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Photographer Fatimah Hossaini: ‘In Kabul, there was so much hope and desire’ | Photography

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When the US government signed a peace deal with the Taliban in February 2020, the Afghan-Iranian artist, photographer and activist Fatimah Hossaini thought little of it. People warned her, of course. The Americans will leave Afghanistan, they said, and all kinds of trouble will follow. But she hardly listened. Life in Kabul, where she had been working since 2018, felt so full and free, it was all but impossible to imagine the clock turning back.

The simple fact was that she had lived with more day-to-day restrictions in Tehran, where she was born and grew up, than she had ever had to put up with in Kabul (her Afghan grandparents fled to Iran in the 1980s, during the Soviet-Afghan war). “Life was good,” she says. “In Tehran, people are a little depressed with the situation. But in Kabul there was so much hope and desire. A new generation was burning with it. I could see women in every sector: musicians, entrepreneurs, artists, politicians. I could teach my classes at the university without a hijab. I could show my students any image I liked. These things would never happen in Iran.”

A portrait of the photographer Fatimah Hossaini by Maryam Firuzi, 2022

But life really was about to change. When a newly elected Joe Biden confirmed in April 2021 that American troops would be withdrawn by 11 September, Taliban insurgents began to intensify their attacks on the Afghan state; in May, for instance, a car bomb outside a Kabul school killed more than 60 people, most of them schoolgirls. “Even I could see that the security situation was different,” Hossaini says. “I lost two journalist friends [to Taliban attacks] during those months. When my mum called, which was every day, she would say: Fatimah, use a different entrance each time you come home.”

At one point she did go back to Tehran, largely at her parents’ behest. (Her mother is a housewife and her father runs a small business. The oldest of three sisters, Hossaini, ever independent, moved to Kabul when she graduated from university.) “But I only lasted a month and a half.” She struggles to explain it. “I just had to be in Afghanistan. I was there in the bright days; I felt I should be there in the dark days too.” Ahead of an exhibition of her photographs in the US, she had an American visa, and this was her insurance policy. “I thought: if the worst happens, I can use that visa.” She shakes her head. “My parents couldn’t believe I was going to go back. They said I was crazy. But I didn’t listen to them.”

In Kabul, things seemed calmer. She told her mother the media were exaggerating the situation, and that she was not to worry. But her mother did worry, and no wonder. Across Afghanistan, cities were falling to the Taliban: Herat, Kandahar, Mazar-i-Sharif. It was now August. A friend called and said, book your seat to the US; in three weeks, commercial flights will be no more. “Imagine it,” says Hossaini. “I had heard my grandparents’ stories. I knew about all the people that got stuck in Afghanistan in the communist years, even those with visas. But still, I couldn’t believe it would happen to me. My mind turned away from it. The night before Kabul fell [on 15 August], I did an interview with CNN. I said: ‘People will never let the Taliban claim this city.’”

Yasamin Yarmal, a very well-known Afghan actress sits on a flight of stairs with her two daughters.

  • Yasamin Yarmal
    An actor since the age of 14, Yarmal moved from the northern province of Balkh to Kabul against her family’s wishes and became a star of Afghan cinema during the Communist era. By the time the Taliban came to power in 1996, Yarmal had returned to Balkh, where she ran a secret school for several hundred students, many of them girls, defying the ban on female education. The school was discovered and Yarmal was taken into custody and beaten by the Taliban, suffering a miscarriage as a result. After 2001, Yarmal went back to acting, working in radio and TV as well as helping to revive the local film scene. The Taliban’s return to power has delivered a fatal blow to Afghan cinema, she says. Yarmal fled Kabul in August and now lives in Paris with her three children.
    All captions by Killian Fox

On the same evening, she and 10 friends went to a cafe to drink tea. “One of them invited me to her sister’s wedding! We were just drinking and talking. We didn’t know, then, that this would be the last time we would meet.”

The following morning, having at last booked a flight to the US, she got a taxi to take her to a clinic for a PCR test. The driver thought she must have lost her mind. The Taliban are at the gates of Kabul, he said. Looking out of the car’s windows, she noticed that in the streets people were running. What kind of person runs in Kabul in August? “It wasn’t normal. I began to think something might actually be going to happen.”

At home she made some green tea and took it on to her balcony, with its view of her city, and it was then that she saw them: “Down below were Taliban fighters on their motorcycles, waving their flags. They’re here, I thought. I shouted it: ‘THEY ARE HERE!’ But there was no one to hear me. I was alone.”

She isn’t sure how she got through the night. She couldn’t cry, she couldn’t eat. She had missed her flight, if it had, in fact, left. The next day, another friend called. “She said: ‘They’re going door-to-door looking for journalists, musicians, teachers; make sure you’re not alone.’ I got my backpack, my laptop, my camera, and a hat that’s traditional to my tribe [Hossaini is an ethnic Hazara, a group that has often been persecuted in Afghanistan], and I went to stay with friends.” She spent the next two days with them, deleting all her social media, begging journalists who had any footage of her to take it down. Her voice is full of contempt. “Those fucking terrorists. One day, early in the morning, we had three Taliban at the door. They were only looking for food, and when we gave it to them they left.”

Shegofa Ibrahimi, an actor and musician, sits on a chair in a car park wearing traditional dress.

  • Shegofa Ibrahimi
    An actor and musician in her early 20s, Ibrahimi grew up in Dasht-e-Barchi, an impoverished area of western Kabul populated mainly by ethnic Hazaras. She belonged to an all-women theatre group and was starting to train as a ballerina and a violinist when the Taliban returned to power. ‘She told me she went through a tough journey to choose art and to work as an artist,’ says Hossaini. Ibrahimi fled Afghanistan after Kabul’s fall last August, leaving her family behind and taking nothing but a traditional Afghan dress that her mother had made for her. She now lives in Lyon. ‘When she said goodbye to her parents, she didn’t know where she’d be living,’ says Hossaini. ‘She took the dress to remind herself where she came from’

But her mind was clear now: it was, she finally conceded, time to go. Like thousands upon thousands of other desperate Afghans, she pitched up at Kabul airport. She would spend the next four days there. “It was crazy,” she says. “Mothers abandoning their children; lovers abandoning each other. People were so desperate, they would do anything to leave.”

It wasn’t, she tells me, as we might have seen it on television. She wasn’t in the military section of the airport, where British and American soldiers were filmed by news crews lifting tiny babies over wire fences. She was in the commercial part, a chaotic realm that could only be accessed through seven Taliban checkpoints. Inside, people stood in long lines, each one corresponding to the country to which they hoped to travel seeking asylum. It was frightening, and surreal. Looking around, she saw several Afghan politicians, and the singer and TV personality Aryana Sayeed, one of Afghanistan’s biggest stars.

At first, Hossaini joined the American line. She knew that to go to the US would make it almost impossible for her to see her family again: travel between the two countries is extremely difficult. But she was desperate, and she had her visa, after all. Wouldn’t it help her? Apparently not. “Get back, get back!” the Americans shouted. This made her very angry. “I thought: you betrayed us. We’re about to lose everything. You have ruined our country. At least be a little nice.”

Like others in the airport, she began to call out to embassy staff, irrespective of which country they represented. Germany, Italy, Poland: four days in, and she would have gone anywhere.

It occurred to her that in France, artists are admired, even revered. “Just take me,” she yelled, in the general direction of the French. “I’m an artist!” She was duly allowed to move from the American line to the French line – and it was at this moment that the miracle occurred. “David Martinon, the French ambassador in Afghanistan, used to come to my exhibitions in Kabul. I was wearing that crazy outfit with a scarf; only my eyes could be seen. But he recognised me. ‘Fatimah?’ he said. He put his arms around me. ‘You will be welcome in Paris,’ he told me.”

Anarkali Kaur Honaryar, a former member of Afghanistan’s parliament

  • Anarkali Kaur Honaryar
    Born into Afghanistan’s tiny Sikh community in 1984, Honaryar grew up dreaming of becoming a pilot. Instead, she studied medicine at Kabul university and qualified as a dentist. After the Taliban was overthrown in 2001, Honaryar joined the loya jirga assembly to elect Afghanistan’s interim government, and helped draft the country’s new constitution. She later became the first non-Muslim woman to serve in the lower house of parliament, advocating on behalf of the country’s embattled Sikh and Hindu minorities. In 2009, she was voted “person of the year” by Radio Free Afghanistan, and in 2011 received a Unesco prize for her efforts to protect Afghan women from domestic abuse, forced marriages and gender discrimination. Honaryar left Afghanistan for India in August 2021 and arrived in Europe this spring

Some hours later, she flew alone to France, relieved but sorrowful, grateful, but in mourning (her friends were eventually all dispersed to other countries). “It was very hard,” she says. “Afghanistan didn’t only give me pain; it gave me love too. I was connected to it by my heart, and when France gives you asylum, the arrangement is that they take your Afghan passport and your ID card, and you must sign a paper that says you won’t ever travel there. Can you believe it? My heart. I had to promise them not to go back to Afghanistan.”


I meet Hossaini in Paris on a hot July day. She is wearing a sleeveless, pleated dress – it’s so fine, you could probably pull it, Fortuny-style, through a wedding ring – and a brilliant smile that only rarely dims. A year on, she is living in the city in a tiny attic, a bona fide garret at the top of an artist’s colony on the edge of the Marais. And how she has made it her own. The building’s wide, sweeping staircase and peeling plaster walls are so very belle époque they might have come from the pages of a novel by Colette. But step inside her rooms, which smell deliciously of roses and cardamom, and you find yourself in a little bit of Afghanistan: low seating, striped throws, a bowl of nuts to welcome the visitor.

A man cleans up a poster of one of Hossaini’s pictures, 28, during the La Visions d’Orient photography festival, wihch runs until 30 September 2022 in La Gacilly, western France

  • A man cleans a poster of one of Hossaini’s pictures during the La Visions d’Orient photography festival, which runs until 30 September 2022 in La Gacilly, western France

On the walls hang some of her own photographs and – I notice it straight away – the brightly coloured hat she grabbed on that fateful day when she left her home in Kabul for the last time. “Women make these with their hands, out of nothing,” she says, taking it down to show me. “Textiles are an important part of Afghan culture because the country was on the Silk Road, and they have many meanings. You can tell by looking at these whether their owner is married or single. It’s a beautiful thing for me – a symbol of resilience.”

In Afghanistan, women must currently draw on every available ounce of their resilience. According to a recent report by Amnesty International, in the year since the Taliban took over, Afghan women and girls have experienced a “suffocating” crackdown on their rights. They are banned from attending school and restricted in the ways they can work; should they dare to protest against such infringements, they are inevitably arrested, and often tortured and abused in custody. The burqa, a garment that covers every part of a woman’s body, including her face, has been widely reimposed. There has also been a surge in child marriage.

Mursal Sayas, an Afghan writer, puts a book on a shelf in a library

  • Mursal Sayas
    Sayas was in the final year of her masters degree in international relations at Dawat University in Kabul when the return of the Taliban last August forced her to flee. It’s not the first time her life was disrupted by the movement: her family left Kabul for Badakhshan when the Taliban first seized power in 1996, returning after their overthrow in 2001. When Sayas started working at the Human Rights Commission in Afghanistan in 2017, she began writing the stories of some of the women whose cases she investigated. These portraits, of women suffering under a patriarchal society, were published under a pseudonym on Afghan websites. Now Sayas is gathering them into a book to be published in France, where she has settled in exile. Under the Taliban, Sayas believes, the plight of women in Afghanistan will only get worse

Is Hossaini surprised things turned so bad so quickly? She shakes her head. “The Taliban are exactly the same as they were 20 years ago,” she says, her voice scornful. “The only difference is that they have Twitter accounts now.” She knew they could not be taken at their word, and she isn’t optimistic that things will change any time soon. “They are stupid, idiot terrorists, incapable of governing properly. On the other hand, so much talent has left the country, and I am not sure that even half of it will ever go back. I am with those women who protest. Their resistance is very brave. But no, I don’t feel very hopeful.”

Hossaini, who is 29, was a well-known (and well-connected) figure in Kabul – a photographer, a curator, a university professor, and the founder of Mastooraat, an organisation that supported artists and performers in Afghanistan. Leaving was agonising. From childhood she had longed to see the land of her grandparents, and from the moment she first visited Afghanistan in 2015, she fell passionately in love with it. She had so many friends there. “This crazy connection with my roots,” as she puts it.

But in terms of her work there was a particular wrench. Inspired by the fact that whenever she travelled abroad, people would inevitably ask about the burqa, she had spent several years photographing the country’s supposedly “unseen” women with their faces uncovered, their bodies swathed in fabrics of every imaginable colour – a project she would now never finish.

In Paris, though, her mind turned to it again. Why shouldn’t she complete it with a series of portraits of women just like herself? After all, a person is no less an Afghan just because they are in exile. And what better way to celebrate aspects of a culture – singing, painting, acting – that are now banned by the Taliban? (In Kabul, people are struck now by the absence of music; the city’s soundtrack has no melodies.)

Atefeh Amini Afghan multidisciplinary artist, sits on a bed covered with brightly-covered paintings.

  • Atefeh Amini
    A multidisciplinary artist, filmmaker and actor, Amini was born to Afghan parents in Iran and relocated to Afghanistan in 2020. In Kabul, she starred in several films, including The Dogs Didn’t Sleep Last Night, and was working on a film about her own experiences in Afghanistan, as well as a series of paintings exploring Afghan women’s lives. Fleeing the country last August, she left her film unrealised but managed to take some of her canvases with her to France. ‘They were the only things I brought,’ she says. ‘Everybody told me to leave them behind, but I couldn’t. My paintings are like children for me.’ She now lives in Lille, where she continues to paint. ‘It is the only way I can deal with my traumas,’ she says

To her original collection, then, she gradually added portraits of some of those who had fled Afghanistan in August 2021: women such as Aqila Rezai, a film star who had worked in Afghan cinema for 30 years, and Shegofa Ibrahimi, a theatre actor who left the country with nothing but a dress made for her by her mother; women like Anarkali Kaur Honaryar, a Sikh doctor and one of the first non-Muslim members of the Afghan parliament, and Marzieh Hamidi, a member of the Afghan national taekwondo team.

“My aim has been to break the stereotype of the Afghan woman,” she says. “I have worked to portray all backgrounds, and all ethnicities. In every province, faces are different, some fair-skinned and some dark, and traditional dress is different in every province too. This project is all about the face: its power, its individuality, its ferocity.” But the series has also taken on extra meaning – a new resonance – since the Taliban took over in Afghanistan once again. “It’s the most valuable thing, because the pictures preserve things – ways of being, and of dressing – that are important culturally. To see a woman’s face at all …” Her voice trails off. There are no words. Even now, it all seems so unbelievable.

Marzieh Hamidi, a member of the Afghan national taekwondo team, who left the country in November 2021 with nothing but her medals.

  • Marzieh Hamidi
    When 20-year-old Hamidi left Afghanistan for France last November, among the few things she brought with her were her precious taekwondo medals. Born in Iran to Afghan parents who had fled the first Taliban regime, Hamidi fell in love with taekwondo at 15. She won several competitions in Iran before her family moved back to Kabul in 2019. Hamidi continued to train in Afghanistan despite discrimination and was part of the Afghan national team when the Taliban returned to power. In Paris, she is practising hard and hoping to compete in the 2024 Olympics. ‘I could never have imagined that one day I would have to leave my country because I want to be a champion of Afghanistan in sport and I can’t, because I am a woman,’ she says

And what of her own exile? The past year, she says, hasn’t been easy. “When I arrived I was in shock. It took two or three months to accept what had happened.” She knew no one, and spoke no French. “I’ve struggled a lot. But I have been made welcome, in a very honourable and respectful way. I hear that in England, Afghans are still living in hotel rooms. Here, I’m respected as an artist, I’ve been able to continue my work, and I have a platform from which to speak about the women of Afghanistan.” Will she stay? She sounds uncertain. “I love Paris. It’s amazing. I do feel France can be my home. But maybe I will go back to a central Asian country to live, just to be somewhere close to Afghanistan.”

What does she miss most? If I were able to visit, where would she tell me to go? She looks out of the window, towards the shimmering Seine. “I really miss my house,” she says, softly. “I miss the nights when my friends came over and we cooked food together. I miss the mountains. I could see the Hindu Kush from my window. I miss being able to travel to Bamiyan [a province in the highlands noted for its carved buddhas, the most famous of which were destroyed by the Taliban in 2001]. That’s where I would tell you to go. To Bamiyan, for the buddhas, and the lakes, and the amazing food; and I would tell you to go to Herat too, to see the Citadel, and to eat an orange and some small fishes from the river … Yes, I really do miss every inch of my home.” Does she think she will see it all again one day? She nods. “One day.” It’s a matter of circumstance, not desire. When – if – the chance comes, just let them try to stop her.

Aqila Rezai, Afghan actress, stands next to a flight of stairs.

  • Aqila Rezai
    A journalism student who became an actor, Rezai [aka Agheleh Rezaie] remained in Afghanistan when the Taliban first came to power, even after the regime murdered her husband. In 2003, she starred in Samira Makhmalbaf’s film At Five in the Afternoon as a young Afghan woman going to school against her father’s will – Rezai attended the film’s premiere at Cannes, where it was awarded the Jury prize. ‘She was a superstar in Afghanistan, everyone knew her,’ says Fatimah Hossaini. Last August, Rezai left the country with her three sons and moved to Bordeaux. ‘She told me she didn’t realise that one day she would be coming back to France as a refugee,’ says Hossaini. ‘In exile, she feels like a dead soul across an ocean, a nobody, compared to the prestigious life she had in Afghanistan’



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‘Silence is the crime’: Patrice Evra on surviving abuse and his work with the WHO | Global development

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His autobiography had been written and was at the printers when international football star Patrice Evra decided he had something important to add about his life. But first he had to tell his mum. “That was the hardest challenge,” he says. “And I was a 40-year-old man.”

Until that point last year, the former Manchester United and French national team captain had never spoken about being sexually abused by a teacher when he was 13.

Last week the Senegal-born Evra stepped on what he called “the most famous podium in the world” – the stage of the UN general assembly in New York – to speak about the abuse and his decision to take up a new role campaigning for the protection of children, especially in Africa. That moment, he says, and the standing ovation for his impassioned call for action, meant more to him than any of the trophies he accumulated in his world-class football career.

“People were in shock when I wrote this in my book. So I wanted to share,” Evra says. This year the former player visited several African countries with the World Health Organization (WHO), speaking in schools and meeting survivors of abuse.

“I’d started to be on social media and, OK, I’m a bad singer, but every time I did a video I was singing and people were starting to say to me that this helped them. So I thought, ‘OK, I can do more than that,’ and I started working with the WHO, to go to Africa.

Patrice Evra speaks at the UN general assembly.
Patrice Evra speaks at the UN general assembly. Photograph: Loey Felipe/UN Photo

“I met a lot of survivors. I’m just in a learning process. Just because I experienced sexual violence at the age of 13 doesn’t mean I know everything. So it was pretty simple, to start to talk.

“Abuse is taboo, but I love everything taboo, bring it on. In African culture, for a black person it can be even difficult to talk about love. I never saw my mum kissing my dad. I never saw that. So for an African person to have succeeded in his life and then talk about things like this, they were in shock.

“I went to a school, the teacher asked the kids, ‘Do you think it’s possible for a black person to be abused?’ They all said no. Then I shared my story. They couldn’t believe it. For them it was impossible for a man.”

Evra says his retirement from professional football in July 2019 was a catalyst. For starters he learned to cry.

“I grew up thinking that crying was a weakness but actually now I understand that you actually should cry. You should share your emotion. Women are 10 years in advance, maybe more … but men should cry.

“It would have been too difficult to show emotion when I was still playing. I remember once with a team, we were on a plane and there was a player and he was watching a movie and he was crying and I was like, ‘Why are you crying?’ He said, ‘This movie, I’ve watched it five times and it always makes me cry.’

“My first reaction was to turn to my teammates and say, ‘This guy cannot play a game of football. This is weak.’ But now I am a different man, I would watch this movie with him and I would cry with him. But back then, for me it was impossible.”

Evra playing for Manchester United against Arsenal in the English Premier League, 2011.
Evra playing for Manchester United against Arsenal in the English Premier League, 2011. Photograph: Eddie Keogh / Reuters/REUTERS

Evra did not speak out even when the police officers investigating his abuser contacted him. “I remember at 24 I was playing for Monaco and the police called me and said, ‘We have had some complaints about this man, do you know anything?’, and I said no. So I lied. You don’t want to deal with it.”

It was when he was watching a documentary on paedophilia with his partner, the Danish model Margaux Alexandra, that the realisation came. “She saw my face and I just let my emotions out and I said, ‘You know what, I think I have to put it in the book.’

“For my mum, she was devastated. To that 13-year-old kid, now a grown man and facing her, she kept saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, but I said, ‘No mum, I’m OK, I’m fine.’ And that is why I don’t call myself a victim, I’m a survivor.

“You feel shame, you feel guilty. I just blocked it. I said: ‘Mum, I don’t even remember his face … I don’t want any pity for myself.’

“When I was captain of Manchester United or the French national team, people always saw me as someone who never showed their emotion and [they] say that’s because I am from the street and tough, but actually it’s because of this trauma that I was this way.”

Evra’s father was a diplomat and moved the family from Senegal to Brussels when Evra was one, before settling in the Paris suburb of Les Ulis two years later.

“School is normally a place where I should have been safe. I should have had someone protect me … I didn’t have it. It was instead a place that took all my emotion away. It was difficult for me to trust people after that,” he says.

On top of growing up in a difficult neighbourhood – with 23 siblings and half-siblings – Evra also had the deep-seated racism prevalent in Europe’s football clubs to contend with.

Racism was really tough,” he says. “I played in Italy when I was 17 and I was the only black player in the league. I had the whole thing of monkey noises and people throwing bananas. For me, it made me think, ‘I’m going to hurt you in a different way, on the pitch.’ The racism was not bad at Manchester United but of course it is there. Even when England had the three black players who missed the penalties, on social media it was just crazy. It’s not only England [but] in France too: when you play well you are a French player, when you play badly you are a Senegalese player.

Evra answers questions at a UN side event about child protection.
Evra answers questions at a UN side event about child protection. Photograph: Joe Short

“Silence is the crime. For racism, for abuse. When they tried to do the Super League, I see everyone talking about this with such energy and I’m thinking, ‘Why don’t we have this energy to tackle racism?’”

Globally, WHO estimates that up to 1 billion children aged two to 17 will have experienced physical, sexual, or emotional violence or neglect in the past year.

Evra, a father himself, says something must be done. “We have to end the violence. We are talking about many things but I don’t hear about ending the violence against children. Why is it so taboo?

“The support is important to end the violence, everyone experiences violence in their childhood. We need to support the family. We need to hear the stories of survivors. This is the start.”

In the UK, Rape Crisis offers support for rape and sexual abuse on 0808 802 9999 in England and Wales, 0808 801 0302 in Scotland, or 0800 0246 991 in Northern Ireland. In the US, Rainn offers support on 800-656-4673. In Australia, support is available at 1800Respect (1800 737 732). Other international helplines can be found at ibiblio.org/rcip/internl.html

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How Budget Deficit May Become a Real Problem for US

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President Joe Biden’s plan to slash student loan debt could cost US taxpayers about $400 billion, the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office said on September 26. This did not, however, prevent congressional negotiators from agreeing on nearly $12 billion in new military and economic assistance to Ukraine.

“The US budget deficit is an old story,” said Dr. Paul Craig Roberts, a US economist and ex-assistant secretary of the Treasury under Ronald Reagan. “The ‘Reagan deficits’ (approximately $200 billion) according to critics were supposed to collapse the US economy in 1982-84. In 2020, the US budget deficit was $3,100 billion – 15 times larger. In 2021 the deficit was $2,800 billion. This year it is projected to be $1,000 billion but will be much larger as the Federal Reserve is driving the economy into recession.”

However, US citizens do not appear concerned by the mounting numbers since they have been hearing about large and growing budget deficits all their lives and nothing yet has happened, the economist remarks.

To complicate matters further, the deficit issue has become a “rhetorical shell game” for the government, the Washington Post’s Glenn Kessler wrote last week. For instance, earlier this month President Joe Biden bragged about cutting the $350 billion budget deficit last year, “but the reality is he’s increased the budget deficit, not reduced it,” Kessler highlighted.
Thus, the budget deficit was expected to decline $875 billion in 2021, but Biden’s additional COVID relief and other new policies resulted in a more modest decline of $360 billion. At the same time, the US president’s decision to reduce student debt for millions could cost somewhere between $400 billion and $600 billion over a decade, according to some estimates. In addition, there are “unexpected emergencies,” such as the Ukraine conflict, which put pressure on the federal budget, Kessler remarked, citing a new accounting by the Committee for a Responsible Federal Budget, which claims that an additional $4.8 trillion in borrowing has been added in the 2021-2031 period under Biden.
Dollar bills are deposited in a tip box, May 24, 2021 in New York. - Sputnik International, 1920, 21.09.2022

How the US Fed Rate Hike May Backfire on Global Economy

“As long as the dollar is the reserve currency and is used to settle most international payments, the US deficits are financed by countries holding their foreign reserves in US dollar securities,” explains Dr. Roberts. “So foreigners finance the US deficit and the Federal Reserve itself buys any overhang. This is why the deficit has not been a problem.”

Still, there are several reasons why the US budget deficit could indeed become a financing problem, according to the economist.

First, the Federal Reserve announced that its current policy is to sell bonds, removing the central bank as a purchaser of US Treasury debt, Dr. Roberts pointed out. Second, US sanctions by abusing the world currency role is causing other countries to move away from using dollars to settle their international transactions. “That means less dollars will find their way into foreign central bank reserves,” the former Reagan official elaborated.

As of yet, however, the US dollar is safe and sound while other reserve currencies – the euro and UK pound – are collapsing due to sanctions-produced energy shortages and possible industry shutdowns, according to the economist. Having sucked the life from the euro and the pound. the greenback remains the preferred and strongest currency. “Until Russia, China, and participating countries create their own payments and clearing system, there remains no alternative to the US dollar,” Dr. Roberts remarked.

Knife crime - Sputnik International, 1920, 26.09.2022

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Greenback’s Strength Not Infinite, Recession to Bite US

While this state of affairs lulls some US politicians into believing that they can rely on the dollar’s strength forever and continue to fund overseas wars, the US’ domestic problems pile up.

“US infrastructure is wearing out,” says Dr. Roberts. “Much of it is financed by local and state governments, and their revenue position has been badly damaged by the offshoring of US manufacturing, which has deprived them of tax revenues while massive influx of immigrant-invaders have pushed up the cost of supporting the illegal entrants. As the federal government permits the entry of millions of illegals, perhaps the federal government should be assuming the related costs instead of sending weapons to Ukraine.”

In addition, soaring prices are eating away at savings and real wages as inflation still remains at a 40-year higher. Polls indicate that inflation has largely become a major concern of voters along with crime. The unfolding situation may deal a heavy blow to the Democratic Party in the November midterms by stripping it of its slim majority in the US Congress. If this happens, it may curb the Biden administration’s political ambitions and disrupt its plans with some Republican lawmakers threatening to impeach the incumbent.
US police crime scene tape - Sputnik International, 1920, 26.09.2022

Crime and Inflation Creating Difficult Headwinds for Democrats Ahead of Midterms, Observers Say
There is yet another problem on the horizon, according to Dr. Roberts. The economist assumes that the Federal Reserve will drag the nation deeper into recession by aggressively increasing interest rates at a time when consumer demand is cooling and the US economy is slowing down.

“The effect of the Federal Reserve’s recession on the deficit will be far greater than the military expenditures for Ukraine, which are mere pocket change,” the former Reagan official notes.

Last week, the Federal Reserve raised its benchmark interest rate by 75 basis points again with its chair, Jay Powell, planning an additional 1.25 percentage points’ worth of increases this year. Even though these interventions could hurt the labor, housing and stock markets, Powell is not going to back down. “I wish there were a painless way to do that. There isn’t,” the Fed chair told journalists last week.



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Brazil election: Lula maintains lead over Bolsonaro in final stretch to vote | International

Voice Of EU

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Brazil’s presidential election is shaping up to be a battle between the far right, represented by the current President Jair Bolsonaro, and the left, which has been gaining ground over the past few years. And with less than a week to go until the first round on October 2, the leftist candidate, former president Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, is in the lead. According to poll averages, analyzed by EL PAÍS, the Workers’ Party (PT) candidate holds an advantage of around 10 points over Bolsonaro. But to win the election in the first round and avoid a runoff vote on October 30, he needs to secure more than 50% of the vote. At the moment, he is five points short of this threshold, but he may be able to sway the 7% of voters who are currently undecided or planning to abstain.

Lula’s lead over Bolsonaro has been more or less stable since the beginning of May, when he officially announced he was running for president. The fluctuations in the margin appear to be due more to circumstantial issues, and it is unclear whether they will affect the outcome of the October 2 vote. For now, none of the most recent polls, nor the historical averages calculated by EL PAÍS, give Lula a lead of more than 15 points or show him clearly winning the election in the first round.

The polls indicate that Bolsonaro gained more support when former judge, Sergio Moro, and João Doria, the former governor of São Paulo, pulled out of the race. But this has not appeared to affect Lula’s voter base, which also remained stable after the centrist Simone Tebet and center-left politician Ciro Gomes announced their candidacies. In other words, Lula’s base seems notably less volatile than that of the current president.

For this reason, recent polls have begun to question whether Lula could in fact win the election in the first round. An overwhelming victory at the October 2 vote would also make it more difficult for Bolsonaro to deny the election results, something which he has hinted at doing.

For both Lula and Bolsonaro, the margin between the highest and lowest estimate in the polls is between only six and eight points. This means that even if Lula achieves the lowest estimate and Bolsonaro the highest, the former president would still be in the lead. What’s more, the difference in estimates is partly due to the differing criteria of pollsters and whether estimates include undecided voters. If undecided voters are excluded from the poll averages, Lula would go from winning an estimated 44.9% to 48.2%, while Bolsonaro would receive 37.1% of the vote. In this case, Lula would have an 11-point lead over Bolsonaro, but still not the 51% or more required to win the election in the first round.

In other words, polls show that Lula will lead Bolsonaro in the first round, but will not win enough support to avoid a runoff vote on October 30. There are still days to go before the end of the high-profile campaign, which has been rocked by violence, including threats, harrasment and the murder of Lula supporters at the hands of Bolsonaro backers.

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