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I'd like to share a story, a personal story, a common story, an American story. For nearly two decades, I have carried the burden of a crushing student loan debt, well over six figures and impossible for me to fathom paying off in this lifetime. While I have written before about debt in a more generalized sense -- advocating for a "Jubilee" as the ultimate stimulus and a chance for all of us to start anew -- I've never connected it publicly to my own plight. The reasons are complex, but have to do with fear, fear of vulnerability, fear of judgment.
I'd like to share a story, a personal story, a common story, an American story. For nearly two decades, I have carried the burden of a crushing student loan debt, well over six figures and impossible for me to fathom paying off in this lifetime. While I have written before about debt in a more generalized sense -- advocating for a "Jubilee" as the ultimate stimulus and a chance for all of us to start anew -- I've never connected it publicly to my own plight. The reasons are complex, but have to do with fear, fear of vulnerability, fear of judgment. I suspect that many people burdened by debt feel similarly and are often constrained to bear the pressures silently.
My story is relatively straightforward. I attended a private college (majoring in physics and astronomy, which did not yield any obvious career potential for me) and then a private law school. After clerking for a federal judge for a year, I was hired in the fall of 1992 to work at a large corporate law firm in mid-town Manhattan, complete with the accoutrements of privilege and compensation. I seemingly "had it all," at least on the outside, and any rumblings of discontent -- after a lifetime of being a working-class person -- seemed somehow ungrateful.
Still, a series of events eventually forced that discontentment to the surface. Working for corporate polluters, white-collar criminals, militaristic multinationals, and the like can have its deleterious effects on one's psyche, no matter what it pays at the end of the month. I realized in fairly rapid fashion (about ten minutes, actually, even though it took me ten months to extricate myself from the firm) that I could not separate my ethics from my earnings or my morals from my meals. I wanted to work with people, not for (or even against) them, and likewise had a strong desire to try and make the world a better place rather than the worsening one experienced by the vast majority of people.
In the end, the expensive suits and loft apartment couldn't mask the fact that my soul was sick and my spirit dying. Yes, I could have worked at the high-powered firm for five to seven years (which sounds like a prison sentence, in retrospect) and likely paid off my debts, and then written my own ticket (financially speaking) after that -- but the implicit (and carefully concealed) violence I would have done to human and ecological systems in the process simply made the cost too high. Indeed, it is mainly the manner in which our lives are shielded from the true costs of our actions and choices that makes modern society even possible to endure, and it is the steady erosion of this thin veil of constructed ignorance that is beginning to alter the widespread "false consciousness" in ways that are simultaneously horrifying and promising.
One of the experiences that helped prompt me to walk out the door and never look back was the nascent friendship I had randomly struck up with a homeless man on the streets of the city. I didn't realize it fully at the time, but his impact on me was as great as any person's in my life, and he'll likely never know it. The emerging realization of this came to me one day when some colleagues from the firm saw me having lunch with my homeless friend, and afterwards commented to me how nice it was that I was trying to "save" him. I thought about this for a minute, and (in a moment of personal recognition) replied that "he's actually saving me."
A few weeks later, I had quit my high-paying job, sold most of my belongings, and had nothing but the unknown road ahead. I spent the next couple of years mostly car-camping, sleeping rough, staying with friends, eating potatoes, bartering, writing bad poetry, making music, getting healthier in my own skin, following signs (literal and figurative), and otherwise chasing rainbows. I also used the time to plant the seeds of the next chapter in my life, which serendipitously emerged in the opportunity to attend graduate school and pursue a doctorate in Justice Studies. While ambivalent about the institutional nature of this move, I realized that it had the potential to allow me to reclaim my core values while still participating more directly in the world at the same time.
The following years found me living on about $10,000 or less annually, riding a bike or skateboard to school, learning about justice in its fullest sense, and becoming an advocate and activist around issues of homelessness and poverty. My dissertation was completed in 2002 and spoke directly to these themes, and in 2008 a revised version appeared as the book Lost in Space. In 2001, I was hired as an instructor at Prescott College to teach Peace Studies, which doubled my salary but still left me at about one-fifth the level I was making in my law firm days. Despite this sense of apparent downward mobility, I realized that I had found a calling.
But then another sort of calling began in earnest: debt collectors calling me, repeatedly, at work and elsewhere. For about a decade I hadn't earned much more than $20,000 in any given year (and most years far less), but once I was hired as a faculty member (again increasing my salary but still leaving me way down on the scale for someone with two doctorates) the sharks started to sense blood and swarm around me. At first I felt paralyzed with a mix of remorse, shame, and fear, so I did nothing. Soon after, my wages were being garnished, which embarrassed me at my place of employment, and the fuller experience of the stress that comes with the realization of permanent impoverishment and lifelong indebtedness began to emerge. Despite having studied poverty issues and being well-versed in the social psychology attendant to them, I still felt the internalized stigma of societal "failure" at not having "made it" by the usual measures of success.
In 2008, I took a second full-time job (again nearly doubling my salary) as Executive Director of the Peace and Justice Studies Association, driven partly by my life's work as someone dedicated to the pursuit of peace and justice at all levels, and also partly by the fact that I now had two young children in the mix. At this juncture, I was able to finally work out some sort of agreement with the student loan collectors, lumping everything together to the tune of over $150,000 and making regular monthly payments that push myself and my family to the brink (past it, actually) of being able to make ends meet. But the recognition, in all likelihood, of never being able to get out from under this massive burden still weighs on me every day.
Just recently a reminder of that pervasive vulnerability -- the one that comes from a lifetime of being working-class, always one paycheck away from dispossession, and having no savings whatsoever to fall back on -- was delivered to my doorstep. Apparently, one relatively small student loan had been somehow omitted from the consolidation process, to the tune of about $5000, and the collection agency began calling random people at my place of employment in an attempt to shame me into calling them back and paying it off. This was quite likely illegal, in that they identified the company they were with to these colleagues, but it had the desired effect of making me feel, again, vulnerable and exposed. Now I have to pay them another $100 per month on top of the already-untenable figure being paid on the larger debt.
Two decades after walking out of a corporate house of mirrors in search of more useful and meaningful horizons, I remain tethered to that choice through years of compound interest, penalties, fees, and such. Yet I am grateful in some ways for that, since it serves to keep my life "real" on many levels and even perhaps ensures that I maintain a reflective process about who I am, what I am doing, and why. Still, it yields a great deal of perpetual stress, constrains my life choices in the world, and impinges upon my capacity to provide for my family. I suppose, at the end of the day, that the corporate masters get their money either way -- a pound of flesh or the equivalent in monthly payments. But they did not get my soul, and perhaps that makes all the difference...
I mention all of this here with a mix of fear and hope. While the experiences of my own life serve to inform my writing, I generally strive to keep the personal details and motivations in the background rather than the foreground. But why? In my daily life and activism, I hold firmly to the belief that personal choices are eminently political ones, and vice versa. I try to live simply, consume consciously, treat others how I would be treated, be of service to the world, and in general "walk the talk" as much as possible -- so why don't I feel safe writing about things in those terms? I surmise that the uncomfortable nature of personal vulnerability is also bound up with the collective (and perhaps ultimate) vulnerability of living in a time when the continuation of our human existence hangs in the balance by increasingly delicate threads. To some extent, this palpable sense of vulnerability has been individualized and privatized, much like the debts one accrues in pursuit of an education and the basic desire to be socially useful.
Will telling this tale change the paradigm? Unlikely. But maybe if we all begin to do so -- to connect the personal and political, to share the fear rather than bear it alone -- maybe things will at least improve enough in our own lives so that we become more empowered and learn to explore the bonds of authentic community in the process. If my personal financial burden is useful even a little bit in that regard, then it is, in the end, one that I must acknowledge as a debt of gratitude.
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I'd like to share a story, a personal story, a common story, an American story. For nearly two decades, I have carried the burden of a crushing student loan debt, well over six figures and impossible for me to fathom paying off in this lifetime. While I have written before about debt in a more generalized sense -- advocating for a "Jubilee" as the ultimate stimulus and a chance for all of us to start anew -- I've never connected it publicly to my own plight. The reasons are complex, but have to do with fear, fear of vulnerability, fear of judgment. I suspect that many people burdened by debt feel similarly and are often constrained to bear the pressures silently.
My story is relatively straightforward. I attended a private college (majoring in physics and astronomy, which did not yield any obvious career potential for me) and then a private law school. After clerking for a federal judge for a year, I was hired in the fall of 1992 to work at a large corporate law firm in mid-town Manhattan, complete with the accoutrements of privilege and compensation. I seemingly "had it all," at least on the outside, and any rumblings of discontent -- after a lifetime of being a working-class person -- seemed somehow ungrateful.
Still, a series of events eventually forced that discontentment to the surface. Working for corporate polluters, white-collar criminals, militaristic multinationals, and the like can have its deleterious effects on one's psyche, no matter what it pays at the end of the month. I realized in fairly rapid fashion (about ten minutes, actually, even though it took me ten months to extricate myself from the firm) that I could not separate my ethics from my earnings or my morals from my meals. I wanted to work with people, not for (or even against) them, and likewise had a strong desire to try and make the world a better place rather than the worsening one experienced by the vast majority of people.
In the end, the expensive suits and loft apartment couldn't mask the fact that my soul was sick and my spirit dying. Yes, I could have worked at the high-powered firm for five to seven years (which sounds like a prison sentence, in retrospect) and likely paid off my debts, and then written my own ticket (financially speaking) after that -- but the implicit (and carefully concealed) violence I would have done to human and ecological systems in the process simply made the cost too high. Indeed, it is mainly the manner in which our lives are shielded from the true costs of our actions and choices that makes modern society even possible to endure, and it is the steady erosion of this thin veil of constructed ignorance that is beginning to alter the widespread "false consciousness" in ways that are simultaneously horrifying and promising.
One of the experiences that helped prompt me to walk out the door and never look back was the nascent friendship I had randomly struck up with a homeless man on the streets of the city. I didn't realize it fully at the time, but his impact on me was as great as any person's in my life, and he'll likely never know it. The emerging realization of this came to me one day when some colleagues from the firm saw me having lunch with my homeless friend, and afterwards commented to me how nice it was that I was trying to "save" him. I thought about this for a minute, and (in a moment of personal recognition) replied that "he's actually saving me."
A few weeks later, I had quit my high-paying job, sold most of my belongings, and had nothing but the unknown road ahead. I spent the next couple of years mostly car-camping, sleeping rough, staying with friends, eating potatoes, bartering, writing bad poetry, making music, getting healthier in my own skin, following signs (literal and figurative), and otherwise chasing rainbows. I also used the time to plant the seeds of the next chapter in my life, which serendipitously emerged in the opportunity to attend graduate school and pursue a doctorate in Justice Studies. While ambivalent about the institutional nature of this move, I realized that it had the potential to allow me to reclaim my core values while still participating more directly in the world at the same time.
The following years found me living on about $10,000 or less annually, riding a bike or skateboard to school, learning about justice in its fullest sense, and becoming an advocate and activist around issues of homelessness and poverty. My dissertation was completed in 2002 and spoke directly to these themes, and in 2008 a revised version appeared as the book Lost in Space. In 2001, I was hired as an instructor at Prescott College to teach Peace Studies, which doubled my salary but still left me at about one-fifth the level I was making in my law firm days. Despite this sense of apparent downward mobility, I realized that I had found a calling.
But then another sort of calling began in earnest: debt collectors calling me, repeatedly, at work and elsewhere. For about a decade I hadn't earned much more than $20,000 in any given year (and most years far less), but once I was hired as a faculty member (again increasing my salary but still leaving me way down on the scale for someone with two doctorates) the sharks started to sense blood and swarm around me. At first I felt paralyzed with a mix of remorse, shame, and fear, so I did nothing. Soon after, my wages were being garnished, which embarrassed me at my place of employment, and the fuller experience of the stress that comes with the realization of permanent impoverishment and lifelong indebtedness began to emerge. Despite having studied poverty issues and being well-versed in the social psychology attendant to them, I still felt the internalized stigma of societal "failure" at not having "made it" by the usual measures of success.
In 2008, I took a second full-time job (again nearly doubling my salary) as Executive Director of the Peace and Justice Studies Association, driven partly by my life's work as someone dedicated to the pursuit of peace and justice at all levels, and also partly by the fact that I now had two young children in the mix. At this juncture, I was able to finally work out some sort of agreement with the student loan collectors, lumping everything together to the tune of over $150,000 and making regular monthly payments that push myself and my family to the brink (past it, actually) of being able to make ends meet. But the recognition, in all likelihood, of never being able to get out from under this massive burden still weighs on me every day.
Just recently a reminder of that pervasive vulnerability -- the one that comes from a lifetime of being working-class, always one paycheck away from dispossession, and having no savings whatsoever to fall back on -- was delivered to my doorstep. Apparently, one relatively small student loan had been somehow omitted from the consolidation process, to the tune of about $5000, and the collection agency began calling random people at my place of employment in an attempt to shame me into calling them back and paying it off. This was quite likely illegal, in that they identified the company they were with to these colleagues, but it had the desired effect of making me feel, again, vulnerable and exposed. Now I have to pay them another $100 per month on top of the already-untenable figure being paid on the larger debt.
Two decades after walking out of a corporate house of mirrors in search of more useful and meaningful horizons, I remain tethered to that choice through years of compound interest, penalties, fees, and such. Yet I am grateful in some ways for that, since it serves to keep my life "real" on many levels and even perhaps ensures that I maintain a reflective process about who I am, what I am doing, and why. Still, it yields a great deal of perpetual stress, constrains my life choices in the world, and impinges upon my capacity to provide for my family. I suppose, at the end of the day, that the corporate masters get their money either way -- a pound of flesh or the equivalent in monthly payments. But they did not get my soul, and perhaps that makes all the difference...
I mention all of this here with a mix of fear and hope. While the experiences of my own life serve to inform my writing, I generally strive to keep the personal details and motivations in the background rather than the foreground. But why? In my daily life and activism, I hold firmly to the belief that personal choices are eminently political ones, and vice versa. I try to live simply, consume consciously, treat others how I would be treated, be of service to the world, and in general "walk the talk" as much as possible -- so why don't I feel safe writing about things in those terms? I surmise that the uncomfortable nature of personal vulnerability is also bound up with the collective (and perhaps ultimate) vulnerability of living in a time when the continuation of our human existence hangs in the balance by increasingly delicate threads. To some extent, this palpable sense of vulnerability has been individualized and privatized, much like the debts one accrues in pursuit of an education and the basic desire to be socially useful.
Will telling this tale change the paradigm? Unlikely. But maybe if we all begin to do so -- to connect the personal and political, to share the fear rather than bear it alone -- maybe things will at least improve enough in our own lives so that we become more empowered and learn to explore the bonds of authentic community in the process. If my personal financial burden is useful even a little bit in that regard, then it is, in the end, one that I must acknowledge as a debt of gratitude.
I'd like to share a story, a personal story, a common story, an American story. For nearly two decades, I have carried the burden of a crushing student loan debt, well over six figures and impossible for me to fathom paying off in this lifetime. While I have written before about debt in a more generalized sense -- advocating for a "Jubilee" as the ultimate stimulus and a chance for all of us to start anew -- I've never connected it publicly to my own plight. The reasons are complex, but have to do with fear, fear of vulnerability, fear of judgment. I suspect that many people burdened by debt feel similarly and are often constrained to bear the pressures silently.
My story is relatively straightforward. I attended a private college (majoring in physics and astronomy, which did not yield any obvious career potential for me) and then a private law school. After clerking for a federal judge for a year, I was hired in the fall of 1992 to work at a large corporate law firm in mid-town Manhattan, complete with the accoutrements of privilege and compensation. I seemingly "had it all," at least on the outside, and any rumblings of discontent -- after a lifetime of being a working-class person -- seemed somehow ungrateful.
Still, a series of events eventually forced that discontentment to the surface. Working for corporate polluters, white-collar criminals, militaristic multinationals, and the like can have its deleterious effects on one's psyche, no matter what it pays at the end of the month. I realized in fairly rapid fashion (about ten minutes, actually, even though it took me ten months to extricate myself from the firm) that I could not separate my ethics from my earnings or my morals from my meals. I wanted to work with people, not for (or even against) them, and likewise had a strong desire to try and make the world a better place rather than the worsening one experienced by the vast majority of people.
In the end, the expensive suits and loft apartment couldn't mask the fact that my soul was sick and my spirit dying. Yes, I could have worked at the high-powered firm for five to seven years (which sounds like a prison sentence, in retrospect) and likely paid off my debts, and then written my own ticket (financially speaking) after that -- but the implicit (and carefully concealed) violence I would have done to human and ecological systems in the process simply made the cost too high. Indeed, it is mainly the manner in which our lives are shielded from the true costs of our actions and choices that makes modern society even possible to endure, and it is the steady erosion of this thin veil of constructed ignorance that is beginning to alter the widespread "false consciousness" in ways that are simultaneously horrifying and promising.
One of the experiences that helped prompt me to walk out the door and never look back was the nascent friendship I had randomly struck up with a homeless man on the streets of the city. I didn't realize it fully at the time, but his impact on me was as great as any person's in my life, and he'll likely never know it. The emerging realization of this came to me one day when some colleagues from the firm saw me having lunch with my homeless friend, and afterwards commented to me how nice it was that I was trying to "save" him. I thought about this for a minute, and (in a moment of personal recognition) replied that "he's actually saving me."
A few weeks later, I had quit my high-paying job, sold most of my belongings, and had nothing but the unknown road ahead. I spent the next couple of years mostly car-camping, sleeping rough, staying with friends, eating potatoes, bartering, writing bad poetry, making music, getting healthier in my own skin, following signs (literal and figurative), and otherwise chasing rainbows. I also used the time to plant the seeds of the next chapter in my life, which serendipitously emerged in the opportunity to attend graduate school and pursue a doctorate in Justice Studies. While ambivalent about the institutional nature of this move, I realized that it had the potential to allow me to reclaim my core values while still participating more directly in the world at the same time.
The following years found me living on about $10,000 or less annually, riding a bike or skateboard to school, learning about justice in its fullest sense, and becoming an advocate and activist around issues of homelessness and poverty. My dissertation was completed in 2002 and spoke directly to these themes, and in 2008 a revised version appeared as the book Lost in Space. In 2001, I was hired as an instructor at Prescott College to teach Peace Studies, which doubled my salary but still left me at about one-fifth the level I was making in my law firm days. Despite this sense of apparent downward mobility, I realized that I had found a calling.
But then another sort of calling began in earnest: debt collectors calling me, repeatedly, at work and elsewhere. For about a decade I hadn't earned much more than $20,000 in any given year (and most years far less), but once I was hired as a faculty member (again increasing my salary but still leaving me way down on the scale for someone with two doctorates) the sharks started to sense blood and swarm around me. At first I felt paralyzed with a mix of remorse, shame, and fear, so I did nothing. Soon after, my wages were being garnished, which embarrassed me at my place of employment, and the fuller experience of the stress that comes with the realization of permanent impoverishment and lifelong indebtedness began to emerge. Despite having studied poverty issues and being well-versed in the social psychology attendant to them, I still felt the internalized stigma of societal "failure" at not having "made it" by the usual measures of success.
In 2008, I took a second full-time job (again nearly doubling my salary) as Executive Director of the Peace and Justice Studies Association, driven partly by my life's work as someone dedicated to the pursuit of peace and justice at all levels, and also partly by the fact that I now had two young children in the mix. At this juncture, I was able to finally work out some sort of agreement with the student loan collectors, lumping everything together to the tune of over $150,000 and making regular monthly payments that push myself and my family to the brink (past it, actually) of being able to make ends meet. But the recognition, in all likelihood, of never being able to get out from under this massive burden still weighs on me every day.
Just recently a reminder of that pervasive vulnerability -- the one that comes from a lifetime of being working-class, always one paycheck away from dispossession, and having no savings whatsoever to fall back on -- was delivered to my doorstep. Apparently, one relatively small student loan had been somehow omitted from the consolidation process, to the tune of about $5000, and the collection agency began calling random people at my place of employment in an attempt to shame me into calling them back and paying it off. This was quite likely illegal, in that they identified the company they were with to these colleagues, but it had the desired effect of making me feel, again, vulnerable and exposed. Now I have to pay them another $100 per month on top of the already-untenable figure being paid on the larger debt.
Two decades after walking out of a corporate house of mirrors in search of more useful and meaningful horizons, I remain tethered to that choice through years of compound interest, penalties, fees, and such. Yet I am grateful in some ways for that, since it serves to keep my life "real" on many levels and even perhaps ensures that I maintain a reflective process about who I am, what I am doing, and why. Still, it yields a great deal of perpetual stress, constrains my life choices in the world, and impinges upon my capacity to provide for my family. I suppose, at the end of the day, that the corporate masters get their money either way -- a pound of flesh or the equivalent in monthly payments. But they did not get my soul, and perhaps that makes all the difference...
I mention all of this here with a mix of fear and hope. While the experiences of my own life serve to inform my writing, I generally strive to keep the personal details and motivations in the background rather than the foreground. But why? In my daily life and activism, I hold firmly to the belief that personal choices are eminently political ones, and vice versa. I try to live simply, consume consciously, treat others how I would be treated, be of service to the world, and in general "walk the talk" as much as possible -- so why don't I feel safe writing about things in those terms? I surmise that the uncomfortable nature of personal vulnerability is also bound up with the collective (and perhaps ultimate) vulnerability of living in a time when the continuation of our human existence hangs in the balance by increasingly delicate threads. To some extent, this palpable sense of vulnerability has been individualized and privatized, much like the debts one accrues in pursuit of an education and the basic desire to be socially useful.
Will telling this tale change the paradigm? Unlikely. But maybe if we all begin to do so -- to connect the personal and political, to share the fear rather than bear it alone -- maybe things will at least improve enough in our own lives so that we become more empowered and learn to explore the bonds of authentic community in the process. If my personal financial burden is useful even a little bit in that regard, then it is, in the end, one that I must acknowledge as a debt of gratitude.
The senator said the negotiations could be "a positive step forward" after three and a half years of war.
Echoing the concerns of Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy and European leaders about an upcoming summit between U.S. President Donald Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin, Sen. Bernie Sanders on Sunday said the interests of Ukrainians must be represented in any talks regarding an end to the fighting between the two countries—but expressed hope that the negotiations planned for August 15 will be "a positive step forward."
On CNN's "State of the Union," Sanders (I-Vt.) told anchor Dana Bash that Ukraine "has got to be part of the discussion" regarding a potential cease-fire between Russia and Ukraine, which Putin said last week he would agree to in exchange for major land concessions in Eastern Ukraine.
Putin reportedly proposed a deal in which Ukraine would withdraw its armed forces from the Donetsk and Luhansk regions, giving Russia full control of the two areas along with Crimea, which it annexed in 2014.
On Friday, Trump said a peace deal could include "some swapping of territories"—but did not mention potential security guarantees for Ukraine, or what territories the country might gain control of—and announced that talks had been scheduled between the White House and Putin in Alaska this coming Friday.
As Trump announced the meeting, a deadline he had set earlier for Putin to agree to a cease-fire or face "secondary sanctions" targeting countries that buy oil from Russia passed.
Zelenskyy on Saturday rejected the suggestion that Ukraine would accept any deal brokered by the U.S. and Russia without the input of his government—especially one that includes land concessions. In a video statement on the social media platform X, Zelenskyy said that "Ukraine is ready for real decisions that can bring peace."
"Any decisions that are against us, any decisions that are without Ukraine, are at the same time decisions against peace," he said. "Ukrainians will not give their land to the occupier."
Sanders on Sunday agreed that "it can't be Vladimir Putin and Donald Trump" deciding the terms of a peace deal to end the war that the United Nations says has killed more than 13,000 Ukrainian civilians since Russia began its invasion in February 2022.
"If in fact an agreement can be negotiated which does not compromise what the Ukrainians feel they need, I think that's a positive step forward. We all want to see an end to the bloodshed," said Sanders. "The people of Ukraine obviously have got to have a significant say. It is their country, so if the people of Ukraine feel it is a positive agreement, that's good. If not, that's another story."
A senior White House official told NewsNation that the president is "open to a trilateral summit with both leaders."
"Right now, the White House is planning the bilateral meeting requested by President Putin," they said.
On Saturday, Vice President JD Vance took part in talks with European Union and Ukrainian officials in the United Kingdom, where Andriy Yermak, head of the Office of the President in Ukraine, said the country's positions were made "clear: a reliable, lasting peace is only possible with Ukraine at the negotiating table, with full respect for our sovereignty and without recognizing the occupation."
European leaders pushed for the inclusion of Zelenskyy in talks in a statement Saturday, saying Ukraine's vital interests "include the need for robust and credible security guarantees that enable Ukraine to effectively defend its sovereignty and territorial integrity."
"Meaningful negotiations can only take place in the context of a cease-fire or reduction of hostilities," said the leaders, including French President Emmanuel Macron, German Cancellor Friedrich Merz, and U.K. Prime Minister Keir Starmer. "The path to peace in Ukraine cannot be decided without Ukraine. We remain committed to the principle that international borders must not be changed by force."
At the Quincy Institute for Responsible Statecraft, British journalist and analyst Anatol Lieven wrote Saturday that the talks scheduled for next week are "an essential first step" toward ending the bloodshed in Ukraine, even though they include proposed land concessions that would be "painful" for Kyiv.
If Ukraine were to ultimately agree to ceding land to Russia, said Lieven, "Russia will need drastically to scale back its demands for Ukrainian 'denazification' and 'demilitarization,' which in their extreme form would mean Ukrainian regime change and disarmament—which no government in Kyiv could or should accept."
A recent Gallup poll showed 69% of Ukrainians now favor a negotiated end to the war as soon as possible. In 2022, more than 70% believed the country should continue fighting until it achieved victory.
Suleiman Al-Obeid was killed by the Israel Defense Forces while seeking humanitarian aid.
Mohamed Salah, the Egyptian soccer star who plays for Liverpool's Premiere League club and serves as captain of Egypt's national team, had three questions for the Union of European Football Associations on Saturday after the governing body acknowledged the death of another venerated former player.
"Can you tell us how he died, where, and why?" asked Salah in response to the UEFA's vague tribute to Suleiman Al-Obeid, who was nicknamed the "Palestinian Pelé" during his career with the Palestinian National Team.
The soccer organization had written a simple 21-word "farewell" message to Al-Obeid, calling him "a talent who gave hope to countless children, even in the darkest of times."
The UEFA made no mention of reports from the Palestine Football Association that Al-Obeid last week became one of the nearly 1,400 Palestinians who have been killed while seeking aid since the Gaza Humanitarian Foundation (GHF), an Israel- and U.S.-backed, privatized organization, began operating aid hubs in Gaza.
As with the Israel Defense Forces' killings of aid workers and bombings of so-called "safe zones" since Israel began bombarding Gaza in October 2023, the IDF has claimed its killings of Palestinians seeking desperately-needed food have been inadvertent—but Israeli soldiers themselves have described being ordered to shoot at civilians who approach the aid sites.
Salah has been an outspoken advocate for Palestinians since Israel began its attacks, which have killed more than 61,000 people, and imposed a near-total blockade that has caused an "unfolding" famine, according to the Integrated Food Security Phase Classification. At least 217 Palestinians have now starved to death, including at least 100 children.
The Peace and Justice Project, founded by British Parliament member Jeremy Corbyn, applauded Salah's criticism of UEFA.
The Palestine Football Association released a statement saying, "Former national team player and star of the Khadamat al-Shati team, Suleiman Al-Obeid, was martyred after the occupation forces targeted those waiting for humanitarian aid in the southern Gaza Strip on Wednesday."
Al-Obeid represented the Palestinian team 24 times internationally and scored a famous goal against Yemen's National Team in the East Asian Federation's 2010 cup.
He is survived by his wife and five children, Al Jazeera reported.
Bassil Mikdadi, the founder of Football Palestine, told the outlet that he was surprised the UEFA acknowledged Al-Obeid's killing at all, considering the silence of international soccer federations regarding Israel's assault on Gaza, which is the subject of a genocide case at the International Court of Justice and has been called a genocide by numerous Holocaust scholars and human rights groups.
As Jules Boykoff wrote in a column at Common Dreams in June, the International Federation of Association Football (FIFA) has mostly "looked the other way when it comes to Israel's attacks on Palestinians," and although the group joined the UEFA in expressing solidarity with Ukrainian players and civilians when Russia invaded Ukraine in 2022, "no such solidarity has been forthcoming for Palestinians."
Mikdadi noted that Al-Obeid "is not the first Palestinian footballer to perish in this genocide—there's been over 400—but he's by far the most prominent as of now."
Al-Obeid was killed days before Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu approved a plan to take over Gaza City—believed to be the first step in the eventual occupation of all of Gaza.
The United Nations Security Council was holding an emergency meeting Sunday to discuss Israel's move, with U.N. Assistant Secretary-General for Europe, Central Asia, and the Americas Miroslav Jenca warning the council that a full takeover would risk "igniting another horrific chapter in this conflict."
"We are already witnessing a humanitarian catastrophe of unimaginable scale in Gaza," said Jenca. "If these plans are implemented, they will likely trigger another calamity in Gaza, reverberating across the region and causing further forced displacement, killings, and destruction, compounding the unbearable suffering of the population."
"Whoever said West Virginia was a conservative state?" Sanders asked the crowd in Wheeling. "Somebody got it wrong."
On the latest leg of his Fighting Oligarchy Tour, U.S. Sen. Bernie Sanders headed to West Virginia for rallies on Friday and Saturday where he continued to speak out against the billionaire class's control over the political system and the Republican Party's cuts to healthcare, food assistance, and other social programs for millions of Americans—and prove that his message resonates with working people even in solidly red districts.
"Whoever said West Virginia was a conservative state?" Sanders (I-Vt.) asked a roaring, standing-room-only crowd at the Capitol Theater in Wheeling. "Somebody got it wrong."
As the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette reported, some in the crowd sported red bandanas around their necks—a nod to the state's long history of labor organizing and the thousands of coal mine workers who formed a multiracial coalition in 1921 and marched wearing bandanas for the right to join a union with fair pay and safety protections.
Sanders spoke to the crowd about how President Donald Trump's One Big Beautiful Bill Act, which was supported by all five Republican lawmakers who represent the districts Sanders is visiting this weekend, could impact their families and neighbors.
"Fifteen million Americans, including 50,000 right here in West Virginia, are going to lose their healthcare," Sanders said of the Medicaid cuts that are projected to amount to more than $1 trillion over the next decade. "Cuts to nutrition—literally taking food out of the mouths of hungry kids."
Seven hospitals are expected to shut down in the state as a result of the law's Medicaid cuts, and 84,000 West Virginians will lose Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program benefits, according to estimates.
Sanders continued his West Virginia tour with a stop in the small town of Lenore on Saturday afternoon and was scheduled to address a crowd in Charleston Saturday evening before heading to North Carolina for more rallies on Sunday.
The event in Lenore was a town hall, where the senator heard from residents of the area—which Trump won with 74% of the vote in 2024. Anna Bahr, Sanders' communications director, said more than 400 people came to hear the senator speak—equivalent to about a third of Lenore's population.
Sanders invited one young attendee on stage after she asked how Trump's domestic policy law's cuts to education are likely to affect poverty rates in West Virginia, which are some of the highest in the nation.
The One Big Beautiful Bill Act includes a federal voucher program which education advocates warn will further drain funding from public schools, and the loss of Medicaid funding for states could lead to staff cuts in K-12 schools. The law also impacts higher education, imposing new limits for federal student loans.
"Sometimes I am attacked by my opponents for being far-left, fringe, out of touch with where America is," said Sanders. "Actually, much of what I talk about is exactly where America is... You are living in the wealthiest country in the history of the world, and if we had good policy and the courage to take on the billionaire class, there is no reason that every kid in this country could not get an excellent higher education, regardless of his or her income. That is not a radical idea."
Sanders' events scheduled for Sunday in North Carolina include a rally at 2:00 pm ET at the Steven Tanger Center for the Performing Arts in Greensboro and one at 6:00 pm ET at the Harrah Cherokee Center in Asheville.