My neighbor, who like many Egyptians prefers not to see his name in print, asked me about my nationality the morning the war broke out. “French?” he inquired hopefully. American, I told him.

The gym is the last place to look for an impassioned discussion of global politics in Nigeria, a country that is currently pre-occupied with gasoline scarcity, rising political and ethnic viole

The Indian public has long been suspicious of the US arguments for military action against Iraq and the legitimacy of any “regime change” executed by a superpower with imperial ambitions.

I came across a sign the other day, inelegantly scrawled on cardboard and stuck to a telephone pole. It read Fuck Bush.

You could have knocked CNN’s Aaron Brown over with a feather.

The Spanish capital took on the air of a battle zone the weekend after the war began, as antiwar protesters clashed with riot police throughout the city.

The fierce tableau of smoke and flames that US bombs created over Baghdad–a visual message of America’s awesomely destructive power–brought to mind Shelley’s meditation on an ancient ruin, wh

Suddenly the sky is dark with chickens coming home to roost, and bedtime reading is Thucydides’ account of the disastrous Athenian siege of Syracuse.

I’m standing at the northern front in Chamchamal, a quarter-mile from Saddam Hussein’s hilltop divisions. Before me six mounds of earth, like oversized anthills, line the ridge.

The night the war began, an ashen-faced woman in Parliament Square held up a photograph of an Iraqi soldier, reduced to a smudge of carbon but for his head and feet–an image from the last Gulf