I have some important news to share.
For two decades, Julian Swartz, a top Scientology ethics official has played a pivotal role in covering up crimes of Scientologists. This includes the sex crimes of Danny Masterson.
But Julian's photo has never been published before. But now, for the first time, I am publishing his photo in a piece I've co-authored with my friend @yashar.
Meet Scientology's obstructor-in-chief. A man who has covered up many crimes involving sexual violence including the molestation of young children.
Please share this far and wide.
Read Our Piece: https://t.co/dfkU1wH0Sw
@Hanifkureishi Oh god. I hate this for you. I know it will get better but I don’t want you to have to wait any longer. I hope you transfer to Threads app when it comes to UK because you’re too classy for this cesspool. Xx
@BCross052422 There is something really wrong with her mind but I guess that comes as no surprise. We can “thank” her for her child becoming who he was
The death of Anadith while in Customs and Border Protection custody is unacceptable.
CBP should have no role in detaining people beyond processing — especially for children and other vulnerable asylum seekers.
I’M COMING HOME!
Dear readers,
A small note before we begin. Since my accident in December which left me without the use of my hands or legs - a considerable inconvenience - I have been writing, via dictation, a weekly dispatch, which you all read and respond to with such love. You have kept me alive.
Please support me by becoming a subscriber on Substack here: https://t.co/pTtWu3gMSS
HOME
Things are looking up. We are definitely leaving here on Tuesday and returning to London at last. Strangely you get attached to places even when you have spent a lot of time lying on your back watching a fly making its way around the ceiling.
Each time I went back to bed I looked out for that fly, wondering where it was and how it was doing. Had I become that fly, making my way around and around the same space, looking for a way out? But I knew there was no way out for the fly. One day it was gone. I looked for it everywhere but it was no use.
Isabella has been interred here with me, scratching the back of my neck, shaving me, filing my toenails, reading to me, feeding me – she says it’s okay if I don’t mention everything – as well as listening to me complain about my situation.
This situation is coming to an end and another situation – perhaps an even more uncomfortable one; we just don’t know, we will find out - will be replacing it. I will be going in a taxi, then in an airplane, then in another taxi.
I’m going to a hospital in West London, followed by another hospital in West London, followed by another facility just outside London. Nothing happens for months, then everything happens at once and you seem to have little idea of what’s going on.
You, dear reader, will be kept informed. There will be many adventures ahead.
This movement has been made possible by Tracey and Charlotte in London, and by Isabella and Giovanna in Italy, as well as by the doctors here, who have been very helpful.
Bureaucratically it has been complicated and frustrating. I’m looking forward to seeing my city again; in fact I am looking forward to seeing anything at all again. For six months I have looked at nothing but this room and the terrace outside the bar area here, which is a very pleasant place to sit and talk with whoever has popped by on that day.
Time has slowed down almost to a standstill, as it does when you are a child. Not that I led an interesting life before my accident, it’s just that I was free. Now I cannot do what I want to do; I am entirely dependent on others and it’s an interesting and painful experiment.
On another note, years ago I read half a book by Cormac McCarthy but had to put it down. I don’t read a lot of fiction. I watch movies, but I don’t much like reading or writing made up stories now. I don’t know why. I read a lot of newspapers, including the shitty ones, and I admire and respect journalists, particularly sports writers, whom I read avidly.
It must be difficult for journalists, all that sticking to the truth and trying to make it interesting; all that chasing after facts, looking things up. As for the Cormac McCarthy, the title of which I forget, it was so good I could hardly bear it. I wanted so much to write as well as that. I couldn’t read any more of it.
I knew I could never be as good and when I went back to writing my own stuff it started to come out like him so I had to put the book down and never went back to it. It knocked me sideways. Some books are just too good to read.
I wonder whether this is the same for other writers.
Lady G has obtained a special permission and tomorrow she is taking us out for lunch in Rome as a rehearsal for our trip back to London. I can’t wait to eat spaghetti alle vongole again and have a glass of wine. My first in six months.
So that is all for now, folks, as we are busy preparing for our exit.
Your loving writer,
Hanif
Trump: First of all, I won in 2020 by a lot
Baier: You lost the 2020 election
Trump: They were counting ballots, not the authenticity of the ballot. The ballots were fake ballots.