I was twenty-two, a recent graduate of a university named after Christopher Columbus. The Huffington Post had hired me to be their "Native Issues Fellow," essentially a glorified intern working mostly from behind a desk in New York City. My first headline, written in that tabloid-y left-of-centre HuffPost style: "Canada Just Confronted Its 'Cultural Genocide' of Native People. Why Can't the U.S. Do the Same?"
Lea Ypi was scrolling through social media when she stumbled across a black-and-white image of two glamorous newlyweds honeymooning at a luxury hotel in the Italian Alps. In the picture - taken in 1941, as World War II raged - a man reclines beside a woman, draped in fur and smiling warmly. Ypi recognised her instantly: it was her grandmother, Leman Leskoviku.
The year is 1941, and the woman is Lea Ypi's grandmother. Ypi saw the picture after it had been posted online by a stranger, gone viral across Albania, and attracted a stream of abuse. Morally degenerate was one comment.
The excavation at Newton's mother's house revealed lost and discarded domestic items, including broken pottery and gaming tokens, providing a glimpse into his fragmented family life.
As my father watched the news, his breath caught. A video of the inside of a prison cell was on the television. Tears streamed down his face. On one of the walls he could make out a poem, one he had written with his own hands.
Gerard's letters reveal the struggles and resilience of a young couple separated by war, highlighting Alice's resourcefulness and unyielding spirit during difficult times.
My mother was a secretary at the same FBI office. In those days, they did shorthand transcription-she was in the room when the agency was interrogating Nazi spies and sympathizers.
