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Wales Online
6 days ago
- General
- Wales Online
British couple drowned on Mallorca after being 'swept away' by 'wall of water', inquests hear
Our community members are treated to special offers, promotions and adverts from us and our partners. You can check out at any time. More info A British couple on holiday on Mallorca were swept away by a 'wall of water' when a rainstorm hit the gorge they were walking in, an inquest has heard. Alex Johnson, 32, known to his family as Alex Barrett, was walking with partner Sarah Thompson, 26, in the Torrent de Pareis canyon in northern Mallorca when the tragedy struck on September 3, 2024. Separate inquests at Stockport Coroners' Court heard heavy rainfall sent a 'torrent of water' flowing down the canyon. While the rest of the couple's group managed to climb to safety, Ms Thompson and Mr Barrett were both tragically swept away in the flash flood. Family and friends told the court a sport-loving couple who loved the outdoors and who shared a 'passion' for climbing and hiking. Mr Barrett's father Paul Rodman said his son was an experienced climbing instructor who loved hiking and surfing, 'loved life'. 'He was a good, caring person who achieved a lot in his short life,' Mr Rodman added. 'We now have a saying in our family: be more Alex. We miss him tremendously and take pride in everything he did.' Ms Thompson was a lover of running and swimming amd was introduced to climbing by Mr Barrett. 'He was a very good instructor who did not push Sarah beyond her limits,' her father Peter Thompson told her inquest. 'She worked at the Christie Hospital processing donations and was very happy there. She loved her family and was never without a smile on her face.' Both inquests were read a statement from Luke Weaver, a friend of the couple who witnessed the tragedy. (Image: Family handout) An experienced climbing instructor, he said he had completed the Torrent de Pareis canyon walk 'several times previously'. 'It can be challenging in places, with scrambles and small climbs,' he added. 'But I was confident it was well within their capabilities. 'I was aware that the gorge could flood. I checked the weather forecast in the morning and it said there was potential for rain at about 6pm. 'As we would all be clear of the gorge by then, there was no issue for us. Had I known what would happen, I never would have let them enter.' It was decided the rest of the group would enter the canyon from above while Mr Weaver would park further down then join them from below. 'I started walking up the gorge at 1.45pm,' Mr Weaver's statement added. 'At about 2.30pm it started to drizzle but I was not concerned. 'It then began to rain more heavily and I could hear thunder in the distance. The rocks were becoming slippery and it soon became impossible to carry on.' Mr Weaver said he eventually found the group again at around 3.20pm. 'I was so relieved to have found them - but then, the heavens opened,' he added. 'We all had to pass through a bottle-neck between two boulders. Water was flowing past like a small river. (Image: Olaf Tausch / Creative Commons Attribution 3.0) 'I gestured to Sarah and asked if she was okay. She indicated 'yes' and gave me a nervous smile. But seconds later a massive wall of water came down the gorge as if from nowhere. I was shouting and screaming for the others but couldn't see Alex or Sarah." Mr Weaver said his partner Sian Morris had seen the water 'hit Sarah hard', carrying her 'through the bottleneck'. 'She glimpsed Alex in the water next to Sarah with a cut to his head,' he added. 'The water was flowing fast and with many drops. I feared the worst for Alex and Sarah.' The group was eventually rescued by helicopter at about 6.30pm and quickly notified the couple's families, who then travelled to the island. The bodies of the couple were found by the authorities on September 4 and September 6 respectively. Assistant Coroner Jyoti Gill delivered a conclusion - for both Mr Barrett and Ms Thompson - of accidental death by drowning. 'Alex and Sarah shared a love of sports and rock climbing,' she said. 'They were making their way down a route which was known to be challenging in places. They had never attempted this before. 'A nearby storm had created flash floods sending a torrent of water through the gorge. They were unable to climb to safety and both were swept away by the flood waters. 'Due to the difficult terrain they were unable to climb to safety and were swept away. Sarah was dragged and Alex tried to help her but was dragged away by the current." Ms Gill added that the findings of their respective post-mortems were 'consistent' with this conclusion, noting that there was 'no suggestion' of drugs or alcohol in either's system apart from 'traces of paracetamol'.
WIRED
6 days ago
- Health
- WIRED
Life After the Atomic Blast, as Told by Hiroshima's Survivors
Aug 6, 2025 6:11 AM Eighty years after the dropping of the first atomic bomb, Hiroshima's survivors and their descendants describe how health problems and stigma have echoed down the generations. Photographer: Smith Collection/Gado/Getty Images THIS ARTICLE IS republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. 'I'm not sure if it was the effect of the atomic bomb, but I have always had a weak body, and when I was born, the doctor said I wouldn't last more than three days.' These are the words of Kazumi Kuwahara, a third-generation hibakusha —a survivor of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in Japan 80 years ago. Kuwahara, who still lives in Hiroshima, was in London on May 6 this year to give a speech at a Victory Over Japan Day conference organized and hosted by the University of Westminster. Now 29, she told the conference that she felt she had been 'fighting illness' throughout her twenties. When she was 25, she needed abdominal surgery to remove a tumor which post-surgery tests showed was benign. When she found out about the operation, her grandmother, Emiko Yamanaka—now 91 and a direct survivor of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima—told her 'I'm sorry, it's my fault.' Kuwahara explained: 'Ever since I was young, whenever I became seriously ill, my grandmother would repeatedly say: 'I'm sorry.' The atomic bombing didn't end on that day, and the survivors—we hibakusha—continue to live within its shadow.' Kazumi Kuwahara with her grandmother, Emiko Yamanaka, outside Hiroshima Peace Dome in 2025. Photograph: Kazumi Kuwahara, CC BY-NC-ND Kuwahara came to stay with me 10 years ago during a study-abroad break after I had interviewed her grandmother for my doctoral research. When I'd made a film about Yamanaka in 2012, I immediately noticed her reluctance to share her harrowing experience. But she then invited me to interview her in Hiroshima—the first of 10 trips I made there for research that would become an interview archive. I wanted to research hibakusha like Kuwahara and her grandmother as they continue to confront the physical, social, and psychological effects of the atomic bombs dropped on August 6 and August 9, 1945, on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, respectively. The 16-kiloton bomb dropped on Hiroshima at 8:15 am by a US B-29 bomber was codenamed 'Little Boy' by the Americans. It exploded about 600 meters above the Shima Hospital in the downtown area of Nakajima—a mix of residential, commercial, sacred, and military sites. The bomb emitted a radioactive flash as well as a sonic boom. A gigantic fireball formed (about 3,000–4,000 degrees C), as well as mushroom cloud which climbed up to 16 kilomters in the air. In Japan in the immediate aftermath of the bombing, people couldn't even utter the phrase 'atomic bomb' due to censorship rules initially enforced by the Japanese military authorities, up until the day of surrender on August 15. The censorship was reinstated and expanded by the US during its occupation of the Japanese islands from September 2, 1945. For decades, the hibakusha have faced discrimination and difficulty in obtaining work and finding marriage partners due to a complex combination of suppression, stigma, ignorance, and fear around the dropping of the atomic bombs and their aftereffects. Wartime propaganda in Imperial Japan precluded free speech while also imposing bans on luxury goods, Western language and customs (including clothes), and public displays of emotion. However, the US occupation—which lasted until the San Francisco treaty was signed on April 2,8 1952—went further, establishing an extensive Civil Censorship Department, which monitored not only all newspapers, magazines, pamphlets, books, films, and plays but also radio broadcasts, personal mail, and telephone and telegraph communications. Little wonder the scars of the bomb remained untreated for generations. Emiko Yamanaka's Story Yamanaka was 11 years old when she was exposed to the atomic bombing, just 1.4 kilometers from ground zero. Emiko Yamanaka (far left) with her parents and four brothers during wartime before the atomic bombing in 1945. Photograph: Emiko Yamanaka She told me about her experiences of surviving on the bank of the River Ota, which divides into seven rivers in the estuary of Hiroshima. Yamanaka was the oldest of five siblings in 1945. Although the family had been evacuated to an island near Kure 25 kilometers away, she returned to their home on the outskirts of the city with her mother and 9-year-old brother early on the morning of August 6 so she could attend an appointment with an eye doctor for a case of conjunctivitis. Making her way into the city by herself, the tram she was traveling on needed to stop due to an air-raid warning. It was a 'light' warning as just two B-29s had been spotted approaching the mainland (a third photography plane was not yet visible on the horizon), so Yamanaka needed to continue her journey on foot. She recalled: 'When I got to Sumiyoshi shrine, the strap of one of my wooden geta [Japanese clogs] had snapped off. I tried to fix it with a torn piece of my handkerchief in the shade of a nearby factory building. Then a man came out of the factory and gave me a string of hemp. He advised me to enter the doorway because the sun was very hot already. 'When I was repairing my strap, there was a flash. I was blinded for a moment, because the light was so strong, as if the sun or a fireball had fallen down over my head. I couldn't tell where it came from—side, front, or behind. I didn't know what had happened to me. It felt like I was mowed down, pinned or veiled in by something very strong. I couldn't exhale.' 'I cried out: 'I can't breathe! I'm choking! Help me!' I fainted. It all happened in a matter of seconds. I heard something rustling nearby and suddenly recovered my senses. 'Help me. Help me,' I cried.' An aerial photograph of Hiroshima, Japan, after the atomic bomb was dropped. Photograph: UniversalA man wearing what seemed like an apron, tattered gaiters, and ammo boots came toward her and called out: 'Where are you? Where are you?' He pushed aside the debris and extended his arm to Yamanaka: 'When I caught his hand, the skin of his hand stripped off and our hands slipped. He adjusted his hand and dragged me out of the debris, grabbing my fingers … I felt a sense of relief, but I forgot to say thank you to him. Everything happened in a moment.' Yamanaka started to run back the way she had come along the river, as 'the city was not yet burning.' She saw the shrine just beyond Sumiyoshi bridge, not far from the river. But the bridge had been damaged by the bomb, so she couldn't cross it. Yamanaka's family home was at Eba across the river. In those days, the River Ota was used for river transport and business, and there were huge stone steps going down to the river for loading. She said: 'I wanted to get across to the other side. Then the city started to burn. The fires were chasing me, and I had to run along the riverbank. I had to keep running as fast as possible until I finally reached Yoshijima jail. I was so scared, but the area was not burning yet. I felt so relieved, I lost my consciousness.' She awoke hearing shouts of 'is there anyone who is going back to Eba from Funairi?' and recognized a neighbor. She asked him to take her across, but he couldn't recognize her. 'I shed big tears when I heard his voice,' she told me. There were about 10 people in a small wooden boat, all with 'big swollen grotesque faces and frizzy hair. I thought they were old people. Maybe I also looked like an old woman,' she added. After crossing the river in the small boat, Yamanaka ran to her Eba home which, even though it was 3 kilometers from ground zero, had collapsed. She couldn't find her mother. Someone told her to go to the air-raid shelter nearby, but there were too many people to fit inside. When she finally found her mother, she was barely recognizable, wrapped in bandages from her injuries. Yamanaka herself had to go to a hospital, as tiny pieces of glass from the factory windows where she had been exposed were lodged in her body. She told me how some shards of glass still emerge from her body occasionally, secreting a chocolate-colored pus. The family—Yamanaka, her mother, and her younger brother (her father, grandparents, and the other siblings had remained evacuated)—stayed up all night in a shelter on Eba hill, listening to the sounds of the burning city, the cries for mothers, the sounds of carts filled with refugees. 'All those sounds horrified me,' Yamanaka recalled—decades on from the day that changed everything. The aftermath of the atomic bomb showing the former Hiroshima Industrial Promotion hall. The Peace Memorial Park, dedicated to the victims, would later be built here. Photograph: UniversalThe Day the World Changed The immediate effects of the bomb, including heat, blast, and radiation, extended to a 4 kilometer radius—although recent studies show the radioactive fallout from 'black rain' extended much farther due to the winds blowing the mushroom cloud. And some survivors told me they witnessed the blast effects of the bomb, including windows blown out or structures disturbed, in outlying towns and villages up to 30 kilometers away. But the closer you were to ground zero, the more likely you were to suffer severe effects. At 0.36 kilometers from ground zero, there was almost nothing left; about 4 kilometers away, 50 percent of the inhabitants died. Even 11 kilometers away, people suffered from third-degree burns due to the effects of radiation. The neutron rays also penetrated the surface of the earth, causing it to become radioactive. The mushroom cloud was visible from the hills of neighboring prefectures. Those who were beyond the immediate blast radius may not have shown any external injuries immediately—but they commonly became sick and died in the days, weeks, months, and years that followed. And those outside the city were exposed to radiation when they tried to enter to help the injured. Radiation also affected children who were in the womb at the time. Common radiation-related diseases were hair loss, bleeding gums, loss of energy ('no more will' in Japanese), and pain, as well as life-threatening high fever. About 650,000 people were recognized by the Japanese government as having been affected by the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. While most have now passed away, figures held by the Ministry of Health, Labor, and Welfare from March 31, 2025, show there are an estimated 99,130 still alive, whose average age is now 86. In a radio broadcast following the atomic bombings, Emperor Hirohito announced Japan's surrender and called on the Japanese people to 'bear the unbearable,' referring to the 'most cruel weapons' that had been used by the Allied forces without directly identifying the nuclear attack. Due to ill-feeling about the defeat, shame over Japan's imperial past and role in the war, plus censorship and ignorance about the reality of nuclear weapons, the idea grew that the dead and injured hibakusha were simply 'sacrifices' ('生贄 になる') for world peace. Generations Affected It took Yamanaka around seven years to recover her strength enough to lead a relatively normal life, so she barely graduated from high school. She has subsequently been diagnosed with various blood, heart, eye, and thyroid diseases as well as low immunity—symptoms that can be related to radiation exposure. Her daughters also suffered. In 1977, when her eldest daughter was 19, she had three operations for skin cancer. In 1978, when her second daughter was 14, she developed leukemia. In 1987, her third daughter suffered from a unilateral oophorectomy (a surgical procedure to remove an ovary). I interviewed Yamanaka's daughters, granddaughter, and several other survivors repeatedly, beginning with experiences prior to the atomic bombing and continuing up to the present day. While these interviews generally started in the official location of the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, I also conducted walking interviews and went to sites of special importance to their personal memories. I shared car journeys, coffees, and meals with them and their helpers, because I wanted to see their lives in context, as part of a community. Their trauma and suffering are dealt with socially. For the relatively few survivors who tell their stories in public, it is through the help of strong local networks. While I was at first told I would not find survivors who wanted to share their stories, gradually more came forward through a snowball effect. Returning to interview Yamanaka in August 2013, we traveled by car to her former home of Eba, pausing at the site where she had alighted after her journey across the river. There, Yamanaka struck up conversation with a fellow survivor who was passing on his bicycle. His name was Maruto-San. They had attended the same temple-based elementary school. Emiko Yamanaka meets a fellow hibakusha, Maruto-San, on a visit to her hometown in Eba with the author in August 2013. Photograph: Elizabeth Chappell The two hibakusha, who had both been exposed when young (part of a category known as jakunen hibakusha), exchanged stories about their experiences after 'that day' ( ano hi )—as August 6 and 9 are still known in the atomic-bombed cities. They talked about how just one or two friends were still alive—one survivor ran a well-known patisserie in the local department store. Yamanaka informed Maruto-San that she had met a few friends from childhood on a reunion trip, during which they had tried to retrieve some happier pre-bomb memories. The meeting offered a rare glimmer of recognition and reconnection. Keisaburo Toyanaga's Story In 2014, I traveled to the childhood home of hibakusha Keisaburo Toyanaga, a retired teacher of classical Japanese who was 9 on August 6, 1945. After visiting his original home in east Hiroshima, we took the route he, his mother, grandfather, and 3-year-old younger brother had traveled, fleeing Hiroshima toward his grandfather's house in the suburb of Funakoshi, about 8 kilometers away. He told me: 'I remember coming this way on that day … My family was just one of many others, we were all traveling with our belongings on pushcarts.' The family set up home in this poor suburb, which was shared with many Korean families who could not find a way out of poverty due to historic discrimination. Korea was annexed by Imperial Japan, and Koreans had been recruited en masse into Japan's war effort. An estimated 40,000 to 80,000 were in Hiroshima in 1945. Some high-ranking Koreans were accepted by the Japanese—for example, royals like Prince Yi U, who was said to have been astride his horse at the time of the bombing. But ordinary Koreans had to refrain from using their own language or wearing Korean clothes in public. Even after the war was over, they needed to use Japanese names outside the home. After the war, Koreans in Hiroshima took menial agricultural work—in Funakoshi, they kept pigs. Confronted with discrimination in the classroom where he taught at the Electricity Workers' school, Toyanaga became a campaigner for the right of repatriated South and North Koreans to be officially recognized as hibakusha from the 1970s onward. He showed me the wooden talisman he wore around his neck, awarded by the Korean community for his support. The author (far right) with Keisaburo Toyanaga (far left) and Keiko Ogura, both hibakusha, at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum library in 2014. Photograph: Elizabeth Chappell The Ghosts of Hiroshima When I was living and working in Japan from 2004, before I started my academic research, I was advised to stay away from the atomic-bombed cities because speaking of the atomic bombings was considered 'kanashii' (悲しい), 'kowai' (怖い), and 'kurushimii' (苦しみい)—sad, scary, and painful. Some Japanese friends even expressed horror when I first went to Hiroshima and Nagasaki to do research. They seemed to feel it was like an act of self-harm. A young student I met warned me that the ghosts of the victims of Hiroshima rise at night to take over the city. On my first visit in 2009, I stayed for one night in a youth hostel beside the railway tracks and the Hiroshima Carp baseball stadium. That night, a friend and I went for a drink with a couple, both second-generation hibakusha or 'hibaku nisei.' This couple, Nishida San and his wife, Takeko, were involved in organizing the annual Hiroshima Peace Memorial ceremony. Takeko sang in a choir that had been involved in several exchange visits to Europe, including visiting Notre Dame in Paris and Christ Church Cathedral in Oxford. She said her parents had never told her about their experiences of the bomb, even though her father had been exposed close to ground zero. I was surprised to discover that hibakusha were reluctant to share their stories even within their own families, often for fear of physical and psychological harm being passed through the family line. After our meeting in the bar, we went to eat okonomiyaki ('delicious food'), a pancake with cabbage, egg, pork, and noodles, in a building known as 'okonomiyaki mura' or okonomiyaki village. To me, it recalled a New York tenement block with an outdoor staircase serving as the entrance to all floors—the outlines of unbuilt rooms decorating its temporary facade. Such temporariness had lasted from the 1950s when concrete blocks like these went up around the city center to service a whole new population after Hiroshima's near-erasure. Since 1945, most inhabitants come from outside the city. 'Flash … Boom' I was sitting with Nishida San on makeshift bar seats in front of a counter with a huge, heated iron plate. The chef, Shin San, took our order and, as we chatted, one of our Hiroshima friends asked him if he remembered the atomic bomb. Shin replied: 'Of course I do.' Then he spread his arms wide and a strange expression appeared on his face, as he said: 'Pikaaaaa … doon.' This translates as 'flash … boom'—two onomatopoeic words that encapsulate so much for Hiroshima people. Many survivors, especially those downtown, only experienced the flash. Others, usually at some distance, experienced the sonic boom. So these two words were used in place of 'gembakudan' (原爆弾)—meaning atomic bomb—due to censorship. A monument to victims from Hiroshima Municipal Girls' School with the inscription 'E=MC2.' Photograph: Dutchmen Photography/ Shutterstock Nobel Prize–winning author Kenzaburo Ōe, in his 1981 work Hiroshima Notes , wrote, 'For 10 years after the atomic bomb was dropped there was so little public discussion of the bomb or of radioactivity that even the Chugoku Shimbun, the major newspaper of the city where the atomic bomb was dropped, did not have the movable [kanji] type for the words 'atomic bomb' or 'radioactivity.'' To support this, I noticed how some monuments for those who died in downtown Hiroshima bear the simple inscription E=MC², Einstein's formula for relativity—the source of the science that created the bomb, but not the actual words for 'atomic bomb.' Keiko Ogura: '40 Years of Nightmares' The older generation often told me how they dreaded visiting the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum and its surrounding park, as they are built over ground zero. However, some found that after encountering visiting foreigners there who had also experienced mass suffering, such as the Holocaust or a nuclear test, they were more able to open up. Keiko Ogura, now 87, was 8 on August 6, 1945, and was exposed to black rain at her home in Ushitamachi, 5 kilometers from the center of Hiroshima. She said: 'For 40 years, I had nightmares and did not want to tell the story. Growing up, our mothers did not speak of the atomic bombing, as they were afraid of discrimination and prejudice. Getting older, we started to worry about our children's and grandchildren's health. After the Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission was established in 1947, some people expected to be cured of ABI [atomic bomb injury] … but in fact, the doctors there were just gathering blood and data.' Ogura had thought, as a child, that she would never find a partner due to the discrimination against hibakusha, but she was also acutely aware that other survivors had suffered more than her. The author outside Mitaki Temple with Keiko Ogura (left) and Shoko Ishida in November 2013. Photograph: Elizabeth Chappell However, when Robert Jungk, a Holocaust survivor, came to research his book Children of the Ashes with the help of Kaoru Ogura—a bilingual American who had been interned during the Second World War and would become Keiko's husband—things started to shift for her. Finding out about the Holocaust lent a new dimension to her own experiences of discrimination. Jungk—along with Robert J. Lifton, a genocide historian—wrote their interview-based studies of Hiroshima in the 1950s and '60s, when ordinary citizens around the world were largely ignorant of the enormity of what had happened in Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and the nuclear test sites. Lifton, originally a military psychiatrist, explained that after the 1962 Cuban missile crisis, he had been motivated to study in Hiroshima as he was afraid the world was in danger of 'making the same mistake again.' However, the link between Hiroshima and the Holocaust was first made by Otto Frank, Anne Frank's father, who organized for an Anne Frank rose garden to be planted in the Peace Memorial Park in honor of an 11-year-old girl, Sadako Sasaki, who died from leukemia nine years after the bomb. One autumnal afternoon in 2013, after my third round of interviews with my cohort of hibakusha, I visited Mitaki Temple Cemetery, about 6 kilometers outside Hiroshima. The graveyard is dedicated to hibakusha, many of whose ashes are kept there. The hibakusha headstones are engraved with haiku written by family members. However, many of the headstones which existed prior to 1945 have been left at jagged angles—positioned as they were after being upset by the seismic effects of the atomic bombing. In among the recent graves, I was shown some Jewish hanging mobile memorials—gifts from Oświęcim in Poland, location of the Auschwitz concentration camp. The temple's former head priest had been involved in the Hiroshima-Auschwitz Peace Committee, an interfaith group which had started with a walk around the world to link atomic bomb survivors with Holocaust and other war victims. Making the connection was important to hibakusha who were accused, then as now, of highlighting the atrocities of the bomb but downplaying the importance of Japan's role in the war. When visiting Japan's former colonies and elsewhere, hibakusha still offer apologies for Japanese behavior in the Second World War. For institutions in Hiroshima, it's important to change the narrative around nuclear weapons—not only through more and better medical research but also by disseminating hibakusha stories. The local newspaper, Chugoku Shimbun, aims to strengthen informal networks of hibakusha who meet up to share memories of that day. Some local journalists I met, Rie Nii and Yumi Kanazaki, help young people to interview their grandparents' generation, building up a valuable archive of experiences. There are two ways the younger generation can carry these stories forward: either by training as denshōsha (ambassadors) or by interviewing family members. Kazumi Kuwahara decided to do both. When she was just 13, she wanted to pass on her grandmother's story, becoming the winner of a prefecture-wide speaking competition about the bomb. In her twenties, after graduating from university, she also decided to train as a denshōsha and peace park guide, a role that requires intensive training over a six-month period. As the youngest guide to the Hiroshima Peace Park, she says: 'Each visitor has a unique nationality and upbringing and, as I interact with them, I constantly ask myself how best to share Hiroshima's significant history.' Toward the end of my field work, having gained interviews with three generations of survivors as well as their helpers, I realized this was just the beginning of a much larger conversation. John Hersey, author of the Pulitzer Prize–winning 1946 work Hiroshima , said: 'What has kept the world safe from the bomb since 1945 has been the memory of what happened at Hiroshima.' However, as our memories get more spotty with the passing of time, and as more survivors' names are added to the roll of the dead at the cenotaphs of Japan's atomic-bombed cities, perhaps our greatest hope is to grow the cohort of today's listeners—so that tomorrow's storytellers may emerge.
Engadget
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Engadget
Banned Steam game VILE: Exhumed is back as a free shareware title
After her game was banned from sale on Steam in a baffling decision with no appeal option , solo developer Cara Cadaver has made VILE: Exhumed available as shareware under a Creative Commons license. The project can be downloaded for free, but players can opt to donate in support of the solo developer's work. Both Cara and publisher DreadXP will pay forward those donations, with 50 percent of the game's profits being given to the Toronto-based charity Red Door Family Shelter . The group aids families, refugees and women who are escaping violence. Both Steam and have recently adopted sweeping and vague policies regarding their approach to projects with adult content due to pressure from payment processors . has begun re-indexing some projects, but only free ones . These changes have disproportionately impacted projects by underrepresented and queer creators, according to a statement from the International Game Developers Association that condemned the broad delisting of adult games. In her post announcing the new distribution plan for VILE: Exhumed , Cara summed up the situation pretty aptly: "What this actually results in is taking power and storytelling away from women, other marginalized artists, and ultimately, from everyone."
Technical.ly
29-07-2025
- Business
- Technical.ly
How wind and solar power helps keep America's farms alive
This is a guest post by Paul Mwebaze, an economist and project manager for the Sustainably Colocating Agricultural and Photovoltaic Electricity Systems (SCAPES) project at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. A version of this article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Drive through the plains of Iowa or Kansas and you'll see more than rows of corn, wheat and soybeans. You'll also see towering wind turbines spinning above fields and solar panels shining in the sun on barns and machine sheds. For many farmers, these are lifelines. Renewable energy provides steady income and affordable power, helping farms stay viable when crop prices fall or drought strikes. But some of that opportunity is now at risk as the Trump administration cuts federal support for renewable energy. Wind power brings steady income for farms Wind energy is a significant economic driver in rural America. In Iowa, for example, over 60% of the state's electricity came from wind energy in 2024, and the state is a hub for wind turbine manufacturing and maintenance jobs. For landowners, wind turbines often mean stable lease payments. Those historically were around US$3,000 to $5,000 per turbine per year, with some modern agreements $5,000 to $10,000 annually, secured through 20- to 30-year contracts. Nationwide, wind and solar projects contribute about $3.5 billion annually in combined lease payments and state and local taxes, more than a third of it going directly to rural landowners. These figures are backed by long-term contracts and multibillion‑dollar annual contributions, reinforcing the economic value that turbines bring to rural landowners and communities. Wind farms also contribute to local tax revenues that help fund rural schools, roads and emergency services. In counties across Texas, wind energy has become one of the most significant contributors to local property tax bases, stabilizing community budgets and helping pay for public services as agricultural commodity revenues fluctuate. In Oldham County in northwest Texas, for example, clean energy projects provided 22% of total county revenues in 2021. In several other rural counties, wind farms rank among the top 10 property taxpayers, contributing between 38% and 69% of tax revenue. The construction and operation of these projects also bring local jobs in trucking, concrete work and electrical services, boosting small-town businesses. The U.S. wind industry supports over 300,000 U.S. jobs across construction, manufacturing, operations and other roles connected to the industry, according to the American Clean Power Association. Renewable energy has been widely expected to continue to grow along with rising energy demand. In 2024, 93% of all new electricity generating capacity was wind, solar or energy storage, and the U.S. Energy Information Administration expected a similar percentage in 2025 as of June. Solar can cut power costs on the farm Solar energy is also boosting farm finances. Farmers use rooftop panels on barns and ground-mounted systems to power irrigation pumps, grain dryers and cold storage facilities, cutting their power costs. Some farmers have adopted agrivoltaics – dual-use systems that grow crops beneath solar panels. The panels provide shade, helping conserve water, while creating a second income path. These projects often cultivate pollinator-friendly plants, vegetables such as lettuce and spinach, or even grasses for grazing sheep, making the land productive for both food and energy. Federal grants and tax credits that were significantly expanded under the 2022 Inflation Reduction Act helped make the upfront costs of solar installations affordable. However, the federal spending bill signed by President Donald Trump on July 4, 2025, rolled back many clean energy incentives. It phases down tax credits for distributed solar projects, particularly those under 1 megawatt, which include many farm‑scale installations, and sunsets them entirely by 2028. It also eliminates bonus credits that previously supported rural and low‑income areas. Without these credits, the upfront cost of solar power could be out of reach for some farmers, leaving them paying higher energy costs. At a 2024 conference organized by the Institute of Sustainability, Energy and Environment at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign, where I work as a research economist, farmers emphasized the importance of tax credits and other economic incentives to offset the upfront cost of solar power systems. What's being lost The cuts to federal incentives include terminating the Production Tax Credit for new projects placed in service after Dec. 31, 2027, unless construction begins by July 4, 2026, and is completed within a tight time frame. The tax credit pays eligible wind and solar facilities approximately 2.75 cents per kilowatt-hour over 10 years, effectively lowering the cost of renewable energy generation. Ending that tax credit will likely increase the cost of production, potentially leading to higher electricity prices for consumers and fewer new projects coming online. The changes also accelerate the phase‑out of wind power tax credits. Projects must now begin construction by July 4, 2026, or be in service before the end of 2027 to qualify for any credit. Meanwhile, the Investment Tax Credit, which covers 30% of installed cost for solar and other renewables, faces similar limits: Projects must begin by July 4, 2026, and be completed by the end of 2027 to claim the credits. The bill also cuts bonuses for domestic components and installations in rural or low‑income locations. These adjustments could slow new renewable energy development, particularly smaller projects that directly benefit rural communities. While many existing clean energy agreements will remain in place for now, the rollback of federal incentives threatens future projects and could limit new income streams. It also affects manufacturing and jobs in those industries, which some rural communities rely on. Renewable energy also powers rural economies Renewable energy benefits entire communities, not just individual farmers. Wind and solar projects contribute millions of dollars in tax revenue. For example, in Howard County, Iowa, wind turbines generated $2.7 million in property tax revenue in 2024, accounting for 14.5% of the county's total budget and helping fund rural schools, public safety and road improvements. In some rural counties, clean energy is the largest new source of economic activity, helping stabilize local economies otherwise reliant on agriculture's unpredictable income streams. These projects also support rural manufacturing – such as Iowa turbine blade factories like TPI Composites, which just reopened its plant in Newton, and Siemens Gamesa in Fort Madison, which supply blades for GE and Siemens turbines. The tax benefits in the 2022 Inflation Reduction Act helped boost those industries – and the jobs and local tax revenue they bring in. On the solar side, rural companies like APA Solar Racking, based in Ohio, manufacture steel racking systems for utility-scale solar farms across the example of how renewable energy has helped boost farm incomes and keep farmers on their land. As rural America faces economic uncertainty and climate pressures, I believe homegrown renewable energy offers a practical path forward. Wind and solar aren't just fueling the grid; they're helping keep farms and rural towns alive.
Irish Post
27-06-2025
- Irish Post
Copenhagen - cool, cultured and deliciously Danish
WE checked into Coco Hotel, a boutique bolthole in Vesterbro that feels more Parisian guesthouse than Nordic. With a leafy courtyard, curated interiors and laid-back charm, it's a stylish base. Rooms come with ensuite showers and are comfortable, if compact. The hotel's buzzing bar and café is ideal for a morning espresso or late-night spritz. Central Station, Tivoli Gardens and the Meatpacking District are all within a 10-minute stroll. Day 1: Street Food, Cycling and a Sustainable Supper First stop was Torvehallerne, a covered food market just north of the city centre. It offers everything from fresh produce to olive oils, natural wine and chocolate, to food bars serving dishes from around the world. Locals head to Hija de Sanchez, it's known for serving some of the best tacos in the city, created by former Noma chef Rosio Sanchez. Suitably replenished, we did as the Danes do and hopped on two wheels for a bike tour with Get Your Guide. We took in the Little Mermaid, Christiansborg Palace and colourful Nyhavn (worth a quick photo stop, but be warned: eateries here are overpriced). Cycling around Copenhagen is incredibly safe — we saw everyone from schoolchildren to politicians gliding along dedicated bike lanes and car-free roads. Even the Queen cycles here. Pedal power reigns supreme. For dinner, we headed to the redeveloped Carlsberg City district and Beyla, a cosy spot known for its plant-based cuisine. The menu is organic, vegan and gluten-free, but flavour takes centre stage. We opted for the tasting menu with wine pairings, featuring confit leeks with hazelnut praline, Gochujang-glazed mushrooms, and pine nut risotto. The standout? Gochujang-glazed mushrooms, grown on the restaurant's farm just 15 minutes away — delivered daily, by bike, of course. The Little Mermaid statue in Copenhagen (Syced Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication) Day 2: Bakeries, Neighbourhoods and Natural Wine We started the day at Tír Bakery, just a 10-minute walk from the hotel. Founded by former Noma baker Louise Bannon, this corner spot is loved by locals and visitors. Everything is organic and made with fresh grains. Its cardamom buns, paired with a filter coffee, made for the perfect Danish breakfast — top tip: arrive before 11am as pastries sell out. Next stop: the Nørrebro district, Copenhagen's most culturally diverse area. The vibe is youthful and unpolished — where tattoo studios sit alongside vegan cafés, and art collectives share walls with vintage record shops. Tucked within Nørrebro is Jægersborggade, one of the city's most interesting shopping streets. Once gritty, it's now home to ceramics studios, artisan bakeries, vintage boutiques and natural wine bars. In the middle of this street is Paesano, a relaxed restaurant blending Italian roots with Copenhagen flair. With exposed brick interiors and a menu built around simplicity and regional specialities, it's the perfect spot for a long lunch. I enjoyed homemade pasta with ragù, while my daughter's deconstructed parmigiana di melanzane looked incredible and was delicious. The afternoon was spent browsing vintage shops, admiring local ceramics, and soaking up Copenhagen's laid-back café culture. We nearly skipped dinner at Bæst — 'We can get Italian at home,' my daughter protested — but we were glad we didn't. This organic gem in Nørrebro boasts impressive credentials: it crafts its own mozzarella and burrata on site and cures its own meats. Our waiter recommended the tasting menu, which included what might be the best wood-fired pizza we've had outside Italy. The waterfront Copenhagen (Syced Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication) Relaxed yet polished, Bæst is the sort of place locals take visiting friends. Day 3: Pastries, Boats and Design Icons Our final day began with a two-hour Danish pastry tour via Get Your Guide, visiting five bakeries, including Reinh van Hauen — Copenhagen's oldest family-run bakery — and Hart Bageri, where yet another Noma alumnus has elevated baking to cult status. We arrived hungry and left content, walking between stops and learning the stories behind the city's flaky, buttery creations. Next, we swapped pavements for water with a GoBoat Cruise, a one-hour guided tour of Copenhagen's waterways. Our captain navigated past houseboats, the Opera House, Paper Island, and buzzing waterside cafés. GoBoat's fleet is fully electric, offering a sustainable way to see the city from another angle. Highly recommend. Back on land, we returned to Vesterbro for lunch at BaneGaarden, a former railway yard turned eco-village. Quirky, creative and refreshingly local, this off-the-radar gem houses repurposed buildings offering restaurants, food stalls and a greenhouse dining space. Craft beers, natural wines and relaxed vibes made it feel like a hidden slice of Copenhagen life. As many shops close on Sundays, we visited the newly renovated Designmuseum Danmark. Housed in an elegant historic building, its beautifully curated collections span everything from mid-century Danish chairs to contemporary ceramics. Thoughtfully presented, it's a must for design lovers. Our final stop was Tivoli Gardens. Opened in 1843, this historic amusement park remains one of Copenhagen's prettiest attractions. With ornate pavilions, landscaped gardens and vintage rides, it evokes a19th-century nostalgia. Fun whatever your age. For our last meal, we dined at Höst, a modern Nordic restaurant ranked among the city's most atmospheric. Its design-led interiors — all reclaimed wood, flickering candlelight and artisanal ceramics — captured the coolness of Copenhagen. Its seasonal set menu, showcasing clever, foraged cooking, is the one to choose with dishes including creamy mussel soup infused with thyme and pinecones pickled in honey. It was a truly memorable meal to end our unforgettable trip. Beyond the big sights, it's in Copenhagen's laid-back neighbourhoods and hidden corners that the city's authentic character quietly unfolds. Travel by boat, bike or on foot to discover its real charm — best savoured slowly, coffee and Danish in hand. Accommodation Coco Hotel: Double rooms from 1045 DKK / £119 per night. British Airways: Flights from London Heathrow to Copenhagen from £47 each way, including taxes and carrier fees. See More: Copenhagen, Denmark
