Think Forward.

LIVES, VOL.1 - LIFE OF THESEUS.[2/10] 1672

Bluwr X Commons: Plutarch, 2 y.
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4 min read.
VI. Now while he was yet a child, Aethra concealed the real parentage of Theseus, and a story was circulated by Pittheus that his father was Poseidon. For the people of Troezen have an especial reverence for Poseidon; he is their tutelar deity; to him they offer first-fruits of their harvest, and they stamp their money with the trident as their badge. But when he was grown into a youth, and proved both strong in body and of good sound sense, then Aethra led him to the stone, told him the truth about his father, and bade him take the tokens from beneath it and sail to Athens with them. He easily lifted the stone, but determined not to go to Athens by sea, though the voyage was a safe and easy one, and though his mother and his grandfather implored him to go that way. By land it was a difficult matter to reach Athens, as the whole way was infested with robbers and bandits. That time, it seems, produced men of great and unwearied strength and swiftness, who made no good use of these powers, but treated all men with overbearing insolence, taking advantage of their strength to overpower and slay all who fell into their hands, and disregarding justice and right and kindly feeling, which they said were only approved of by those who dared not do injury to others, or feared to be injured themselves, while men who could get the upper hand by force might disregard them. Of these ruffians, Herakles in his wanderings cut off a good many, but others had escaped him by concealing themselves, or had been contemptuously spared by him on account of their insignificance. But Herakles had the misfortune to kill Iphitus, and thereupon sailed to Lydia and was for a long time a slave in that country under Omphale, which condition he had imposed upon himself as a penance for the murder of his friend. During this period the country of Lydia enjoyed peace and repose; but in Greece the old plague of brigandage broke out afresh, as there was now no one to put it down. So that the journey overland to Athens from Peloponnesus was full of peril; and Pittheus, by relating to Theseus who each of these evildoers was, and how they treated strangers, tried to prevail upon him to go by sea. But it appears that Theseus had for a long time in his heart been excited by the renown of Herakles for courage: he thought more of him than of any one else, and loved above all to listen to those who talked of him, especially if they had seen and spoken to him. Now he could no longer conceal that he was in the same condition as Themistokles in later times, when he said that the trophy of Miltiades would not let him sleep. Just so did the admiration which Theseus conceived for Herakles make him dream by night of his great exploits, and by day determine to equal them by similar achievements of his own. VII. As it happened, they were connected, being second cousins; for Aethra was the daughter of Pittheus, and Alkmena the daughter of Lysidike, and Lysidike and Pittheus were brother and sister, being the children of Pelops and Hippodameia. So Theseus thought that it would be a great and unbearable disgrace to him that his cousin should go everywhere and clear the sea and land of the brigands who infested them, and he should refuse to undertake the adventures that came in his way; throwing discredit upon his reputed father by a pusillanimous flight by sea, and upon his real father by bringing him only the sandals and an unfleshed sword, and not proving his noble birth by the evidence of some brave deed accomplished by him. In this spirit he set out on his journey, with the intention of doing wrong to no one, but of avenging himself on any one who offered wrong to him. VIII. And first in Epidaurus he slew Periphetes, who used a club as his weapon, and on this account was called the club-bearer, because he laid hands upon him and forbade him to proceed farther on his way. The club took his fancy, and he adopted it as a weapon, and always used it, just as Herakles used his lion's skin; for the skin was a proof of how huge a beast the wearer had overcome, while the club, invincible in the hands of Theseus, had yet been worsted when used against him. At the Isthmus he destroyed Sinis the Pine-bender by the very device by which he had slain so many people, and that too without having ever practised the art, proving that true valour is better than practice and training. Sinis had a daughter, a tall and beautiful girl, named Perigoune. When her father fell she ran and hid herself. Theseus sought her everywhere, but she fled into a place where wild asparagus grew thick, and with a simple child-like faith besought the plants to conceal her, as if they could understand her words, promising that if they did so she never would destroy or burn them. However, when Theseus called to her, pledging himself to take care of her and do her no hurt, she came out, and afterwards bore Theseus a son, named Melanippus. She afterwards was given by Theseus in marriage to Deïoneus, the son of Eurytus of Oechalia. Ioxus, a son of Melanippus, and Theseus's grandchild, took part in Ornytus's settlement in Caria; and for this reason the descendants of Ioxus have a family custom not to burn the asparagus plant, but to reverence and worship it. IX. Now the wild sow of Krommyon, whom they called Phaia, was no ordinary beast, but a fierce creature and hard to conquer. This animal he turned out of his way to destroy, that it might not be thought that he performed his exploits of necessity. Besides, he said, a brave man need only punish wicked men when they came in his way, but that in the case of wild beasts he must himself seek them out and attack them. Some say that Phaia was a murderous and licentious woman who carried on brigandage at Krommyon, and was called a sow from her life and habits, and that Theseus put her to death.
Bluwr X Commons: Plutarch

Bluwr X Commons: Plutarch

Plutarch (c.AD 46 – after AD 119) was a Priest at the Temple of Apollo in Delphi as well as a Greek Platonist philosopher, biographer, historian and essayist. He is remembered primarily for his biographical work: Lives, in which he relates the lives of prominent Greeks and Romans.


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Morocco’s Heatwave Exposes Critical Failures in Train Air Conditioning Systems 255

Aziz Daouda, 22 h.
Morocco has just experienced an exceptional heatwave, like many other countries in the region, including those further north. While temperatures exceeded 45°C in several areas, train passengers expressed strong anger over the air conditioning failures on many trains operated by the National Office of Railways (ONCF), especially on conventional lines connecting the main cities of the Kingdom. On social media, increasing testimonies of frustration described train cars as true “walking ovens.” For many, some journeys, particularly the heavily trafficked line between Casablanca and Rabat, have become nearly unbearable. Numerous travelers are outraged, going as far as to call this situation a clear sign of disrespect toward passengers. This failure mainly affects classic trains, often over twenty years old, whose air conditioning systems are outdated and frequently out of order. In contrast, the high-speed Al Boraq line, which connects Casablanca to Tangier, is better equipped to handle these extreme conditions, offering a striking contrast between modernity and obsolescence. The National Meteorological Directorate recorded historic peaks: 47.3°C in Marrakech, 46°C in Fès, and 45.5°C in Kénitra. Under these conditions, inside a non-air-conditioned carriage, temperatures far exceed the tolerable threshold, endangering not only passengers’ comfort but also their health, especially the most vulnerable such as the elderly and children. In this context, it is often the controllers, powerless, who bear the brunt of passengers’ anger and verbal outbursts. It is important to recall that international railway transport standards require functional air conditioning systems, especially during heatwaves. In several countries, prolonged absence of air conditioning can even lead to financial compensation for travelers. Unfortunately, this is not yet the case in Morocco, where no regulations provide for compensation, which is absurd: citizens do not receive a service commensurate with their expense, while the law should protect them, especially in a monopoly situation. And this is indeed the case. Facing a flood of criticism, the ONCF acknowledges the technical difficulties related to old train sets and announces maintenance operations. However, these explanations fail to convince users, who denounce a lack of structural investment in renewing the railway fleet, despite regular fare increases. The question also arises whether the problem lies solely in the obsolescence of equipment, or if it also stems from a lack of maintenance team skills, or even negligence. Elsewhere, sometimes older trains still provide good ventilation and air conditioning service. In 2025, traveling without air conditioning in a country where heatwaves have become the norm is no longer acceptable. An emergency plan must be implemented, especially as summer has just begun, with holidays and major travel ahead. The ONCF regularly communicates about its future acquisitions of modern trains, but will any be in service this summer? In any case, the current rolling stock must be better maintained to improve passenger comfort. It is a basic right. Beyond the obvious discomfort, this situation raises a deeper issue related to respect for passengers and the quality of public service. In a context where the government encourages the use of public transport to reduce the carbon footprint, trains should be a reliable and attractive alternative. However, recurring failures tarnish the ONCF’s credibility, widening the gap between the Al Boraq line, Morocco’s technological showcase, and the conventional lines, perceived as outdated and uncomfortable despite visible efforts in seat comfort and station organization, especially at newer stations. Faced with this crisis, it is imperative that the ONCF revise its strategy. While significant investments have been made in high-speed rail, it is urgent to give equal attention to conventional lines that serve thousands of Moroccans daily. During heatwaves, the absence of air conditioning on trains is not a mere oversight but a crucial public health and dignity issue for travelers. A clear action plan, including a precise schedule for renovating train sets, better maintenance of existing systems, and a revision of passenger rights in case of failure, must be adopted without delay and made public. Everyone knows that the ONCF aims to transform its services by 2030, but until then, millions of Moroccans will take the train and deserve dignity and respect.

Moving away from me 425

Boucharfou, 2 d.
By leaving me you exhausted me, and it's cruel Have mercy on me my beautiful You fucked up my passion But one day you'll find your sanity You cross me carelessly Me who loves you and that's all the difference They were beautiful our lovers' kisses If you don't remember them Ask your lips They are still in fever Our bonds were so strong So much so that when our blood squirts We don't know if it's yours or mine Ask the night why these stars despite their splendor And their glow Are not worth that of your smile O moon, if you accompany me in my loneliness ………and if one day I agonize in the meanders of space Tell the darkness that the martyr of love is dead........ and sprinkle stardust on my shroud Dr Fouad Bouchareb Inspired by Farid Al Atrache's song > https://youtu.be/57Xezl_YR6c?si=JVP_kEQZCY8rZbNF All rights reserved

No Religion in Science But Ethics in Citizenship 433

Fatima Zahra Sahli, 2 d.
I write these words with deep respect and a sense of emotion. Professor Jamal Fezza my former high school philosophy teacher and later my thesis co-supervisor is currently facing an unfair wave of criticism. And I feel the need to publicly express my support. Those who know him understand how deeply he embodies intellectual rigor, ethical integrity, and an unwavering commitment to what science is meant to be: a space for free thought, beyond identity-based boundaries. In emotionally charged moments, it’s easy to withdraw into national or personal reactions. I know this I’ve experienced it myself. Once, I was faced with a difficult decision, and I chose not to attend a scientific event, out of loyalty to my country. But that decision was mine alone. I never asked anyone else to follow suit, nor did I demand that scientific spaces be shaped to reflect my personal stance. That’s what Jamal Fezza is reminding us of today and that’s what I stand by: science should never be confused with foreign policy. Refusing to engage with researchers based on nationality is not an act of resistance it’s a step away from dialogue and intellectual integrity. This doesn’t mean turning a blind eye to injustice. It means preserving the university as a place where ideas, not identities, are confronted. I am proud to have had Professor Fezza as a teacher, and later as a mentor. But beyond the personal bond, I am above all grateful for the example he continues to set with clarity, honesty, and courage. We need voices like his, especially when they are inconvenient.
youtu.be/RsfDelvjatA

Morocco: Voices of Rebellion, From Najat Aatabou to El Grande Toto... 435

Aziz Daouda, 2 d.
3 min read.
The recent edition of Mawazine Music Festival did not go unnoticed and will be remembered. There were, of course, tens of thousands of citizens from all over Morocco and beyond enjoying the various stages, with Boutchart’s record simply making them sing along, as well as that great diva singing in playback, provoking the anger of those who cried scam. But above all, there was El Grande Toto. This great star of Moroccan and global urban music, whom many dislike, or dislike intensely. El Grande Toto packed the audience, but also sparked a large number of articles and reactions, mostly unfavorable, with only a few exceptions. The majority of these reactions were rather critical, some almost scathing. *Let me say it straight away: I am not a fan of El Grande Toto nor of his type of music. At my age, it would be an insult to my musical tastes, as I can only be soothed in my Arabic version by Doukkali, Abdelhalim, Belkhayat, Samih, Farid, Oum Kaltoum, and Abdelwahab; in my French version by Brel, Reggiani, Piaf, Barbara; and in my English version by Dylan, Clapton, BB King, James Brown, and many others.* That said, I cannot judge those who dislike him, nor those who love El Grande Toto’s musical genre—that is, all the youth who identify with this style, who resonate with his intonations and rejoice in absorbing his lyrics. It is their time and their music. This reminds me that about thirty years ago, Najat Aatabou could only be heard by accident, passing by a cassette seller’s stall in a souk or secretly in one’s car. Her music seemed annoying and her lyrics vulgar. It took a long time before she was finally accepted, and later adored. What brings me to this topic is that there is something in the artistic trajectories of Najat Aatabou and El Grande Toto that resembles a broken mirror: the shards oppose and scatter, yet, upon closer look, they reflect the same reality. That of a multiple, rebellious Morocco, torn between its traditions and its desires for modernity. A Morocco that thinks it is what it is only little or not really. What it has never truly been except in a falsely constructed imagination. Najat Aatabou is the hoarse voice of the Zemours, the one who emerged in Khémisset, carried by the winds of the Middle Atlas and the whispers of a society still constrained by honor, the gaze of others, and the strictness of conventions. In the 1980s, while the Kingdom was taking its first steps toward social openness, Najat dared to sing what so many women whispered in silence: thwarted loves, betrayal, emancipation, wounded pride, desire—all in rather raw language. Her “Hadi Kedba Bayna” (“It’s an obvious lie”) resonates like a cry, soft but firm, in popular weddings, shared taxis, and the cozy living rooms of the Moroccan diaspora in Europe. With her, chaâbi, the music of the people par excellence, becomes a vector of affirmation. Najat does not apologize for being a woman, an artist, Amazigh, a rebel. She disturbs, sometimes shocks, but she imposes herself. Her music was even used in a global advertisement. Forty years later, it is another Moroccan who shakes the walls of certainties: El Grande Toto, child of Casablanca’s suburbs, dyed hair, tattooed face and arms, and sharp tongue, imposes himself as the bard of an uninhibited Moroccan youth. With him, words snap in darija, intertwine with French and English, flirt unabashedly with taboos: drugs, money, sex, and challenge social hypocrisies. Where Najat Aatabou denounced half-words, Toto displays, claims, provokes. Certainly, the forms differ: Najat draws from the ancestral repertoire, her melodies reminiscent of village weddings and the ululations of yesteryear. Toto, on the other hand, drinks from the sources of global rap, trap, and social networks, where punchlines matter more than silences. But behind these differences, the same sap nourishes their works: the thirst to speak, whatever the cost, without feeling guilty about anything. Najat Aatabou paid a high price for breaking taboos. We still remember the harsh criticisms, the heavy judging looks, the outraged fathers. But time proved her right: she is now respected, even adored, seen as one of the great voices of popular Morocco. El Grande Toto, meanwhile, is still in the midst of the storm. It will take him a long time before he is finally tolerated and accepted. Repeated controversies, court summons, accusations of indecency… Yet, his success does not wane. The numbers speak: millions of streams on platforms, growing international influence, a Moroccan youth that recognizes itself in his anger and dreams. They sing their reality and find themselves in him, whether we like it or not. Ultimately, from the 1980s to today, across centuries, Morocco has never stopped telling its story through its most unsettling artists. There were others before: Zahra Elfassia, Fatna Bent El Houcine, and many known or unknown Chikhates, female voices of the frustrations and hopes of a silenced generation. El Grande Toto, the insolent spokesperson of an urban youth in search of recognition, space, freedom, embodies this spirit today. We must not forget there were others before him: Faddoul, Nass El Ghiwane, Ach Kayne, Rebel Moon, and Lbig, among others. There was also a tradition of rebellion and bold language in malhoun with qassidas that one would no longer dare to sing nowadays, even in the most intimate circles. Between them all, decades and universes, but also this invisible thread that connects those who dare to say out loud what others still keep silent. Perhaps that is what it means to be an artist in Morocco: to shake the established order, to hold a mirror to society, and to accept to pay the price, even if it is too high...