Study of the Thames, JMW Turner. Tate Museum. Photo: Jeffrey St. Clair.
A few weeks ago, the first thing I noticed was how uncannily still the red and white helicopter was against the blue sky.
It was hovering above the River Thames like a hawk. I couldn’t see the river—buildings blocked the view—but the sound was unmistakable: agitated rotor blades cutting through surprisingly warm air.
What was going on? If they were filming, why not use a drone?
On my way back, an hour later, the helicopter was still there—the same spot—but even more ominous. Was I overreacting?
Later I read the news. An 11-year-old girl had gone missing playing next to the river. A young boy tried to hold her hand against the tide—despite the presence of the Thames Barrier, the water that day was invasively high. The girl slipped away.
Unbearable. Unthinkable.
It always feels trite to say life is precious. Especially in a world where children are made to die daily—in Gaza, Ukraine, Yemen, Sudan. Four conflicts too many.
Life’s fragility everywhere. I came across news of a friend’s death by accident last week—a former teenage chum I’d only recently reconnected with. A bagpiper, he would drift through my chaotic Edinburgh flat from Glasgow on his way to busk around Europe. A joyful mind, always with a book—Timothy Leary, John Michell, Richard Brautigan, maybe Vonnegut. But he’d gone quiet after our last exchange. Now I knew why.
He was a Cambridge professor by the time we got together again. His field was computer security, and his mind roamed wide—cryptography, cybercrime, hardware security, peer-to-peer networks, steganography, human behaviour, the economics of trust. I prized our lunches together at his college.
Farewell, piper chum. You played a blinder.
Meanwhile, the Yanks are coming. We’re seeing a surge over here—school inquiries from US parents are up 250% from last year. Over 170,000 American expats already live in the UK. We’ve never been so popular with Americans out of uniform.
If only the global mood was not so restless. When former No.10 and RAF personnel begin reposting Glenn Greenwald—never a great fan of the UK—you know something odd is happening. Greenwald’s criticism: after years of Americans railing against cancel culture and censorship on campus, the same machinery of suppression has now migrated into American academia itself.
His latest spark? NYU famously cancelling that speech by a former president of Doctors Without Borders. The well known reason: the speaker planned to discuss the war in Gaza, and a slide showing the Palestinian death toll ‘could be perceived as antisemitic.’ Talk cancelled.
Greenwald called it out. Many agreed. The dissonance was sharp. Gaza. Ukraine. Inflation. Climate crisis. The sheer volume of bad news is overwhelming. A recent study suggests the public is increasingly tuning out—not just from fatigue, but from a collapsing trust in the media itself. I have friends who duck the news.
Young people say it clearly: it’s hard to care about news when it feels manipulated. Add algorithmic changes to social media and search engines, and news outlets are bleeding traffic. Reaching Gen Z is now a newsroom obsession.
Still, there are connections that remind us of proximity. London and Paris, for instance. I have another friend who lives in both, though he was in Brooklyn over Easter. In Paris, Marine Le Pen is still lashing out over her 2027 election ban. Her party can still run, as many know, but the ban is red meat for those across the Atlantic still dreaming of turning Europe into an anti-immigrant fortress. And yet, just last week, the Ukraine-sceptic and anti-EU vice-president JD Vance was oddly contrite at the Chigi Palace in Rome.
Meanwhile, it’s been over six weeks since Ukraine agreed to the US ceasefire proposal. Rubio back then said the ball was in Russia’s court. Russia, it seems, doesn’t want anyone having the ball. Even its Easter ceasefire was derided, which was worrying, with both sides blaming each other. If anything, Russia was accused of intensifying shelling and using the Easter truce as cover to improve frontline positions.
Then there’s the other type of hate. Someone recently sent me a grotesque piece of anti-Islamic, AI-generated footage, claiming to show what Paris would look like in 2050. I won’t dignify it with a description. It was vile. After not much research, I can confirm it breached the EU’s new AI Act. Some defend this kind of visual propaganda as free speech. Or a laugh. To me, it’s just another example of how twisted the ‘free world’ has become.
‘Shall we talk about the weather?’ as REM sang. Aside from an overflowing Thames, the Met Office recently issued rare amber wildfire warnings for London. A few weeks ago, in what used to be a traditionally cold March, the capital was pushing 21°C. The London Fire Brigade had said those weren’t even summer highs—but wildfires remained a threat, especially after such a dry spring.
Still, I suppose, not all helicopters overhead are a sign of tragedy. Some are filming. Eighteen major movies are currently in production across London today. As Orson Welles once said: ‘If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.’
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This content originally appeared on CounterPunch.org and was authored by Peter Bach.