple of teachers, a few years ago. At least, I came to know a little of their lives. There’s not much I can relate. They were both Polish. One was named Jan Ciechanowski, born in March 1882. And Jerzy Brem was born in September 1914, as the Great War began. They both came to the area of Poland, around Krakow, in 1941. Or, more correctly, they were brought there, to the small town of Oswiecim, which elite German armies then occupied. The Nazis renamed the place, Auschwitz. And here’s the way the Nazis’ records summed up those two teachers:
Jan Ciechanowski, teacher.Jerzy Brem, teacher.
“Jan, number 11193, executed Oct. 29, 1941” and “Jerzy, number 10190, executed August 19, 1942.” (more…)
Geraldine Hibbs illustrates how deep into the Bell Island iron ore mine our tour will go.
We met a hundred feet underground. The walls around us consisted of a seam of iron ore. It was about six degrees Celsius in there, but she said the temperature never changed year-round. At one point, when she turned out the lights and lit a single candle, she explained that was all the light miners had during their digging shifts – 10 hours a day, six days a week – year after year.
Then, she made the whole place human. She said her dad had worked there in the 1950s, lost the lower part of his leg in a mining accident, but was able to joke about it.
“He wagered strangers, he could put a foot down in one spot and his other 25 feet away,” she said. “When they bet he couldn’t, he took off his prosthetic foot and tossed it 25 feet away.” (more…)
Gord Kidder, at the memorial to the 50 murdered Great Escape air officers, including his uncle.
Returning home from a recent tour of European battlefields with students, I opened my phone to clear a backlog of emails. There was the usual collection of greetings, ads and enticements. Then, a subject line caught my eye.
“Bring Gord Kidder home!” it said.
Because it had an advertisement feeling to it, I got irritated. Why was my friend Gord Kidder being used in some sort of pitch?
“While Gord Kidder was in Europe recently to take part in ceremonies to honour his uncle, who was a POW in WWII,” the content continued, “he suffered a cerebral haemorrhage…” (more…)
When I left on a short holiday, about 10 days ago, this fall’s municipal election in my home own looked rather dull. While the mayoral contest and the regional council races were shaping up to be competitive, the number of candidates running in our wards left several virtually uncontested and even on the verge of proclaimed winners. Within the span of my holiday, though, the picture changed radically. To quote a friend of mine:
