Tag Archive for: Opinion

Charlie Kirk’s death and the hypocrisy of tolerance

Charlie Kirk’s assassination is a tragedy period. A young man, barely 31 years old, gunned down while doing what he always did: speaking his truth in public. I did not agree with Charlie on everything. I often found his stance on guns too extreme, his nationalism too rigid, his immigration policies too harsh for someone like me, an immigrant who knows the long wait and the sacrifices to build a life here, and much more. But admiration does not require blind loyalty. I followed him because he was sharp, brilliant in debate, and unafraid to say what he believed, even when it made him unpopular. That courage deserves respect.

What devastates me more than the bullet that ended his life is the reaction I see from many who claim the banner of tolerance. Celebrating a man’s death because he was your political opponent is not justice. It is cruelty. It is hypocrisy. To mock his death because he opposed gun control is to treat a tragedy as a punchline. To cheer because you disliked his worldview is to reveal that your so-called tolerance was only a mask, one that falls the moment someone dares to think differently. And this celebration is not harmless noise on the internet; it reflects a deeper sickness in our society, a culture that has lost the ability to separate disagreement from dehumanization.

This is bigger than Charlie Kirk. This is about who we are becoming as a society. We are entering a dangerous age where disagreement equals dehumanization, where debate is replaced by cancellation, and where violence is justified if the target is the “enemy.” But what future can we build on that foundation? If every life is only as valuable as its ideology, then none of us are safe. The same logic that excuses violence against one opponent today can be used to excuse violence against another tomorrow. A society that normalizes selective empathy is a society that prepares its own downfall.

And let us not forget: Charlie Kirk was not only a commentator; he was a husband and the father of two young children. Behind the headlines and the controversies is a family whose life has been irreparably shattered. Two children will now grow up without their father, a wife will bury her partner, and yet some among us see only a political victory. If we cannot pause to recognize the human cost of this tragedy, then our moral compass is broken beyond repair.

I am African, I am Christian, I am an immigrant, and I hold views that put me on neither extreme of the political spectrum. I believe in compassion for the vulnerable and in responsibility for the able. I believe in protecting life while respecting pluralism. I believe in family, faith, democracy, fairness and individual freedom. And precisely because of those values, I cannot stand by silently when hatred masquerades as justice. Democracy itself cannot survive if we only grant empathy to those who agree with us. Freedom means nothing if we use it to cheer the silencing of others.

Charlie Kirk is gone, but the real test remains for the rest of us: will we use moments like this to deepen the spiral of division, or will we step back and remember the humanity of those we oppose? If we cannot mourn the death of someone we disagreed with, then we have lost something far greater than a political battle. We have lost our soul. And if a nation loses its soul, no amount of progress, no accumulation of wealth, and no victories in the culture wars will save it from collapse.

  We are not moving forward. We are marching backward into barbarism.

The Killing of Iryna Zarutska

Killing of Iryna Zarutska: violence, racism, and the silence around Us

A death that should haunt us all

I’ve seen too much online to think that a single video could still shake me. But the footage of Iryna Zarutska’s final moments did. She was just minding her business on a train, when her life was suddenly stolen. The way she looked up at her attacker in shock and fear, the way she clutched herself and cried into her hands while people sat around in silence. The scene broke something in me.

She didn’t die instantly. She bled, terrified, as if waiting for someone, anyone, to acknowledge her humanity. But no one did. Men and women sat feet away, eyes glued to their phones, unwilling to lift a finger. Some even stood up and walked past her without so much as a glance. That image of indifference in the face of dying haunts me as much as the attack itself.

And what makes it unbearable is knowing she had fled a war in her homeland, only to be killed in a place where she thought she might find safety. The cruelty of that irony is almost too much to bear.

The tired excuse of “mental illness”

We’ve all heard it before: the attacker was “mentally ill.” I reject that explanation outright. Evil is not a medical condition. When someone has been arrested fourteen times for violent behavior and is still walking the streets, that’s not about health. It’s about a broken justice system.

North Carolina had the chance to keep this man contained, but instead, he was free to take a life. And he’s not the only one. Just months ago, another repeat offender killed three people in New York without provocation. How many times must we read the same headline before we admit that this pattern of leniency is a policy failure? A society that values excuses over accountability is a society that chooses predators over victims.

When racism finds its opportunity

As if her death wasn’t painful enough, the aftermath was poisoned further by the reaction online. Scroll through the comments under censored versions of the video and you’ll find an avalanche of racism:

  • “Survived war but not black America.”

  • “They should introduce white and black sections on public transport again.”

  • “These people were the worst purchase in American history.”

There are hundreds like these. One man commits a crime, and suddenly an entire race is on trial. Racists wait for these moments, lurking in the shadows, ready to seize on tragedy as their green light to spew hatred. They don’t care about Iryna, they don’t care about justice. They wait for moments like this, tragedies that should unite people in grief and outrage, and instead they twist them into weapons to validate their hate, to stigmatize, and feed their ideology.

As a Black woman, I cannot describe the exhaustion of watching this cycle. Racists grab onto the worst behavior of a single Black man and inflate it into a narrative about all Black people.We are not a monolith. We are not represented by the worst among us. And yet, the moment one of “ours” commits a horrific act, it’s suddenly open season. The hate pours out eager to say “See, we told you so.”

Our own responsibility

Still, the death of Iryna Zarutska forces hard questions within the Black community, too.We can’t keep pretending that violent criminals don’t come from our own community, or that every act of brutality can be explained away by “systemic racism.” That excuse is tired, and it hasn’t saved us.

The reality is that too many Black neighborhoods are ruled by fear. People are scared of their own neighbors, the very people we love to excuse. Why do the most successful Black families do is leave the hood? They don’t want to raise their kids around gangs, dysfunction, and violence. And let’s be honest: the danger is real, and denying it only makes it worse.

If we want progress, we’ve got to break the cycle ourselves. Stop glorifying thugs. Stop raising kids where crime is the soundtrack of daily life. Stop living off government scraps and calling it survival. That’s not “cheating the system.” That’s doing exactly what the system designed you to do: stay stuck, stay dependent, stay powerless.

We can’t rewrite slavery, but we sure as hell don’t need to keep reenacting its consequences. At some point, we have to choose a different path. One where our children inherit discipline, opportunity, and pride instead of excuses, poverty, and fear.

Éducation au Burkina Faso

Éducation au Burkina Faso: 65 ans après les indépendances, l’école reste un privilège

L’éducation au Burkina Faso reste un luxe. Chaque rentrée révèle la même tragédie : des milliers d’enfants rejetés aux portes de l’école.

En cette rentrée des classes, ma pensée va à toutes ces familles qui, en ce moment précis, vivent l’angoisse de ne pas savoir comment scolariser leurs enfants. À ces petits à qui l’on répètera, une fois de plus, qu’« il n’y a plus de place ». À ces mères qui se lèvent à 4 heures du matin, qui marchent des dizaines de kilomètres, enfants au dos ou à la main, jusqu’à la localité la plus proche qui dispose d’une école. Pour attendre, des heures durant, dans la poussière et la chaleur, pour finalement entendre cette phrase assassine : « Il n’y a pas de place pour votre enfant ».

Une génération abandonnée

Aujourd’hui au Burkina Faso, plus d’un million d’enfants ne sont pas scolarisés (UNICEF). Une génération entière laissée au bord du chemin. Mon cœur saigne pour ces milliers d’enfants Burkinabè pour qui l’éducation n’est pas un droit, mais un privilège réservé à ceux qui naissent au bon endroit, dans les bonnes conditions. Pour eux, la route du succès s’amincit, leurs rêves s’effritent. Chaque refus les rapproche un peu plus de la précarité, de l’errance, de la criminalité, et les livre, vulnérables, aux mains de ceux qui recrutent pour alimenter les groupes armés qui nous terrorisent. Un enfant qu’on refuse d’éduquer aujourd’hui, c’est une bombe à retardement sociale et sécuritaire que l’on pose pour demain.

Des infrastructures insuffisantes

Le drame de notre système éducatif n’est pas seulement dans l’accès, mais aussi dans l’absence de moyens. Certains départements ne disposent que d’une seule école depuis plus de vingt ans. Des villages entiers n’ont jamais vu une salle de classe construite en dur. Là où il y a une école, elle est souvent en ruine : toitures effondrées, tables-bancs manquants, latrines inexistantes. Comment parler d’éducation de qualité dans de telles conditions ?

À cela s’ajoutent les écoles fermées à cause du terrorisme, dans les zones les plus fragiles du pays. Des centaines d’établissements sont aujourd’hui hors service, vidés de leurs enseignants et de leurs élèves, aggravant une crise déjà insoutenable.

Dans les écoles encore ouvertes, l’espoir se transforme en cauchemar : des classes qui devraient accueillir 40 élèves en regroupent parfois plus de 100. Dans un tel entassement, l’enseignant est impuissant. Comment suivre, encadrer, corriger, encourager un enfant perdu au milieu de cette foule compacte ? Ces conditions ne forment pas des citoyens éclairés, mais des générations bâclées.

Soixante-cinq ans après…

Soixante-cinq ans après les indépendances, comment expliquer que nous n’ayons pas su – ou pas voulu – nous donner les moyens de garantir un droit aussi élémentaire que l’école pour nos enfants ? Comment justifier que nous soyons encore incapables de protéger les plus vulnérables de notre société ? Nous portons tous une part de cette responsabilité.

Les dirigeants qui, depuis des décennies, ont géré ce pays en faisant de l’éducation un slogan plutôt qu’une priorité. Les parents ensuite, qui continuent à mettre au monde des dizaines d’enfants tout en sachant qu’ils n’ont ni les moyens ni les structures pour les encadrer. Et nous-mêmes, citadins confortablement installés dans nos vies modernes, préoccupés par nos futilités quotidiennes, fermant les yeux sur une réalité qui n’est pourtant pas si éloignée de nous.

Assez d’excuses

Assez d’excuses. Assez de rejeter la faute uniquement sur l’héritage colonial. Oui, la colonisation nous a laissés des blessures profondes. Mais l’incapacité, en plus d’un demi-siècle, à bâtir un système éducatif digne, inclusif et solide n’est plus la faute d’hier, elle est la nôtre, aujourd’hui.

L’irresponsabilité, le manque de vision et l’oubli des priorités collectives nous condamnent à tourner en rond dans ce cercle vicieux. Et pendant que nous nous complaisons dans ce rôle de victimes de l’Histoire, des générations entières d’enfants voient leur avenir se refermer devant elles. Voilà le vrai scandale.

Quelles solutions ?

Pourtant, rien n’est irréversible. L’éducation peut être sauvée si elle devient une priorité nationale réelle.

  • Construire des infrastructures scolaires modernes et accessibles dans chaque commune, pas seulement dans les grandes villes.

  • Recruter et former davantage d’enseignants, afin de réduire la taille des classes et garantir un suivi individuel.

  • Sécuriser véritablement les zones attaquées par le terrorisme, pour rouvrir les écoles fermées et protéger élèves et professeurs.

  • Mobiliser la diaspora et les partenaires internationaux, non pas pour des dons ponctuels, mais pour bâtir des fonds stables, orientés exclusivement vers l’éducation de base.

  • Responsabiliser les communautés locales, afin qu’elles deviennent actrices de l’éducation de leurs enfants, au lieu de spectatrices impuissantes.

L’avenir du Burkina Faso ne se joue pas dans les discours politiques, mais dans les salles de classe. Chaque enfant laissé derrière est une défaite nationale. Et n’oublions jamais cette vérité brutale :


Un enfant sans école aujourd’hui, c’est un terroriste potentiel demain. Et ce sera notre faute.

The Political orphanhood of african immigrant voters and Why this NYC race feels different

African immigrants in New York City live a paradox. We are visible in the workforce, in churches, in community associations — yet invisible when political campaigns draw their maps. We are nurses, Uber drivers, small business owners, home health aides, engineers, and teachers. We fill the city’s arteries with our labor. But politically, we remain unclaimed.

Split between two incomplete choices

We do not vote as a bloc. Some of us lean toward the Democratic Party because of its pro-immigration policies. Others quietly agree with Republican rhetoric on personal responsibility, entrepreneurship, and the dignity of hard work. But neither party has fully spoken to us. Democrats too often stop at representation and identity politics. Posing for photos in our cultural clothing, but rarely returning to discuss policy after the campaign is over. Republicans often speak to our values on work and family, but alienate us with rhetoric and policies that seem blind to our immigrant realities.

This is why, even in deep-blue New York, I have met African voters — many of them first-generation immigrants — who were drawn to Donald Trump. Not because they embraced every policy or every word, but because he spoke, loudly and unapologetically, about work, affordability, and the feeling that “everyday people” had been forgotten. In immigrant barber shops in the Bronx, over attiéké in Harlem restaurants, and in Sunday church gatherings, I have heard uncles and aunties say the same thing: “I don’t agree with everything, but he talks about real life.”

Our political orphanhood is compounded by the way our lives straddle two worlds. We send money back home while paying sky-high rent here. We juggle double shifts not only to survive, but to build enough credit to own a home. We dream of starting businesses but spend months navigating city bureaucracy. Many of us are registered to vote, yet don’t see ourselves in campaign messaging, so we quietly abstain.

A different kind of leftist candidate

That is why the candidacy of Assemblymember Zohran Mamdani feels different. He is from the left, yet his campaign is not built on baiting controversial identity battles and baseless fear mongering. Instead, he is talking about the kitchen-table issues that shape the lives of working-class families: fare-free buses so workers keep more of their paycheck; rent-stabilization that actually protects tenants; higher wages that match the real cost of living in New York; universal childcare so parents can work without fear of losing everything to daycare bills.

These are not abstract promises. They touch daily life. For the Ghanaian home health aide in the Bronx who spends $132 a month on a MetroCard. For the Senegalese father in Queens who pays half his salary in rent. For the young Burkinabè graduate in Harlem juggling two part-time jobs because entry-level wages can’t cover student loans.

In my 11 years in the United States, I have seen many politicians pass through our spaces: shaking hands, speaking a few words in our languages, posing for photos, only to vanish after Election Day. I have never felt truly comfortable aligning with one, until now. Not because of party loyalty, but because the conversation is about life, not labels.

This race is not about left versus right, progressive versus moderate. It is about whether New York City can elect a leader who understands that its future depends on those who still believe in its promise enough to keep building here. The African diaspora in NYC is large enough to matter, diverse enough to shape outcomes, and tired of being politically invisible. This election could be the moment we step forward.

The soulless ChatGPT posts: have we gone too far?

“As technology advances, it reverses the characteristics of every situation again and again. The age of automation is going to be the age of ‘do it yourself.’” Marshall McLuhan

I’ve been thinking about this quote I studied back in undergrad. And the more I think of ChatGPT, the more it resonates.

It’s amazing how powerful AI has become. It saves time, enhances creativity, and every day I’m learning new things it can do: interior design, generating content and images, coding, building business strategies, designing logos, writing scripts, creating outlines, drafting contracts… and the list keeps growing.

But if anyone can produce work instantly, if anyone can write posts and sound like an expert on any topic, then what becomes of the value of human work? Of human thought? What becomes of the importance of a job, or the depth that comes with lived experience?

Has generative AI created conformity and slowly killed human value?

Well you see, McLuhan’s quote reflects his broader idea: technological change isn’t linear, it’s dialectical. He believed that every medium or technology, when pushed far enough, eventually reverses its effects. This is part of his concept called “the tetrad of media effects,” where every technology:

• Enhances something,
• Obsoletes something,
• Retrieves something from the past,
• And reverses into its opposite when overextended.

So yes AI is a gift. But it won’t and shouldn’t prevent us from using our brains. For those who are already thoughtful, it does the things that consume time so we can focus on what really matters, what we’re best at.

What I call a soulless ChatGPT post is easy to spot:

  • It’s grammatically correct.
  • It flows well.
  • It has good ideas.
  • Polished but robotic.
  • No soul. No real voice. Just… bland.
  • All the titles sound the same. The sentence structure is the same.
  • Sounds like a Wikipedia article with plenty of stock emojis: ✨💼📈🔥🙌📊✅

Don’t get me wrong ChatGPT is a powerful tool. But you have to be smart with it. Joanna Maciejewska said:

“I want AI to do my laundry and dishes so that I can do art and writing, not for AI to do my art and writing so that I can do my laundry and dishes.”

Sounds a bit extreme and unrealistic,  but maybe she has a point. We can think about it differently: all of the things that take more time but aren’t central to the originality of your thought or the uniqueness of your perspective or creativity, have ChatGPT do it. Consider those things “the dishes”and now focus on adding the great stuff that makes you a unique voice.

For the love of God, stop giving one vague sentence to ChatGPT and letting it write your whole post.

We can tell can tell it’s a Chat GPT post. It doesn’t bring any value because not only we see the same posts everywhere but we can literally do the same thing you did. Head over to Chat GPT and tell him to “Write a post about X,Y,Z”

Use better prompts. ChatGPT isn’t magic.
Stop being lazy with your prompts. Stop typing lazy stuff like “Write a post about leadership.” One vague sentence will get you a vague post. You want something good? Give context, tone, structure, even examples. Feed it as you would a collaborator, not a vending machine.

Use AI to expand and facilitate your work.
Use it for research, for outlines, to organize your ideas. Use it for things you already care about deeply, have knowledge and perspective on. That way, ChatGPT becomes an addition to the burning fire inside you. That’s how you go from “meh” to “this actually sounds like me.”

Don’t fake what you don’t know.
If you’re clueless about a topic, don’t use AI to bluff your way through. If you want to speak on a subject you’re not familiar with, do your research. Learn the complexities and nuances of the topic. Gain some experience, read the experts, and reflect on it. It’s fine that ChatGPT helped you write it, but it will make a huge difference when the post has a fresh and singular outlook.
Because nothing screams “I copied this” louder than a confident-sounding post that says… nothing new.

And finally: if it doesn’t sound like you, it’s not good.
Copying and pasting the first draft ChatGPT gives you is like serving a frozen meal at a dinner party. The first draft is rarely the best. If the tone, the examples, the vocabulary don’t reflect how you think or express yourself, that’s your sign it’s not ready. Read it out loud. If it feels stiff, generic, or like anyone could’ve written it, rewrite it. Ask it to rephrase. Change the angle. Push back. Good writing is rewriting, even with AI.

Technology is amazing because it allows us to focus on what really matters. But don’t forget: the soul of your work should still come from you.

And by the way, ChatGPT lies a lot. Make sure to always fact-check and don’t embarrass yourself. 😉 If you’re citing studies, quotes, or numbers, verify them. ChatGPT is smart, but it hallucinates confidently.