Jonathan Thomas

@JonRhysThomas

Dysgwr. Diddordeb ym mhopeth a phawb.

London/Llundain

Joined April 2019

240 Following

60 Followers

288 Posts

Jonathan Thomas @JonRhysThomas

9 days ago

@FriendsRivCrane Thanks for replying and for all the work you do. I bumped into the contractor a couple of weeks ago and they seemed to be taking care in a tight space but the impact on the site was still a bit of a shock

0

1

0

0

13

Jonathan Thomas @JonRhysThomas

9 days ago

@FriendsRivCrane any update on the work at Pevensey/Little Park? Appreciate the works probably needed doing but it's looking pretty depressing with years of litter from the crematorium now lying around

1

0

0

0

24

JonRhysThomas retweeted

The Times of Israel

about 2 months ago

Settlers exhume body of Palestinian they say was buried too close to settlement Family forced to rebury body as IDF soldiers stood by; Palestinian man and young son reportedly attacked by settlers wielding sharp instruments in southern West Bank https://t.co/6lKsBxY6UK

68

335

181

70

57K

JonRhysThomas retweeted

B'Tselem בצלם بتسيلم

about 2 months ago

Thousands of Israelis celebrated Independence Day on the ruins of Ras ‘Ein al-‘Auja, the largest Palestinian community in the Jordan Valley, which the military expelled just months ago with the help of settler militias. The lives of the 125 families in the community – 625 people, 333 of them minors – were violently upended by the Israeli regime. Since October 2023, Israel has expelled 59 entire Palestinian communities and partially expelled 16 more: all in all, 4,510 people driven out of their homes to promote Israel’s policy of ethnic cleansing in the West Bank. See the full list of expelled Palestinian communities >> https://t.co/QrkqikQPA9

68

2K

2K

240

66K

Who to follow

Cymro & Mr Average. Nothing to say here but opinions are purely my own and poorly expressed.

Vincenzo LoSpecchio 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿✊🇺🇦

Jonathan Thomas @JonRhysThomas

2 months ago

@SorrowOfGamer @urbanponds101 I don't think they ever hatched, just stayed as frogspawn for a few weeks then presumably sank/decayed

1

0

0

0

19

JonRhysThomas retweeted

geetathomas @geetathomas1

4 months ago

We demand a full refund & compensation for the agony caused by @airindia’s incompetence. British Consulate consulted; we’ll escalate to NCDRC if not resolved. Accountability is required for this systemic failure. @TimesOfIndia @ConsumerCourtIN @IndiainUK #AirIndia

0

1

1

0

48

JonRhysThomas retweeted

geetathomas @geetathomas1

4 months ago

My 80yo father, a recent spinal surgery patient, and mother were denied water/food in a freezing room after @airindia’s failed document check. They were forced to pay for Economy returns despite holding Business seats. This is a violation of human rights @airindiain @UKinIndia

0

1

1

0

39

JonRhysThomas retweeted

geetathomas @geetathomas1

4 months ago

Appalled by @airindia’s gross negligence (PNR: PQXWZR/FQY1QQ). Gatwick staff wrongly cleared my elderly parents with an expired passport, leading to a traumatic 7hr detention in Amritsar. A massive failure in duty of care. @MoCA_GoI @RammohanNaidu #AirIndia @Honest_Farmer

0

2

2

0

44

Jonathan Thomas @JonRhysThomas

4 months ago

@airindia My in-laws are being detained at Amritsar airport by @airindia having arrived from the UK. Both are OCI card holders and in their 80s with poor health. No support is being given by @airindia which is appalling. Very disappointed by your treatment @PMOIndia @UKinIndia

1

2

0

0

46

JonRhysThomas retweeted

7 months ago

🚨 Footage shows Israeli soldiers executing two young Palestinian men after detaining them in Jenin in the occupied West Bank today — shooting them dead as they stood with their hands raised and posed no threat, outside a home in the city.

378

11K

5K

821

1M

JonRhysThomas retweeted

William Dalrymple

8 months ago

Here is my report from the ancient Palestinian Christian village of Taybeh for @nybooks

45

2K

960

96

70K

JonRhysThomas retweeted

Issa Amro عيسى عمرو 🇵🇸

8 months ago

Video footage showed an Israeli settler and three soldiers taking turns beating, slapping, and assaulting Ahmad Shakarneh 65 Years old , throwing him to the ground while he was harvesting olives with his family in the town of Nahalin near Bethlehem. It is an evidence that the Israeli military is cooperating with the settlers in the West Bank to evict Palestinians from their homes, land and communities.

125

2K

1K

248

178K

JonRhysThomas retweeted

Tom Fletcher @UNReliefChief

8 months ago

Driving on the road from Gaza City to Khan Younis yesterday.

787

12K

4K

1K

4M

JonRhysThomas retweeted

8 months ago

I came back today. I thought I had known despair before, but what I saw today is beyond despair. It is not grief, nor horror, nor pain. It is something colder, a stillness where even God seems to have withdrawn His hand. The sky was impossibly blue. The kind of blue that mocks you, that makes you wonder whether beauty itself is a crime. I walked through streets that no longer exist, streets that were my childhood. They are now a wilderness of stone, wire, and dust. A man stood on a heap, a neighbor, I think. He pointed and said, “It’s here.” I asked him how far. He looked down. And I understood: my house was beneath his feet. I lifted my phone, as if the machine could recognize what I could not. The screen glowed; there was nothing to see. The earth had swallowed the distances. Even the smell of home was gone. It was as if the thread connecting me to life itself had been cut. I dug with my hands. The dust burned. My palms bled. My mother had told me: “Search for anything we can save.” And so I obeyed her like a son obeys the last voice that still believes there is meaning in obedience. From a house that once cost my father one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, a lifetime of labor, of hope, of decency, I found two things: a knife, and a pillow. Two relics of civilization. One for necessity, one for illusion. That is what remains of man. I sat in the ruins, the blue of my shirt turned gray with ash, and I thought: this is the end not of a city, but of meaning itself. I thought of my parents, their hands, their faith in honest work. How will they bear this? How will any man bear seeing his father’s roof turned into dust by a stranger’s hands, hands that will never know the names of those they destroyed? But what tears me apart more than ruin is silence. No one speaks to us. No one tells us where to go, who will rebuild, or who is responsible. The politicians talk of victories, the generals of strategy, the world of peace and progress. But none of them live here among the ashes. None of them stand where I stand, sifting through their own dead. And those who claim to represent us, where are they? Where is the money they collected in our name, the promises they made before the cameras, the slogans they wrote while we buried our children? Who among them will come to this ruin and say: Forgive us, we failed you? Not one. They sit in offices with clean shirts, counting our corpses as figures on paper. They say “reconstruction,” “aid,” “negotiations,” as though the vocabulary of power could fill the emptiness of a mother’s bed. I tell you the truth: there is no crime greater than indifference. The murderer at least acknowledges the victim. But those who look away, they kill the soul itself. I brushed the dust from my shirt, though I knew it was useless. I wanted to see if there was still color left in the world. There wasn’t. The blue had become the color of mourning. I looked at my hands. They were shaking, not from fear, but from the unbearable realization that we have become expendable to the world. Our suffering is entertainment, our death a policy, our endurance a statistic. I wept then, openly, shamelessly. I, who once believed in the dignity of suffering, now see that dignity itself has been annihilated. There is nothing noble in being forgotten. If you are reading this, do not admire the style or the language. Lower your head, and weep. Because this dust, this silence, this cry, is what remains of us.

ezzingaza's tweet photo. I came back today. I thought I had known despair before, but what I saw today is beyond despair.
It is not grief, nor horror, nor pain. It is something colder, a stillness where even God seems to have withdrawn His hand.

The sky was impossibly blue. The kind of blue that mocks you, that makes you wonder whether beauty itself is a crime.
I walked through streets that no longer exist, streets that were my childhood.
They are now a wilderness of stone, wire, and dust.

A man stood on a heap, a neighbor, I think.
He pointed and said, “It’s here.”
I asked him how far.
He looked down.
And I understood: my house was beneath his feet.

I lifted my phone, as if the machine could recognize what I could not. The screen glowed; there was nothing to see. The earth had swallowed the distances. Even the smell of home was gone. It was as if the thread connecting me to life itself had been cut.

I dug with my hands. The dust burned. My palms bled.
My mother had told me: “Search for anything we can save.” And so I obeyed her like a son obeys the last voice that still believes there is meaning in obedience.

From a house that once cost my father one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, a lifetime of labor, of hope, of decency, I found two things:
a knife, and a pillow.

Two relics of civilization. One for necessity, one for illusion.
That is what remains of man.

I sat in the ruins, the blue of my shirt turned gray with ash, and I thought:
this is the end not of a city, but of meaning itself.

I thought of my parents, their hands, their faith in honest work.
How will they bear this? How will any man bear seeing his father’s roof turned into dust by a stranger’s hands, hands that will never know the names of those they destroyed?

But what tears me apart more than ruin is silence. No one speaks to us.
No one tells us where to go, who will rebuild, or who is responsible.
The politicians talk of victories, the generals of strategy, the world of peace and progress.
But none of them live here among the ashes. None of them stand where I stand, sifting through their own dead.

And those who claim to represent us, where are they? Where is the money they collected in our name, the promises they made before the cameras, the slogans they wrote while we buried our children?
Who among them will come to this ruin and say: Forgive us, we failed you?
Not one.

They sit in offices with clean shirts, counting our corpses as figures on paper. They say “reconstruction,” “aid,” “negotiations,” as though the vocabulary of power could fill the emptiness of a mother’s bed.

I tell you the truth: there is no crime greater than indifference.
The murderer at least acknowledges the victim.
But those who look away, they kill the soul itself.

I brushed the dust from my shirt, though I knew it was useless.
I wanted to see if there was still color left in the world.
There wasn’t.
The blue had become the color of mourning.

I looked at my hands. They were shaking, not from fear, but from the unbearable realization that we have become expendable to the world.
Our suffering is entertainment, our death a policy, our endurance a statistic.

I wept then, openly, shamelessly.
I, who once believed in the dignity of suffering, now see that dignity itself has been annihilated.
There is nothing noble in being forgotten.

If you are reading this, do not admire the style or the language.
Lower your head, and weep.
Because this dust, this silence, this cry, is what remains of us.

ezzingaza's tweet photo. I came back today. I thought I had known despair before, but what I saw today is beyond despair.
It is not grief, nor horror, nor pain. It is something colder, a stillness where even God seems to have withdrawn His hand.

The sky was impossibly blue. The kind of blue that mocks you, that makes you wonder whether beauty itself is a crime.
I walked through streets that no longer exist, streets that were my childhood.
They are now a wilderness of stone, wire, and dust.

A man stood on a heap, a neighbor, I think.
He pointed and said, “It’s here.”
I asked him how far.
He looked down.
And I understood: my house was beneath his feet.

I lifted my phone, as if the machine could recognize what I could not. The screen glowed; there was nothing to see. The earth had swallowed the distances. Even the smell of home was gone. It was as if the thread connecting me to life itself had been cut.

I dug with my hands. The dust burned. My palms bled.
My mother had told me: “Search for anything we can save.” And so I obeyed her like a son obeys the last voice that still believes there is meaning in obedience.

From a house that once cost my father one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, a lifetime of labor, of hope, of decency, I found two things:
a knife, and a pillow.

Two relics of civilization. One for necessity, one for illusion.
That is what remains of man.

I sat in the ruins, the blue of my shirt turned gray with ash, and I thought:
this is the end not of a city, but of meaning itself.

I thought of my parents, their hands, their faith in honest work.
How will they bear this? How will any man bear seeing his father’s roof turned into dust by a stranger’s hands, hands that will never know the names of those they destroyed?

But what tears me apart more than ruin is silence. No one speaks to us.
No one tells us where to go, who will rebuild, or who is responsible.
The politicians talk of victories, the generals of strategy, the world of peace and progress.
But none of them live here among the ashes. None of them stand where I stand, sifting through their own dead.

And those who claim to represent us, where are they? Where is the money they collected in our name, the promises they made before the cameras, the slogans they wrote while we buried our children?
Who among them will come to this ruin and say: Forgive us, we failed you?
Not one.

They sit in offices with clean shirts, counting our corpses as figures on paper. They say “reconstruction,” “aid,” “negotiations,” as though the vocabulary of power could fill the emptiness of a mother’s bed.

I tell you the truth: there is no crime greater than indifference.
The murderer at least acknowledges the victim.
But those who look away, they kill the soul itself.

I brushed the dust from my shirt, though I knew it was useless.
I wanted to see if there was still color left in the world.
There wasn’t.
The blue had become the color of mourning.

I looked at my hands. They were shaking, not from fear, but from the unbearable realization that we have become expendable to the world.
Our suffering is entertainment, our death a policy, our endurance a statistic.

I wept then, openly, shamelessly.
I, who once believed in the dignity of suffering, now see that dignity itself has been annihilated.
There is nothing noble in being forgotten.

If you are reading this, do not admire the style or the language.
Lower your head, and weep.
Because this dust, this silence, this cry, is what remains of us.

ezzingaza's tweet photo. I came back today. I thought I had known despair before, but what I saw today is beyond despair.
It is not grief, nor horror, nor pain. It is something colder, a stillness where even God seems to have withdrawn His hand.

The sky was impossibly blue. The kind of blue that mocks you, that makes you wonder whether beauty itself is a crime.
I walked through streets that no longer exist, streets that were my childhood.
They are now a wilderness of stone, wire, and dust.

A man stood on a heap, a neighbor, I think.
He pointed and said, “It’s here.”
I asked him how far.
He looked down.
And I understood: my house was beneath his feet.

I lifted my phone, as if the machine could recognize what I could not. The screen glowed; there was nothing to see. The earth had swallowed the distances. Even the smell of home was gone. It was as if the thread connecting me to life itself had been cut.

I dug with my hands. The dust burned. My palms bled.
My mother had told me: “Search for anything we can save.” And so I obeyed her like a son obeys the last voice that still believes there is meaning in obedience.

From a house that once cost my father one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, a lifetime of labor, of hope, of decency, I found two things:
a knife, and a pillow.

Two relics of civilization. One for necessity, one for illusion.
That is what remains of man.

I sat in the ruins, the blue of my shirt turned gray with ash, and I thought:
this is the end not of a city, but of meaning itself.

I thought of my parents, their hands, their faith in honest work.
How will they bear this? How will any man bear seeing his father’s roof turned into dust by a stranger’s hands, hands that will never know the names of those they destroyed?

But what tears me apart more than ruin is silence. No one speaks to us.
No one tells us where to go, who will rebuild, or who is responsible.
The politicians talk of victories, the generals of strategy, the world of peace and progress.
But none of them live here among the ashes. None of them stand where I stand, sifting through their own dead.

And those who claim to represent us, where are they? Where is the money they collected in our name, the promises they made before the cameras, the slogans they wrote while we buried our children?
Who among them will come to this ruin and say: Forgive us, we failed you?
Not one.

They sit in offices with clean shirts, counting our corpses as figures on paper. They say “reconstruction,” “aid,” “negotiations,” as though the vocabulary of power could fill the emptiness of a mother’s bed.

I tell you the truth: there is no crime greater than indifference.
The murderer at least acknowledges the victim.
But those who look away, they kill the soul itself.

I brushed the dust from my shirt, though I knew it was useless.
I wanted to see if there was still color left in the world.
There wasn’t.
The blue had become the color of mourning.

I looked at my hands. They were shaking, not from fear, but from the unbearable realization that we have become expendable to the world.
Our suffering is entertainment, our death a policy, our endurance a statistic.

I wept then, openly, shamelessly.
I, who once believed in the dignity of suffering, now see that dignity itself has been annihilated.
There is nothing noble in being forgotten.

If you are reading this, do not admire the style or the language.
Lower your head, and weep.
Because this dust, this silence, this cry, is what remains of us.

665

11K

5K

1K

356K

JonRhysThomas retweeted

Patrick Corrigan @PatrickCorrigan

9 months ago

“They make a desert and call it peace.” - Tacitus

2K

28K

11K

2K

2M

JonRhysThomas retweeted

State of Palestine

9 months ago

On this day 25 years ago, the world watched, as Jamal al-Durrah tried to protect his 12-year-old son Muhammad from Israeli bullets that rained down on them in Gaza for 40 minutes. Despite pleads, Israeli soldiers intentionally shot Muhammad in the stomach- whose final moments of fear and horror were caught on camera and streamed by France TV, and injured his father. Muhammad became the defining and haunting image of the Second Intifada.

Palestine_UN's tweet photo. On this day 25 years ago, the world watched, as Jamal al-Durrah tried to protect his 12-year-old son Muhammad from Israeli bullets that rained down on them in Gaza for 40 minutes. Despite pleads, Israeli soldiers intentionally shot Muhammad in the stomach- whose final moments of fear and horror were caught on camera and streamed by France TV, and injured his father.

Muhammad became the defining and haunting image of the Second Intifada.

719

84K

25K

4K

5M

JonRhysThomas retweeted

Gaza Notifications @gazanotice

9 months ago

🚨Beit Hanoun in northern Gaza has been completely destroyed by the Israeli army.

gazanotice's tweet photo. 🚨Beit Hanoun in northern Gaza has been completely destroyed by the Israeli army. https://t.co/JwLDPCVoFg

148

3K

2K

222

795K

JonRhysThomas retweeted

William Dalrymple

9 months ago

Netanayahu's government is trying to drive the Christian Armenians out of their quarter of Jerusalem

163

9K

4K

610

318K

JonRhysThomas retweeted

10 months ago

Israeli forces have destroyed nearly the entire Christian quarter of Gaza city This is all that remains of the Al-Zeitoun neighborhood, only two churches remain standing, where the christians are taking shelter

498

10K

7K

815

305K

Last Seen Users on Sotwe

Trends for you

Most Popular Users