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The Sky is Not Ours
Life Under Drones in South Lebanon
The buzz of drones overhead has become part of daily life in South Lebanon, an ever-present reminder of the danger that looms from the sky.
The distressing noise is meant to remind us that even the simplest acts — a farmer tending his land, a shepherd guiding his flock, a beekeeper checking on hives, or someone repairing a broken water pipe — can be deemed suspicious. Children who once played freely on the hilltops no longer roam outside, and even something as innocent as sitting beneath a tree for a picnic can carry risk.
At any moment, settlers who claim the sky as theirs can issue a death sentence with a single click.
Under Constant Watch
Not that fighter jets are any less worrisome; their presence is just as dangerous, but it is usually fleeting, and they won’t become your shadow.
Drones, on the other hand, linger. They hover over a community day after day, their operators often sitting hundreds of kilometers away from the people they target. From that safe distance, killing becomes like a video game. Humans are reduced to moving dots on a screen, data to be processed and categorized. With the press of a button, lives are erased. This physical distance strips away hesitation, making killing impersonal and detached.
The dehumanization of Indigenous people is the very foundation of colonialism, but drones push it to a new extreme. A settler intent on killing will do so whether seated in a cockpit or far from the target, yet a pilot physically in an aircraft, flying over their victims, is more directly engaged in the act. They face at least some degree of risk and exposure — factors that may influence their decisions in ways remote drone operators never have to confront.
What makes drones even more insidious is that their mission doesn’t end with killing; they stalk. They are instruments of mass surveillance, tracking our every gesture through facial recognition systems and AI-driven cameras. They gather intelligence by monitoring daily routines, mapping movement patterns, recording when and where people go, and who they meet. All of this is compiled into vast databases, cross- referenced, and analyzed by algorithms coded by the colonizer.
Psychological Warfare
When they are not killing, drones serve another purpose: to erode morale and crush the spirit. Their constant buzzing seeps into the nervous system, triggering a state of continuous alertness—heart racing, muscles tensed, sleep disrupted. Even in moments of silence, the sound haunts the mind, keeping the body on edge and creating an unrelenting atmosphere of distress from which there is no escape.
More than anything, these drones are instruments of psychological warfare. At times, they hover low, rattling bedroom windows, peering into homes, stripping away any sense of privacy. In some cases, they use audio to address people directly, threatening them, hurling insults, or mocking them. The tactic is clear: to remind everyone that the occupier’s watch is inescapable, that they can hunt you anywhere, at any time, and make life simply unbearable.
Lest we forget, there were the chilling reports from the Nuseirat Camp in central Gaza: Israeli drones blaring the cries of infants to lure people out. Believing a child was in danger, residents would rush to find the source, only to be targeted and killed by the drone.
Controlling Movement
In Gaza, drones have been used near aid centers, tents, and hospitals to enforce invisible lines that Palestinians cannot cross. These no-go zones are placed in areas Israel seeks to empty, making drones tools of displacement. They dictate movement from above as a method of ethnic cleansing.
The threat is persistent. When people live in constant fear that crossing an unseen boundary could mean instant death, their movement gradually shrinks. Fewer people visit markets, seasonal harvests go uncollected, and travel between villages stops altogether. This enforced immobility erodes any sense of normalcy, weakening social bonds as neighbors begin to avoid one another.
Eroding Trust
In South Lebanon, kinship is the backbone of community life. Families, neighbors, and friends rely on each other for collective work, mutual aid, and emotional support. But drones corrode that trust, sowing doubt between neighbors and making people question even those they have known all their lives. The fear of being linked to someone under surveillance fuels paranoia and drives people into isolation. Cooperative work in the fields stops, and gatherings fade away. Over time, these bonds dissolve, as people fear that simply being near a loved one could make them the next target.
This also disrupts cultural practices that have evolved over thousands of years in relationship with the land; traditions rooted in collectivity and intertwined with the rhythms of the seasons. These include the shared labor of picking olives, making mouneh, organizing village festivals, and even the simple act of gathering over coffee. When drones confine people indoors, they sever the cultural and social lifelines that have held communities together.
Alienation from the Land
The goal is that, over time, even when the drone is not killing, the relationship between people and land becomes defined by fear rather than trust. The interconnectedness between Indigenous communities and their territory is eroded as they are forced to distance themselves from it for survival. This is colonialism’s gradual alienation: when you are made to feel like a stranger in the very land that bore you. You begin to detach from the geography that holds your identity, weakening the foundations of your existence.
Alongside this alienation, the ecological consequences remain unknown. How the persistent drone buzzing affects wildlife, ecosystems, and biodiversity has yet to be studied.
{
"article":
{
"title" : "The Sky is Not Ours: Life Under Drones in South Lebanon",
"author" : "Sarah Sinno",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/drones-south-lebanon",
"date" : "2025-09-08 10:05:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/drone.jpg",
"excerpt" : "The buzz of drones overhead has become part of daily life in South Lebanon, an ever-present reminder of the danger that looms from the sky.",
"content" : "The buzz of drones overhead has become part of daily life in South Lebanon, an ever-present reminder of the danger that looms from the sky.The distressing noise is meant to remind us that even the simplest acts — a farmer tending his land, a shepherd guiding his flock, a beekeeper checking on hives, or someone repairing a broken water pipe — can be deemed suspicious. Children who once played freely on the hilltops no longer roam outside, and even something as innocent as sitting beneath a tree for a picnic can carry risk.At any moment, settlers who claim the sky as theirs can issue a death sentence with a single click.Under Constant WatchNot that fighter jets are any less worrisome; their presence is just as dangerous, but it is usually fleeting, and they won’t become your shadow.Drones, on the other hand, linger. They hover over a community day after day, their operators often sitting hundreds of kilometers away from the people they target. From that safe distance, killing becomes like a video game. Humans are reduced to moving dots on a screen, data to be processed and categorized. With the press of a button, lives are erased. This physical distance strips away hesitation, making killing impersonal and detached.The dehumanization of Indigenous people is the very foundation of colonialism, but drones push it to a new extreme. A settler intent on killing will do so whether seated in a cockpit or far from the target, yet a pilot physically in an aircraft, flying over their victims, is more directly engaged in the act. They face at least some degree of risk and exposure — factors that may influence their decisions in ways remote drone operators never have to confront.What makes drones even more insidious is that their mission doesn’t end with killing; they stalk. They are instruments of mass surveillance, tracking our every gesture through facial recognition systems and AI-driven cameras. They gather intelligence by monitoring daily routines, mapping movement patterns, recording when and where people go, and who they meet. All of this is compiled into vast databases, cross- referenced, and analyzed by algorithms coded by the colonizer.Psychological WarfareWhen they are not killing, drones serve another purpose: to erode morale and crush the spirit. Their constant buzzing seeps into the nervous system, triggering a state of continuous alertness—heart racing, muscles tensed, sleep disrupted. Even in moments of silence, the sound haunts the mind, keeping the body on edge and creating an unrelenting atmosphere of distress from which there is no escape.More than anything, these drones are instruments of psychological warfare. At times, they hover low, rattling bedroom windows, peering into homes, stripping away any sense of privacy. In some cases, they use audio to address people directly, threatening them, hurling insults, or mocking them. The tactic is clear: to remind everyone that the occupier’s watch is inescapable, that they can hunt you anywhere, at any time, and make life simply unbearable.Lest we forget, there were the chilling reports from the Nuseirat Camp in central Gaza: Israeli drones blaring the cries of infants to lure people out. Believing a child was in danger, residents would rush to find the source, only to be targeted and killed by the drone.Controlling MovementIn Gaza, drones have been used near aid centers, tents, and hospitals to enforce invisible lines that Palestinians cannot cross. These no-go zones are placed in areas Israel seeks to empty, making drones tools of displacement. They dictate movement from above as a method of ethnic cleansing.The threat is persistent. When people live in constant fear that crossing an unseen boundary could mean instant death, their movement gradually shrinks. Fewer people visit markets, seasonal harvests go uncollected, and travel between villages stops altogether. This enforced immobility erodes any sense of normalcy, weakening social bonds as neighbors begin to avoid one another.Eroding TrustIn South Lebanon, kinship is the backbone of community life. Families, neighbors, and friends rely on each other for collective work, mutual aid, and emotional support. But drones corrode that trust, sowing doubt between neighbors and making people question even those they have known all their lives. The fear of being linked to someone under surveillance fuels paranoia and drives people into isolation. Cooperative work in the fields stops, and gatherings fade away. Over time, these bonds dissolve, as people fear that simply being near a loved one could make them the next target.This also disrupts cultural practices that have evolved over thousands of years in relationship with the land; traditions rooted in collectivity and intertwined with the rhythms of the seasons. These include the shared labor of picking olives, making mouneh, organizing village festivals, and even the simple act of gathering over coffee. When drones confine people indoors, they sever the cultural and social lifelines that have held communities together.Alienation from the LandThe goal is that, over time, even when the drone is not killing, the relationship between people and land becomes defined by fear rather than trust. The interconnectedness between Indigenous communities and their territory is eroded as they are forced to distance themselves from it for survival. This is colonialism’s gradual alienation: when you are made to feel like a stranger in the very land that bore you. You begin to detach from the geography that holds your identity, weakening the foundations of your existence.Alongside this alienation, the ecological consequences remain unknown. How the persistent drone buzzing affects wildlife, ecosystems, and biodiversity has yet to be studied."
}
,
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{
"title" : "Black Liberation Views on Palestine",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "essays",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/black-liberation-on-palestine",
"date" : "2025-10-17 09:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/mandela-keffiyeh.jpg",
"excerpt" : "",
"content" : "In understanding global politics, it is important to look at Black liberation struggles as one important source of moral perspective. So, when looking at Palestine, we look to Black leaders to see how they perceived the Palestinian struggle in relation to theirs, from the 1960’s to today.Why must we understand where the injustice lies? Because, as Desmond Tutu famously said, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor.”{% for person in site.data.quotes-black-liberation-palestine %}{{ person.name }}{% for quote in person.quotes %}“{{ quote.text }}”{% if quote.source %}— {{ quote.source }}{% endif %}{% endfor %}{% endfor %}"
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{
"title" : "First Anniversary Celebration of EIP",
"author" : "EIP Editors",
"category" : "events",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/1st-anniversary-of-eip",
"date" : "2025-10-14 18:01:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/WSA_EIP_Launch_Cover.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Celebrating One Year of Independent Publishing",
"content" : "Celebrating One Year of Independent PublishingJoin Everything is Political on November 21st for the launch of our End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine.This members-only evening will feature a benefit dinner, cocktails, and live performances in celebration of a year of independent media, critical voices, and collective resistance.The EventNovember 21, 2025, 7-11pmLower Manhattan, New YorkLaunching our End-of-Year Special Edition MagazineSpecial appearances and performancesFood & Drink includedTickets are extremely limited, reserve yours now!Become an annual print member: get x back issues of EIP, receive the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine, and come to the Anniversary Celebration.$470Already a member? Sign in to get your special offer. Buy Ticket $150 Just $50 ! and get the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine Buy ticket $150 and get the End-of-Year Special Edition Magazine "
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{
"title" : "Miu Miu Transforms the Apron From Trad Wife to Boss Lady: The sexiest thing in Paris was a work garment",
"author" : "Khaoula Ghanem",
"category" : "",
"url" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/readings/miu-miu-transforms-the-apron-from-trad-wife-to-boss-lady",
"date" : "2025-10-14 13:05:00 -0400",
"img" : "https://everythingispolitical.com/uploads/Cover_EIP_MiuMiu_Apron.jpg",
"excerpt" : "Miuccia Prada has a habit of taking the least “fashion” thing in the room and making it the argument. For Spring 2026 at Miu Miu, the argument is the apron; staged not as a coy retro flourish but as a total system. The show’s mise-en-scène read like a canteen or factory floor with melamine-like tables, rationalist severity, a whiff of cleaning fluid. In other words, a runway designed to force a conversation about labor before any sparkle could distract us.",
"content" : "Miuccia Prada has a habit of taking the least “fashion” thing in the room and making it the argument. For Spring 2026 at Miu Miu, the argument is the apron; staged not as a coy retro flourish but as a total system. The show’s mise-en-scène read like a canteen or factory floor with melamine-like tables, rationalist severity, a whiff of cleaning fluid. In other words, a runway designed to force a conversation about labor before any sparkle could distract us.From the opening look—German actress Sandra Hüller in a utilitarian deep-blue apron layered over a barn jacket and neat blue shirting—the thesis was loud: the “cover” becomes the thing itself. As silhouettes marched on, aprons multiplied and mutated—industrial drill cotton with front pockets, raw canvas, taffeta and cloqué silk, lace-edged versions that flirted with lingerie, even black leather and crystal-studded incarnations that reframed function as ornament. What the apron traditionally shields (clothes, bodies, “the good dress”) was inverted; the protection became the prized surface. Prada herself spelled it out: “The apron is my favorite piece of clothing… it symbolizes women, from factories through to serving to the home.”Miu Miu Spring 2026 Ready-to-Wear. SuppliedThis inversion matters historically. The apron’s earliest fashion-adjacent life was industrial. It served as a barrier against grease, heat, stain. It was a token of paid and unpaid care. Miu Miu tapped that lineage directly (canvas, work belts, D-ring hardware), then sliced it against domestic codes (florals, ruffles, crochet), and finally pushed into nightlife with bejeweled and leather bibs. The garment’s migration across materials made its social migrations visible. It is a kitchen apron, yes, but also one for labs, hospitals, and factories; the set and styling insisted on that plurality.What makes the apron such a loaded emblem is not just what it covers, but what it reveals about who has always been working. Before industrialization formalized labor into factory shifts and wages, women were already performing invisible labour, the kind that doesn’t exist on payrolls but sits at the foundation of every functioning society. They were cooking, cleaning, raising children, nursing the ill. These tasks were foundational to every economy and yet absent from every ledger. Even when women entered the industrial workforce, from textile plants to wartime assembly lines, their domestic responsibilities did not disappear, they doubled. In that context, the apron here is a quiet manifesto for the strength that goes unrecorded, unthanked, and yet keeps civilization running.The algorithmic rise of the “tradwife,” the influencer economy that packages domesticity as soft power, is the contemporary cultural shadow here. Miu Miu’s apron refuses that rehearsal. In fact, it’s intentionally awkward—oversized, undone, worn over bikinis or with sturdy shoes—so the viewer can’t flatten it into Pinterest-ready nostalgia. Critics noted the collection as a reclamation, a rebuttal to the flattening forces of the feed: the apron as a uniform for endurance rather than submission. The show notes framed it simply as “a consideration of the work of women,” a reminder that the invisible economies of effort—paid, unpaid, emotional—still structure daily life.If that sounds unusually explicit for a luxury runway, consider the designer. Prada trained as a mime at Milan’s Piccolo Teatro, earned a PhD in political science, joined the Italian Communist Party, and was active in the women’s rights movement in 1970s Milan. Those facts are not trivia; they are the grammar of her clothes. Decades of “ugly chic” were, essentially, a slow campaign against easy consumption and default beauty. In 2026, the apron becomes the newest dialect. An emblem drawn from leftist feminist history, recoded into a product that still has to sell. That tension—belief versus business—is the Miuccia paradox, and it’s precisely why these aprons read as statements, not trends.The runway narrative traced a journey from function to fetish. Early looks were squarely utilitarian—thick cottons, pocketed bibs—before migrating toward fragility and sparkle. Lace aprons laid transparently over swimmers; crystal-studded aprons slipped across cocktail territory; leather apron-dresses stiffened posture into armor. The sequencing proposed the same silhouette can encode labor, intimacy, and spectacle depending on fabrication. If most brands smuggle “workwear” in as set dressing, Miu Miu forced it onto the body as the central garment and an unmissable reminder that the feminine is often asked to be both shield and display at once.It’s instructive to read this collection against the house’s last mega-viral object: the micro-mini of Spring 2022, a pleated, raw-hem wafer that colonized timelines and magazine covers. That skirt’s thesis was exposure—hip bones and hemlines as post-lockdown spectacle, Y2K nostalgia framed as liberation-lite. The apron, ironically, covers. Where the micro-mini trafficked in the optics of freedom (and the speed of virality), the apron asks about the conditions that make freedom possible: who launders, who cooks, who cares? To move from “look at me” to “who is working here?” is a pivot from optics to ethics, without abandoning desire. (The aprons are, after all, deeply covetable.) In a platform economy that still rewards the shortest hemline with the biggest click-through, this is a sophisticated counter-program.Yet the designer is not romanticizing toil. There’s wit in the ruffles and perversity in the crystals; neither negate labor, they metabolize it. The most striking image is the apron treated as couture-adjacent. Traditionally, an apron protects the precious thing beneath; here, the apron is the precious thing. You could call that hypocrisy—luxurizing the uniform of workers. Or, strategy, insisting that the symbols of care and effort deserve visibility and investment.Of course, none of this exists in a vacuum. The “tradwife” script thrives because it is aesthetically legible and commercially scalable. It packages gender ideology as moodboard. Miu Miu counters with garments whose legibility flickers. The collection’s best looks ask viewers to reconcile tenderness with toughness, convenience with care, which is exactly the mental choreography demanded of women in every context from office to home to online.If you wanted a season-defining “It” item, you’ll still find it. The apron is poised to proliferate across fast-fashion and luxury alike. But the deeper success is structural: Miu Miu re-centered labor as an aesthetic category. That’s rarer than a viral skirt. It’s a reminder that clothes don’t merely decorate life, they describe and negotiate it. In making the apron the subject rather than the prop, Prada turned a garment of service into a platform for agency. It’s precisely the kind of cultural recursion you’d expect from a designer shaped by feminist politics, who never stopped treating fashion as an instrument of thought as much as style.The last image to hold onto is deceptively simple: a woman in an apron, neither fetishized nor infantilized, striding, hands free. Not a costume for nostalgia, not a meme for the feed, but a working uniform reframed, respected, and suddenly, undeniably beautiful. That is Miu Miu’s provocation for Spring 2026: the work behind the work, made visible at last."
}
]
}