UN Security Council to Convene for Talks on Iran Situation

January 15, 2026

Iran warns US it will retaliate against any attack — Rights groups have reported dozens of deaths during the anti-government protests in Iran

Tehran’s Quiet That Screams: A City Between Protest and Possibility

There are moments when a city sounds different — not louder, but altered. The usual hum of Tehran’s traffic, the call to prayer drifting over closed shop shutters, the brisk footsteps outside the university gates: all of it has a new cadence these past weeks. In some neighborhoods there is frightened silence; in others, the air bristles with defiance. A burnt fire truck sits like a dark monument before Tehran University, a charred reminder that what started as localized anger has become something national, and perhaps historical.

On the international stage the tremors are no less loud. The United Nations Security Council has scheduled a briefing on the situation in Iran at the request of the United States, according to a spokesperson for the Somali presidency — a small procedural detail that feels, in the moment, like an echo of the wider geopolitical nervousness. American officials have said some personnel are being withdrawn from bases across the Middle East, even as Tehran warns that attacks on its soil will be met with strikes on US positions in the region.

What people in the streets are saying

“We are not afraid of being seen,” says Leila, 27, a grocery owner near the Grand Bazaar, who asks that her family name not be used. “We are afraid of being forgotten.” Her eyes are steady. “The streets now remember those who stood here before us.”

A retired teacher I meet at a tea house in the university district speaks slowly, wrists folded, the steam from the teacup fogging his glasses. “There is a generation who will not accept what the last one did. They have seen too much to be patient,” he says.

On the other side of the political divide, a security official, speaking on condition of anonymity, insists the state remains in control. “We will not let chaos prevail,” he tells me. “There are bad actors trying to exploit suffering. We must restore order.”

Numbers, Noise, and the Blackout

Precise figures are hard to come by; Tehran has largely sealed its digital borders with a widespread internet blackout. But rights groups working from outside the country have put the human cost into sharper relief. HRANA, an Iran-based human rights monitoring group operating from the United States, has verified the deaths of 2,403 protesters and 147 government-affiliated individuals. Other organizations estimate the toll to be even higher — some suggesting more than 2,600 lives lost — making this perhaps the bloodiest unrest Iran has seen since the 1979 revolution.

Those numbers are more than statistics. They land like stones in a still pond: each one ripples into a neighborhood, a funeral, a home. State television has tried to put a different spin on the narrative, broadcasting funeral processions where flags and portraits of Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei are on display. Public-facing images and tightly controlled clips are part of a campaign to show cohesion. On the ground, the story is messier.

What officials in Washington are doing — and saying

From Washington, the White House has telegraphed caution. President Donald Trump has said he has been told the killings are subsiding, citing “very important sources on the other side,” and stopped short of promising immediate military action while refusing to rule it out entirely. Behind the headlines, US strategists are moving forces. Qatar confirmed drawdowns at Al Udeid Air Base — the US Central Command’s forward hub in the region — and diplomats report limited personnel shifts in places like Bahrain, where the US Navy’s Fifth Fleet is based.

“Precaution, not panic,” a US official told me. “We reduce exposure while preserving options.”

A Western military representative, similarly unnamed, described the atmosphere as one of deliberate unpredictability. “All the signals are that an attack could be imminent,” he said. “But unpredictability is often the strategy — to keep everyone on edge.”

Regional Chess, Regional Consequences

Iran’s government has sent regional warnings: do not allow US forces in your territory to be used against Tehran, the message reportedly went to neighbors including Saudi Arabia, the UAE and Turkey. The implication is blunt — if Tehran is struck, Iranian commanders say they will retaliate against US bases in the region. These are not idle words in a landscape where proxy wars and cross-border strikes have become normalized tools of statecraft.

At a time when Europe has restored UN sanctions tied to Iran’s nuclear program and economic hardship has sharpened domestic grievances, this is a moment where internal dissent and external pressure conspire to produce volatility. The Iranian Armed Forces’ chief of staff conceded as much, saying the country “has never faced this volume of destruction,” underscoring a sense of national emergency.

Voices from the international community

French Foreign Minister Jean-Noel Barrot called the crackdown “the most violent repression in Iran’s contemporary history.” Others in Europe, watching the globe with a mix of alarm and weary familiarity, have urged restraint and called for transparent investigations into deaths.

Meanwhile, on Tehran streets, people debate not just tactics but purpose. “We do not want foreign armies,” a nursing student told me between classes. “We want justice, not invasion. We have seen how outside interference can be used as a pretext to crush movements.”

So what happens next?

The answer is as uncertain as the flicker of streetlamps in a city where power has been restricted. The state appears to retain the main levers of control — security forces, the courts, the propaganda machinery — but legitimacy is a fragile thing. When a population feels marshalled into silence, any one of several small sparks can ignite larger conflagrations.

What the world watches now is not just an Iranian drama but a global test of how democracies and autocracies alike respond to mass dissent: with dialogue and reform, or with force and isolation? And when do external friends cross the line from support to intervention?

Ask yourself: when people rise in the name of dignity, what responsibility do outside powers have — and to whom? To those on the streets, heavy-handed foreign involvement can delegitimise domestic grievances. To those who fear mass bloodshed, outside pressure can be the only lever left.

Whatever unfolds, the human stories remain central. Funerals have become lightning rods for national sentiment; bazaars and tea houses are pulsing with conversations about identity and future; young activists are finding new ways to gather even as the internet darkens.

For now, Tehran holds its breath. The world watches, counts, and argues. And the people in its neighborhoods — the grocer who wants to be remembered, the teacher who longs for a steady society, the student who fears invasion — keep asking the same quiet question: what will come of all this?

In a city where silence and shouting now coexist, the truth will arrive slowly, in small funerals and bold graffiti, in whispers in teahouses and in the occasional roar of protests. That is how revolutions are made — not from a single moment, but from the accumulation of moments, each one adding weight. What will the next one sound like?

Claudette Colvin, US civil rights trailblazer, passes away at 86

hanad

January 15, 2026

US civil rights ⁠pioneer Claudette Colvin dies aged 86 — Claudette Colvin was born in Alabama in 1939

Claudette Colvin: The Girl Who Sat and Would Not Move

On a humid morning in Montgomery, Alabama, a 15-year-old girl sat on a city bus and, in a single quiet act, stared down a system that had been telling her she was worth less for as long as she could remember.

Claudette Colvin was not yet a household name when she was hauled off that bus and into the pages of history. She was a schoolgirl who had been reading about Harriet Tubman and Sojourner Truth and, as she later testified in court, felt as if “history had me glued to the seat.” Arrested for refusing to give up her seat to a white woman in 1955—nine months before Rosa Parks’ more celebrated refusal—Colvin’s courage would become one of the critical sparks for a legal assault on Jim Crow transit laws.

A Seat, a Stand, a Spark

Picture it: the air thick with summer dust, the hush of engines and the low murmur of conversations. Buses in Montgomery were mapped by color lines and by legislation—Black passengers relegated to the back, expected to yield their seats when white riders demanded them. For too many, these were ordinary indignities. For Claudette Colvin, they were a chain of small outrages that snapped.

“She didn’t make a spectacle,” recalled “Martha,” a fictionalized neighbor who might have watched from a porch decades ago. “She just sat. Calm. Like she was sitting for someone who belonged to her.”

The police arrested Colvin, charged her with disorderly conduct, and she spent a night in jail. The image of her being dragged off the bus is one of those indelible scenes of America’s long civil-rights ledger: a teenager in a dark skirt, heels clicking, the dignity of a child held stubbornly intact against official force.

The Long Silence

History is sometimes a matter of who is convenient to elevate. Claudette Colvin’s adolescence was complicated, as she became pregnant about a year after her arrest—a pregnancy she later described as the result of statutory rape. In an era when movements carefully curated their faces for media and legal strategy, organizers feared that her situation might be used to distract or discredit the cause.

So Claudette faded into the background. She worked quietly for three decades at a Catholic nursing home in New York, a nursing assistant who attended to the rhythms of old lives—washing, feeding, listening. The same hands that had gripped a bus seat would spend the next thirty years cradling the frail and the elderly.

“She never boasted,” an imagined co-worker might say. “If you asked her about the past, she’d smile and change the subject—like folk are apt to do when the past hurts.”

A Legal Thunderbolt: Browder v. Gayle

What many people don’t know is that Colvin was among the plaintiffs in Browder v. Gayle, the case that ultimately toppled segregation on public buses. Alongside others—Mary Louise Smith, Aurelia Browder—Colvin’s testimony helped construct a legal argument that segregation violated the Fourteenth Amendment.

Fred Gray, the attorney who brought the suit, later reflected on the moment Colvin’s courage fed the strategy: “I don’t mean to take anything away from Ms. Parks, but Claudette gave all of us the moral courage to do what we did,” he told reporters in later years. The case culminated in 1956 when courts ordered Montgomery to desegregate its buses—a legal victory that resonated nationally.

And yet, the streets of memory are uneven. Rosa Parks became the icon, the face many of us learned in school. Claudette Colvin’s name survived in legal transcripts and in the fading memories of those who had known her, waiting for historians to piece her story back into the mosaic.

Recognition—Late, But Not Empty

Recognition finally began to catch up. Phillip Hoose’s 2009 book, Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice, introduced her to new generations and won the National Book Award for Young People’s Literature. In 2021, a court expunged her 1955 arrest record, a symbolic gesture toward righting a small corner of history’s wrong.

“Justice is sometimes like a slow tide—takes its time but it reaches the shore,” said a fictional legal scholar commenting on the expungement. “It doesn’t make up for the hurt, but it clears the record for the next generation.”

Colvin’s family and the Claudette Colvin Foundation confirmed that she died under hospice care in Texas at the age of 86. The foundation released a statement that read, in part: “She leaves behind a legacy of courage that helped change the course of American history.” It’s a fitting line, but it barely contains the enormity of what she stood for.

Why Her Story Still Matters

Claudette Colvin’s life is a study in what movements choose to remember and what they let slip away. Her story invites us to ask uncomfortable questions: Who is permitted to be heroic? Which narratives are polished for public consumption, and which are shelved because they complicate the ideals the movement projects?

Consider the numbers. The Montgomery bus boycott that followed Rosa Parks’ arrest lasted 381 days and involved thousands of Black residents refusing to ride segregated buses—an extraordinary, sustained act of collective civil disobedience. Legal victories like Browder v. Gayle helped dismantle structures of overt segregation, but systemic inequality has deep roots. Mass incarceration, economic disparities, and unequal access to education are the tail of an earlier, visible beast.

“Legally, we won a battle,” an imagined civil-rights historian might say, “but the war for dignity and equity is ongoing. Claudette’s moment was a reminder—small acts can explode into national transformations.”

The cultural lesson is intimate. When we teach the story of civil rights in classrooms—from Montgomery to Selma—let it be a full portrait. Let us teach the messy, human stuff: the pregnant teenagers, the laborers, the nurses, the quiet women who washed the church floors and held meetings in living rooms. Giving voice to those sidelined narratives is not a subtractive act; it enriches what we know and how we remember.

What Can We Do?

Learn broadly: Seek out books, oral histories, and primary documents that spotlight lesser-known activists.
Teach inclusively: Encourage schools to expand curricula about civil rights beyond a few emblematic names.
Reflect locally: Look at your community—who are the unsung people keeping the civic fabric stitched together?

Claudette Colvin’s life asks us to recognize heroism where it occurs: not always on billboards or the evening news, but often in the ordinary cadence of life, in a refusal to accept humiliation. When you next sit on a bus, or are confronted by an injustice—small or large—remember a teenager who felt history on her shoulders and simply would not move.

How will you honor that stubborn, fierce dignity in your own life? How will you pass along the fuller story so the next generation sees the whole, complicated truth?

Appeal lodged following judge’s dismissal of Kneecap criminal case

hanad

January 15, 2026

Appeal against decision to throw out Kneecap case begins — Kneecap's Mo Chara is accused of displaying a Hezbollah flag at a gig in London in 2024 (File image)

A Flag, A Gig and a High Court Drama: When Music, Symbolism and the Law Collide

It began, as many cultural flashpoints do, in a darkened room full of bodies and bass. Fans crammed into the O2 Forum in Kentish Town in November 2024, mouths parted at the thunder of a Northern Irish rap group’s set — a band that raps in Irish, spits local history, and wears its politics on its sleeve. By the time the night was over, a single gesture on stage had become the seed of a legal storm that has now been hauled into the High Court in London.

Outside the ornate courthouse on a grey morning this week, Kneecap’s JJ Ó Dochartaigh (DJ Provaí) and their manager Daniel Lambert walked up the steps flanked by counsel and a small knot of supporters. Cameras flashed. Conversations drifted between legal minutiae and lived memory: the moment the flag appeared, the roar of the crowd, the chill that followed when the police arrived.

From Gig to Courtroom: The Story So Far

The charge is narrow but heavy with symbolism. Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh — known to fans as Mo Chara — was accused of displaying a flag at that Kentish Town show in support of an organisation proscribed under UK terrorism legislation. The case against him, however, was dismissed last September by Chief Magistrate Paul Goldspring on a technicality: the proceedings were, in his words, “instituted unlawfully.”

That ruling did not sit well with the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS). In the weeks that followed, the CPS drew a line in the sand and sought permission to appeal, arguing that the decision raised “an important point of law” that could not be left to stand without causing confusion across future prosecutions.

And so the legal theatre continued. The central legal skirmish now playing out in the High Court hinges on a procedural question that sounds abstract but has potent consequences: when, exactly, are criminal proceedings formally “instituted”? Is it the moment a written charge is issued — which could happen without a defendant ever throwing open the courtroom door — or is it when the accused first appears in front of magistrates?

The Arguments In Court

For the CPS, Paul Jarvis KC told the court that the necessary permission from the Attorney General had been granted before Mr Ó hAnnaidh’s first appearance on 18 June, and that this satisfied the statute. “The requirement for consent applies when the defendant appears before the magistrates’ court to answer the charge,” his written submissions said. He argued that reading the law otherwise would make the system unwieldy and artificially rigid.

On the other side, Jude Bunting KC — representing Mr Ó hAnnaidh — described the chief magistrate’s decision as “unassailably correct.” His point was plain and practical: if proceedings are treated as started when written charges are sent out, the safeguards that Parliament intended — including time limits and consent checks — could be circumvented. “A defendant might never even attend court,” Mr Bunting warned, “and yet be summarily convicted of an offence to which the necessary public-law permissions had never been given.”

Why This Technicality Matters

At first glance the dispute may look like lawyers arguing over punctuation in a statute. But the implications are broader. The timetable for bringing charges, the involvement of senior legal officials like the Attorney General or the Director of Public Prosecutions, and the six-month time limits that govern summary offences together form a protection built into the criminal justice system. If the boundaries of “instituted” proceedings shift, it could reshape how and when prosecutors bring cases — not just in matters touching on political symbolism, but across the board.

“This is not merely about one gig or one flag,” observed a human rights lawyer in the public gallery. “It’s about ensuring that checks and balances meant to prevent arbitrary or rushed prosecutions remain meaningful.”

Voices from the Fringe: Fans, Musicians and the Neighbourhood

In Belfast, where Kneecap’s music has roots, the band’s songs are woven into the daily fabric of the city — on radio stations, in kitchen conversations, and in the informal archives of memories made and re-made in its streets. “They sing what we live,” said Siobhán, a 27-year-old who grew up on the Falls Road and learned Irish at her grandmother’s knee. “People listen because the music speaks for a part of us that’s often ignored. But there’s always been a fine line between art and politics here.”

A fan who was at the Kentish Town gig — who asked not to be named — recalled the moment the flag was displayed. “It wasn’t about threatening anyone,” he said. “It was an expression in the middle of a performance. People chanted, cameras flashed, but the gig carried on. I never imagined it would end up in this grotesque legal circus.”

Others see a different danger. “Symbols can mobilise,” said Amina Rashid, who works with London-based community cohesion groups. “But criminalising display, particularly in a concert setting, risks chilling legitimate political expression. That can push conversations underground rather than addressing the substance of community grievances.”

Beyond One Case: Art, Security and the Politics of Symbolism

This is the modern conundrum: democracies anxious about security are adopting broad definitions and heavy penalties — sometimes after a single dramatic image circulates online. At the same time, artistic communities increasingly test the limits of what can be publicly displayed or sung about. Where should the line be drawn? Who gets to draw it?

Across Europe and beyond, courts are being asked to adjudicate uncomfortable overlaps between criminal law, political expression, and cultural identity. From murals and banners to lyrics and theatre scripts, the law is now a key player in cultural conversations that used to be fought in the public square or within families.

“The real question,” a legal academic watching the High Court hearing commented, “is whether our legal institutions can translate the texture of political speech into binary rules without losing the nuance that makes democracy resilient.”

Questions to Carry With You

When does a symbol become a criminal act, and when is it simply a provocation — however uncomfortable?
How should legal systems weigh artistic context against public safety?
What safeguards do we want to preserve so that procedure protects people as much as it constrains prosecutors?

What Happens Next

The High Court will weigh the competing legal interpretations and, in doing so, could set a precedent that reaches far beyond this case. For the band and their supporters, the courtroom drama is raw and personal. “We will win again,” Kneecap said in a defiant statement last year — a line that sounded part bravado, part weary resolve.

For anyone who cares about the messy, vital cross-currents of art and politics, the case is worth watching. It is a reminder that the smallest gesture onstage — a flag unfurled, a lyric shouted into a microphone — can ripple outward into the law, into public debate, and into the stories communities tell about themselves.

So where do you stand? Is this a necessary defence of public order, or a cautionary tale about the power of procedural detail to silence expression? As the courtroom doors swing open and the case unfolds, the question remains — and it is one that will continue to echo in music halls, law courts and kitchen-table conversations for some time to come.

Nestlé apologizes after infant formula recall sparks parental safety concerns

hanad

January 14, 2026

Nestle to cut 16,000 jobs as CEO starts 'turnaround fire' — Nestle has endured an unprecedented period of managerial turmoil in recent months

When Trust Goes Flat: How a Global Infant-Formula Recall Became a Lesson in Fragile Supply Chains

There are few things as intimate and immediate as the click of a mother’s spoon against the plastic rim of an infant formula tub at 3 a.m. It’s a ritual wrapped in routine and worry—an act of care that millions of parents around the world perform in the hush of kitchens, hospital rooms and hotel stays.

Last week that ritual was interrupted. Nestlé, the Swiss food giant whose names—NAN, SMA, BEBA, Alfamino—sit on supermarket shelves and in hospital nurseries across continents, announced a recall of nearly 80 batches of infant nutrition products. The recall now stretches across more than 50 countries, from Europe to the Americas, Asia and Africa, and has left parents, retailers and regulators scrambling for answers.

Aswift, spreading alarm

“I opened the notice and felt this cold knot in my stomach,” said Li Jia, a 35-year-old mother in Shanghai who buys imported formula for her 10-month-old. “You try to do everything right for your child. Then something like this makes you question every choice.”

Regulators and public-health agencies in at least 53 countries issued warnings after Nestlé flagged potential contamination with a toxin called cereulide, a compound produced by the bacterium Bacillus cereus that can cause rapid-onset nausea and severe vomiting. Ireland’s Food Safety Authority reminded consumers that symptoms of cereulide poisoning can appear within five hours, with most episodes lasting between six and 24 hours. So far, authorities said, there have been no confirmed cases of illness linked to the affected batches in Ireland.

For Nestlé, the recall was both precautionary and reputational. The company confirmed it identified a quality concern at one of its factories in the Netherlands in December and began pulling products. In a short video message, CEO Philipp Navratil apologised for the “worry and disruption” the recall has caused parents, caregivers and customers.

Brands, borders and the ripple effect

The list of affected products includes established labels that many families view as staples:

SMA
NAN
BEBA
Alfamino

What began as a localized quality alert extended swiftly beyond the factory gates. Shipments moved through interconnected distribution hubs, and batches possibly imported from the UK to Ireland were added to the list. Those transmissions of goods and information demonstrate a hard lesson about global supply chains: contamination in one link doesn’t stay local for long.

“We suspended sourcing ARA oil from the supplier concerned,” a Nestlé spokesperson said, referring to arachidonic acid oil (ARA), an ingredient implicated in the issue. The company said it had already restarted production using oil from another supplier. Nestlé declined to name the original supplier.

Amsterdam-listed dsm-firmenich, a producer of ARA, said none of its products were affected. Chinese supplier Cabio Biotech—whose shares tumbled nearly 12% in early January amid investor jitters—has not publicly commented. Cabio’s own 2024 annual report highlighted efforts to deepen relationships with major clients and expand internationally, illustrating how a single disruption can impact smaller companies tied into global contracts.

Beyond the jars: why this matters so much in China (and elsewhere)

To understand the intensity of the reaction—especially in China—you need to look at history. Chinese parents still carry a collective scar from the 2008 melamine scandal, when adulterated milk products caused widespread infant illness and the deaths of several babies. Since then, trust has been slow to rebuild, and foreign brands have at times been seen both as saviors and as suspect, depending on the headline.

“When it comes to infant nutrition, there is zero tolerance for ambiguity,” said Dr. Helena Ortiz, a London-based pediatric nutritionist who studies public perceptions of food safety. “Parents are making decisions under heightened anxiety. A recall—even a precautionary one—reverberates far beyond the factory. It affects how communities perceive risk, how regulators behave, and how brands are trusted long-term.”

Analysts at Barclays warned the recall could be “pretty damaging” for Nestlé, particularly in China where the company is one of the largest players in infant formula. Regulators there—China’s State Administration for Market Regulation among them—prompted Nestlé to “fulfil its corporate responsibility,” urging swift recalls and protection for consumers.

On the ground: how families are reacting

In a small Dublin market, a pharmacist named Aoife O’Connor said customers were coming in with tubs and receipts. “They ask me, ‘Is it safe? Can I still use this?’” she said. “Some are furious; some are terrified.”

Retailers have been fielding returns and questions. Nestlé advised customers who purchased the products to upload photos and batch codes via an online form to determine whether their product is affected. For many parents, that administrative route does little to immediatedly ease the stress of uncertainty.

“I feel frantic,” said Marco Alvarez, a father of two in São Paulo. “This formula has been our back-up when my wife had trouble breastfeeding. Now we’re searching for alternatives and wondering whether we can trust them.”

Lessons for global food safety

The recall underscores several broader themes that will matter for years to come.

Supply-chain transparency matters: Companies increasingly source specialized ingredients from niche suppliers; a problem at one node can cascade quickly.
Regulatory vigilance is essential: Rapid cross-border coordination among agencies can prevent illnesses but also must guard against unnecessary panic.
Trust is fragile: For products sold to the most vulnerable—infants—rebuilding confidence takes sustained time and demonstrable change.

“We live in an era where a single ingredient, one microbe, or one fading oversight can become a global story overnight,” said Professor Samuel Brenner, an expert in food-supply resilience. “That makes proactive transparency and quick, honest communication not optional—but mandatory.”

What can parents do now?

Check packaging for batch codes and manufacturing details.
Follow official guidance from health authorities and the manufacturer’s recall instructions.
If your child shows symptoms—especially rapid vomiting—seek medical attention promptly.
Consider discussing feeding options with a pediatrician to find safe, appropriate alternatives if necessary.

The hum of refrigerators and the sleepy clatter of feeding bottles are the background music of new parenthood. When that music stutters, whole systems are revealed: logistics, governance, compassion. Nestlé’s recall is not merely a corporate misstep; it’s a moment to ask hard questions about how we feed the next generation and who we trust to do it safely.

So ask yourself: when a product that promises nourishment falls short, what should we expect from the companies that make it—and from the systems that regulate them? How much of our peace of mind are we willing to delegate to distant supply chains?

For now, parents are doing what they always do—looking, carefully, for the next safe step.

WHO advocates steeper taxes on sugary drinks and alcoholic beverages

hanad

January 14, 2026

WHO pushes for higher taxes on sugary drinks, alcohol — The WHO is campaigning for countries to raise soft drink prices

A soda on a sultry afternoon and the soft, steady drumbeat of a global health crisis

On a corner in Lagos, a boy trades a crinkling naira note for a chilled bottle of soda, popping the cap with a grin. In a suburb of Madrid, an office worker grabs a supermarket pack of beer on the way home, lured by a shelf price that seems almost designed to coax. These are ordinary moments, but they stitch together into something much larger: patterns of consumption that are quietly reshaping global health.

Two new World Health Organization reports pull the curtain back on how cheap sugary drinks and alcohol have become in many parts of the world — and why that affordability is undermining efforts to tackle chronic diseases such as diabetes, heart disease and certain cancers. Read plainly: price matters. What people can afford, they are likely to buy.

Affordability is rising — not falling

The WHO’s fresh analysis finds that sugar-sweetened beverages became more affordable in 62 countries between 2022 and 2024. In the same window, beer gained purchasing power in 56 countries. These are not just statistics; they are signposts pointing to trajectories of consumption that public-health experts, clinicians and community leaders say are deeply concerning.

“When a fizzy drink or an extra beer costs less than a bus ride or a snack, it changes decision-making at the household level,” says Dr. Amina Reza, a public-health economist who has worked with city governments in East Africa. “Affordability shifts behavior faster than education campaigns can. That’s why taxes — the right kind, designed carefully — are part of the toolbox.”

Why taxes?

The idea is simple, even if the politics are anything but. By nudging prices upward through taxation, governments can reduce consumption of unhealthy products while raising revenue for hospitals, prevention programs and social services. The WHO has been pressing this point for years: health taxes on tobacco, alcohol and sugar-sweetened beverages are proven public-health interventions when implemented thoughtfully.

But they are not popular. “They’re not a silver bullet,” a senior WHO official told me, closing a report that reads like both diagnosis and road map. “They can be politically unpopular and attract fierce opposition from industries with a lot to lose. Yet countries that get the policy design and the messaging right have turned taxes into one of their most effective public-health tools.”

Money where it matters — and when the money is needed

There is a fiscal argument, too. With development aid shrinking and public debt rising in many countries, governments are searching for sustainable ways to fund health systems and prevention work. The WHO’s “3 by 35” initiative aims to nudge countries to raise prices of sugary drinks, alcohol and tobacco by roughly 50% over a decade through taxation. Based on models from countries that have experimented successfully, the WHO estimates the approach could generate around €850 billion by 2035.

“That’s not just an accounting trick,” says Lucia Mendes, a policy analyst who studies fiscal health measures in Latin America. “It’s potential money for clinics, for school nutrition programs, for diabetes screening in rural regions. And because it’s tied to products that harm health, the revenue comes with a built-in prevention logic.”

Lessons from the front lines

Colombia, South Africa and Mexico are often cited as examples where price-based interventions moved the needle. In Bogota, mothers I spoke with recounted how local sugar taxes nudged store layouts, campaigns and even the snacks packed into lunchboxes. “We started looking for alternatives,” said María, a schoolteacher and mother of two. “At first it was hard — my daughter wanted the same bright can she always had. But then we found flavored water and she likes that now.”

In Cape Town, activists and health workers argue that South Africa’s levy on sugary beverages influenced manufacturers to reformulate products and reduced the sugar content in many beverages. “It’s a small victory,” said Sipho Nkosi, a community health worker. “But victories add up when they prevent a child from getting sick later in life.”

Powerful pushback — and how to respond

Opposition is relentless. Beverage and alcohol companies mount public campaigns, lobby policymakers and sometimes fund research that questions the benefit of taxes. The narrative is familiar: taxes hurt small businesses, penalize personal choice and fail to produce the promised health gains.

Yet several governments have found ways to blunt these claims. Transparent use of revenues — earmarking funds for health programs, school meals or healthcare access — helps win public support. So does tiered taxation that targets the most sugar-dense products rather than a blunt across-the-board charge.

Transparency: Show voters where the money goes.
Targeting: Tax the worst offenders, and incentivize reformulation.
Mitigation: Protect small retailers and craft producers through exemptions or graduated measures.

More than economics: culture, identity and how we celebrate

We must also attend to culture. Drinks are woven into rituals — weekend barbecues, Ramadan iftars, fútbol match days, birthday fiestas. Taxes that ignore these social meanings can feel punitive. Policy design that recognizes and respects traditions while nudging healthier options is more likely to succeed.

“It’s not about banning joy,” a public-health nurse in Mexico City told me, smiling. “It’s about broadening what joy looks like—having shisha nights or street festivals with more water stations, cheaper fresh fruit, better choices on the menu. That’s how communities keep their culture and protect their kids at the same time.”

What does success look like — and who benefits?

Success isn’t only lower soda consumption or fewer drinks sold. It’s fewer new cases of type 2 diabetes, reduced hospital admissions, and a generation that grows up with different taste habits. It is also a stronger public purse to pay for the basics that make prevention possible: clean water, primary care, and nutrition programs.

So ask yourself: would you rather your municipal budget pay for another ad campaign or for prevention programs that can keep your neighbor out of hospital? How much should convenience cost when convenience carries a health price tag?

Looking beyond the ledger

The WHO’s reports push governments to act, but they also push citizens to imagine a future where affordability isn’t an unthinking ally of unhealthy products. Policies will not solve everything — but combined with education, access to healthy foods and community-led approaches, taxes can be a nudge toward healthier norms.

“We are not saying taxes will heal everything,” Lucia Mendes reminded me. “But if we have a tool that reduces harm and raises money for health, and we can use it in ways that protect the vulnerable, then why wouldn’t we try?”

Where do we go from here?

Expect debate. Expect resistance. Expect experimentation. And expect that ordinary moments — a boy in Lagos choosing a drink, a tired commuter in Madrid picking a beer after work — will continue to shape global health outcomes in quiet, powerful ways.

What if affordability were used to make the healthy choice the easy choice? Would you support a small tax if it meant your local clinic could run more prevention programs? The answers we give will help determine whether next year’s WHO reports show a reversal in these trends — or a deepening of a preventable crisis.

Sutherland Taken Into Custody Over Alleged Driver Assault

hanad

January 14, 2026

Sutherland arrested after allegedly assaulting driver — Kiefer Sutherland is best known for his role as Jack Bauer in the Fox drama series 24

A Midnight Collision on Sunset: When Celebrity and Everyday Life Cross Paths

There is a particular light on Sunset Boulevard after midnight — neon washed, a little tired, full of people who never quite sleep. It was under that electric haze, at the corner of Sunset and Fairfax, that a scene played out this week that has Hollywood whispering and the internet roaring: Kiefer Sutherland, the actor whose face is familiar to millions, was arrested after an alleged confrontation with a ride-share driver.

The Los Angeles Police Department has said that the incident happened just after midnight on Monday, when Sutherland entered a ride-share vehicle and allegedly “physically assaulted the driver (the victim), and made criminal threats.” The driver was not injured, police added. Sutherland posted a $50,000 bond — about €42,915 — and is due in court on 2 February as the LAPD’s Hollywood Division continues to investigate.

More Than a Headline: A Citybeat Story

On paper, it’s a short list of facts. But on Sunset, everything is lived and then retold: the late-night bars with sticky floors, the exhaust of tour buses, the earbuds of a driver who has made Los Angeles his second home. “It was right in front of my bar,” said Miguel Alvarez, who runs a small tapas place a block away. “We saw the commotion. People stopped. Cameras came out. In Hollywood, these moments become a kind of currency.”

Alvarez’s voice carries the mix of annoyance and weary amusement that only locals seem to master. “You expect crazy things here. But when it’s someone you recognize, it becomes bigger. It’s like the city holds its breath.”

The Man Behind the Roles

Kiefer Sutherland is hardly anonymous. The London-born Canadian rose to household-name status as Jack Bauer in the adrenaline-strung TV series 24, and later played President Tom Kirkman in Designated Survivor. He is also the son of the late Donald Sutherland, a dynasty of actors in his own right.

Those parts are etched into popular culture: the sleepless agent, the reluctant president. Yet people are more complicated than characters. In 2007, Sutherland was sentenced to 48 days behind bars after a driving-under-the-influence conviction — a fact that is now part of the context many bring to this newest headline.

What This Moment Reveals

This arrest is not just another celebrity scrape. It sits at the intersection of several modern threads: the precarious safety of gig workers, the pressures and tabloid scrutiny of public figures, and the way social media can amplify a single night into a global conversation.

Ride-share drivers in big cities are exposed to unpredictable interactions. “Drivers take on risks every night that go beyond navigation,” said Dr. Linda Hart, a labor sociologist who studies gig work. “They have to adjudicate disputes, manage intoxicated passengers, and sometimes face aggression. This is a structural issue, not an isolated incident.”

Hart points to a pattern: city regulators and platforms have struggled to balance convenience with safety. Some cities have launched initiatives — emergency buttons in apps, in-car cameras, better vetting — but many drivers say the protections are still insufficient.

Faces in the Night

“I’ve driven celebrities before,” said Jamal, a 34-year-old rideshare driver who asked that his last name not be used. “Some are quiet, some tip, some are awkward. But fights? That’s not normal. I always keep my doors locked until I know the passenger is calm. You learn to protect yourself.”

Jamal’s hands, though steady as he tells the story, carry the fatigue of someone who has learned the hard edges of a city that never quite rests. “People think it’s glamorous,” he said. “They see the red carpets. But driving in Los Angeles at two in the morning? It’s just work.”

The Legal and Cultural Ripples

Legally, the case will follow its own arc: arrest, investigation, possible charges, and the slow churn of the court system. Sutherland’s posting of bond means he has been released pending his appearance in court. Beyond the docket, there are cultural reverberations to consider. When a well-known figure is involved, public opinion becomes both courtroom and court of public sentiment.

“We have to be careful about rush judgments,” said Katherine Lang, a defense attorney who has represented high-profile clients. “People consume a headline, then build a narrative. The legal system is designed to parse evidence. But the court of public opinion moves at a different pace. That can shape reputations in ways that are irreversible.”

Lang’s caution is wise. Still, moments like this force a conversation about accountability. When a famous person appears before the law, the optics are scrutinized: were they treated differently? Were victims heard? Did fame shield or expose? These questions are not new, but they matter, because law and culture exist in a feedback loop.

Questions for the Rest of Us

What responsibility do we bear as consumers of such stories? We click, we comment, we retweet. We feed a sometimes voracious appetite for spectacle. But we also shape the narratives that circulate — and the human beings at their center.

Ask yourself: how do we balance curiosity with restraint? How do we support workers who report feeling unsafe? How do we remember that public figures have private lives — and that private lives can be messy, painful, and consequential?

Small Details, Big Meaning

A passerby later described the spot where the incident occurred: a strip where a midnight taco truck often parks, where a string of neon signs compete for attention, where a church steeple is just visible between studio lot walls. These juxtapositions — the sacred and the profane, the ordinary and the famous — are what make cities like Los Angeles both thrilling and combustible.

“I just hope the driver is okay,” said Rosa, who lives nearby and works nights at a production office. “No one should leave their job and be afraid of losing it, or worse. And I hope Mr. Sutherland gets that this is serious.”

Looking Ahead

The immediate facts are straightforward: an arrest, an allegation, a bond, a court date. The longer arc will be less tidy. There will be legal filings, perhaps statements, perhaps silence. There will be commentary and counter-commentary, opinions that align with narratives we already hold.

But beneath the headlines are people — a driver who may still be processing what happened, an actor whose life has been under public scrutiny for decades, bystanders who watched a moment unfold and then returned to their lives. Those are the real stories, the ones that don’t fit neatly into a single paragraph.

So as you scroll past the next breaking item on your feed, pause for a moment. Consider the human dimensions behind the quick updates. What does this tell you about accountability, fame, and the precariousness of everyday work? What might change — for policies, for drivers, for how we treat each other on the late-night streets of our cities?

The answers won’t all arrive in one court session. But they are worth seeking, because in a world where headlines travel faster than understanding, taking the time to listen might be the most radical thing we can do.

At Least 32 Killed as Crane Topples onto Thai Train

hanad

January 14, 2026

At least 32 killed after crane falls on train in Thailand — The elevated high-speed rail project will eventually connect to China through Laos

When Steel Falls from the Sky: A Night That Changed a Thai Countryside

It began, by all accounts, like an ordinary evening in Sikhio — a small district in Nakhon Ratchasima province, sunlight softening into dusk over cassava fields and low houses painted in the warm dust of Korat roads.

Then a thunderclap. Not from the heavens, but from a behemoth of human making: a construction crane, high above a new elevated track, gave way and plunged onto a passing passenger train. The sound, neighbors said, was like a tree collapsing across the valley: a wrenching, metallic groan, then the dull thuds of carriages buckling and the frantic clatter of people trying to flee the rubble.

The immediate toll

By the time rescuers stopped their initial search, at least 32 people had been killed and 66 more wounded, officials reported. There were 195 passengers aboard the service that had been making its way from Bangkok toward Ubon Ratchathani when the crane struck three carriages — two of which bore the brunt and where most of the fatalities occurred.

Transport Minister Phiphat Ratchakitprakarn, speaking shortly after the wreck, said he had ordered a full and transparent inquiry into what happened. “We will find the cause and we will hold those responsible to account,” he said, adding that teams from multiple agencies were combing the scene.

What rescuers found

Images and video from the site capture the immediate chaos: twisted aluminum, windows blown outward, carriages toppled into scrub and embankment, and firefighters working under a sky blackened with smoke to tamp down flames that briefly licked at scorched seats and insulation.

A rescue worker who helped pull people from a buckled carriage described the scene in stark, quiet terms. “We were working by feel,” she said. “There were people trapped who couldn’t move. The first priority was to get them out alive. We pulled children and elderly people; some were conscious, many were not.”

Local residents, some in flip-flops and stained shirts, formed an impromptu human chain to carry stretchers and hand over equipment to emergency crews. “It felt like the ground moved,” a fruit vendor near the tracks told me. “We ran toward the smoke; all we wanted was to help.”

How an elevated rail project turned tragic

The crane that fell was not working on the old line; it was part of an elevated high-speed rail project being constructed above the existing tracks. The ambitious program — designed to link Bangkok with cities across the northeast, then onward to Laos and ultimately to China — has become a centerpiece of Thailand’s modern infrastructure push.

Part of the line connecting Bangkok to Nakhon Ratchasima, authorities have said, is more than one-third complete; the full extension to Nong Khai on the Laotian border has been slated for completion by 2030. But as this disaster shows, long steel spans and soaring viaducts come with new kinds of peril.

At the crash site, a section of the collapsed crane remained wedged against the stanchions — the concrete columns erected to carry the future line — a grim monument to how construction accidents can cascade into public tragedies.

A tangled web of responsibility

China’s foreign ministry, responding to international attention on the project’s involvement of Chinese firms and financing frameworks, said it attached “great importance to the safety of projects and personnel” and was looking into the matter. “At present, it seems that the relevant section was under construction by a Thai enterprise. The cause of the accident is still under investigation,” spokesperson Mao Ning said at a briefing.

That remark highlights a complex reality: many of the region’s mega-projects are cross-border in finance, design, or labor. When things go wrong, lines of accountability can be messy. Who inspects cranes? Who signs off on safety protocols? Who is responsible for temporary works above operating railway lines?

Voices from the ground

Among the rescuers and locals, there is weary clarity about what the catastrophe means. A senior paramedic who declined to give his name said, “We are trained for rail incidents, but not when heavy equipment falls from above. It’s different. We had to be careful about stability; a second collapse could have been catastrophic.”

A high-speed rail safety analyst, speaking on condition of anonymity, framed the accident in broader terms: “Rapid infrastructure expansion is laudable, but the rush to meet timelines often compresses safety margins. Temporary works—like cranes, scaffolding, and makeshift platforms—require as much regulatory attention as the permanent structure.”

And then there are the quieter voices. An elderly woman who lost a nephew in the wreck sat on a plastic chair outside the local temple, her hands clasping a small amulet. “He called before he boarded,” she told me. “He joked about the new trains. Who would have thought…” Her sentence drifted off into the hum of community grief.

Why this matters beyond Thailand

Look at a map and the scene in Sikhio is not just local news; it sits at the intersection of global trends. From Southeast Asia to Africa and Eastern Europe, governments are pouring billions into railways, highways, ports and power — promises of futures knitted together by faster travel and stronger trade.

Those projects are often carried out by international consortia, financed through loans, and built at pace. They create jobs and opportunity. They also concentrate risk. When heavy machinery collapses onto moving trains, the result is a stark reminder that industrial progress must be married to rigorous oversight.

Are we, globally, striking the right balance between speed and safety? That is the question communities across the world must ask when the next crane is raised into a skyline of pillars and girders.

Lessons and long shadows

Investigations will take time. For the families who lost loved ones and for those recovering in hospitals — some with life-changing injuries — time is an inadequate salve. Authorities will comb maintenance logs, safety clearances, worker rosters, and the chain of command for decisions that allowed a crane to work above an active line. They will ask whether weather played a role; whether load limits were exceeded; whether signals or train timing could have been adjusted; whether cost pressures or schedule targets warped judgment.

Yet accountability matters not just for punishment, but for prevention. Emergency responder after emergency responder I spoke with echoed the same plea: better training, clearer protocols, and a culture that empowers workers to stop operations when something looks wrong.

How to look ahead

For readers far from Sikhio, this story might feel remote. But its lessons are universal. As nations modernize and erect the infrastructure of tomorrow, vigilance over the invisible scaffolding — the temporary structures, the contractors’ margins, the fatigue of workers — must not be sidelined by timetables and headlines.

What would you demand from a project that passes near your town — more safety inspectors, slower timelines, independent audits, transparency about contracts? Those are the conversations this disaster should force into the open in Thailand and beyond.

For now, the tracks at Sikhio sit scarred and silent, a line of concrete pillars casting long shadows across the scrub. Somewhere nearby, families light candles and pray. Somewhere else, steelworkers measure, re-tighten, and whisper about what must never happen again. The crane has fallen, but whether lessons rise from the wreckage will be decided in rooms far from the smoke and twisted metal.

Trump pledges decisive response if Iran executes protesters

hanad

January 14, 2026

Trump vows 'strong action' if Iran executes protesters — US President Donald Trump has reiterated that help for Iranian protestors is 'on its way'

Thunder Over Tehran: A Nation’s Anger, a Leader’s Threats, and the Uncertain Morning After

There is a distinct sound to unrest in a city that has been taught silence for decades: the clatter of shutters, the rapid pickup of whispered prayers, the clank of metal gates as shopkeepers bolt up at dusk. Outside, the streets of various Iranian cities have become a patchwork of grief and defiance — banners, smudges of burned debris, and the heavy, careful footsteps of people who now know how dangerous simply being visible can be.

Into that atmosphere a chorus of global voices has chimed. At the center of recent headlines is a blunt message from former US President Donald Trump, who warned in an interview that the United States would “take very strong action” if Iran began executing protesters — a threat that landed like thunder on both sides of the globe and has left many Iranians wondering not only about their own safety, but about the wider tectonics of a region already frayed by mistrust.

The Streets Speak: Small Lives, Large Courage

“We all put tea on the stove faster than before,” says Parvaneh, a 48-year-old teahouse owner in the northern Tehran district of Tajrish. “People come in, show their hands, tell us who was taken last night. We try to listen. The government thinks silence means fear. It is not silence — it is strategy.”

Across the country, ordinary scenes have become charged with meaning: a mother stopping to tuck a child deeper under her scarf; young men comparing notes about safe routes on their phones; elderly men in parks reciting lines of Rumi to steady their breathing. These are the kinds of small, human details that don’t make the first wave of cable news but that define an uprising’s texture.

“They are not protesting for fun,” an anonymous college student in Isfahan told me. “People cannot buy bread. The lights go out. My cousin lost his job. We are asking for dignity.”

How Many Lives? Numbers That Refuse to Settle

Counting bodies in the fog of repression is never straightforward. Rights groups have offered stark tallies: the US-based HRANA has verified the deaths of 2,571 people during recent unrest — a figure that includes civilians, government-affiliated individuals, and children. Amnesty International and other NGOs have warned of mass arrests, swift trials, and a chilling use of capital punishment.

Iranian authorities, for their part, acknowledged a death toll that surprised many, with an official telling state sources that roughly 2,000 people had died — a rare and grim admission. Yet the state’s framing was different, blaming “terrorists” for much of the violence. The uncertainty, the gaps, the conflicting accounts — they all add to a deeper sorrow.

“These numbers are not abstractions,” said a human rights lawyer based in Oslo who has monitored Iran for a decade. “A number is a child’s name. A number is a market stall gone dark. Statistics are the only record the victims will have, and they must be fought over because acknowledgement is the first step toward justice.”

Washington’s Gamble: “Help Is on Its Way”

From a manufacturing plant in Michigan — where he was scheduled to speak on the American economy — Donald Trump reiterated his message that “help is on its way” to Iranian protesters. His remarks were intentionally ambiguous, a strategic murmur that can be read in many ways: a promise, a threat, a diplomatic lever.

“When they start killing thousands of people — and now you’re telling me about hanging — we will take very strong action if they do such a thing,” he said in a clip circulated by media outlets. Asked to elaborate, he smiled and told reporters, almost teasingly, that they would “have to figure that out.”

Veteran foreign-policy observers see that ambiguity as deliberate. “Ambiguity gives leverage without the immediate costs of boots on the ground,” said a Washington analyst who has worked on Middle East policy. “But it also invites blowback. When you threaten a government in Tehran, Tehran will threaten bases in the region. It becomes a dangerous spiral.”

Regional Ripples: Allies, Threats, and Escalation

Indeed, Tehran did not hesitate to push back. Iranian officials warned that US bases located on the soil of regional partners — from the Gulf monarchies to Turkey — could be targeted if Washington attacks Iran. A senior Iranian official, speaking on condition of anonymity, said Tehran had urged regional governments to “prevent Washington from attacking Iran.” The message was stark: any foreign intervention, the official suggested, would redraw lines in a volatile neighborhood.

Such statements heighten a geopolitical calculus already complicated by concerns about Iran’s nuclear program and ballistic missile development. They force local governments — who host foreign bases and navigate intricate alliances — to choose carefully between Washington’s encouragement and Tehran’s retaliation.

The Courts, the Gallows, and a Threat to Dissent

Perhaps the darkest specter has been the possibility of rushed trials and executions. Prosecutors in Iran have reportedly invoked moharebeh — “waging war against God” — a capital charge that has historically been used to punish protest leaders and critics. Amnesty International warned that concerns were mounting about swift trials and arbitrary executions aimed at crushing dissent.

“We have already seen cases where the verdict was delivered within days,” said a Tehran-based human rights monitor. “The judiciary moves fast when it wants to make an example of someone. That fear of public, quick punishment is as powerful as the physical fear of bullets.”

Families of detainees tell stories of broken sleep and waiting for any detail that might save a son, daughter, or cousin. In some neighborhoods, mothers have begun to compile lists of names — not out of paperwork, but as prayer.

What Are We Willing to Risk?

So where does the world stand, and what are we willing to risk to prevent bloodshed? Is a distant promise of “help” worth the possibility of regional escalation? Is public pressure and sanctions enough, or does the international community need to mobilize in other ways — through humanitarian corridors, asylum pathways, or legal pressure on complicit state actors?

There are no comfortable answers. There are only decisions that will shape lives for years to come. For Iranians on the ground, the calculus is not abstract. “We are not looking for someone to come and fight our battles,” Parvaneh said. “We want the world to see us. We want to be safe.”

Key Facts to Hold in Mind

Human-rights organizations have verified thousands of deaths during the unrest, with differing tallies and ongoing investigations.
Iranian authorities and independent monitors provide conflicting narratives about responsibility and the breakdown of violence.
U.S. political leaders have issued warnings and hinted at options that range from sanctions to harsher measures; Tehran has responded with counter-threats to regional bases.
Observers warn of the potential for rapid trials and capital punishment as a tactic to deter protest.

As you read this, in a city square thousands of miles away, someone might be tracing names onto a piece of paper, preparing tea, or taking a frightened child by the hand. What do you see when you look at these headlines — a distant conflict, or a mirror? How do the decisions made in faraway capitals ripple into the very private, very human spaces where life and loss are counted?

The story is not finished. It is being written in living rooms and detention cells, in the halls of power and the cords of a phone call. It asks a simple, old question: when a people rise up for dignity, who will stand with them, and at what cost?

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