French government survives two no-confidence motions over energy bill

February 26, 2026

French govt wins two no-confidence votes on energy law — The motions were tabled in the National Assembly

A Parliament on a Knife-Edge: How a Decree and Two Defeated No-Confidence Votes Shook France

There are nights in Paris when the Boulevard Saint-Germain hums with business as usual—bakers pulling croissants from ovens, students hunched over laptops in cafes, and the distant rattle of the metro. But this week the hum has a different pitch: the murmur of a democracy that has been nudged, twice, toward uncertainty.

France’s government, led by Prime Minister Sebastien Lecornu, survived two no-confidence motions after it chose to push through a new energy law by executive decree rather than letting the National Assembly deliver a final vote. The motions were tabled by opposing corners of the political spectrum: the far-right National Rally (RN) and the hard-left France Unbowed (LFI). Both failed.

For a country that prizes debate, that felt like a seismic moment. “We acted to protect the nation’s energy security,” Lecornu told reporters in a clipped, determined tone after the votes, his collar still dusted with the late-winter chill. “Circumstances required speed; our duty is to act.”

Critics answered with equal force. “You can’t keep governing by side door,” said an LFI spokesperson from the steps outside the Assembly. “When parliament is bypassed, the people are silenced.”

How a Decree Changed the Game

Using a decree to enact policy is not an everyday occurrence, but nor is it unprecedented. Still, the optics matter: a fragile government without a parliamentary majority, two angry oppositions sensing an opening, and the sense among many voters that ordinary channels of accountability have been short-circuited.

“This is not just about an energy law,” said Camille Durand, a pollster at Elabe. “It’s about trust. When governments switch from rhetoric to decree, citizens start to wonder who’s steering the ship.”

Parliamentary veterans say maneuvers like this are symptoms, not causes: a function of a fragmented political landscape that has made stable governance difficult. “You have more parties, more passions, and less consensus,” said Professor Amina Koulibaly, a political scientist who’s spent two decades watching French coalitions rise and fall. “When the center frays, the executive sometimes grasps tools it hopes will hold the country together. But those tools also stoke suspicion.”

The Killing That Tilted Public Feeling

Complicating the calculus is a tragedy that has left the national mood raw. The killing of 23-year-old far-right activist Quentin Deranque—allegedly by far-left militants—shocked France. The case has already led to seven people being formally investigated, including an aide to one of LFI’s politicians; the suspects deny involvement.

Across the country, small vigils have sprung up—flowers on lampposts, candles at the foot of municipal buildings, hand-written placards in storefront windows. “No one should die for an idea,” said Lucie, a baker in the 11th arrondissement, as she wrapped a baguette in brown paper. “We are tired of this violence that eats at our cities.”

The killing has hammered the LFI’s public standing and handed the RN a political argument it had been sharpening for years: an appeal to order, safety, and mainstream respectability. “We told you what happens when chaos is normalised,” a National Rally spokeswoman said at a press conference. “We are the only ones who can bring stability.”

Polling: Who Voters Fear More?

A fresh Elabe poll captures the change in public sentiment. Nearly two-thirds of respondents—about 64 to 66 percent—said they would prefer to block the hard-left LFI from power by voting for a rival in a theoretical two-round contest. By contrast, only 45 percent said they would take the same steps to stop the RN.

That difference is striking. For decades the RN (and its predecessor movements) has been the political bogeyman for center and left voters; the “cordon sanitaire” of a united second-round opposition kept it at bay in many contests. But the survey suggests that, at least for the moment, French voters are more anxious about the far-left’s potential for violent disruption than they are about the RN’s hard-edge rhetoric.

“Perceptions shifted very quickly after the murder,” Durand said. “Events can recalibrate fear more rapidly than any campaign.”

The Arithmetic of Power and the Looming Election

The RN is now the country’s largest parliamentary party—an accomplishment that has transformed it from an electoral force to a plausible governing contender. Political operatives and pollsters alike say the RN is widely seen as a credible victor in next year’s national election; that possibility has reopened old debates about the so-called “republican front,” the practice of rival parties rallying to block the far right in run-off rounds.

That spirit of cross-party unity is fraying. After the killing, RN leaders called on other parties to form what they called a “sanitary cordon” against LFI—an ironic repurposing of the phrase traditionally used to ostracize the RN itself. Former centre-left President François Hollande has urged his Socialist Party to break with LFI, signaling that alliances may be reconfigured ahead of the ballot box.

“We’re watching old lines redraw themselves in front of our eyes,” said one veteran Socialist councillor in Lyon. “It’s both unnerving and urgent.”

Local Color: How Citizens Experience the Crisis

Walk the markets of Marseille and you’ll hear similar anxieties, and different ones. “We talk about heating bills and whether the lights will go out this winter,” said Nassim, who runs a small lighting shop near the Old Port. “But then there’s the feeling that politics is a stage for people who don’t care if society frays. That scares customers and shopkeepers alike.”

A teacher in Lille, Elise, described conversations in her classroom: “Teenagers are more engaged, but angrier. They read the news in fragments—tweets, headlines—then stitch them into theories. They distrust the institutions, but they also fear what comes next.”

What This Moment Says About Democracy Beyond France

France’s recent tumble through political maneuvering, lethal violence, and seismic polling shifts is not merely a domestic drama. It is a case study in a wider, global question: how do liberal democracies preserve deliberation and pluralism while facing extremes on both ends of the spectrum?

Across Europe and beyond, the playbook of insurgent parties—whether far-left or far-right—includes both street-level activism and parliamentary strategy. Governments tempted to move by decree risk short-term fixes at the cost of long-term legitimacy. Citizens who demand security must also ask: what freedoms are we willing to trade for it?

These are questions without neat answers. They are messy, stubborn, and intensely human. And they call on every voter to decide where they stand.

Evening in Paris: A City Decides

On a mild evening, as lamplight softens the Seine and posters flapping from municipal wire sigh in the wind, Paris feels undecided—frustrated, perhaps, but alive. “Democracy is not a machine that you can oil and expect never to creak,” Professor Koulibaly told me. “It’s people talking, and sometimes shouting, and sometimes voting—but always trying to find a way to live together.”

What will the next act look like? Will coalitions be rebuilt, will voters band together again to repel extremes, or will the decree become a new norm? I’ll ask you: when governance bends, who should hold the balance? The answer you give is not just an opinion; it is a small act of civic weather—one that will help decide whether, in seasons to come, the hum of Paris remains a comforting sound or a warning note.

US intensifies missile pressure ahead of indirect talks with Iran

hanad

February 26, 2026

US presses missile issue ahead of indirect Iran talks — Donald Trump said Iran had 'already developed missiles that can threaten Europe' and US bases overseas

Geneva on Edge: Quiet Halls, Loud Threats — Can Negotiations Pull the Region Back from the Brink?

On a frigid morning in Geneva, the air inside the diplomatic compound felt oddly domestic: the whisper of shoes on carpet, the soft clink of porcelain cups, negotiators leaning across polished tables to speak in low, deliberate tones. Outside, the city hummed with the usual cosmopolitan calm — trams, cyclists, and a late winter sun slipping behind the Alps — but the conversation beneath that calm carried the weight of potential catastrophe.

After weeks of public barbs, missile warnings, and a sweeping US military build-up in the region, Washington and Tehran have agreed to sit at indirect talks in Switzerland. The stated aim is simple and urgent: to avert fresh conflict. The stakes, however, could not be higher. The shadow of last summer’s violent flare-up still lingers; the memories of air strikes, damaged installations and frayed alliances are fresh for many.

What’s on the Table — and What Isn’t

At the heart of the dispute is a familiar knot: Iran’s nuclear program. Western governments, and Israel above all, fear Tehran’s work could lead to a weaponized capability. Iran insists its nuclear activities are peaceful, aimed at energy and research.

But this round of diplomacy is not limited to uranium and centrifuges. Washington is pushing to fold Iran’s ballistic missile program and its support for armed groups in the wider Middle East into any final settlement. Tehran has pushed back, bluntly. Iranian officials insist the nuclear dossier is the only legitimate topic, and they demand that crippling US sanctions be lifted as a precondition to any meaningful agreement.

That gulf — what each side says can be negotiated and what it refuses even to discuss — is the central tension the Geneva talks must bridge.

Key points the talks will touch on

Reviving or renegotiating aspects of nuclear constraints and verification.
US demands to address ballistic missile development.
Tehran’s insistence on sanctions relief and respect for national sovereignty.

Words, Weapons and Ranges: Reading the Threats

It is worth pausing on a fact that has come to symbolize the current rhetoric: missile range. In his recent State of the Union address, President Donald Trump accused Iran of “pursuing sinister nuclear ambitions” and warned Tehran had “already developed missiles that can threaten Europe and our bases overseas, and they’re working to build missiles that will soon reach the United States of America.”

Iran’s foreign ministry shot back, denouncing those claims as “big lies.” Technical assessments add nuance. Iran has publicly disclosed missiles with a maximum range of about 2,000 kilometers. The US Congressional Research Service — a widely cited, nonpartisan body — has estimated somewhat higher ranges for some systems, roughly 3,000 kilometers. Even at that upper estimate, the distance falls far short of the thousands of kilometers separating Tehran from many parts of the continental United States.

Numbers matter because they are often used to justify policy. When political leaders talk of “an existential threat” or “missiles that can reach our heartland,” those claims shape public mood and the calculus of retaliation. But numbers alone don’t tell the whole story: range is only one factor, and the political message behind the numbers fuels fear.

Voices from the Ground: Tehran, the Region, and Beyond

Back in Tehran, the city bears the look of a population stretched thin — the children of the bazaars still dart between stalls of dried fruit and saffron, but shopkeepers talk quietly about the last freeze in tourism and the constant pressure of inflation. “We’ve been living with sanctions for years,” said a carpet seller near the Grand Bazaar. “People are tired. We don’t want war — we want our kids to be able to dream again.”

Across the region, a mixture of dread and resignation simmers. “There is a sense that something could snap,” said a Middle East security analyst in Beirut. “You can feel it in diplomatic traffic — governments are quietly lobbying Washington, appealing for restraint.”

At the same time, there are voices of hope. An Iranian academic in Isfahan who asked to remain unnamed described the talks as “a sliver of daylight.” She added, “It’s not just about missiles or uranium; it’s about the possibility of people getting back to normal life: travel, business, family visits.”

History’s Echoes: Why This Moment Feels Different

These negotiations come after a turbulent history: a 2015 nuclear deal (the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action) that brought temporary relief; the US withdrawal from that accord in 2018 and the reimposition of sanctions; and then last summer’s surprise strikes that ignited a 12-day conflict. Each episode has left its mark — in hardened positions, broken trust, and a deep bank of mutual suspicion.

Moreover, domestic pressures are pushing both capitals in contradictory directions. In Iran, a year of large-scale protests has shaken the government’s confidence and legitimacy; some in Tehran see engagement as a pressure valve, others as an unacceptable concession. In Washington, political leaders juggle a combination of hawkish rhetoric and diplomatic appetite — a public posture of toughness alongside a private desire to avoid a costly war.

What Would Success Look Like?

Ask yourself: can two countries who have spent decades alternately confronting and courting each other craft a deal that satisfies their opposing audiences? Success would require several things:

Concrete, verifiable limits on nuclear activity and a transparent inspection regime;
Clear commitments on missile proliferation or, at minimum, a framework for future talks;
Phased sanctions relief tied to tangible Iranian actions; and
A diplomatic mechanism to manage and de-escalate future crises.

It is a mountainous ask. But diplomacy, when it works, is not about erasing fear overnight; it is about building routines and channels that make large-scale violence less likely.

Beyond Geneva: The Global Stakes

This is not merely a bilateral dispute. The outcome will ripple across the Middle East and beyond: it will affect oil markets, alliance structures, and the prospects for regional security. European capitals have quietly urged restraint; regional players like Oman have already acted as intermediaries. The global community watches, hoping that cooler heads will prevail.

So here’s the question for you, reading this now: what would you trade for the certainty of peace? Is it sanctions lifted first, or ironclad guarantees of non-proliferation? How do we balance justice for grievances with the urgent need to keep people alive?

War, after all, is not an abstract game of chess between capitals. It is power cuts in a city, a hospital without oxygen, a mother unable to find medicine for her child. It is catastrophe measured in human terms rather than missile statistics.

Conclusion: A Fragile Window

The Geneva talks offer a fragile window — an interlude in which cooler, steadier forces might yet hold. They are imperfect, they are messy, and they are not guaranteed to succeed. But even the act of sitting down matters; it introduces friction into trajectories that otherwise run toward escalation.

Diplomacy rarely moves in leaps. It accumulates in patient steps, in the willingness to meet across a table when the headlines scream otherwise. Whether these talks become the first step toward a durable settlement or a final, unsuccessful attempt before a new round of conflict will depend as much on the political courage of leaders as on the small, human decisions made in Tehran, Geneva, and Washington in the weeks to come.

Only time will reveal whether Trump’s unity message truly resonated

hanad

February 26, 2026

Time will tell if Trump's message of unity hit the mark — Donald Trump's State of the Union lasted almost two hours

Inside a Night of Stagecraft, History and Politics: My Take on the State of the Union

Wednesday night in Washington felt less like a constitutional ritual and more like an expertly produced television special — bright lights, orchestrated applause, and punctuated moments designed to land on camera. The Capitol chamber, packed with lawmakers, family members and a clutch of invited guests, became a theater where policy, patriotism and politics traded places for nearly two hours.

As a reporter who has seen many State of the Union addresses, I was struck by the clarity of its choreography. This was not a meandering manifesto. It was a tight, meticulously timed show that leaned on human stories to soften and sharpen the message. When the president spoke of factories and stock markets, he would immediately cut to a veteran or a grieving mother seated in the gallery. When he wanted a unifying cheer, he invited Olympic gold medalists to stand. Television producers call that “staging”; politicians call it connection. The line between the two is thinner than ever.

Staging the Narrative: Guests, Heroes and Tears

There were deliberate peaks: moments engineered to deliver emotional payoff. The freshly crowned men’s Olympic hockey team rose to a roar — a unifying moment that produced chants of “USA!” and thawed some of the frost between both parties. A 100-year-old Navy veteran received the Congressional Medal of Honor, and a young National Guard sergeant wounded in a Washington attack accepted a Purple Heart with his mother at his side. Cameras lingered on tears, on hands clasped on knees.

“It felt like watching history and theater at once,” said Ana Rodriguez, who runs a small café two blocks from the Capitol. “When the athlete stood, everyone forgot the politics for a second. That’s powerful.”

Tariffs Under the Justices’ Gaze

Midway through the address, the president pivoted to trade — and to the justices seated directly behind him. The Supreme Court’s recent decision to rule several of his “reciprocal” tariffs unlawful was not merely a legal footnote; it became a political prop. He called the ruling “unfortunate” and signaled he would pursue new pathways to reimpose fees on foreign goods, implying executive authorities could be stretched in different directions.

Here’s the arithmetic he used: he reminded listeners that, in 2024, individual income taxes totaled roughly $2.8 trillion — about half of the federal government’s revenue — and suggested tariffs could supplement tax revenue. He also invoked estimates that the tariffs, during the months they were in force, generated somewhere between $150 billion and $170 billion for federal coffers.

Trade analyst Maya Chen, who studies tariff policy at a Washington think tank, offered a caution: “Tariffs are blunt instruments. They can shift supply chains and prices, but the incidence — who really pays — is complex. Consumers and import-reliant businesses often feel the sting.”

Economy, Praise and a Political Lens

For much of the speech, the economic pitch was relentlessly upbeat: 53 record highs for stock indexes in the last year, new laws to protect tips and overtime pay, and promises that factories and foreign investment are rushing back. “Trillions” of promised investment became a rhetorical beat repeated to underscore the administration’s “America first” branding.

Across the city, reactions were split. “My registers are fuller than last year,” said Thomas Nguyen, who owns a mid-sized manufacturing shop in Ohio. “But when my suppliers raise prices, my margins shrink. A lot of people are still feeling squeezed.”

Ordinary measures of fiscal health were also invoked. The national budget deficit — roughly 6.5% of GDP — popped up as a challenge the president said he could solve by rooting out fraud and waste. Whether broad claims of future fiscal balance can be reconciled with projected spending and aging entitlements remains an open question for economists who study long-term budgets.

Immigration, Minnesota and a Contentious Moment

Perhaps the most combustible section came when the president shifted to immigration and fraud. He named Minnesota — and specifically members of its Somali community — as sites of alleged mass welfare fraud, citing figures that were, in the words of several watchdog groups and local leaders, unsubstantiated or exaggerated.

The remarks sparked immediate, audible pushback from the Democratic delegation. Representative Ilhan Omar, who was born in Somalia, led a chorus of heckling that highlighted the deep racial and cultural undercurrents of the moment. “You should be ashamed,” Democrats chanted at the podium’s assertions, while Republican members of Congress rose in unified applause when invited to stand in support of border enforcement.

“These are families, students, neighbors,” said Fatima Abdi, a Somali community organizer in Minneapolis. “When you put our stories into sound bites about crime and theft, it hurts people who are working hard and following the rules.”

Health, Housing and Crime: Practical Promises

Between the rhetoric on national pride and security, the president offered policy carrots: negotiated prescription prices through a program he branded “Trump Rx,” and an executive order aimed at stopping large investment firms from buying up single-family homes — a move he asked Congress to make permanent. The intent was to wrap populist rescue narratives around everyday struggles: rising rents, shrinking housing supply, and sticker shock at the pharmacy counter.

“Homes should be for families, not institutional portfolios,” he said, and the line drew applause from members whose constituents complain about absentee corporate landlords gobbling up neighborhoods.

Short on New Foreign Policy, Long on Resolve

Foreign policy, by contrast, was compact. He claimed diplomatic progress in returning hostages and reiterated an uncompromising stance on Iran’s nuclear ambitions: diplomacy preferred, but the threat of force left unbowed. “No nation should ever doubt America’s resolve,” he said, an intentional echo of 20th-century rhetorical staples.

For analysts watching from abroad, the speech emphasized continuity: peace where possible, pressure where deemed necessary.

Did the Speech Land?

Rhetorically, it was a success — for the production team. The address was tightly crafted and delivered with confident cadence. Politically, its impact will be parsed in neighborhoods, diners and polling booths in the coming days. Partisans on either side rushed to the microphones: Republicans called it a soaring performance; Democrats labeled it a distraction from data-driven solutions.

“It’s theater with policy painted on top,” another Capitol Hill veteran told me. “That doesn’t mean it won’t move votes. It means we have to be ready to separate spectacle from substance.”

Questions to Carry Home

As you close this piece on your screen, consider the trade-offs implicit in a spectacle-driven politics. Are we better served when leaders perform for the camera — or when they engage in the slow, granular work of policy that doesn’t fit into a sound bite?

How do communities targeted in political rhetoric heal in the wake of nationalized scrutiny? And finally: in a country marking 250 years since its founding, are we more interested in ceremonies that celebrate identity, or policies that tangibly improve everyday life for the majority?

For many in Washington, Wednesday was both a show and a referendum: an evening that stitched together bravery, grievance, hope and anger into a single broadcast. Whether it changes hearts, minds or ballots will be revealed not by cameras, but by the slow, stubborn arithmetic of daily life.

FAI says it has no choice but to honour Israel fixtures

hanad

February 25, 2026

FAI has 'no choice' but to fulfil Israel fixtures — FAI President Paul Cooke, right, and FAI chief executive officer David Courell, left

A Dublin Decision: When Football and Conscience Collide

On an early spring afternoon in Dublin, the city felt like a throat clearing before a big speech. Buskers played under a slate sky, commuters hugged takeaway coffees, and the smell of frying chips rose from corner shops. But beneath that ordinary hum was a quieter, knotty tension — a debate about identity, responsibility and what it means for a nation to take the field.

The Football Association of Ireland (FAI) has confirmed it will host Israel in a Nations League tie on 4 October — a decision that has rippled far beyond the pitch. The announcement came in a sober letter to members and was reinforced by the association’s chief executive, who said the FAI felt it had “no viable option” but to fulfil the fixture. For many, that sentence distilled the clash between legal duties, sporting realities and moral pressure from within Irish society.

From Brussels to Dublin: The draw that set hearts racing

The pairing of the Republic of Ireland with Israel was born on 12 February in Brussels, when the 2026-27 Nations League draw was made. Almost immediately, the match became a lightning rod. Inside the FAI’s halls, at clubhouses in suburbs and in kitchen tables across the country, members and supporters wrestled with something larger than a tactical plan.

“Sport is never only sport,” said Aoife Brennan, an emeritus lecturer in sports law at Trinity College Dublin. “You can’t isolate players and fixtures from the geopolitical environment in which they exist. Yet neither can a national federation ignore regulatory realities. What the FAI are describing, in legal terms, is a classic bind: comply and play, or defy UEFA and face sanctions that could harm Irish football’s future for years.”

The costs of refusal: Sporting, financial and reputational

The FAI’s letter spelled out the potential fallout in blunt terms: a forfeit would mean the loss of six Nations League points, likely relegation to League C, poorer seeding for EURO 2028 qualification and a hit to Ireland’s FIFA ranking. The board insisted that refusing to fulfil fixtures would expose the association and individual directors to “severe sporting, financial and reputational sanctions.”

Those are more than bureaucratic threats. They translate into fewer competitive opportunities for players, smaller matchday revenues for clubs, and a longer road back to the kind of major-tournament campaigns that energise a small nation’s sporting soul.

FAI General Assembly motion (Nov): 74 votes for suspending Israel, 7 against, 2 abstentions.
PFAI player survey: 63% of 214 respondents said Ireland should not play the fixture.
Sporting penalty for forfeiture: loss of six Nations League points and possible relegation to League C.

Voices from the city: anger, sorrow, pragmatism

On Dublin’s Capel Street, where flags flap from lamp posts and fans gather on matchday, reactions have been wide and raw. “I can’t celebrate a team that shares a stadium with someone whose government I feel is complicit in such devastation,” said Niamh Ó Hara, a 34-year-old nurse, tapping her fingers on a glass of tea. “But I also worry about the kids who dream of playing at Aviva — they shouldn’t be collateral damage.”

At the other end of the conversation, Michael Hurley, owner of a local sports bar, took a different tack. “We’ve had bad nights before in football — losses, bans, scandals. But you’ve also got to think of the local economy. A home Nations League tie brings jobs, money, exposure. If it moves to a neutral venue, it’s a hit for all of us.”

Meanwhile, players are feeling pressure from two directions. The Professional Footballers Association of Ireland (PFAI) ran a survey of 214 professional players across the League of Ireland’s men’s and women’s divisions: 63% said Ireland should not play. “There’s a moral discomfort in the squad rooms,” one League of Ireland midfielder, speaking on condition of anonymity, told me. “We’re professionals and want to play. But many of us also have friends and family with strong views about Gaza. It’s not an easy position.”

Security, logistics and the Garda stamp

The other immediate question was safety. Could the match be hosted in Dublin without undue risk? The FAI says it consulted government bodies and An Garda Síochána, and that police are confident they can deliver a safe, secure environment. That assertion removes one potential route — a neutral-venue change based on a formal security warning — which was how Belgium’s home tie against Israel was relocated to Debrecen, Hungary, in September 2024.

“If the Garda gives the all-clear, the FAI’s legal footing to refuse is weak,” said Liam Finnegan, a solicitor specialising in sports governance. “Federations sign up to UEFA regulations that carry real sanctions for non-compliance. For directors, knowingly breaching those obligations can open the door to personal liability.”

Using the match as a platform

Conscious of the moral opprobrium and the human suffering underpinning protests, the FAI has said it will channel the home fixture into tangible humanitarian support for civilians affected by the conflict. Details are promised closer to the match.

“Actions speak louder than optics,” said Orla McKenna, founder of an Irish humanitarian NGO that has worked in the Middle East. “If the FAI can create a meaningful fundraising and awareness programme tied to the game — not token gestures but long-term commitments — that could help bridge the gap between a political stance and sporting obligation.”

Beyond Dublin: Sport, politics and global precedent

This moment is not unique. Sport has long sat at the crossroads of morality and competition. Think of the boycotts of the 1980 and 1984 Olympics, the long campaign to exclude apartheid South Africa from international competitions, or UEFA’s suspension of Russian teams in 2022. Each case forced nations, federations and fans to decide whether athletic neutrality is possible — or even desirable.

“The hard question for the Irish public is whether abstaining from a single fixture will change much on the ground,” asked historian and commentator Dara Ní Bhraonáin. “Boycotts can be powerful symbols, but they rarely change policy in isolation. What they do, though, is define who you are as a nation.”

What do we want from sport?

As the autumn fixture approaches, the conversation in Ireland will continue to be layered and loud. Will the stadium become a stage for protest? Will it raise money, attention and perhaps a measure of solace for civilians caught in conflict? Or will the sight of the national team in green merely underscore the limits of what football can do?

These are questions every reader should ask themselves: do we look to sport for absolution, for protest, or for something in between? What responsibilities do athletes and federations have when the world beyond the stadium lights is deeply fractured?

For now, the FAI has made a choice it insists is the least damaging for the future of Irish football. Yet the decision will linger in pubs, classrooms and choir halls alike — a reminder that in our interconnected world, a football fixture can mean much more than ninety minutes on a pitch.

Zelensky: Pipeline Repairs Are Taking Longer Than Expected

hanad

February 25, 2026

Repairs to pipeline 'not that fast', Zelensky says — President Zelensky denied that Ukraine was deliberately disrupting oil supplies to Hungary and Slovakia

When a Pipe Goes Silent: The Human Echo of the Druzhba Outage

There is a hush to the roads south of Budapest that wasn’t there two months ago. Petrol pumps blink, convenience-store aisles are reorganized, and a small trucking company in Szolnok has begun rationing lubricant for its fleet. It is the kind of quiet that makes people ask questions out loud: Is this temporary? Is it deliberate? Who will pay?

These are the human ripples from a gash much farther east — a strike on equipment connected to the Druzhba pipeline that has cut crude deliveries to Hungary and Slovakia since 27 January. The pipeline, one of the world’s oldest and longest arteries for Russian oil, is not just metal and welded joints; it is a lifeline woven into factories, families and political calculations across Central and Eastern Europe.

What happened, and why it can’t be fixed overnight

Ukrainian officials have said a Russian attack damaged infrastructure in western Ukraine that connects to the Druzhba route. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky told reporters that repairs are neither simple nor quick, noting that the pipeline had been struck more than once and that the human toll from those strikes had been grievous. “You cannot stitch this back together in a day,” he said, according to his office. “Our teams are risking their lives so Europe’s lights can stay on.”

Repairing buried and high-pressure pipeline systems requires diagnostics, replacement parts, and secure access — none of which are easy in a conflict zone. Even under peacetime conditions, pipeline outages can take weeks to repair; in wartime, they can stretch into months. Beyond the technical challenge sits the political question: who controls the site, what guarantees can be given to repair crews, and can the supply lines be insulated from further attack?

The view from the towns that run on oil

“We used to get regular deliveries on Mondays,” said Anikó Szabó, who runs a modest family petrol station on the outskirts of Szeged. “Now we get one truck every three days, if at all. People are already saving on driving. That hurts small businesses. It’s not just politics to us — it’s our rent.”

In Slovakia, a logistics manager in Bratislava who asked not to be named described frantic calls with refineries and suppliers. “We’re having to prioritize routes,” he said. “Essential services first, long-haul freight second. The economy gets erratic because of a valve or a damaged pump hundreds of kilometers away.”

Orban’s alarm and the politics of protection

Hungary’s Prime Minister Viktor Orbán has framed the shutdown differently: as a potential threat from Ukraine. He has accused Kyiv of preparing further disruption to Hungary’s energy systems and ordered soldiers and equipment to protect critical infrastructure. “We will not allow anyone to deprive Hungarian families of energy,” his office said in a statement accompanying a Facebook video in which he warned of “political” motives behind the outage.

Those moves have deep political resonance. Orbán’s government has already used its EU veto to block a large loan for Ukraine and further sanctions on Russia, citing energy and national-security concerns. With national elections looming in April, Orbán is pitching a binary choice to voters — “war or peace” — and casting himself as the bulwark against escalation.

Voices on the ground

“This is theatre for the election,” said Tamás Kovács, a political analyst in Budapest. “But that doesn’t mean the concerns aren’t real. People worry about jobs and heating bills. In Central Europe, energy policy is political theatre with direct economic consequences.”

Across the border in Slovakia, Prime Minister Ľudovít Štefan expressed frustration with Kyiv publicly, echoing Budapest’s impatience. Yet many diplomats in Brussels see a more complicated tapestry — one in which supply chains, wartime damage and diplomatic brinkmanship are tightly entwined.

Brussels, Kyiv and an uneasy choreography

European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen visited Kyiv to mark the fourth anniversary of Russia’s large-scale invasion and to press Ukrainian authorities to expedite repairs to the pipeline. Zelensky pushed back, reminding diplomats that the infrastructure had been attacked before and that personnel had been hurt trying to fix it.

“We asked Ukraine to speed up repairs,” Ms von der Leyen said in Kyiv. “But speed must not come at the cost of safety or security assurances.” The exchange underscored a strain in the EU’s solidarity: member states can feel the immediacy of supply shocks, while Kyiv feels the blunt force of a war that continues to reach into civilian infrastructure.

Another strike, another escalation: Dorogobuzh

Against this already tense backdrop came reports from Russia that a Ukrainian drone struck a fertiliser plant near Dorogobuzh in the Smolensk region, about 290km from the border. Russian officials said seven people were killed and ten wounded; images circulating online showed a plant shrouded in night smoke, though those images were not independently verified at the time.

Russian authorities described the target as a civilian nitrogen-fertiliser facility. Kyiv’s military sources said they had used drones in operations targeting logistics and military-related infrastructure but did not immediately confirm responsibility for this specific plant. In an information war where every incident is quickly weaponised, facts can be slippery and the human costs stark.

Why this matters beyond pipelines and politics

Ask yourself: how would your life change if the energy that keeps your home warm or your factory running suddenly became uncertain? The Druzhba outage is more than a headline about geopolitics. It’s a doorway into questions about energy dependencies, regional resilience, and how democracies manage dissent — and fear — when the stakes are simply survival.

Some broader truths are emerging. First, dependence on single-source energy chains remains a glaring vulnerability for many countries. Second, infrastructure in and near conflict zones is increasingly weaponised. Third, domestic politics can turn practical supply problems into leverage for electoral advantage.

Paths forward — a brief checklist

Short-term: prioritize transparent communication with consumers and targeted state support for vulnerable industries.
Medium-term: accelerate diversification of supply routes and emergency stockpiles for critical fuels.
Long-term: invest in resilient energy systems — from renewables to decentralized storage — to reduce leverage by external actors.

What comes next?

There are no tidy endings here. Repairs will take time, voices will grow louder, and the political calendar will add pressure. Yet in petrol stations and municipal warehouses, in offices and factories, people will keep making choices: to conserve, to protest, to vote, to adapt.

“We survived rationing in the 1990s,” mused an older trucker in Košice, Slovakia, as he waited to refuel. “You learn to be stubborn and clever.” His wry smile was not triumphalist so much as weary hope. It is an attitude that matters: when pipelines are damaged, the social fabric is tested, and the way communities patch themselves back together becomes the measure of resilience.

So where do you stand in this story? Are you prepared for a world where energy is not just commodity but leverage? And what responsibility do we — as consumers, citizens and voters — hold when the pipes that bind nations together become targets in a larger, dangerous game?

Mexico Vows World Cup Security Despite Surge in Violence

hanad

February 25, 2026

Mexico 'guarantees' World Cup safety amid violence — Mexico's President Claudia Sheinbaum delivers a speech during the celebration of Flag Day in Mexico city

Guadalajara at a Crossroads: Football Fever Meets the Shadow of Violence

The smell of grilled carne asada and the bright shimmer of team jerseys are the things you expect when a city prepares to host the world. Guadalajara—Jalisco’s proud, music-loving capital, birthplace of mariachi and tequila traditions—should be pulsing with that familiar tournament electricity. Instead, in recent days, the city’s boulevards and beach towns have been punctuated by the staccato snap of headlines about roadblocks, burning vehicles, and tense standoffs between security forces and criminal groups.

“We want people to come,” President Claudia Sheinbaum told reporters, repeating a phrase that officials have leaned on since the violence flared: “no risk.” It’s a simple, forceful sentence, and she doubled down, promising “all the guarantees, all the guarantees” that tourists and football fans will be safe when the World Cup arrives in June.

Her assurance came after a dramatic military operation that wounded and ultimately killed Nemesio “El Mencho” Oseguera, the leader of the Jalisco New Generation Cartel (CJNG). The cartel’s response—coordinated attacks, burning highways, and public shows of force—has been swift and visible, if uneven in both timing and geography.

The scene on the ground

I spoke with Rosa, a street taco vendor who has stacked tortillas in Guadalajara’s Centro for two decades. “Everyone is scared,” she said, stirring a pot as if the motion could settle nerves. “But I still have to open. If no one comes, my family doesn’t eat.” Her words sounded like a plea, but also like a declaration of ordinary courage that you find in cities used to living with risk.

Along the Pacific coast in Puerto Vallarta, drone footage released by local stations showed columns of smoke rising over commercial districts—images that made tourists on social media question whether their tropical vacations were safe. Local soccer leagues postponed matches over the weekend as a precaution, a reminder that this is not only an international story; it has immediate local consequences for players, their families, and the small businesses that depend on weekend crowds.

What the numbers and history tell us

Mexico’s security landscape is not new to the world. For several years the country has recorded tens of thousands of homicides annually, and the rise of heavily armed cartels that operate across state lines has forced authorities to rethink strategies. Large-scale captures or strikes against cartel leaders have historically triggered violent reprisals, and the response to El Mencho’s death followed that pattern: an immediate, if chaotic, spasm of violence intended to rebuff the state and signal continued strength.

For the World Cup, the stakes are peculiarly high. Mexico is slated to host 13 of the tournament’s 104 matches, with Guadalajara responsible for four games. The global spotlight will shine on stadiums, fan zones, airports, and hotels—and on the nation’s ability to provide security for the tens of thousands of fans who will travel from across the globe, including contingents that may arrive should countries like the Republic of Ireland qualify through the playoffs.

Officials, fans, and the global gaze

FIFA, the world body that organizes the World Cup, said it is closely monitoring developments and “in close contact with the authorities,” a spokesperson told journalists. That measured line—designed to reassure without promising too much—mirrors a pattern seen around major events: international organizers leaning on host governments for guarantees, while keeping contingency plans in their back pockets.

At a fan zone cafe near Guadalajara’s Arena, an Irish supporter named Liam wrapped an emerald scarf tightly around his neck and admitted he felt torn. “I love Mexico—great crowds, great food. But yes, I’m nervous. When you see burning tires on the freeway, you think: do I book the ticket or not?” he asked. “For every fan like me who worries, there’s another who says life goes on. It’s complicated.”

Security strategies and political continuity

President Sheinbaum’s response is also a political signal. She has largely followed the approach of her predecessor, Andrés Manuel López Obrador, who campaigned on social programs and an explicit pivot away from militarized anti-drug campaigns with the slogan “hugs not bullets.” That emphasis on addressing poverty and structural causes of crime remains a through-line, even as Sheinbaum has overseen targeted operations against high-level cartel figures.

“This is not an easy trade-off,” said Ana García, a security analyst at a Mexico City think tank. “On one hand, you need to demonstrate that the state can act decisively against the most violent actors. On the other, every leadership vacuum or high-profile strike risks triggering reprisals. The real test is whether Mexico can protect civilians and critical infrastructure—especially during an event as internationally visible as the World Cup.”

What fans and visitors should expect

If you are thinking about making the trip: expect enhanced security in and around stadiums and transport hubs. Authorities will likely deploy coordinated federal, state, and local forces to protect match venues, and private security firms will supplement those efforts at hotels and fan zones. Officials say they’re working to restore normalcy where recent unrest disrupted daily life.

Mexico will host 13 of 104 World Cup matches; Guadalajara will host four of those games.
Local football fixtures have been postponed in areas affected by recent unrest.
FIFA and local authorities say they are coordinating closely on security arrangements.

Bigger questions: tourism, resilience, and the cost of spectacle

Major sporting events are mirrors that show more than the game: they reveal political choices, social cleavages, and the economic calculations of cities and nations. For Guadalajara and Mexico, the World Cup promises billions in exposure and tourism revenue—but it also poses a gamble. Can the city protect visitors while maintaining its everyday life? Can authorities dismantle criminal capacity without igniting cycles of retaliation that harm ordinary people?

“Our lives are layered,” said Dr. Jorge Velázquez, a sociologist who studies urban resilience. “There’s the festival life—music, food, sport—and then there’s the subterranean life of illegal economies. The question is whether the festival can flourish while we untangle deeper problems. The two aren’t mutually exclusive, but it requires patience, coordination, and resources.”

What would you do?

So I ask you, reader: would you book the match, take the flight, root with thousands under a Guadalajara sky? Or would you wait on reports, let the news settle, and travel later? There is no right answer, only a weighing of risk, desire, and the very human urge to be part of something larger than yourself.

For locals like Rosa, the World Cup is not an abstract geopolitical spectacle. It’s a chance for customers to come back, for families to regain income lost in a week of cancelled games and closed streets. For officials, it’s a test of governance. For the world, it’s a reminder that even as we cheer from afar, real lives and real fears fill the stands behind the matches’ bright lights.

Whatever happens between now and kickoff on 11 June, Guadalajara’s story will be told in more than goals and trophies: it will be told in the resilience of its people, the decisions of its leaders, and how a city reconciles its love of life with the shadow of organized crime. That is a story worth watching—and worth listening to, closely and without flinching.

Police search concludes at Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor’s former residence

hanad

February 25, 2026

Searches continue after Andrew's release from custody — Andrew, the first senior British royal in modern history to be arrested, was held in custody for around 11 hours

A quiet lane in Berkshire, and the sound of history being re-examined

On a mild afternoon in southeast England, a lane that usually sees school runs and dog walkers was punctuated by the low hum of police radios and the soft slap of footprints on gravel. Neighbours peered from behind hedges. A couple of delivery drivers altered their routes. For a few hours, the ordinary rhythms of village life were interrupted by the extraordinary: investigators completing a search at the former home of Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor, a man whose name sits uneasily at the intersection of royalty, diplomacy and scandal.

“You could tell something was different — there were vans, then more vans,” said one woman who has lived opposite the property for 12 years. “It’s the kind of quiet place where everyone nods. Today people didn’t nod, they watched.”

What happened — the essentials

Law enforcement activity at the Berkshire residence concluded this week after officers carried out searches linked to an ongoing inquiry. The arrest that set that activity in motion came days earlier: a man in his sixties from Norfolk was taken into custody on suspicion of misconduct in public office, authorities said. The case, which has stretched across county lines and echoed across oceans, stems from an investigation into the now-closed criminal network surrounding the late U.S. sex offender Jeffrey Epstein.

Files released by the U.S. Justice Department last month — a trove of documents running to thousands of pages — drew new attention to the ties between Epstein and a number of high-profile people. Among the documents were indications that confidential materials may have circulated to Epstein during the course of diplomatic and trade activities. That suggestion, whether ultimately proven or not, is what propelled a routine criminal inquiry into the glare of public scrutiny.

Timeline at a glance

U.S. Justice Department releases documents related to Jeffrey Epstein.
Investigators identify leads suggesting possible improper sharing of official documents.
Police arrest a man in his sixties from Norfolk on suspicion of misconduct in public office.
Searches conducted at a former residential address in Berkshire are concluded.
London police appeal to former protection officers and anyone with allegations tied to Epstein to come forward.

The paper trail and the biggest questions

For investigators, the story is as much about paper as it is about people. Documents can be mundane — meeting notes, travel itineraries, delegation briefings — but when they cross lines they were never intended to cross, the consequences can widen fast. A retired Crown prosecutor I spoke with described the legal challenge bluntly: “Misconduct in public office isn’t a simple headline offence. It requires proof of a breach of duty and a public interest element. But if confidential government material reached someone like Epstein, the implications for national security and for public trust are real.”

What counts as sensitive? How are trade envoys briefed and monitored? Who keeps the keys to those files? These are bureaucratic questions with human reverberations. Diplomacy relies on discretion; democracy relies on accountability. When those two principles collide in a single dossier, the ripples are felt across institutions.

Voices from the neighbourhood and beyond

Local reaction has been a tangle of curiosity, anxiety and, for some, resignation. “We’ve seen scandals before,” said a café owner in a nearby market town. “But when it touches someone who has represented Britain abroad, you feel it in your chest. It isn’t just gossip — it asks what kind of people represent us.”

A former close-protection officer, speaking on the condition of anonymity, told me: “We were trained to protect, to keep people safe. But sometimes you see things — meetings, phone calls — and you wonder who else is at the table. It’s not our job to investigate politics, but when allegations come up, they linger.”

And survivors’ advocates were quick to remind the wider public of the human toll behind headlines. “This isn’t about titles or titles being tarnished,” said a campaigner for sexual violence survivors. “When these networks are exposed, it gives people courage to speak. But the system must listen. Too often, victims are the ones who pay the price for silence.”

Police appeals and the search for witnesses

Metropolitan police have begun contacting former protection officers who worked with the arrested man, urging anyone with knowledge of alleged sexual offences linked to Epstein’s activities to come forward. In sensitive investigations like this, first-hand testimony, access logs, and even small administrative notes can make a decisive difference.

It is worth remembering what contact with police entails: interviews under caution, the slow unpicking of calendars and correspondence, the forensic review of devices and archives. For witnesses, especially those within protection services or diplomatic corps used to layers of discretion, stepping forward is rarely straightforward.

Why the public cares — and why it matters globally

Stories like this reverberate far beyond the hedgerows where a search was conducted. They speak to broader debates about privilege and power: Are elites subject to the same rules as everyone else? How do nations ensure that representatives who travel the world on their behalf do not misuse access?

There is also an international dimension. Jeffrey Epstein’s network spanned borders and jurisdictions, and the documents released by U.S. authorities have reignited inquiries in multiple countries. The public’s demand for transparency is part of a global reckoning with institutions that once operated in the shadows.

How we balance the rights of the accused, the privacy of those under investigation, and the public’s right to know is a political, legal and moral puzzle. It is one reason why these cases often take years to resolve. Procedures matter. Evidence matters. So do survivors.

What comes next

For now, searches at the Berkshire address have wrapped up and investigators have gone on to the next phase of their work. The man arrested remains a suspect, not a convicted person — and in the United Kingdom, the presumption of innocence remains a bedrock.

Yet the story is not merely about one home or one arrest. It is a moment for institutions to reflect and for citizens to ask difficult questions: When diplomacy meets private relationships, who is watching? When documents move, who does the moving and to whom?

“We want clarity,” said a legal academic I interviewed. “A democratic society needs to know that its processes are robust. And people who may have suffered at the hands of powerful individuals need to be heard and supported.”

Final thoughts

On that lane in Berkshire, life will, eventually, resume its former cadence — joggers will return, letters will be delivered, and the hedgerow will bloom again. But the day the police vans rolled in will be remembered. It will be remembered not as an isolated drama, but as part of a broader story about accountability in the public sphere.

As readers, we must ask ourselves: what kind of scrutiny do we want for those who serve — and what safeguards will we insist upon? These are not idle questions. They are the scaffolding of public life, and they deserve attention, debate, and a relentless pursuit of the truth.

12 3...267 Page 1 of 267