JUST IN – Timothy Mellon was reportedly the anonymous donor who gave $130 million to fund troops during the government shutdown — NYT — Disclose.tv (@disclosetv) October 25, 2025

????? BREAKING: ISRAEL MAY HAVE KILLED CHARLIE KIRK Today on Legitimate Targets, Jackson Hinkle speaks with Former Assistant Secretary of the U.S. Treasury Paul Craig Roberts about the FBI COVERUP, BALLISTICS LIES & autopsy failures of the Charlie Kirk Assassination. pic.twitter.com/6Q4DTZdUC5 — Legitimate Targets (@LegitTargets) September 27, 2025

In a just and sane world, the Covid dissidents today would be heralded as prophets. The exact opposite has happened. All are hounded hard by media and whomever controls it. Nothing has changed. The same people who did lockdowns and mandates are still running the show. — Jeffrey A Tucker (@jeffreyatucker) October 24, 2025

by Cindy Harper, Reclaim The Net: The “Platform of Respect” reveals how censorship can arrive draped in the language of inclusion. Brazil’s government has unveiled what it calls the “Platform of Respect,” a project that critics of censorship say pushes the country further toward criminalizing dissent. Promoted as a tool to combat “hate speech” and […]

by Ramon Tomey, Natural News: Over 450 prominent Jewish figures – including former Israeli officials, artists and intellectuals – issued an open letter calling for UN sanctions against Israel, accusing it of genocide in Gaza. Signatories cited Holocaust-era human rights protections, condemning Israel for violating international laws and demanding enforcement of ICJ rulings, an arms […]

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  In 508 BCE, Athens began to experiment with a political system that was unheard of in the ancient world: democracy. The people of Athens, tired of the cycle of political violence and aristocratic power grabs, overthrew their tyrants and seized power for themselves. Under the leadership of Cleisthenes, Athens reformed its constitution and transferred political power into the hands of the demos, the people. One of these powers was ostracism, the authority to exile any citizen from the city for ten years.   What Is Ostracism? Aristides Requested by Illiterate Citizen to Scribe Ostrakon, by William Dickinson after Angelica Kauffman, c. 1774 CE. Source: British Museum   Ostracism was a procedure by which the people of Athens could democratically elect to exile one of their citizens for a period of ten years. The process was developed as a way to defend against tyranny. Should any one man gain too much power, the people could exercise their right to have that man expelled from the city. The exiled person’s property remained theirs, and they maintained their citizen status. When their exile ended, they were allowed to rejoin the city with their reputation intact.   While this may seem like a bizarre law and one that could be prone to exploitation, it made sense when considered in the context of the political instability of the 7th and 6th centuries BCE. It was the symbolic and ritualized manifestation of the people’s power. It was used relatively few times in Athens’ history, one of them being against the statesman Themistocles, one of the leading generals from the Persian Wars.   Political Strife in the 7th & 6th Centuries BCE Hydria showing warriors in combat, attributed to the Lysippides Painter, c. 510 BCE. Source: British Museum   In the 7th and 6th centuries BCE, widespread political instability prevailed throughout the Greek world. The basic political unit of the city-state, or polis, was the tribe. Aristocratic families dominated these tribes, and the leading families wielded immense political power in the polis. Citizenship was based on membership in a tribe, and to be excluded from a tribe meant no longer being a citizen of the polis.   The aristocratic class, being the only ones eligible for state office, contended with each other for leadership roles. With their tribes at their backs, the competition for the highest offices turned into factionalism and violence. Those who gained power would exile the rival faction and seize control of their properties. The exiled faction was then motivated to seek aid in returning to the polis to oust their enemies. Some of the more prominent families had powerful foreign connections, such as the king of Sparta.   Bust of Solon, Roman copy of Greek original, c. 1st century CE. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Such was the situation in Athens. Solon, one of the Seven Sages of Greece, attempted to correct the situation with his reforms. But once he was out of office, the status quo of politically motivated exile resumed.   A nephew of Solon, Peisistratus, eventually gained power and, through popular support of the non-aristocratic class, installed himself as tyrannos, or tyrant. This didn’t necessarily mean he was a despot. The original meaning of the word was to differentiate how political power was attained, in the same way that king, chancellor, and president describe the highest political office of their respective governmental system. Tyrants gained power outside official means provided by the constitution of the polis. While the word eventually came to be regarded in the same manner as it is today, Peisistratus was, by all accounts, a good and just leader.   The Rise of Tyrants The Tyrannicides: Harmodios and Aristogeiton, Classical Attic Oinochoe, c. 5th century BCE. Source: Boston Museum of Fine Arts   The significance of Peisistratus using popular support to gain power was that it marked one of the first instances in Athens where the non-aristocratic class asserted its own power in the political arena. When Peisistratus came to power, instead of exiling his rivals as was the norm, he allowed them to remain in Athens and even to have important political roles. By allowing his rivals to remain in the polis and lead their lives as normal, he eliminated the threat of factions returning with foreign aid to attack the city. It also meant that if any aristocratic families tried to force him from the polis, they would be opposed by Peisistratus’ non-aristocratic supporters.   Under Peisistratus, the city’s political situation stabilized. His son, Hippias, however, didn’t learn the lessons of his father. When his brother Hipparchos was murdered, Hippias became truly tyrannical. He executed the assassins, who were later revered as Tyrannicides, exiled political rivals, and became bitter towards the Athenian citizens as a whole.   Shackled skeletons discovered at Phalaeron outside Athens, possibly related to a coup in c. 7th century BCE. Source: Smithsonian Magazine   Hippias was overthrown a few years later, and power returned to the aristocratic class. The two most prominent factions were led by Cleisthenes and Isagoras. The two competed for power, but Isagoras was ultimately elected as archon. Cleisthenes turned to the populace for support, but Isagoras appealed to the Spartan king Cleomenes, who marched an army into Athens and expelled Cleisthenes and his closest supporters from the city.   Isagoras and Cleomenes then attempted to dissolve the Athenian Council, which oversaw the city’s day-to-day affairs, and sought to establish an oligarchy of their own allies. The Council resisted, and the common people threw their support behind them, rising up against Isagoras and the Spartans, who fled up to the Acropolis. They were besieged there for three days until the Spartans eventually signed a truce and were allowed to leave. Many of Isagoras’ closest supporters were taken into custody and executed. This marked the moment when the people of Athens officially took control of the city for themselves.   Cleisthenes was recalled from exile and was given leadership of the polis. He immediately undertook an extensive program of constitutional reform, during which he established several institutions that transferred political power to the people.   How Did Ostracism Develop? Reforms of Cleisthenes Bust of Cleisthenes at the Ohio Senate House, by Anna Christoforidis, 2004. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Ostracism was developed to check the ambitions of any would-be tyrants, but it also had greater symbolic meaning within the newly developing democracy. Until Cleisthenes’ reforms to the Athenian constitution, power was held by a select few members of society. That power was not just to legislate but also to determine who would be included and excluded from society. The true exercise of state power was the ability to exile rivals, and the excessive use of this power contributed to the instability of the polis during the 7th and 6th centuries.   Cleisthenes’ reforms aimed to curb the factionalism and aristocratic power struggles that had dominated the previous centuries. He first changed the citizenship requirement. Rather than needing to be part of a tribe to be a citizen of the polis, one now had to be enrolled in the lists of a deme, a geographic subdivision of Attica, much like a neighborhood. He then expanded the number of tribes from four to ten, and divided the demes into the new tribes, thereby basing political power and identity on geographical residence rather than kinship. The Council was expanded from 400 to 500, and government positions were filled by lot instead of being hereditary or based on family relations. Then there was the introduction of ostracism.   Cleisthenes called his reforms isonomia, meaning equality under the law, rather than democracy.   Procedure for Ostracism Three Ostraka from the Ostracism for Pericles, Cimon, and Aristides, c. 5th century BCE. Source: Wikimedia Commons   There were several steps involved in conducting an ostracism. The first step was for the Athenians to decide whether or not to hold an ostracism. In the sixth month of their ten-month year, the assembly asked whether they should hold an ostracism that year. If a majority agreed, a vote would be held two months later.   In the agora, a section was designated for citizens to cast their votes. They scratched names onto potsherds, called ostraka, which were usually recycled from broken vessels. Some people also broke their own vessels by smashing them on the ground in a show of performative aggression. Once the names were scratched onto the potsherd, they were then thrown into the cordoned-off area in the agora, where they were counted and tallied. The ostracism would only be considered valid if 6,000 people voted, and then the ostracized person would have ten days to leave the city. They had no chance to defend themselves or to appeal the decision.   Ostracism as a Democratic Tool Iasos Bouleuterion. Source: Wikimedia Commons   While ostracism may seem odd and has often been cited by those with anti-democratic sentiment as one of the detriments of democratic rule, the law served as a practical reminder of the people’s power in the political life of the polis. Through the institution of ostracism, a peaceful solution was found to aristocratic factionalism. By posing the question to the assembly each year, the aristocracy was reminded that the people were the final arbiters of political power in the polis. Anyone who accumulated too much influence or whose power was not based on the consent of the people could be exiled at will.   In the roughly 100 years when the law was actively in use, there were only nine firmly attested ostracisms. It stood in stark contrast to the often violent and excessive use of exile before Cleisthenes’ reforms. By imposing a fixed term for the exile, maintaining property rights, and employing the institution sparsely, the Athenians both stabilized the polis and legitimized their democracy.   Historical Cases Pottery used to vote in an ostracism, Athens, c. 5th century BCE. Source: Agora Museum Copyright Neil Middleton   The first recorded use of ostracism occurred 20 years after its inception, against Hipparchus, a relative of the Peisistratid tyrants. The next man ostracized was Megacles, a nephew of Cleisthenes. Some of the reasons scratched onto the ostraka referenced his wealth and love of luxury. The third man exiled was another friend or relative of the Peisistratid tyrants. The next instances of ostracism were against Xanthippus, the father of Perikles, and Aristides. Both of these men were rivals of Themistocles for political leadership.   Themistocles himself was ostracized in 472 BCE. According to Plutarch, Themistocles had become arrogant in his own prestige, and people were tired of hearing him speak of his achievements. The Spartans were also helping to promote Themistocles’ political rival, Cimon, who supported pro-Spartan foreign policy. Cimon was later ostracized in 461 BCE. He lost influence after he had convinced the assembly to help the Spartans deal with a helot revolt, but the Spartans turned them away for fear that the Athenians would side with the helots.   Bust of Pericles, Roman copy after Greek original, c. 2nd century CE. Source: British Museum   There were other ostracisms throughout the 5th century BCE, such as that of Thucydides, a political opponent of Pericles. The final recorded ostracism was in 416 BCE against a man named Hyperbolus. He was not part of the aristocratic class, nor did he seem to have much political influence, but he was not well-liked and was often the butt of jokes. During the ostracism for that year, the men likely to be selected for exile were Nicias, Alcibiades, and Phraeax. To prevent their expulsion, Alcibiades and Nicias convened a conference and united their factions to ostracize Hyperbolus.   The institution was discredited afterwards, both because it was used against a non-aristocrat when its purpose was to curb aristocratic political ambition, and because it was openly manipulated. From then on, the question of whether to have an ostracism continued to be asked in the assembly, but it was never used again.   Select Bibliography    Forsdyke, S. (2000) “Exile, Ostracism and the Athenian Democracy,” Classical Antiquity, 19(2), 232–263.   Kagan, D. (1961) “The Origin and Purposes of Ostracism,” Hesperia: The Journal of the American School of Classical Studies at Athens, 30(4), 393–401.   Kirshner, A. S. (2016) “Legitimate Opposition, Ostracism, and the Law of Democracy in Ancient Athens,” The Journal of Politics, 78(4), 1094–1106.   Paul J. Kosmin. (2015) “A Phenomenology of Democracy: Ostracism as Political Ritual,” Classical Antiquity, 34(1), 121–162.

  Penthesilea and Achilles: is it a love story, a warning to women who fight instead of homemake, or just more proof that when the ancient world could not explain something, it cooked up some truly out-there myths to fill in the blanks? Let us meet the two protagonists of this war story—both demigods in their own right. On one hand: Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons, daughter of Ares, battle-ax inventor, and warrior who dared to fight with men. On the other hand: Achilles, scourge of Troy, son of Thetis the sea nymph, and Greece’s deadliest hero.   Penthesilea and Her Sisters Achilles Slaying Penthesilea, by Antonio Canova, 1799. Source: Picryl   Before Penthesilea rode onto Troy’s battlefield to face Achilles, she ruled over a society that already had Greek storytellers simultaneously fascinated and a bit freaked out. The Amazons, the legendary tribe of warrior women, lived somewhere around the Black Sea—though ask ten ancient experts where exactly, and you’ll likely get ten different answers. Some may say they lived near the Thermodon River, others can cite evidence that points to Scythia or beyond. Geography aside, what really grabbed everyone’s attention was that these women were not just wielding weapons—they were outright winning with them.   Penthesilea was a daughter of Ares (when you invent the battle-ax, you need some impressive lineage), and Otrera, said to be both queen and possibly a consort of the god Hermes. Her sisters were no slouches, either. Hippolyta, famously gifted with that magical girdle that Hercules was tasked to steal as one of his Twelve Labors, is the most well-known. Antiope married—or was abducted by, depending on who is telling the story—Theseus of Athens. Melanippe ended up caught by Heracles and ransomed back, proving that even fearsome Amazons could not escape getting roped into the antics and god-inspired shenanigans of marauding Greek heroes.   Medieval Representation of Penthesilea, 1460-70. Source: BnF   Then there is the infamous “one-breast” story. Ancient Greek etymologists loved to claim the name “Amazon” came from a- (without) and mazos (breast), inspired by the legend that these famed archers cut off one breast to draw and shoot better. It is the kind of claim that makes one wonder if the Greeks had ever met a female archer (modern Olympic athletes certainly manage just fine, thank you).   More likely, this myth was part admiration, part cultural anxiety—what better way to use storytelling to ostracize these formidable women than by attributing shocking physical alterations to them? The Amazons defied Greek gender norms by fighting in wars, leading armies, and living without the tradition and strictures of male governance. The breast story was probably just ancient propaganda to make their autonomy seem unnatural. After all, they made each Amazon warrior sound like they chose to be “half” a woman.   Despite the sensationalism, archaeology is beginning to back up a few of Amazonian claims—though not the self-mutilation bit. Uncovered burials across the Eurasian steppe have revealed historical women who were laid in their graves with weapons and riding gear, their skeletons showing signs of a life spent on horseback and in battle. Their bones tell a story of muscle, skill, and years of sustained archery (so much so that it changed the shape of their fingers).   Penthesilea, like her sisters and their escapades, was a symbol rooted in a simultaneous fear and respect for women who dared to not conform.   Achilles and Penthesilea, by Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein, 1823. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Penthesilea was not destined to remain a regional legend. Some myths say she killed her sister Hippolyta by accident during a hunt or while participating in war games, and the guilt from this accidental slaughter drove her to seek an honorable death (which, for Amazons, could only be achieved on the battlefield). Whatever her motives, she strapped on her armor, rallied her Amazon warriors, and took her female troops toward Troy. Her sisters, her lineage, her legend—they all led her to that fateful battlefield in front of the famous Trojan walls where she would meet Achilles, the Greek hero whose name alone inspired dread.   Two demigods. Two warriors at the height of their power. One confrontation that would be remembered as a warning, a tragedy.   The Prophecy of Achilles Statue of Achilles in Hyde Park, by Sir Richard Westmacott, 1822. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Achilles: The name alone conjures images of battlefield carnage, godlike prowess, and one infamously vulnerable heel. In Greek mythology, few heroes burn as brightly as Achilles, the warrior destined for both unequaled glory and an early grave. His story is central to Homer’s Iliad, which recounts his exploits during the final year of the Trojan War. As with many Greek myths, there is a web of stories behind the legend—tales of divine parentage, impossible choices, and prophecies that refuse to be silenced.   Achilles’s family tree was as complicated as his personality. His father, Peleus, was a mortal king of the Myrmidons—a people said to be peerless in battle, loyal to the last man, and (if you believe certain myths) originally ants transformed into humans by Zeus. Yes, ants.   In one version of the tale, Aeacus, Achilles’s grandfather, son of Zeus, and fellow demigod, prayed for company on the deserted island of Aegina. The gods obliged by turning ants (myrmex in Greek) into a hardy, battle-ready populace for Aeacus to lead. It is an origin story that raises more questions than it answers (Were they still good at carrying twenty times their weight? Did they have an inexplicable urge to invade picnics?), but it certainly explains the Myrmidons’ relentless discipline under Achilles’s command.   Heroes of Troy, by Wilhelm Tischbein, 1796. Source: The British Museum   If Peleus provided the mortal flesh, Achilles’s divine ancestry came from his mother, Thetis, a sea nymph and Nereid whose maternal instincts went to the extreme. Thetis was determined to protect her son from his all-too-predictable hero’s fate: die young and be remembered forever, or live a long, quiet life doomed to obscurity. Ever resourceful (and more than a little terrifying), she tried several methods to safeguard her son from an early death on some far-flung battlefield.   Some myths claim she routinely placed the infant Achilles on a fire to burn away his mortality, soothing his inevitable burns with ambrosial ointment (“supernatural skincare” was a legitimate immortality strategy). Her most famous attempt to deceive the fates was dunking baby Achilles into the River Styx, whose dark waters granted invincibility. However, Thetis held her precious baby tightly by the foot, leaving that infamous heel untouched by the river’s magic. Thus, the greatest warrior of the Trojan War was rendered nearly invulnerable, with just a single, fatal flaw.   Unfortunately, when Achilles was nine, a seer predicted what Thetis feared most. Despite all her efforts, her son would meet a heroic end fighting the Trojans. Thetis changed tactics. No longer trying to bestow everlasting life, she dressed him as a girl and sent him to hide among the daughters of King Lycomedes on the island of Skyros. Yet, Greek prophecies were not easily avoided. Odysseus, as cunning as young Achilles was fierce, tricked the hidden warrior into revealing himself—depending on the version, by offering a pile of weapons amid feminine trinkets or staging a fake alarm that sent Achilles reaching for a sword rather than a sewing kit. Either way, his life in disguise was over, and he went gladly off to Troy with his Myrmidons in tow.   Achilles and Troilus, 2nd century CE. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Despite Thetis’s warnings, Achilles embraced his prophesied fate. He decided he would rather live a short life ablaze with glory than a long, dull existence. That choice—gripping victories over uneventful longevity—would define his story, make his name a curse on the lips of his enemies, and ultimately bring him face-to-face with Penthesilea, the Amazon queen whose journey toward the opposite side of the battlefield echoed his own in more ways than either could have anticipated.   The Meeting of Two Heroes Amazon statue, photo by Bill Olen. Source: Flickr   When Penthesilea and Achilles finally crossed paths on the battlefield, it was less a clash of swords and more a showdown between titans. Achilles, already a legend, had seen the Amazon queen’s talents and was chomping at the bit to prove he was equal to them. Penthesilea, seeking an honorable death to atone for her role in the end of her sister’s life, met him head-on with no illusions about what was at stake. Fate had set the stage. The gods (and poets) watched with bated breath.   But the myths can’t seem to agree on what happened next.   In the most commonly told version, the two warriors exchanged blows that rang over the killing field. Penthesilea, formidable and fierce, managed to land a strike against Achilles’s chestplate, the kind of blow that would have been fatal for any other soldier—no small feat given the man’s near-invincibility. Yet, Achilles, living up to his fearsome reputation, countered with a lethal blow of his own to her heart. As she collapsed, something unforeseeable happened—the man who had been so eager to prove his superiority immediately regretted it.   Quintus Smyrnaeus, writing centuries later, claimed that Aphrodite herself had made Penthesilea “beautiful indeed in death,” so that Achilles—fierce, untouchable Achilles—could be “pierced by the arrow of chastising love” when he removed her helmet and saw her unguarded face for the first time. The irony is almost too perfect: the man no spear could harm was struck down by the goddess of love, using his skill to effectively break his own heart.   Penthesilea on Horsebace, by Stefano Della Bella, 17th century. Source: Picryl   Achilles held the Amazon’s still body as the battle continued to rage around it. It was a moment that made his fellow Greeks deeply uncomfortable. Achilles may have had a complicated love life (Briseis, Patroclus, and now a deceased Amazon queen? He was practically a walking tragedy of Greek romance), but this was different. Thersites, the Greek camp loudmouth, took it upon himself to mock Achilles for showing such tenderness toward a fallen enemy. Mocking Achilles had consequences. He killed Thersites on the spot. No one insulted the greatest Greek warrior—not about his emotional attachments, and certainly not in front of the man’s own fighting force.   There is the version where things get very dark. In some macabre tellings, Achilles’s affection for Penthesilea was not tender but twisted—falling into uncomfortable territory where grief and desire blurred in grotesque ways. These later myths suggest that his obsession led him to defile her corpse, a narrative likely more reflective of ancient discomfort with powerful women (and the warriors who respected them) than any actual heroic ideal. Whether that is a cautionary tale, a smear campaign, or just Greek mythology being Greek mythology is anyone’s guess.   Dying on the Battlefield, by Bertel Thorvaldsen, 1837. Source: Wikimedia Commons   There’s also Heinrich von Kleist’s Penthesilea—the 19th-century play that takes the tale of Achilles and Penthisilea and gives it the ultimate twist. In Kleist’s version, it is not Achilles who kills Penthesilea, but Penthesilea who ends Achilles’s life before the walls of Troy. Crazed by love and rage, she not only defeats him but does not stop until she has torn him limb from limb in a frenzy. The original myths portray Achilles’s feeling for his fallen foe, but Kleist gives audiences a reversal so intense it practically howls how dangerous it can be to fall for one of the enemy.   What are modern folk to make of this string of conflicting stories? Is it a love story, a battlefield version of Romeo and Juliet? A warning against hubris? A morality tale about the dangers of humanizing your enemy? Maybe it is all of these. Or maybe, just maybe, it is proof that when the ancient world encountered a woman who could stand toe-to-toe with its greatest hero, it simply could not figure out what to do with her—except perhaps turn her into legend.   Living After Death: How the World Remembers Penthesilea and Achilles Trojan Horse, From Myths and Legends of all Nations, by Logan Marshall, 1914. Source: Picryl   History, and those who are charged with archiving it, has a funny way of picking favorites. Achilles—bronze-clad, rage-driven, and blessed (or cursed) with near invincibility—has lived on through countless retellings, his name synonymous with a cocktail of heroism and vulnerability. Penthesilea? The queen was not quite so lucky. While Achilles is immortalized as Greece’s bravest warrior, Penthesilea often fades into the background of his story, remembered only as that foreign queen he killed.   Achilles’s legend and his bloodline lived on. His son, Neoptolemus (a.k.a. Pyrrhus, “the red-haired”), carried on the family tradition of being both heroic and problematic. Called to Troy in its final days, Neoptolemus fought bravely but committed the rather unforgivable act of murdering King Priam at a holy site. Subtlety and situational awareness clearly weren’t his strong suit. He later married Hermione, daughter of Helen (yes, the world’s most beautiful Helen), but also took Hector’s widow, Andromache, as a concubine—a relationship that produced Molossus, ancestor to the dynasty of Molossian kings. Though eventually, Neoptolemus died at Delphi, his children carried forward the line of Achilles.   Achilles and Penthesilea, relief from the Sebasteion. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Penthesilea’s afterlife in myth and fiction took a different path. Unlike Achilles, whose son remained part of the Trojan story, she did not have an heiress to continue her legacy. Instead, she became a symbol—the warrior woman boldly or maybe naively facing off against the male-dominated narratives.   In modern times, she has been resurrected through the Amazonian warriors of DC Comics. Wonder Woman’s world, deeply inspired by Greek mythology, draws from the same stories that birthed Penthesilea. In Zack Snyder’s Justice League, Penthesilea even appears, guarding the Mother Box and bravely facing Steppenwolf, her sacrifice underscoring the Amazons’ unwavering loyalty and strength. She may now be battling cosmic villains instead of Greek heroes, but her essence remains: a fearless woman standing her ground, self-assured in her skill, in a world that keeps throwing bigger and bigger challenges in her path.   Achilles may be the hero whose name became iconic, but Penthesilea lives on through cultural reinventions—fierce, formidable, and refusing to be just a footnote. Their stories, though centuries old, and yet somehow still intimately intertwined, still ask the same questions: How do we define heroism? And why does history remember some names more loudly than others?

  In the fertile floodplains between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, human civilization took its first steps. Ancient Mesopotamia, the home of the Sumerians, Akkadians, Babylonians, and Assyrians, has left humanity with numerous inventions, including writing, law, and architecture. But among all these achievements, there was something more primal, physical, and arguably just as universal: wrestling. Considered the world’s oldest sport, the earliest evidence for wrestling is found in Mesopotamia, where it was more than just entertainment. It was part of their identity and culture, and an essential aspect of warrior training.   The Earliest Depictions of Wrestling Baked clay plaque showing fighters and musicians, Old Babylonian, c. 2000-1750 BCE. Source: British Museum   It is mistakenly believed that the Epic of Gilgamesh is the oldest depiction of wrestling in history. Before the Epic, there were several visual representations of this combat sport. In the 20th century, archaeologists discovered terracotta plaques in Mesopotamian cities, such as Khafaji, Kish, and Lagash (modern-day Iraq), depicting men wrestling. This wasn’t just roughhousing; wrestlers are shown in dynamic poses, gripping arms, clinching opponents around the waist, and even lifting them off the ground. Some are completely nude, while others wear only loincloths.   Wrestling also appeared on cylinder seals: small, carved rollers used to press images into wet clay. Some of these seals, especially those from Ur and Lagash, depict wrestlers, often performing in front of an audience or beneath divine symbols. This suggests that wrestling had a ceremonial or even religious role.   What is surprising about all these early depictions is their realistic detail. Historians have noted that many of the poses seen in these artworks closely resemble techniques still used in modern wrestling. This consistency over the centuries shows that wrestling truly has deep roots in human physical expression.   The Epic of Gilgamesh: Wrestling as Myth and Metaphor Gilgamesh Fighting Enkidu, by Wael Tarabieh, 1996. Source: Wael Tarabieh     The earliest written traces of wrestling come from the Epic of Gilgamesh, the oldest known epic in history. The Epic of Gilgamesh was written between 2100 and 1200 BCE by a Babylonian writer who called himself Sin-Leqi-Unninni. The epic tells the story of Gilgamesh, the semi-divine king of Uruk, and his wild counterpart Enkidu. Their first encounter includes a powerful and symbolic wrestling duel.   When Enkidu enters Uruk, he challenges Gilgamesh to a duel because of his abuse of power. The two warriors clash in a fierce wrestling match, each trying to overpower the other. Ultimately, neither is truly defeated. Instead, they show mutual respect and become close companions.   “Mighty Gilgamesh came on and Enkidu met him at the gate. He put out his foot and prevented Gilgamesh from entering the house, so they grappled, holding each other like bulls. They broke the doorposts and the walls shook, they snorted like bulls locked together.” (1)   Many believe that this wrestling match is actually a metaphor for inner struggle. Gilgamesh confronts his own arrogance and gains humility, while Enkidu relinquishes his isolation and becomes an integral part of society. In this way, wrestling becomes a symbol of identity, transformation, and balance.   Wrestling in Military Training Copper/bronze cast of two wrestlers balancing jars on their heads, Nintu Temple at Khafajah, Iraq, c. 2600-2370 BCE. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Mesopotamian cities such as Sumer, Akkad, Babylon, and Assyria often waged war against each other or against foreign powers. As a result, they placed great importance on physical training. Wrestling in ancient Mesopotamia was not merely a sport; it was a vital part of preparing soldiers for battle. Wrestling shaped recruits into disciplined, agile, and fearless warriors.   Although no formal records of training manuals have survived, we know from art and royal inscriptions that wrestling was part of the royal and military educational system. In Sumerian texts and praise poems, kings often boasted of their strength and compared themselves to wrestlers.   “I am a king treated with respect, good offspring from the womb. I am Lipit-Ectar, the son of Enlil. From the moment I lifted my head like a cedar sapling, I have been a man who possesses strength in athletic pursuits. As a young man I grew very muscular (?). I am a lion in all respects (3 mss. have instead: to the extremes (?)), having no equal.” (A praise poem of Lipit-Eshtar)   However, the clearest examples come from terracotta plaques that depict military life and training. Based on these visual records, it is clear that wrestling played a significant role in the physical training of Mesopotamian soldiers.   Forms of Wrestling in Ancient Mesopotamia Cylinder seal showing heroes wrestling animals, Akkadian, c. 2250-2150 BCE. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   It seems that wrestling in ancient Mesopotamia encompassed a full range of grappling, from upright combat to ground fighting. Many terracotta plaques depict men in standing positions attempting throws, hip swings, or shoulder holds. On the other hand, some scenes continue into ground positions. This may suggest that victory wasn’t declared after the first fall, but that the match continued until one wrestler was completely exhausted or subdued. This hybrid form of wrestling in Mesopotamia resembles modern judo or freestyle wrestling, where transitions between standing and ground combat are fluid and strategic.   There was another form of wrestling in ancient Mesopotamia that probably involved the use of belts or straps. Although no such belts have survived, certain visual depictions suggest that wrestlers grabbed each other near the waist or hips in ways that indicate control through the use of a belt.   Similar wrestling techniques are present in other ancient civilizations such as Greece, Egypt, India, and China. These cultures did not directly inherit wrestling from Mesopotamia; rather, wrestling as a sport developed independently in each, as humans naturally evolve similar grappling strategies in unarmed combat. Therefore, modern wrestling does not descend directly from Mesopotamia, but shares a common DNA: physical human instincts for dominance, control, and skill-based competition.   Wrestling, Ritual, and the Divine Cuneiform tablet recording hymn to Marduk, c. 1st millennium BCE. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   In addition to sporting events, wrestling in ancient Mesopotamia was also present in religious festivals and royal ceremonies held in palaces. Cylinder seals and carved reliefs sometimes depict wrestlers fighting beneath the symbols of deities such as Enlil or Inanna. The symbols of Inanna, the goddess of love, war, and power, were stars, while the symbols of Enlil, the god of air, authority, and kingship, were lightning bolts. Many interpret these depictions of wrestling as symbols of unstable divine energy.   Even the gods of ancient Mesopotamia occasionally engaged in battles that resembled wrestling matches. The most well-known example is the battle between Marduk and Tiamat in the Enuma Elish poem. Marduk was the patron god of Babylon, while Tiamat was the goddess of salt water and chaos. During their battle, Marduk uses a net, a bow, and winds to trap and defeat Tiamat. He then divides her body to form the heavens and the earth. This victory secures Marduk’s place as the supreme deity in Mesopotamian mythology.   “And the gods of the battle cried out for their weapons. Then advanced Tiamat and Marduk, the counselor of the gods; To the fight they came on, to the battle they drew nigh.” (Enuma Elish, Tablet 4)   The way Marduk defeated Tiamat resembles the technical control of a wrestler, followed by a decisive strike. His triumph is not merely a killing; it is the establishment of cosmic order, akin to a king proving his legitimacy through a ritualistic wrestling victory.   The Wrestler’s Role in Mesopotamian Society Gilgamesh and Enkidu in the Cedar Forest II, by Anselm Kiefer, 1981. Source: Guggenheim Bilbao   In ancient Mesopotamia, wrestlers enjoyed elevated social status, something like modern celebrities. People from all social classes admired their physical strength and endurance, but their value extended beyond just muscles. Strength in ancient Mesopotamia was a moral, even spiritual, quality. This meant that a wrestler, besides brute force, was expected to have qualities such as strategic thinking and control over their body.   The elevated role of the wrestler in Mesopotamian society is evident in the Epic of Gilgamesh. When the wild man Enkidu arrives in Uruk, he challenges King Gilgamesh to a wrestling match, not only to confront his violent power, but also to prove his worth in the eyes of society.   Wrestling served as a visual metaphor for domination, making it a useful tool in public appearances and propaganda. Kings and rulers often boasted of their wrestling skills in praise poems and inscriptions. Wrestling was seen as legitimate proof of one’s ability to rule, just like military victories or religious devotion.   It is assumed that wrestling was also part of the palace economy and that athletes, like scribes or entertainers, likely had permanent positions at royal courts. They would perform during court events, possibly for dignitaries, visiting merchants, or during treaty festivals.   Wrestlers often blurred roles: half-civilian, half-soldier; half-ritual performer, half-elite athlete. This duality reflects a broader Mesopotamian fascination with figures who cross boundaries.