How I Unleashed World War II(1970)
How I unleashed World War II is a Polish feature film made in 1969, based on Kazimierz Sławiński's novel "Przygody kanoniera Dolasa" (The adventures of Dolas the cannoneer). The film was divided into three parts: Ucieczka (The escape), Za bronią (Following the arms) and Wśród swoich (Among friends).
How I Unleashed World War II(1970)
In 1855, a fire gutted Rutledge and five years later South Carolina's secession from the Union unleashed the devastation of war. Without students, the college closed in 1861 and, in ensuing decades, struggled to regain its former status.
Three of the costliest 10 disasters occurred in 2017: Hurricanes Harvey (US$ 96.9 billion), Maria (US$ 69.4 billion) and Irma (US$ 58.2 billion). These three hurricanes alone accounted for 35% of the total economic losses of the top 10 disasters around the world from 1970 to 2019.
Climate change has increased extreme sea level events associated with some tropical cyclones, which have increased the intensity of other extreme events such as flooding and associated impacts. This has increased the vulnerability of low-lying megacities, deltas, coasts and islands in many parts of the world.
In North America, Central America and the Caribbean, 1 977 recorded disasters, 74 839 deaths and economic losses of US$ 1.7 trillion. The region accounted for 18% of weather-, climate- and water-related disasters, 4% of associated deaths and 45% of associated economic losses worldwide over the past 50 years.
The decision of a major hydrocarbon exporter to weaponize its energy dominance and threaten its neighbors might well be the catalyst the world needs to finally break its carbon addiction. Fossil fuel emissions will peak by 2025, according to Rystad Energy, a Norwegian oil and energy consultancy.
On the other hand, the same move demonstrates how hard it is for the rest of the world to give up on oil and gas, drawing new geopolitical ties between the energy-hungry Global South and authoritarian petroleum exporters keen to find new markets.
The story of the humble comb's makeover is part of the much larger story of how we ourselves have been transformed by plastics. Plastics freed us from the confines of the natural world, from the material constraints and limited supplies that had long bounded human activity. That new elasticity unfixed social boundaries as well. The arrival of these malleable and versatile materials gave producers the ability to create a treasure trove of new products while expanding opportunities for people of modest means to become consumers. Plastics held out the promise of a new material and cultural democracy. The comb, that most ancient of personal accessories, enabled anyone to keep that promise close.
Ironically, the world opened by celluloid film nearly killed the celluloid- comb industry. In 1914, Irene Castle, a ballroom dancer turned movie star, decided to cut her long hair into a short bob, prompting female fans across the country to take scissors to their own hair. Nowhere did those shorn locks fall harder than in Leominster, Massachusetts, which had been the country's comb capital since before the Revolutionary War and which was now the cradle of the celluloid industry, much of it devoted to combs. Nearly overnight, half of the comb companies in town were forced to shut down, throwing thousands of comb makers out of work. Sam Foster, owner of Foster Grant, one of the town's leading celluloid-comb companies, told his workers not to worry. "We'll make something else," he assured them. He hit on the idea of making sunglasses, creating an entirely new mass market. "Who's that behind those Foster Grants?" the company later teased in ads that featured photographs of celebrities such as Peter Sellers, Mia Farrow, and Raquel Welch hidden behind dark lenses. With a quick trip to the local drugstore, anyone could acquire the same glamorous mystique.
The creation of Bakelite marked a shift in the development of new plastics. From then on, scientists stopped looking for materials that could emulate nature; rather, they sought "to rearrange nature in new and imaginative ways." The 1920s and '30s saw an outpouring of new materials from labs around the world. One was cellulose acetate, a semisynthetic product (plant cellulose was one of its base ingredients) that had the easy adaptability of celluloid but wasn't flammable. Another was polystyrene, a hard, shiny plastic that could take on bright colors, remain crystalline clear, or be puffed up with air to become the foamy polymer DuPont later trademarked as Styrofoam. DuPont also introduced nylon, its answer to the centuries-long search for an artificial silk. When the first nylon stockings were introduced, after a campaign that promoted the material as being as "lustrous as silk" and as "strong as steel," women went wild. Stores sold out of their stock in hours, and in some cities, the scarce supplies led to nylon riots, full-scale brawls among shoppers. Across the ocean, British chemists discovered polyethylene, the strong, moisture-proof polymer that would become the sine qua non of packaging. Eventually, we'd get plastics with features nature had never dreamed of: surfaces to which nothing would stick (Teflon), fabrics that could stop a bullet (Kevlar).
At least, that was the hopeful vision of a pair of British chemists writing on the eve of World War II. "Let us try to imagine a dweller in the 'Plastic Age,'" Victor Yarsley and Edward Couzens wrote. "This 'Plastic Man' will come into a world of colour and bright shining surfaces...a world in which man, like a magician, makes what he wants for almost every need." They envisioned him growing up and growing old surrounded by unbreakable toys, rounded corners, unscuffable walls, warpless windows, dirt-proof fabrics, and lightweight cars and planes and boats. The indignities of old age would be lessened with plastic glasses and dentures until death carried the plastic man away, at which point he would be buried "hygienically enclosed in a plastic coffin."
That world was delayed in coming. Most of the new plastics discovered in the 1930s were monopolized by the military over the course of World War II. Eager to conserve precious rubber, for instance, in 1941 the U.S. Army put out an order that all combs issued to servicemen be made of plastic instead of hard rubber. So every member of the armed forces, from private to general, in white units and black, got a five-inch black plastic pocket comb in his "hygiene kit." Of course, plastics were also pressed into far more significant service, used for mortar fuses, parachutes, aircraft components, antenna housing, bazooka barrels, enclosures for gun turrets, helmet liners, and countless other applications. Plastics were even essential to the building of the atomic bomb: Manhattan Project scientists relied on Teflon's supreme resistance to corrosion to make containers for the volatile gases they used. Production of plastics leaped during the war, nearly quadrupling from 213 million pounds in 1939 to 818 million pounds in 1945.
All those ex-GIs with their standard-issue combs were coming home to a world of not only material abundance but also rich opportunities created by the GI Bill, housing subsidies, favorable demographics, and an economic boom that left Americans with an unprecedented level of disposable income. Plastics production expanded explosively after the war, with a growth curve that was steeper than even the fast-rising GNP's. Thanks to plastics, newly flush Americans had a never-ending smorgasbord of affordable goods to choose from. The flow of new products and applications was so constant it was soon the norm. Tupperware had surely always existed, alongside Formica counters, Naugahyde chairs, red acrylic taillights, Saran wrap, vinyl siding, squeeze bottles, push buttons, Barbie dolls, Lycra bras, Wiffle balls, sneakers, sippy cups, and countless more things.
For 500 years, from the earliest Spanish explorers to the growing league of 21st-century entrepreneurs, Latino business and commerce in the United States has encompassed the activities of ranchers, farmers, land colonizers, general store operators, street vendors, corporate executives, real estate developers, entertainment industry mavens, self-employed domestics, and barbers. They have run businesses small and large, with zero to thousands of employees, and have served Latino and non-Latino communities all around the world. Latino businesses at first concentrated in the southwestern portion of the U.S., as well as in Louisiana, Florida, and New York. By the 20th century, however, they had spread across the U.S. and beyond, as Latino culture, music, food, and styles became popular and widespread commodities. The Latino population in the U.S. increased from the late 19th century onward, leading to the expansion of Latino markets. Latino-owned and non-Latino businesses focused on cultivating as clients this growing group of consumers. Altogether, Latino business and commercial activities have constituted an important aspect of Latino ethnicity, politics, and community formation in the U.S.
New groups of Latin American migrants reinvigorated Latino business and commercial activities during the mid-20th century. Guatemalans fled their home country after the 1954 coup d'état that replaced the leftist leader Jacobo árbenz Guzmán with the U.S.-backed, conservative military leader Carlos Castillo Armas. Residents of the Dominican Republic fled their home country following the 1961 assassination of Rafael Trujillo, which unleashed more than a decade of social, political, and economic instability. Cubans fled their island following the Cuban Revolution through which Fidel Castro claimed power. As they settled in the U.S., these new groups of Latino migrants opened businesses that served their migrant communities, including bodegas, restaurants, music clubs, and other operations.
The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists was instituted as a newsletter to circulate among the nuclear science community in the aftermath of World War II and the Manhattan Project as a service and a warning to the world about the weapons these scientists had created and unleashed. In 1947, in an effort to raise awareness of their activities with the non-technical general public, they released their first issue as a journal. On the cover was the now-familiar Doomsday Clock. Developed by artist and designer Martyl Langsdorf, wife of Manhattan Project scientist Alexander Langsdorf, the clock warns the world how close to nuclear annihilation humanity is, in terms of minutes before midnight (Armageddon). 041b061a72