In an alley where lanterns lean low to the wall, And shadows lace gently across evening’s shawl, A voice like warm velvet begins to arise A sigh wrapped in music, a tear in disguise.
Fado, they call it the song of the street, Where sorrow and beauty in silence meet. A woman in black with a lantern of flame, Sings of lost sailors and love without name.
Her voice climbs the stones, where the old trams have been, Where laundry sways softly and hearts have grown thin. A guitar responds with a tender refrain, Like waves kissing rooftops again and again.
It’s not joy, not quite sorrow it lives in between, In the corners of cafes, where time is unseen. It lingers in hearts like a kiss that won’t fade, A memory worn, but never betrayed.
Fado remembers the ones who have gone, The night with no moon, the silence at dawn. But still it keeps singing, both broken and bold A story of Lisbon forever retold.
So sit by the window, let your thoughts drift away, To a city that sings even after the day. And if you should weep, let it be soft and slow For Fado is weeping, and wants you to know.
He came with a grin like a curtain call, A crown of lies, a voice too tall. He promised light, he sold the stars, Then paved the streets with prison bars.
He whispered sweet to aching pride, “You’ve been forgotten, cast aside.” He kissed the flag with fevered lips, While freedom sank in sinking ships.
He fed the rich, he starved the poor, Then blamed the weak, and locked the door. A gilded cage he called a dream, Where justice choked on silent screams.
He built a throne on blame and spite, Turned neighbours into things to fight. He made the truth a bitter joke, Then laughed as bridges turned to smoke.
His name in lights, his hands in gold, He sold the past, the brave, the bold. And though the world around him burns, He spins and smiles, and the crowd still turns.
For some are blind, not by the night, But by a man who dims the light. A showman’s charm, a hollow hymn The country bows, but not to Him.
As right-wing political movements continue to gain momentum across parts of the Western world, human rights experts and civil society groups are sounding the alarm over a growing culture of fear, division, and institutional cruelty. Critics argue that while the language of law and order may appeal to some voters, the long-term consequences of these ideologies are dangerous for both democracy and the social wellbeing of all citizens.
One of the starkest examples comes from the United States, where agencies such as Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) have become symbols of heavy-handed enforcement under right-wing administrations. Reports of mass detentions, family separations, and the criminalisation of asylum seekers have raised international concern. “When political leaders promote fear of the ‘other,’ institutions like ICE are not just upholding the law—they’re enforcing an ideology that sees some lives as less valuable than others,” said a spokesperson from the Human Rights Coalition.
But the impact of this political shift doesn’t stop at the institutional level. Experts warn that the growing normalisation of divisive rhetoric and punitive policies encourages everyday bullying and hate. “We’ve seen a sharp rise in racially motivated attacks, anti-LGBTQ+ incidents, and general intolerance in schools and public spaces,” said community advocate Carla Reyes. “When leaders model cruelty and exclusion, it gives permission for others to follow suit.” As democratic values such as inclusion, justice, and compassion come under strain, many are urging citizens to remain vigilant, speak out, and stand up for the vulnerable—before the damage becomes irreversible.
In an era ruled by digital convenience and high-tech innovation, the massive power outage that affected Portugal (I was in Portugal) and parts of Spain was more than just a temporary inconvenience—it was a stark reminder of our increasing dependence on technology and the risks that come with it. As cities went dark, transport systems halted, and communication lines went silent, people found themselves disoriented and unprepared. This unexpected blackout has become a powerful symbol of the need to hold on to “old school” tools, methods, and mindsets that are too often discarded in favour of modernity.
The power outage, believed to have been caused by a failure in the high-voltage electrical network, exposed just how vulnerable modern societies are when basic services are stripped away. Daily routines—like navigating cities using GPS, paying for goods with cards, or even accessing emergency services—became immediate challenges. In these moments, the absence of simple backup systems was keenly felt. For many, it was the first time they realised that having a paper map, a torch that doesn’t require charging, a battery-powered radio, or even a notepad and pencil could be lifesaving tools. (Most of us don’t even know how to use a paper map!) I had a solar-powered radio handy, which I tuned in to learn about yesterday’s events.
We live in a time where convenience is king. Cloud storage replaces paper documents, smart home systems run everything from heating to lighting, and digital communication has replaced hand-written letters or landline conversations. Yet, when power vanishes, all this innovation can become useless in seconds. If the outage taught us anything, it’s that the best plan for the future includes a respect for the past. Personally, I have a print copy of important stuff, and I don’t like using any “clouds” .
Schools once taught children how to read analogue clocks, write in cursive, and use encyclopaedias. Today, many of those skills are viewed as outdated. But when the digital world goes down, the analogue world steps in. A mechanical watch still tells time. A hand-cranked can opener still gets you food. A book doesn’t need batteries. These “old school” objects are more than just relics—they’re reliable lifelines in times of crisis. I love going old school, but as a 63-year-old, I have watched from old school to modern AI-driven internet exposure on every level!
Moreover, the outage highlighted a deeper truth: resilience lies in diversity, not dependence. Depending solely on a fragile power grid, a single internet provider, or one mode of transport is a recipe for vulnerability. Old-school tools and practices offer diversity in our systems. They provide a kind of human infrastructure—simple, sturdy, and ready to be used when the lights go out. In Lisbon and other areas, when we lost internet and electricity, they sat on the grass, talking, no heads bowed into a screen! How cool was that! I think everyone needed that 8-hour break!
Let us also not forget the emotional value of old-school practices. Writing a letter by hand during a power outage might offer comfort. Playing board games by candlelight brings families together. Reading a book by the window, rather than scrolling through a screen, offers peace. These are not just backups—they’re beautiful alternatives. And no light pollution, that was pretty, watching the sunset in darkness, the power of nature, eh!
The Portugal and Spain power outage should not be dismissed as a passing inconvenience but remembered as a wake-up call. As we race forward with technology, we must also look back and gather the tools, skills, and mindsets that helped generations before us endure uncertainty. Keeping old-school things handy isn’t about resisting change—it’s about being prepared, being grounded, and recognising the enduring power of the simple things in life. The lights may go out again, but with the right tools—both modern and old-fashioned—we don’t have to be left in the dark. I would assume that after this happened ,things might change, and better alternatives might come into play. Whatever your thoughts are on this ,I think having modern and old school side by side is essential.
A shadow creeps where light once lay, A poison seeps into the day. Once hands were clasped in human grace, Now fear divides and scars replace. The echoes of the past return, Old lessons are taught, yet none we learn. They build their walls, they mark their lines, With hollow words and hollow spines. And watch as justice bends and falls. They paint their hatred in disguise, Yet we see through their veiled replies. The colour fades from hopeful dreams, Replaced by cold and broken schemes. A love once free is bound in chains, As tyranny reclaims its reigns. But still, we rise; we will not bow, Not then, not ever—not now. For love will burn through the darkest night, And truth will stand, and truth will fight. So let them shout, let them conspire, We’ll fan the flames, ignite the fire. For though they try to make us small, Love and justice rise for all. JH
Upon the field where dark and light contend, The good stands tall with honor shining bright. Yet shadows creep where wicked hearts descend, Their whispers laced with promises of night.
The noble soul, though burdened, does not yield, For truth and kindness forge a mighty blade. While evil seeks to poison every field, Its schemes dissolve when love will not degrade.
Though battles rage and tempests tear the sky, The dawn will chase the blackest night away. For even when the purest hearts must cry, Their light remains, untouched by dark’s decay.
Thus good endures, though evil sways the land, For justice lives where steadfast warriors stand.
Julan62 