Mexico’s military kills drug cartel leader in U.S.-backed operation

February 23, 2026

Mexican military kills drug cartel boss in US-backed raid — Nemesio Oseguera was wounded in a clash with soldiers in the town of Tapalpa and died while being flown to Mexico City

When the Smoke Rose: A Mexico Night That Felt Like an Earthquake

They arrived as if to mark the end of an era—and the beginning of something else entirely. A heavily guarded convoy of National Guard trucks rolled into Mexico City with the lifeless body of Nemesio Oseguera, better known by the name that once made governors, businessmen and tourists flinch: El Mencho.

The defence ministry said the 60-year-old leader of the Jalisco New Generation Cartel, CJNG, had been wounded during a special forces operation in Tampalpa, Jalisco, and later died in custody. Within hours the country’s arteries—highways, airports, seaside boulevards—felt the shock.

“It looked like a war zone,” wrote one tourist from Puerto Vallarta on a social feed as black smoke curled over the bay and videos showed flames licking at charred cars and a burning bus. “We just wanted to see the sunset. We got something else.”

Scenes from the Front Lines: Roadblocks, Flames, and Frayed Nerves

Across multiple states, men believed to be cartel fighters set fire to vehicles, torched storefronts and blockaded highways. Schools in some areas shut down for the day. Airports grounded flights; airlines including United, American, Southwest and several Canadian carriers suspended routes into Puerto Vallarta, Guadalajara and Manzanillo. Some flights turned back mid-journey.

“We woke to the sound of shouting and then the sirens,” said María López, who runs a small taquería in a suburb of Guadalajara. “Customers didn’t come. People are scared. We don’t know if this will pass tonight or if the calm is just another pause.”

For a nation where cartels have long woven themselves into the social fabric—through violence, through extortion, through the jobs they both create and crush—the sudden eruption of violence after the raid felt like a seismic shift. Yet the battlegrounds were familiar: Jalisco and neighboring states that have seen the cartel footprint expand, retract, and expand again in recent years.

Who Was El Mencho—and What Did His Death Mean?

El Mencho, a former municipal police officer who rose through the underworld to found CJNG, transformed a regional gang into one of the hemisphere’s most formidable criminal enterprises. Under his direction, the cartel diversified from narcotics trafficking into fuel theft, extortion, human smuggling and financial fraud. CJNG also pioneered brutal tactics—public executions, the use of improvised explosives, and the tactical deployment of weaponized drones in remote regions.

“He wasn’t just a trafficker,” said security analyst Carlos Olivo, a former assistant special agent in charge with the US Drug Enforcement Administration. “He built an organization that mirrored a corporation—aggressive expansion, vertical integration, and ruthless suppression of competition. Taking him out matters, but it won’t erase the structures he built overnight.”

In the eyes of U.S. officials, the seizure—backed by intelligence assistance—was a significant blow against a cartel that is accused of pouring fentanyl and other synthetic opioids into North America. “We commend and thank the Mexican military for their cooperation,” White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt wrote on social media, acknowledging American support for the operation.

Where This Fits in a Broader Story

This is not a standalone chapter. In the past decade, Mexico has watched rival drug lords fall into hands—Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán and Ismael “El Mayo” Zambada were ultimately captured and extradited to the United States. But removing a leader does not automatically dissolve a machine. Experts warn of fracturing, of splinter groups, of revenge.

“There will definitely be skirmishes between various factions, and these spasms of violence could last for years,” Olivo said. “When a titan falls, vultures circle. Sometimes those vultures fight over the corpse.”

The Human Toll—or the Narrow Escape of One

Remarkably, despite the spread of arson and chaos across at least half a dozen states, officials reported no civilian deaths directly tied to the immediate flare-ups. Still, the economic and emotional toll is heavy: shuttered shops, tourists cancelling their stays, commuters rerouted, and a renewed churn of fear that communities have learned to live with.

“We are tired of living like this,” said Jorge Martinez, a fisherman from a small pier outside Puerto Vallarta. “You go out to work and you wonder if today will be the day something happens. You can’t plan. No one can sleep easy.”

Fentanyl, Borders, and the Pressure from Washington

Behind the raids and the smoke is a sobering statistic: synthetic opioids, particularly fentanyl, have driven a steep rise in overdose deaths across North America. According to U.S. public health agencies, tens of thousands of deaths each year involve synthetic opioids—an epidemic that has pushed policymakers to intensify cross-border security cooperation and pressure on Mexico to disrupt supply chains.

President Claudia Sheinbaum said her government would deepen cooperation with the United States, while also asserting Mexico’s sovereignty and warning against unilateral foreign military action on Mexican soil. The delicate dance between security partnership and national autonomy was thrust into the spotlight—as it always is when the frontier between two countries blurs in the name of countering transnational crime.

Travel Warnings, Flight Cancellations, and the Ripple Effect

In the immediate aftermath, the U.S. State Department advised American citizens in parts of Mexico to shelter in place. Canada issued similar guidance, asking its citizens to keep a low profile and heed local authorities. Airlines scrambled, passengers were stranded, and hotel lobbies filled with worried faces and luggage tags from across the continent.

Some carriers canceled flights to Puerto Vallarta, Guadalajara and Manzanillo.
Roadblocks disrupted supply lines and regional airline operations.
The Mexican military and national guard increased patrols in key urban centers.

What Comes Next?

So what should we expect in the days, months and years after El Mencho’s death? One possibility is fragmentation—CJNG could splinter into rival factions, each fighting for territory. Another is consolidation—an internal lieutenant could step up and keep the enterprise intact. Or the vacuum could invite other cartels to expand, intensifying conflict.

“Leaders are visible; systems are resilient,” reflected Ana Rivera, a sociologist studying organized crime in western Mexico. “You can remove a captain, but the currents that sustain the trade—demand, corruption, economic inequality—remain.”

For the resident who locks their doors at night, for the small-business owner who depends on tourism, and for the parents anxiously checking their children’s schools, the question is practical and immediate: will today be safer than yesterday? For policymakers, it is existential: can a balance be found between enforcement, respect for sovereignty, and long-term social policies that address the root drivers of organized crime?

Looking Beyond the Headlines

In the smoky light of that night, Mexico’s crisis revealed itself in microcosm: a convoy in the capital, a burned bus in a coastal town, a worried shopkeeper, and the distant pressure of a neighboring country demanding results. The narrative is at once local and transnational, brutal and bureaucratic, immediate and structural.

What do you think—does the fall of a cartel kingpin represent a turning point, or a pause in a much longer struggle? How should nations balance urgent security needs with the patient work of social transformation? The answers won’t come in a single sweep of special forces. They’ll be written, slowly and often painfully, in courtrooms, classrooms and kitchen tables across the region.

For now, the ash settles but the questions remain. The convoy has left Mexico City; the smoke will fade from the skyline. But in the neighborhoods and the boarding houses, in the seaside resorts and the mountain towns, people will watch, wait and remember how tenuous peace can be.

EU Expects US to Uphold Trade Deal Despite Tariff Hikes

hanad

February 23, 2026

EU 'expects' US to honour trade deal amid tariffs hike — 'A deal is a deal', the European Commission said in a statement

When a Promise Meets a Gavel: Trade, Turmoil, and the Thin Line Between Law and Deal-Making

Brussels woke to a familiar ache this week — coffee cups clinking, bicycles weaving past the glass-and-steel façade of the European Commission, and officials huddled around screens trying to recalibrate a fragile optimism. Just a day earlier, the U.S. Supreme Court had undercut a major pillar of Washington’s recent tariff strategy by narrowing the president’s authority under the International Emergency Economic Powers Act (IEEPA). And then, in an act that felt like both defiance and damage control, the White House announced a temporary global tariff increase to 15% on many imports into the United States.

The result: a deal struck only last year — one that placed an explicit 15% ceiling on most American duties for European goods — suddenly felt less like a binding truce and more like a tentative handshake over quicksand. “A deal is a deal,” said a spokeswoman for the European Commission in a statement that rippled through trade desks and dining tables from Lisbon to Ljubljana. “We expect the United States to honour the commitments in the Joint Statement, just as the EU stands by its commitments.”

At the heart of the corridor

Walk down Rue de la Loi and you can hear the story of Europe’s relationship with America in small, human details. A Belgian pastry chef frets about the cost of Canadian flour that comes through U.S. ports. An Estonian tech start-up worries that a 15% levy could steamroll margins it had carefully built. “If uncertainty is the new normal, you can’t plan,” said Clarisse Dupont, who runs a sustainable clothing brand in Brussels. “We price, we forecast, we invest. Tariffs like this are a fog that swallows those plans.”

For many governments and businesses, the question is less about who is right and more about what happens next. The EU’s trade commissioner, who has been in continuous contact with his U.S. counterparts, asked Washington for “full clarity” on intended steps now that the Supreme Court decision has altered the legal landscape. “Tariffs applied unpredictably are inherently disruptive,” the Commission added. “They undermine confidence, destabilize global markets, and rattle international supply chains.”

What’s actually at stake?

To anyone who thinks trade is only about numbers on a spreadsheet, take a closer look: container yards, factory floors, and store shelves all tell the human story. The United States and the European Union are each other’s largest trading partners; their economic relationship touches millions of jobs, companies, and households. The joint market is a backbone of global supply chains — auto parts, pharmaceuticals, machinery, luxury goods, agricultural products — and that backbone has grown increasingly intertwined over decades of investment.

Tariffs, even modest ones, are seldom neutral. Economists routinely point out that duties are often paid by someone — and more often than not, that “someone” is the final consumer. “Tariffs are taxes with different packaging,” explained Dr. Laila Hassan, an international trade economist. “They can push up prices, distort incentives, and prompt firms to reroute supply chains. All of this happens faster when decisions appear unpredictable.”

On the ground, the ripple effects are already visible. A small car parts supplier in southern Germany said orders from the United States were being re-evaluated overnight. A farm cooperative in Andalusia is nervously watching commodity brokers. “What’s terrifying isn’t today’s hike; it’s the message that rules might change on a whim,” said Javier Martín, who runs a family-owned olive-pressing operation. “We export olive oil on narrow margins. You add a tariff and margins disappear.”

The political tug-of-war

Politics is never far from policy in transatlantic affairs. The European Parliament’s trade committee had been scheduled to approve the EU-US deal this week. That decision now faces a pause; the committee’s leader has signalled he will ask colleagues to hold off until legal implications are assessed and clear commitments are made. “We cannot move forward into a framework built on shifting legal sands,” he said, calling the recent American moves “pure tariff chaos.”

Across the Atlantic, lawmakers and industry groups have their own concerns — from preserving strategic national security tools to protecting domestic industry. But even among voices sympathetic to a stronger U.S. stance, there is unease about the method. “You can pursue policy objectives and still be predictable,” a former U.S. trade official told me. “Markets crave predictability, and trade thrives on rules.”

Why the Supreme Court decision matters

The court’s ruling on the IEEPA did more than curtail a legal instrument; it struck at the heart of presidential discretion in economic statecraft. By finding limits to the executive’s ability to unilaterally impose sweeping international tariffs under emergency powers, the justices raised immediate questions about the legal basis for many of the tariffs introduced in recent years.

That legal uncertainty now bleeds into diplomatic commitments. If a tariff proves legally vulnerable, what binding force does a cross-Atlantic deal retain? The EU insists that the agreement to cap tariffs at 15% was not a hopeful suggestion but a practical ceiling meant to shield businesses from surging duties. “EU products must continue to benefit from the most competitive treatment,” said a Commission official. “No increases beyond the clear and all-inclusive ceiling previously agreed.”

Practical consequences — and simple human fears

Beyond the legalese, there is a simple human calculus: will my job, my pension, my small business survive renewed uncertainty? Small and medium-sized enterprises are particularly vulnerable. They lack the legal teams and hedging instruments multinational corporations use to navigate tariff storms. Banks might pull back from lending for cross-border projects. Investment plans could be put on ice.

“We are seeing letters from clients who are delaying orders,” said Marianne Lind, a freight forwarder in Rotterdam. “A single 15% tariff on a manufactured good can alter the decision to ship across continents.”

Looking beyond the headlines

So what should we watch for next? First, clarity — from Washington about whether the temporary 15% hike is intended as a broad policy shift or a stopgap response to a legal ruling. Second, legislative moves — will the U.S. Congress, or American courts, step in to redefine the authority to set tariffs? Third, diplomatic follow-through — will a transatlantic dialogue translate into renewed certainty, or will it devolve into a tit-for-tat cycle that global markets can ill afford?

And to you, the reader: how do you feel when faraway trade policy translates into price tags at your grocery store or delays on a package you expected? Can we accept volatility as part of a new global order, or do we demand that leaders repair the scaffolding of international commerce so families and businesses can plan once more?

Big legal rulings and abstract trade deals might seem far removed from daily life, but the truth is they touch our lives in small, cumulative ways. When agreements are respected, when law and diplomacy are aligned, people can build futures with confidence. When they are not, the cost — economic, social, and human — is paid in slower growth, frayed relationships, and uncertain nights for entrepreneurs and workers alike.

For now, Brussels is waiting for a call. Washington has made a move. And across warehouses and ateliers, in cafés and on factory floors, people are watching to see whether promises will become policy — or whether history will record another lesson about the fragility of trade in an unpredictable world.

Pakistan Launches Deadly Cross-Border Strikes Targeting Militants in Afghanistan

hanad

February 23, 2026

Pakistan launches deadly strikes in Afghanistan — Afghan men search for victims after an overnight Pakistani airstrike hit a residential area

When the Dawn Became a Rubble: Airstrikes, Children and a Border That Won’t Stay Quiet

The sun rose on a scene that is becoming tragically familiar along the Afghanistan–Pakistan frontier: dust clouds, broken beams, and families who had only minutes earlier been getting ready for the day. In Bihsud district of Nangarhar province, a bulldozer clawed through the wreckage of a house while neighbours called names into the concrete, hoping against hope to hear an answer.

“We were inside. One minute the children were laughing, the next the whole house collapsed,” said a woman who gave her name as Mariam, her shawl still flecked with dust. “They are not soldiers. They are my sons and daughters.” Her voice broke as the machine heaved another slab of concrete aside.

What Happened — The Official Lines

Pakistan announced it had launched multiple overnight air strikes that it says targeted militant hideouts in Afghanistan. Islamabad’s Ministry of Information and Broadcasting said seven sites along the border were hit, aimed at the Pakistani Taliban and associated groups, including an affiliate of the so‑called Islamic State.

Afghan officials reported strikes in Nangarhar and Paktika provinces. Local sources in Bihsud told reporters that a house had been hit, killing 17 people, among them 12 children and teenagers. An AFP journalist at the scene described frantic rescue efforts and neighbours using heavy machinery to search for survivors under the rubble.

On social media, Zabihullah Mujahid, a spokesperson for the Afghan authorities, condemned the operation: “Pakistani generals try to compensate for their country’s security weaknesses through such crimes,” he wrote on X. The tone was bitter, an echo of the deeper diplomatic rupture between Kabul and Islamabad since 2021.

Casualties, Context and Competing Claims

The strikes were framed by Pakistan as retaliation for a string of suicide bombings on Pakistani soil, including a devastating attack at a Shia mosque in Islamabad that killed at least 40 people and wounded more than 160 — the deadliest assault on the capital since 2008. The Islamic State’s regional affiliate claimed responsibility for that mosque bombing.

Islamabad has also pointed to other recent attacks in northwest Pakistan as part of the justification for cross‑border strikes. Pakistani officials say they have repeatedly urged Afghanistan’s new authorities to act against groups using Afghan territory as a base, and now, they say, they have taken matters into their own hands.

For Kabul, the narrative is different: these strikes violate Afghan sovereignty and primarily harm civilians. “Our people suffer when tensions turn into explosions,” said Dr. Noorullah, a physician at a clinic in Jalalabad. “Children die, schools close, and families disappear.”

Numbers that Tell a Story

Reported deaths in this incident: at least 17, including 12 children and teenagers (local Afghan security source).
Previous border clashes in October left more than 70 people dead on both sides and wounded hundreds.
Mosque suicide bombing in Islamabad: at least 40 killed, over 160 wounded — claimed by Islamic State affiliate.
Pakistan says it struck seven sites across Nangarhar and Paktika provinces.

On the Ground: Grief, Anger, and Quiet Resolve

Travel through these frontier districts and certain things mark themselves on your senses: the smell of strong tea at roadside stalls, the small iron coffee‑pots, men who measure distance in minutes rather than kilometres, and a resilience so practical it can seem almost stoic. Yet after the strikes, that stoicism split into raw grief.

“We are used to hearing gunfire. We are not used to seeing our children under the stones,” said Haji Khan, a schoolteacher who had come to help pull bodies from the wreckage. Beside him, a teacher’s satchel lay abandoned, a small chalkboard dusted with fine grey grit.

Local elders convened under a poplar tree to decide how to bury the dead, to make space for a funeral in a town where funerals have become too frequent. “When will this end?” one elder asked, looking at the horizon where border ridges meet the sky. “Do the people on the other side not have children?”

Diplomacy on the Brink: Failed Talks and Fragile Ceasefires

The latest strikes come after months of uneasy relations. The bloodiest confrontation in recent memory was last October when border fighting killed more than 70 people overall. That episode ended with a ceasefire brokered by Qatar and Turkey, but subsequent talks in Doha and Istanbul failed to yield a durable solution.

Analysts say the problem is structural. “You cannot resolve a border security problem by airstrikes alone,” explained Miriam Habib, an independent conflict analyst focusing on South Asia. “There are layers here: cross‑border militant networks, local grievances, competition between regional powers, and an Afghan state (however it is structured) that itself is still consolidating authority.”

What’s Really at Stake?

Sovereignty vs. security: Pakistan frames action as self‑defence; Afghanistan says it’s an infringement on its territorial integrity.
Civilian protection: When strikes happen in populated border areas, the fallout is often non‑combatant deaths, displacement, and long-term trauma.
Regional stability: Escalation risks dragging in mediators and neighbors, complicating already tense relations between Islamabad, Kabul, and Tehran, with Turkey and Qatar playing diplomatic roles.

Beyond the Headlines: What This Means for Ordinary People

Numbers and press releases fail to capture the slow unravelling of normal life. Children who survive such strikes carry invisible wounds; schools close or shift hours; markets shrink because people are too afraid to travel. Aid agencies warn that repeated cross‑border violence will worsen an already dire humanitarian picture in eastern Afghanistan, where infrastructure is thin and winter months are unforgiving.

“Two things keep me up — the sound of explosions and the thought that there may be no one left to inherit this valley,” said a farmer named Qader, watching his goats pick over flattened wheat stubble. “Is not peace cheaper than a hundred funerals?”

Questions to Carry With You

As you read this from wherever you are — a city apartment, a university dorm, a seaside town — ask yourself: what responsibility do distant states have when their security measures spill over borders? How should the international community balance a country’s right to defend itself with the imperative to protect civilians? And perhaps most urgently: what mechanisms exist for credible investigation and accountability when children lie dead beneath rubble?

Closing Scene: The Long Haul

Negotiations will likely resume in diplomatic durbars and hotel conference rooms. There will be statements, condemnations, and perhaps another fragile ceasefire. Meanwhile, in Bihsud, people will bury their dead, fix a roof where a missile fell, and attempt to coax seedlings into the cracked earth. That is the stubborn, sometimes heroic, work of ordinary life under extraordinary strain.

For now, the border remains a bruise on the map — red, swollen, and tender. How we respond to those kinds of wounds is a measure of our shared humanity.

Danish minister insists Greenland does not need U.S. hospital ship

hanad

February 22, 2026

Greenland doesn't need US hospital ship - Danish minister — Danish Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen said she believes Donald Trump still wants to take over Greenland

Hospital ships, hot takes and Arctic politics: Greenland in the eye of a media storm

There is a funny, almost cinematic contrast at the heart of this story: a sparsely populated island of ice and moss, dotted with small towns where everyone knows one another, and the high-decibel politics of superpowers trading grand gestures across the Atlantic. On one side, Nuuk — compact, bracing, and stubbornly rooted in its Inuit traditions. On the other, a social-media proclamation that a foreign power is dispatching a “great hospital boat” to care for a population that, locals and their government insist, already has comprehensive healthcare.

The statement — breathless, public, dramatic — landed with the subtlety of a foghorn. It prompted raised eyebrows in Copenhagen, polite bemusement in Nuuk, and an inevitable flurry of commentary across NATO briefing rooms. But beneath the spectacle lie real questions about sovereignty, dignity, and who gets to decide what a remote community needs.

“We do not need showboats” — the official line from Copenhagen

Denmark’s Defence Minister offered a crisp rebuttal that felt like a hand on Greenland’s shoulder. “Greenlanders receive the healthcare they need,” Troels Lund Poulsen told Danish broadcasters. “When something cannot be treated here, it is treated in Denmark. There is no vacuum to be filled by a foreign hospital ship.”

That statement reflects a practical truth. Greenland, an autonomous territory within the Kingdom of Denmark, provides free healthcare through its public system. The island has five regional hospitals — with the National Hospital in Nuuk serving as the primary referral center for complex cases — and agreements are in place for patients to be flown to Denmark when specialised medical services are required.

“People in Nuuk might laugh at the idea of a foreign flotilla arriving with bandages and fanfare,” said Aaja, a nurse at the Nuuk hospital who has worked there for a decade. “What we need is steady funding, proper equipment, and respect for the way our communities live. Not a photo op.”

Scenes from Nuuk: everyday life and quieter urgencies

Walk the harbor in the late afternoon and you hear a different rhythm: the slap of boat ropes on wood, elders speaking Kalaallisut, teenagers on bikes, and the soft engine hum of supply launches heading out to fjord settlements. Healthcare here is intimate in a way metropolitan systems rarely are. A general practitioner might know the family history of half their caseload; long winters and remote settlements shape expectations and the delivery of care.

“We send people south when needed,” said Henrik, a hunter and community elder from Sisimiut, as he peeled a fish on his porch. “Denmark has specialists. We have our own doctors. We do not need governors from afar arriving with cameras.”

Still, challenges remain. Greenland’s population — roughly 56,000 souls spread across an area twice the size of Texas (about 2.16 million square kilometers) — faces logistical hurdles: bad weather, long transfer times, and the expense of medevacs. These are real pressures that require pragmatic solutions rather than headline-driven interventions.

From a Tweet to diplomatic ripples

The announcement of a hospital ship came with a particular crescendo — a post on social media asserting the vessel was “on the way.” It was neither the first nor the strangest time Greenland has been cast into the center of geopolitical talk: in 2019, voices floated the idea that the US should acquire Greenland — a suggestion met with bemusement and strong rebuffs.

“Statements like this are part of an evolving normal,” a Danish foreign policy analyst observed. “They reflect a merging of showmanship and strategy. But for Greenlanders the most pressing issues are local: health services, housing, employment, and the effects of climate change.”

Within days, the story took a quieter turn. Denmark’s Arctic Command reported the evacuation of a crew member from a US submarine off Nuuk’s coast after the sailor requested urgent medical attention — a reminder that military activity in Greenland’s waters is an ongoing reality, with real people and real emergencies.

What Greenlanders actually want

Across the towns, a common refrain emerges: respect for local institutions and a say in decisions that affect daily life. In early February, Greenland’s government and Copenhagen signed an agreement intended to smooth the path for patients who need treatment in Danish hospitals — a modest, technical piece of cooperation that matters practically for families awaiting surgery or specialist diagnostics.

“We want partnerships, not paternalism,” said Dr. Ingrid Olsen, an Arctic health policy researcher. “Capacity-building, telemedicine investments, reliable medevac protocols — these are the kinds of interventions that improve lives. The optics of a foreign hospital ship won’t touch the structural gaps.”

Facts to keep in mind

Population: roughly 56,000 people, concentrated in coastal towns.
Area: about 2.16 million square kilometers, making Greenland the world’s largest island.
Healthcare infrastructure: five regional hospitals; Nuuk houses the main referral center.
Political status: autonomous territory within the Kingdom of Denmark, with expanded self-rule granted in 2009.
Strategic presence: the US has long-standing military interests in Greenland, exemplified by Thule Air Base in the north and ongoing Arctic security concerns.

Why the fuss about Greenland keeps resurfacing

It is too easy to dismiss these flare-ups as mere headline bait. The Arctic is warming faster than the global average, revealing new sea lanes, potential resource deposits, and renewed military interest from major powers. Those are broad, structural trends that will keep Greenland relevant on the global stage.

But the lens through which Greenland is viewed matters. Is it a pawn in geopolitical maneuvering, or a community with its own voice, priorities, and rights? The answer should be obvious, yet the temptation to treat this vast land as a stage for grand gestures persists.

Lessons for a connected world

There is a lesson here beyond Greenland’s icy shores. In an era where announcements can fly across platforms faster than ships can sail, good policy requires patience, local consultation, and technical competence. It also demands humility: the conviction that dramatic public relations cannot substitute for sustained investment and respect.

Ask yourself: when a faraway leader offers aid, how do we tell the difference between genuine help and self-serving theater? How can nations balance strategic interests with the autonomy and dignity of remote communities? These are not rhetorical questions. They are the questions that will shape the Arctic’s future.

Closing—listening more than showboats

For now, Greenlanders will keep living their layered lives: hunting and studying, raising children, maintaining hospitals and schoolrooms, and negotiating relationships with larger powers. They will take hand-me-down medical equipment where needed, send a neighbor to Denmark for a specialist appointment, and attend the ceremonial visits from Copenhagen with a knowing smile.

“We welcome help when it’s asked for,” Aaja the nurse said, folding a bandage with practiced fingers. “But don’t confuse noise for assistance. Real care is quiet and steady. It shows up on time, with the right tools, and leaves the people it serves a little stronger.”

In the end, perhaps the most pressing imperative is simple: listen. Let policy be shaped by the people who live on the land, not by the people who merely announce their plans from afar.

Iran Readies Counterproposal as U.S. Weighs Possible Military Strikes

hanad

February 22, 2026

Iran prepares counterproposal as US considers strikes — The US Navy's Gerald R Ford Carrier Strike Group pictured in November last year

At the Brink: A City Waiting and the World Holding Its Breath

Tehran wakes to the same rhythms it always has — the shrill vendor calls in the bazaar, the hiss of tea poured into tiny glass cups, the soft thud of shoes on carpeted stairways — but there is an undercurrent of waiting now, a tautness that hums under everyday life.

“We are teaching our children to be quiet at night,” said Leyla, a carpet seller in the Grand Bazaar, pausing between customers to fold a faded rug. “Not because the world has changed what it sells, but because people listen differently when guns and talk of strikes are in the air.”

Across continents, officials and soldiers have been moving pieces on maps as if summoning the future into being. Diplomatic exchanges in Geneva left both sides claiming modest progress — and a fragile, precarious pause. At the same time, public rhetoric hardened in Washington: deadlines, threats of limited strikes, and talk — reported by several Western outlets — that U.S. military planning had reached an advanced stage, including options that would strike individuals or even aim to unsettle Tehran’s leadership if a political decision were made.

Diplomacy in the Shadow of Force

In neutral meeting rooms in Geneva this week, Iran and American envoys did not sit across the table directly; they moved proposals through intermediaries, technical papers and a shared desire to avoid total collapse. Tehran’s foreign ministry — speaking through a senior official — said a draft counterproposal could be ready within days. That paper, it was explained, would outline ways to assure the world that Iran’s nuclear program would remain peaceful, while seeking relief from crippling sanctions.

“We have been very clear about our aim,” the Iranian official said. “This is about coexistence: the right to a civilian nuclear programme, and guarantees that it will never become a weapon. That’s what a reasonable people expect from their government and what the world should expect from us.”

But the same week, President Donald Trump publicly offered Tehran a short window — “ten to fifteen days,” as he put it in an Oval Office briefing — to clinch a deal or face “really bad things.” Later, pressed about the option of a limited strike, he said he was considering it. That kind of brinkmanship, analysts warn, complicates negotiations by raising the stakes on both sides.

“You cannot simultaneously wave the olive branch and the sword,” said Dr. Miriam Alvarez, a former diplomat turned senior fellow at an international security think-tank in London. “Armed pressure can bring a partner to the table, yes, but it also hardens resolve, creates fear, and makes any diplomatic gains brittle. Trust — not just written text — is the currency of agreements.”

What Was Said — and What Wasn’t

Those Geneva conversations, according to participants, did land on a set of “guiding principles” — broad strokes outlining mutual aims — but did not produce a final agreement. On technical matters, both sides reportedly left the more contentious issues, such as enrichment levels and verification regimes, open for further negotiation. U.N. officials, echoing growing alarm across capitals, urged restraint and a return to sustained diplomacy.

“The world cannot afford another military escalation in the Middle East,” said a U.N. spokesperson at a daily briefing. “We encourage both parties to continue engagement, reduce rhetoric, and avoid steps that could lead to miscalculation.”

The Human Toll: Numbers, Stories, and Disputes

Talking of geopolitics without talking about people flattens the story. In Tehran and beyond, the human cost of recent unrest remains bitterly contested. Iran’s government has published a list it says includes 3,117 people killed during waves of protest and unrest. Independent monitors — including HRANA, a U.S.-based rights group — say their verified count stands substantially higher: 7,114 deaths, with another 11,700 cases under review.

“Numbers are a form of evidence; they are also a claim on our conscience,” said Soraya Rahmani, a human rights researcher who has tracked the unrest from abroad. “The discrepancy is not just academic. It shapes who is believed, who is held accountable, and how the international community judges the situation.”

For families here, the numbers translate into empty rooms and altered futures. “My brother used to sit at the kitchen table and joke about the national football team,” said Reza, a bus driver in northern Tehran whose sibling was killed during clashes. “Now my mother keeps his scarf in a drawer. She says it smells like him.”

Local Rhythms: Life Between Anxiety and Normalcy

In the neighborhoods surrounding the university, students argue over politics and poetry in cafés clouded by the scent of cardamom coffee. Mothers in the markets swap recipes and, in softer tones, swap worries about curfews and the economy. The city’s ancient fabric — its mosaics, its saffron-sweetened pastries, the stooped tea vendors who refill cups as if refilling spirits — continues to hold daily life together.

“You can see how people get used to fear,” said Leila Hosseini, a schoolteacher of twenty years. “They speak in parentheses, they put their sadness in small boxes. But they still make Nowruz sweets; they still dream about the sea. That is how a people survive.”

Choices Ahead and the Global Stakes

The coming days will be decisive, not only for Iran and the United States but for regional stability and the architecture of non-proliferation. If Tehran presents a counterproposal and the U.S. responds in kind, there is a narrow corridor for a diplomatic breakthrough that could ease sanctions and curb nuclear risks. If military options are pursued, even limited strikes risk igniting broader confrontations — not only military but also economic, cyber, and proxy-driven.

“We are in an international moment where miscalculation scales,” said Colonel James Anders, a retired military planner now advising a civilian security institute in Washington. “Options on paper look neat; in reality, they generate ripples. Those ripples affect tanker routes, stock markets, refugee flows, and the lives of people who have nothing to do with the decisions made in command centers.”

So what should the global observer ask of these actors? Can states reconcile sovereign security concerns with the human imperative to prevent war? How can accountability for alleged abuses be pursued without weaponizing those claims into pretexts for attack?

How This Might Unfold

A fast diplomatic track: Tehran submits a written counterproposal, mediators shuttle between capitals, and sanctions-relief confidence-building measures are negotiated. This route would require political will, verification mechanisms, and careful sequencing.
A hardened standoff: Rhetoric escalates, military posturing continues, and diplomatic trust frays — increasing the risk of miscalculation or limited strikes that could widen into broader conflict.
A messy middle: Intermittent talks and periodic skirmishes in cyberspace or with proxy groups keep tensions simmering, affecting markets and civilians without ever resolving the core dispute.

A Final Thought

Walking back through the bazaar at dusk, a young shopkeeper named Navid summed up what many I spoke to shared: “We are tired of being headlines,” he said, lighting a cigarette and watching the city’s street lamps glow like scattered stars. “We want to make carpets, to teach our children, to open the doors of our shops in peace. If the powerful make a deal, let it be not for show but to let us live our small lives without fear.”

How will the urgent chess match between words, drafts, and war plans end? The answer will be written not only in diplomatic communiqués but in the quieter ledger of lives: markets reopened, families at tables, numbers reconciled — or not. The next days may decide which ledger the world will inherit.

Heightened security during march supporting French far-right activist

hanad

February 22, 2026

Heavy security amid march for French far-right activist — Protesters held portraits of far-right activist Quentin Deranque during the march in France today

A City in Black and White: Lyon’s March That Felt Like a Pressure Test for France

The morning air in Lyon had a cool, metallic hush to it — the kind that makes every footstep sound louder than it should. Along the boulevard where the march began, people gathered in small knots: some clasping bouquets, others holding placards with grainy portraits taped to thick card. Many were dressed in black; a few pulled scarves up over their mouths against the chill and the glare of cameras. Above them, whirring discreetly, drones traced patient circles like surveillance birds.

What unfolded that day was part memorial, part demonstration, and part combustible public theatre. Thousands moved slowly through the city — not a festive parade but a procession heavy with grievance and warning. The faces in the crowd were varied: teenage boys with cropped hair, men and women in their fifties with church rosaries dangling from their fingers, a cluster of university students with austere, homemade banners. Their chants were measured and mournful rather than triumphant. “For Quentin,” someone cried. “Justice,” answered another voice, thinner and more desperate.

The Body Count of a Political Moment

The gathering was organized in the wake of the death of Quentin Deranque, a 23-year-old activist whose fatal injuries were sustained during violent clashes between radical left and far-right groups at a political rally. Authorities say six people have been charged in relation to the assault; a parliamentary aide to a far-left MP also faces charges of complicity. Those facts alone would make the case headline-grabbing. But the death has tapped a deeper nerve.

“This isn’t just about one person,” said Marianne Leclerc, a sociologist who studies political movements in France. “It is a symptom of how low the threshold has fallen for political violence. We’re seeing a normalization of confrontation that used to be confined to the margins.”

And with a presidential election on the horizon — France will head to the polls in 2027, with Emmanuel Macron unable to run again after two terms — the anger and the optics are being read as a harbinger: a test of how the state manages the collision of organized extremes and how public space can be kept safe for democratic expression.

Security, Drones and a State Trying to Walk a Tightrope

By most measures, the state prepared for the worst. Gendarmes and riot police ringed the route. Drones hovered above in a buzzing fog, streaming images back to command vans parked at the edges of the crowd. Street cameras were switched on. Government officials stressed that the priority was preventing further violence and preserving public order.

“We are here to safeguard peaceful mourning and to prevent any drift into vigilantism,” an interior ministry spokesperson told me, glancing at the line of officers like someone checking a fragile seam. “But we also have to respect the right of people to gather. That balance is not easy.”

President Macron urged calm in a televised message hours earlier, warning against vigilantism and pledging a government review of violent extremist groups. “In the Republic, violence must not be a way to resolve politics,” his office said, echoing a familiar refrain about the rule of law. Yet the words landed differently depending on where you stood in Lyon: reassuring to some; insufficient to others.

Religion, Ritual and Radical Memory

Before the march began, mourners moved through the old stone nave of the church Quentin was said to have frequented. Candles flickered on the windowsill. A portrait of him was draped from the façade of the regional administrative building — a small, defiant insistence that his life be seen.

“He found himself in that community,” said Laurent, a friend who stood near the altar and spoke quietly. “That’s where he felt most at peace — religion, tradition. We’re not here to inflame, we’re here to remember.”

Yet memory in public spaces is a fragile thing. A local organiser, a former campaigner known for her anti-abortion activism, implored the crowd to keep the tribute peaceful while also taking a swipe at political figures she felt had abdicated leadership by refusing to attend: “If you stand with us only in words, you stand with nothing,” she said.

Neighbors Board Up Windows and Whisper Warnings

On streets a few blocks from the route, the city’s quieter rhythms looked decidedly defensive. Apartment ground-floor windows were boarded. Cafés that usually spill tables onto the pavement had folded up and pulled in their chairs. An 82-year-old woman named Madame Moreau sat on the stoop of her building with a muffled expression and a thermos of coffee. She had lived through periods of unrest before, she said, but something about this felt different — more organized, and therefore more dangerous.

“I don’t want to be in the way of two sides who no longer speak to each other,” she said. “They shout and someone gets hurt.”

Voices from the Crowd: Angry, Sad, Resolute

Not everyone at the march shared the same political calculus. Some spoke of loss and the need for accountability. Others arrived with a broader agenda: a pushback against what they saw as left-wing violence, a rehearsal for a more muscular vision of politics.

“We aren’t here to start fights,” said Jérôme, a 30-year-old tradesman, gripping a bouquet of white lilies. “But we can’t pretend that there aren’t groups out there who think they can do as they please because they wear ideology like armor.”

Across the way, a university student named Léa — who had taped a printed quote about democracy to her sleeve — lamented the spectacle’s effect on public life. “When every disagreement turns into a battle, we lose spaces for conversation. Where do we learn to listen?” she asked.

Ripples Beyond Lyon

France is not alone in these struggles. Across Europe and beyond, democratic nations have grappled with the rise of hardline movements on both ends of the political spectrum, the amplification of grievance-by-viral-post, and the permeable boundary between protest and physical confrontation. Analysts point to social media’s role in quickly mobilizing groups and broadcasting spectacles that can radicalize audiences far from the original flashpoint.

“We are watching how online networks act as incubators,” Leclerc said. “They take local stories and turn them into transnational calls to action.”

What Comes Next?

For the Deranque family, the political grammar is secondary to personal grief. Their lawyer has asked mourners and media to respect their privacy; they declined to attend the march, seeking a quieter path through sorrow. For the state, the challenge is to investigate the killing, prosecute where appropriate, and — crucially — head off reprisals.

And for the rest of us, Lyon’s procession raises uncomfortable questions: How do democracies defend themselves against internal violence without curtailing civil liberties? How do communities rebuild trust when the air itself feels divided?

Next week, the government has promised a meeting to discuss “violent action groups.” It will be one technical response; but technical solutions alone rarely change the social weather that produces violence. That requires conversation, education, and spaces where disagreement can remain verbal and not physical.

As the sun slid behind Lyon’s rooftops and the crowds dispersed, a stray candle from the church guttered and went out, then was relit by someone passing by. It was a small gesture — private, stubborn — and perhaps the most apt image of a city trying to hold brightness in a hard, uncertain time.

What would you do if you lived here, in a city divided between mourners and militants, memory and mobilization? How should societies balance freedom and safety when both feel fragile? Think about it — and then, if you can, speak to someone whose view is not your own. It’s a start.

Israeli Airstrikes Kill Eight Hezbollah Operatives, Government Official Confirms

hanad

February 22, 2026

Israeli strikes kill eight Hezbollah members - official — The Israeli military said it targeted Hezbollah in Lebanon yesterday

Smoke Over the Bekaa: A Valley of Olive Trees, Meetings, and Missiles

There is a peculiar hush that follows the boom of an airstrike in eastern Lebanon — a silence that is at once heavy with dust and thick with questions. In the early hours after an Israeli strike flattened part of a building between Riyak and Ali al-Nahri, villagers in the Bekaa Valley stepped out into a smeared dawn and found their ordinary lives interrupted by the extraordinary: charred concrete, the smell of diesel, and men who used to be counted among the region’s shadows now reduced to statistics.

Hezbollah spokespeople say eight members of the group were killed during a meeting in the eastern Bekaa. Lebanon’s health ministry tallied a broader human toll: ten people killed in the east and two in the south — numbers that include both fighters and, as neighbors insist, civilians. The Israeli military said its strikes hit “several terrorists of Hezbollah’s missile array in three different command centres in the Baalbek area,” a terse formulation that did little to quiet the neighbors’ grief.

On the Ground: What People Saw

A bulldozer operated slowly, like a reluctant hand trying to erase a bruise. An AFP correspondent who later walked the site described debris-strewn streets and a heavily damaged four-story building — once home to families, now a jagged reminder of how quickly ordinary places can become strategic targets.

“I was in the shop when the wall fell. My wife is still inside,” said Karim, a shopkeeper from nearby Bednayel, his voice breaking between cigarette puffs. “They tell us these men were fighters. How are we supposed to know? We bury whoever is here. All we know are families and names.”

The strike also came hours after an attack on Lebanon’s largest Palestinian refugee camp in the south, where the health ministry reported two deaths. Hamas, the group Israel said it had targeted there, condemned the strike and said the building hit belonged to forces tasked with maintaining security inside the camp.

Politics in a Valleyscape: Disarmament, Diplomacy, and Distrust

The strike did not occur in a vacuum. Lebanon’s government has publicly committed to a plan to disarm Hezbollah in the country’s south; the army says it completed the first phase near the border and is preparing to launch a second. The deeper question running through the region’s conversations is whether a sovereign state can reassert control over armed groups that have both political and social roots in their communities.

“We will not accept authorities acting as mere political analysts while our people are being targeted,” said Rami Abu Hamdan, a Hezbollah lawmaker. “Suspend committee meetings until the enemy ceases its attacks.”

Lebanon’s President Joseph Aoun called the raids “a blatant act of aggression aimed at thwarting diplomatic efforts,” speaking specifically of ongoing multinational attempts — including the United States on a five-member committee — to solidify a ceasefire signed in November 2024. Those efforts will be tested anew when the committee reconvenes next week.

Regional Ripples and Global Stakes

This is not just a local quarrel. The strikes took place against the backdrop of escalating tensions between the United States and Iran, with the US warning of possible military options over Tehran’s nuclear ambitions. Iran’s network of regional partners — from Hezbollah in Lebanon to Hamas in Gaza — gives any skirmish here the capacity to ignite wider conflagrations.

“Proxy dynamics have turned towns and valleys into chessboards,” said Dr. Lena Markari, a Beirut-based conflict analyst. “What makes this dangerous is that decisions in Tehran, Jerusalem, and Washington cascade down into villages where farmers plant grapes in spring and harvest olives in autumn.”

Consider the numbers that remind us the clash has everyday consequences: the November 2024 ceasefire ended more than a year of open fighting between Hezbollah and Israel, yet strikes continue. The health ministry’s tally of the dead yesterday — a dozen in two regions — is a small but vivid punctuation mark in a longer sentence about displacement, trauma, and a fraying state authority.

Lives Caught Between Orders and Allegiances

In the Bekaa, identity is a tapestry of loyalties: family, sect, political movements, survival. The valley itself sits like a natural amphitheater, its wheat fields and vineyards hearing more politics than harvest songs in recent years.

Astha, a schoolteacher in Bednayel, described the quiet panic before dawn. “Children asked if the sound was thunder. They are seven and eight and can no longer tell the difference between thunder and fear. We teach them math and history, but what they learn when buildings fall is something else entirely.”

She added, “The talk is not only about Hezbollah or Israel. The talk is about whether the state can protect us, whether the economy can sustain us, whether the ceasefire is a paper promise.”

Why This Matters to the World

Ask yourself: why should a strike in a valley far from Western capitals command headlines? Because this geography is a lived nexus of broader global issues — the limits of nation-state control, the role of non-state armed groups anchored in local communities, and the way great power politics trickle down into everyday suffering.

Nearly two decades into an era defined by regional proxies and asymmetric warfare, the Bekaa Valley incident highlights how local grievances and international rivalries are braided together. The outcome of Lebanon’s internal disarmament plan has implications not only for its sovereignty but for broader regional stability: if armed groups are allowed safe harbor within state borders, the risk of proxy escalation rises; if the state pushes too aggressively, it risks alienating portions of its population and inciting new cycles of violence.

What Comes Next?

On the immediate calendar: the multinational ceasefire committee meets in days. Diplomats and military planners will parse whether yesterday’s strikes are tactical operations against missile infrastructure or strategic moves meant to pressure Lebanon—and by extension Iran—politically.

On the longer horizon: Lebanon faces a painful choice about disarmament and national unity, while regional actors weigh the costs of further escalation. The human calculus — the families who mourn in Bednayel and the children who watch classrooms empty — will continue to be the most consequential metric.

“We want peace, but not at the price of forgetting who we are,” said an older woman who lost a neighbor in the strike. “We have graves to tend and bread to bake. The rest is noise.”

Final Thought

So where do you stand, reader? On what edge of the valley does your compass point — toward sovereignty, toward security, toward a ceasefire that sticks? Every conflict asks us this, and the answer matters beyond any single headline. In the dust after the strikes, the question remains: can a society rebuild both its houses and its trust?

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