Weinergate explained

Anthony Weiner's crotch-shots weren't a moment of madness - it actually takes a lot of thought to do

The "Weinergate" scandal finally came to a close yesterday as high profile New York Democrat Anthony D. Weiner resigned from Congress. It came to light that he'd sent a young woman pictures of himself wearing tight pants on the internet, as well as admitting to the sending of lewd messages to six other women. A full-blown penis shot emerged later too.

As far as high profile prurience goes, which in international news circles is quite some distance, this is a particularly amusing story. There're none of the harrowing marriage ending affairs or secret children of the Schwarzenegger case and none of the creepiness of the Strauss-Khan scandal. In fact, there wasn't even any real attempt at shagging at all.

What's amazing is the chain of thought Weiner must have gone through in order to take these pictures of himself, and publish them without thinking he'd be found out. Did he put the camera on a timer, pull down his trousers, and waddle back in front of the lens? Or did he just hold the camera at arms length and point it at his groin?

Having taken these photographs, this 46-year-old married man and mayoral candidate, obviously decided that they were pretty damn good, because he would then have had to upload them from his camera, evaluate them on the screen and save them onto his computer, before sending them to a girl he'd never met, trusting her not to tell anybody.

Incredibly, none other than notorious White House philanderer Bill Clinton stepped in to hastily condemn Weiner, claiming that he is "livid", and extracting an apology from the shamed Weiner.

In a further twist to the tale, Weiner happens to be friends with Ben Affleck, having met him while the actor was researching his role for the film State of Play in 2009. Affleck plays a young congressman who gets involved in a sex-scandal that eventually destroys his political career.

Update: For those unaware of the phenomenon of "sexting" - essentially sending pictures of your junk over the internet - this helpful video explains the dangers and offers a warning. A warning that Weiner ignored.

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What it’s like to be a Syrian refugee in Paris

“We fled from terror and it found us again here. It feels like it is always behind us, stalking us.”

Walid al Omari arrived in Paris a little less than a month ago. Having fled the slaughter of his homeland and undertaken the long and dangerous journey, like tens of thousands of other Syrian refugees, to western Europe, he was finally safe.

Ten days later, a wave of brutal violence tore through the French capital as gunmen and suicide bombers put an end to the lives of 130 people who had been out enjoying a drink, dinner, a concert or a football match.

“It felt like terrorism was everywhere,” recalls the 57-year-old Walid, a former small business owner and journalist from the suburbs of Damascus.

“We fled from terror and it found us again here. It feels like it is always behind us, stalking us.”

Syrian refugees, not just in Paris but across Europe and North America, have since found themselves caught up in a storm of suspicion. The backlash started after it emerged that at least two of the attackers arrived in Europe among refugees travelling to Greece, while a Syrian passport was found next to one of the bodies.

It has not yet been confirmed if the two men were really Syrian – all suspects whose identities have so far been made public were either French or Belgian – while the passport is widely believed to be a fake. But, already, several US states have said they will not accept any more refugees from Syria. In Europe, Poland has called for the EU’s quota scheme for resettling refugees to be scrapped, while lawmakers in France, Germany and elsewhere have called for caps on refugee and migrant numbers.

“I fear the worse,” says Sabreen al Rassace, who works for Revivre, a charity that helps Syrian refugees resettle in France. She says she has been swamped by calls by concerned refugees in the days following the attacks.

“They ask me if the papers they have been given since they arrived in France will be taken away, if they’ll be sent back to Syria,” she says.

Anas Fouiz, who arrived in Paris in September, has experienced the backlash against refugees first hand.

“One waiter at a bar asked me where I was from and when I said Syria he said that I must be a terrorist, that all Arab people are terrorists,” says the 27-year-old from Damascus, who had been a fashion student before leaving for Europe.

The irony is that the terrorist organisation that claimed responsibility for the Paris attacks, the Islamic State, is, along with Bashar al Assad’s army and other militant groups, responsible for the long list of atrocities that prompted many like Walid and Anas to flee their homes.

“As a man in Syria you have the choice of joining the Syrian army, the Islamic state or another militant group, or you run away,” says Anas.

He remembers seeing news of the attacks unfold on television screens in bars and cafés in the Bastille area of Paris – close to where much of the carnage took place – as he drank with a friend. Desensitised by having seen so much violence and death in his home city, he didn’t feel any shock or fear.

“I just felt bad, because I know this situation,” he says. “You just ask yourself ‘why? Why do these people have to die?’.”

Perhaps a more pressing cause for concern is how easily extremists in Europe can travel to Syria and back again through the porous borders on the EU’s fringes – as several of the Paris attacks suspects are thought to have done.

Both Anas and Walid speak of the lax security they faced when entering Europe.

“Turkey lets people across the border for $20,” says Walid.

“In Greece, they just ask you to write your nationality, they don’t check passports,” adds Anas. “It’s the same in Hungary and Macedonia.”

Nevertheless, and despite his experience with the waiter, Anas says he is happy with the welcome he has received by the vast majority of the French people.

In fact, at a time when fear and violence risk deepening religious and social rifts, Anas’s story is a heartening tale of divisions being bridged.

Upon first arriving in Paris he slept on the streets, before a passer-by, a woman of Moroccan origin, offered him a room in her flat. He then spent time at a Christian organization that provides shelter for refugees, before moving in with a French-Jewish family he was put in touch with through another charity.

He says the biggest problem is that he misses his parents, who are still in Damascus.

“I speak to my mum twice a day on the phone,” he says. “She asks me if I’m okay, if I’m keeping safe. She’s worried about me.”