Jan 18(Jowhar)-Dagaal culus oo Qaraxyo ku bilowday ayay Maleeshiyaadka kooxda Shabaab Saakay kula kalaheen Xerada Melletari ee Duleedka Warshiikh.
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Trump oo amray in 1500 askari milatari ah la geeyo gobalka Minnesota
Jan 18(Jowhar)-Wasaarada Difaaca Maraykanka ee Pentagon ayaa diyaarisay 1500 oo askari oo Milatari ah kuwaas oo loogu talagalay in la geeyo gobalka Minnesota .
Five people killed in multiple avalanches across Austria’s Alps
Snow, Silence and Sorrow: The Alps Grapple with a Deadly Week of Avalanches
The mountains do not always speak loudly. Sometimes they whisper, and sometimes—after a night of heavy snowfall—they roar without warning.
On a crisp morning in the Pongau region near Salzburg, Austrian rescue helicopters cut through a blue sky streaked with contrails, dropping ropes and hope into a landscape that moments before looked like a postcard: thick pines bowed under fresh snow, cornices rimed in white. By midday the postcard had been torn. An off‑piste avalanche smashed through a group of seven ski tourers, killing four people and leaving another gravely injured. A separate slide in the same area pulled away a woman who could not be saved. By the time rescuers were leaving the snowline, five lives had been claimed in Austrian mountains that have sustained an unnerving rhythm of tragedy this season.
What happened in Pongau
The details are heartbreaking in their ordinary cruelty. The group had been traveling off marked trails, a practice known as ski touring that has become increasingly popular. The avalanche swept with the speed and finality of a freight train; witnesses and rescue teams described scenes of chaos—shovels frantically probing, dog teams scratching at the surface, the metallic whine of helicopter rotors.
“This is a bitter reminder of how fragile the margin for error is right now,” said Gerhard Kremser, district head of the Pongau mountain rescue service. “We had issued clear warnings about avalanche danger. People still went out. Families are grieving because of a choice that carries known risks.”
Four rescue helicopters, mountain rescue personnel, Red Cross dog teams and a crisis intervention unit were rushed to the scene. Rescuers fought against deep drifts and unstable layers of snow to locate the buried, and to try to keep the possibility of survival alive.
“We do everything we can,” said Anna Müller, a volunteer with a local ski patrol, her voice hoarse from the cordite of effort and sorrow. “The mountains take time to forgive. But people—friends, fathers, sons—are not easily replaced.”
A pattern unfolding across the Alps
The deaths in Pongau add to a grim tally of avalanches across the Alpine arc in recent days. A 13‑year‑old skiing off‑piste in Bad Gastein died earlier in the week; a 58‑year‑old ski tourer lost his life in Weerberg in Tyrol last Sunday. In neighboring Switzerland a German man was killed and four others injured while cross‑country skiing. France, too, reported multiple fatalities over the weekend—six skiers lost to avalanches at various resorts.
Across the region, the chorus of mourning has become louder. Local mayors, ski instructors, and mountain rescuers are all telling the same story: more people are seeking quiet slopes beyond the groomed runs, and the mountain’s temperament—winter’s layering of storms, wind slabs, sun crusts—has rarely been so complex.
“We have seen a steady rise in backcountry activity in the last five years,” said Dr. Elena Rossi, an avalanche scientist at the University of Innsbruck. “Partly it’s the desire for solitude and untouched snow; partly it’s the economics of ski holidays. But the snowpack is changing too. Warmer spells interspersed with heavy dumps produce weak layers that can persist for weeks.”
Experts point to a multifaceted mix: increased human exposure, evolving recreational patterns, and meteorological quirks. The European avalanche warning services use a five‑level danger scale; in recent days many valleys reported danger at the ‘considerable’ to ‘high’ end of that scale following successive storms. When that happens, even experienced tourers can be caught out.
The human stories behind the headlines
Numbers numb. Names make it real.
A husband who called authorities after his wife was swept away stood by the rescue hub wrapped in a weathered jacket, his hands jammed into his pockets as if to steady a trembling body. “She loved the mountains,” he said in a voice that did not rise above a whisper. “We married because she had a map in her head—she always knew where to go. I do not know how to map a life without her.”
A ski instructor from a nearby resort, leaning against a rescue vehicle, spoke in blunt, weathered terms. “People think they’re pioneers. They download trail apps, strap on fat skis, and they go. They forget the mountain’s memory—layers from storms two weeks ago are still unstable. Respect the red flags.”
Rescue work on the razor’s edge
Rescue teams across the Alps are stretched thin. The immediate response to an avalanche—searching within the so‑called ‘golden hour’ when survival probabilities decline steeply—requires manpower, trained dogs, helicopters, and equipment. In Pongau, that effort was marshalled quickly, but the weight of snow and the time it takes to dig through meters of avalanche debris are relentless adversaries.
“Our teams train for these moments, but training doesn’t take away the ache,” said Franz Huber, a mountain rescuer. “Every recovered identity is a story, a family—sometimes children. We build resilience, but grief follows closely.”
What this week tells us about risk, nature, and choice
So what are we to make of this rash of avalanches? Is it simply bad luck, or part of a larger pattern?
There are no easy answers. Winters will always be capricious. But there are trends worth noting. More people are seeking backcountry experiences, and at the same time, weather systems are delivering heavier, more rapid snowfalls in short bursts—conditions that can create unstable, dangerous layers.
“We have to marry respect for the mountains with respect for data,” Dr. Rossi urged. “Education—avalanche courses, beacon practice, checking bulletins—saves lives. So does humility.”
Practical steps—and an invitation
For those who still hear the call of the silent slopes, the rules are simple and uncompromising. Carry the right gear. Travel with companions who know how to use the gear. Check avalanche bulletins. Get training. And when warnings are high, choose safety over solitude.
Here are basic recommendations from mountain rescue services:
- Always carry an avalanche transceiver, probe, and shovel—and know how to use them.
- Take an accredited avalanche safety course before going off‑piste.
- Check the regional avalanche bulletin and heed local warnings.
- Travel with experienced partners and maintain visual contact.
- Consider hiring a local guide when unfamiliar with terrain.
Ask yourself: what is the value of a perfect run if it costs a life? Is the private thrill worth the public grief?
Grief, memory, and the long season ahead
Austria wakes today to another tally in a winter that will not easily be counted. The mountains endure, indifferent and magnificent. Humans, by contrast, will carry these losses into kitchens and classrooms and ski lift lines, retelling an experience that has been made smaller and sharper by the absence of those who died.
“We go up to feel alive,” said a local café owner in Pongau, stirring a pot of soup as skiers passed with red cheeks and hungover smiles. “But life is fragile up there. The mountain owes us nothing. We must go with care.”
If the week’s avalanches teach us anything, let it be not only a lesson about the physics of snow, but about how communities respond to tragedy—through rescue, through grief, and through renewed calls for caution. The Alps will continue to draw us. Let them be the place where respect is repaid as often as risk is taken.
Syrian forces expand control across northern territory amid ongoing operations
When Flags Shift: Syria’s Quiet Reclamation of the North
There are days when a town’s rhythm — the clatter of market stalls, the schoolchildren’s laughter, the slow churn of evening prayer — marks out a kind of sovereignty. For more than a decade in northern Syria, Kurdish-administered areas had that rhythm: an emergent, messy autonomy grown from the ashes of war. Then the drums of a different authority began to beat. In a matter of days, the Syrian army pushed into neighborhoods and towns that had effectively governed themselves for years, reclaiming airfields, oilfields and, with them, the contours of daily life.
I drove through Deir Hafer recently, about 50km east of Aleppo, under a sky streaked with dust and the taut, metallic smell of fuel. Men in plain clothes — fighters from the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces — were loading trucks. Mothers stared from doorways. The army’s flag, unfamiliar to many here for years, snapped in the wind over checkpoints that had been newly reinforced.
What changed — quickly
In March, Damascus and Kurdish authorities signed a deal: a blueprint, at least on paper, for integrating Kurdish forces into the state security apparatus and resolving the odd geography of control that has divided northeast Syria. The agreement included withdrawals, redeployments east of the Euphrates and promises of some political inclusion.
But agreements on paper are brittle in times of war. Implementation slowed, trust frayed, and the Syrian army — moving in what officials called the enforcement of the pact — swept into areas around Aleppo, into Tabqa in Raqa province and toward precious oilfields. Witnesses say army units took the military airport at Tabqa and seized two oil installations nearby. Kurdish commanders confirm clashes and casualties on both sides.
“We woke to the sound of engines and soldiers,” said Layla Haddad, a schoolteacher who lives on the outskirts of Tabqa. “We don’t want new battles in our homes. People here have already lost too much.”
More than language: a decree and its limits
At the center of this uneasy reordering was a political gesture: a presidential decree declaring Kurdish a “national language” and granting citizenship to Kurds stripped of nationality decades ago. For many families in Qamishli — the region’s main Kurdish hub — the decree was the first formal acknowledgment from Damascus since the country’s independence that Kurds are a part of the Syrian nation.
But symbolism can be shallow. “This tells us we are noticed; it doesn’t tell us we will be heard,” said a shopkeeper, Ahmad Baran, as he stacked baklava near the city’s mosque. “We want legal protections, constitutional rights, and a say in how our region is run. Language is important, but it doesn’t stop a checkpoint from arresting a neighbor.”
Analysts say the decree is a classic trade-off: cultural recognition without significant power-sharing. “What Damascus offered is an olive branch wrapped in a leash,” said Dr. Mira Al-Najjar, a Middle East analyst. “It softens the optics, but the zones of power — security, resource control, administration — remain in state hands.”
Why the north matters
The Kurdish-led administration controlled large swathes of Syria’s oil-rich northeast, territories captured during the civil war and the long fight against the Islamic State group. These areas are not only ethnically diverse; they are strategic. Control of the oilfields, the highways and the agricultural plains means leverage over reconstruction, revenue and regional influence.
That leverage is why external powers watch closely. The United States, which supported Kurdish forces for years in the fight against IS, has called for de-escalation. European capitals and regional leaders have urged calm. A U.S. military statement urged Syrian government forces to “cease offensive actions” in areas between Aleppo and Tabqa. France and leaders from Iraqi Kurdistan issued calls for restraint and a ceasefire.
On the ground: fear, pragmatism and the quotidian
For ordinary residents, the choices are painfully pragmatic. Some see the return of Syrian troops as a route to stability, an end to checkpoints run by militia groups and a step toward restoring state services. Others fear that new control will mean reprisals, new mobilizations, or simply the grinding, bureaucratic sclerosis that has followed centralization elsewhere in Syria.
“If the army brings fuel, food, and opens the hospital, people here will accept it,” said Hassan Khalil, a farmer who has tilled the same land his grandfather did. “But if they come only to take our fields or to punish the fighters, that is different.”
Curfews have been declared in parts of Raqa, and the army has labelled zones southwest of the Euphrates “closed military zones,” warning of strikes on what it called military sites. The SDF, accusing Damascus of betrayal, has reported clashes south of Tabqa and has called for international mediation.
Across borders and headlines
The battle for northern Syria is never just local. Turkey, Iran, Russia, the United States and regional Kurdish authorities all have stakes. Ankara, in particular, views the Kurdish-led forces as linked to groups it considers terrorist organizations and has historically launched cross-border operations to prevent an autonomous Kurdish corridor. Moscow and Tehran back Damascus, but their priorities — influence and reconstruction contracts — are not always aligned with the Syrian state’s tactics.
Outside the region, pundits ask whether Damascus’ moves signal a broader campaign to reassert control over the country’s fractured peripheries, or whether this is a limited push to secure resources and strategic points. Some see a pattern: cultural concessions offered to minorities, but strict limits drawn around political or military autonomy.
- Key point: Kurdish forces have held de facto autonomy across much of northeast Syria for more than a decade.
- Key point: The Syrian army’s recent advances include towns around Aleppo, Tabqa airbase and nearby oilfields.
- Key point: A presidential decree granted Kurdish language recognition and citizenship to some stateless Kurds, but many say it falls short of political guarantees.
What comes next?
Readers might ask: can reconciliation be engineered from these pieces? A sustainable settlement would require more than decrees. It needs constitutional guarantees, participatory governance, and oversight mechanisms that bridge security and civil life.
“Rights are defended in constitutions, not in press statements,” said an academic in Erbil who has tracked autonomy debates for years. “If this moment is to be historic, it must translate into real power-sharing, not merely cultural tokens.”
And there is another question worth considering: how will the people who have rebuilt schools, grown economies and formed civil councils over the last decade reconcile with a central state that has, for decades, sought to centralize control? Can local institutions be folded into national ones without losing what made them functional during the chaos?
For now, life in the north goes on in fits and starts — markets open, children go to school when streets are quiet, farmers plant when seeds are available. But in the cafes and courtyards, the talk is not only about the next harvest. It is about belonging, justice and the thin margin between recognition and real rights.
As the dust settles each evening, people here ask the same thing they’ve asked for years: Will promises turn into protections? Will new flags mean new freedoms? Or are we witnessing, yet again, a passing of control that leaves the deeper questions unresolved?
Ukrainian delegation touches down in US for Miami talks
Negotiations under Miami Sun, Winter under Kyiv Sky: A Fragile Pause in a Brutal War
They arrived in Miami as if stepping out of two different worlds.
On one side, Ukrainian negotiators—Kyrylo Budanov, newly installed as President Volodymyr Zelensky’s chief of staff and leader of the delegation—touched down in a balmy city of palm trees and glass towers. On the other, millions back home huddled against a merciless Ukrainian winter, with thermometers plummeting as low as −19°C and the lights flickering and failing across towns and suburbs battered by months of bombardment.
“Arrived in the United States,” Budanov wrote on social media, a line as terse as it was loaded. He added that he and security chief Rustem Umerov and negotiator David Arakhamia would “have an important conversation with our American partners regarding the details of the peace agreement.” A joint meeting with Steve Witkoff—President Donald Trump’s private-sector envoy—as well as Jared Kushner and U.S. Army Secretary Daniel Driscoll was on the books.
Why Miami? Why now?
Timing is not accidental. February marks the fourth anniversary of Russia’s full-scale invasion. The world watches a war that has already reshaped geopolitics, redrawn supply chains, and forced millions from their homes. And this week, while Miami hums with hotel lobbies and diplomatic backrooms, Kyiv is conserving energy, schooling closures are enforced for health reasons, and entire neighborhoods shiver in the dark after targeted strikes on power infrastructure.
Ukraine has asked for clear, robust, and legally binding security guarantees—carrots and sticks to stop a future invasion. Washington, for its part, has been pushed into a delicate balancing act by President Trump’s vocal impatience with the conflict and by his aides’ unusual role as intermediaries. For Kyiv, the calculus is existential: any peace that looks like surrender could invite another assault. For Moscow, the insistence is simple and brutal: seize the rest of the land it claims or risk losing everything.
On the Ground: Power Cuts, Closed Schools, and the Human Cost
The negotiators’ shuttle between conference rooms could not hide the human reality they left behind.
Ukraine’s energy ministry announced a state of emergency in the energy sector after what it called “constant massive attacks by the Russian Federation.” Most regions experienced regulated power restrictions. In Bucha—an area that still bears the memory of atrocities from 2022—some 56,000 families were reported without power following nighttime strikes. For households that survived occupation and returned, a winter without heating is a cruel echo of earlier horrors.
“We heat our apartment with the kitchen stove and a small electric heater when we can,” said Oksana, 48, a teacher in a Kyiv suburb who asked that her full name not be used. “Last night the lights went off at midnight. My son and I wrapped in the blankets we kept for emergencies. We joke sometimes, but it’s not funny.”
Schools in the capital were ordered closed until February, with authorities citing health and safety during power shortages. The closures are another reminder that the war is not confined to battlefields: it cuts into education, food security, and the rhythms of daily life.
Energy as a Weapon
Experts say the campaign against infrastructure is strategic.
“Attacking energy systems in winter does more than black out homes,” said Dr. Elena Morozova, an energy analyst who has worked in Eastern European grid resilience. “It degrades morale, disrupts hospitals and communications, and places enormous economic strain on reconstruction. Rebuilding a power grid is an investment measured in years and billions.”
Those are not abstract numbers. For Ukraine, the need to repair and fortify energy systems will be a centerpiece of any post-war recovery plan. Kyiv has made that point loudly as it seeks guarantees and financing for reconstruction alongside security assurances to deter future aggression.
Negotiating the End: Guarantees, Territory, and the Shape of Peace
Talks in Miami were said to focus on security guarantees and post-war reconstruction—two halves of the same question. What will stop Russia from returning if Kyiv relinquishes land or stops fighting? What powers are prepared to guarantee Ukraine’s borders? How will Western help be structured if the ink dries on a ceasefire?
The United Kingdom and France have signed a declaration of intent to deploy troops to Ukraine in the event of a ceasefire, a move designed to deter Russian advances. Moscow’s answer was blunt: any foreign forces in Ukrainian territory would be “legitimate targets.” Those words, chilling in their simplicity, underscore the risk of escalation and what’s at stake in any agreement.
Back in Miami, American lines were more guarded. “We’re discussing frameworks—for security, for reconstruction, and for how to make a treaty that is credible,” said a U.S. official familiar with the talks, speaking on condition of anonymity. “But Kyiv must see that guarantees are real and enforceable.”
Kyiv’s ambassador to Washington reiterated that security guarantees are non-negotiable. President Zelensky has signaled he hopes the signatures could be put to paper at the World Economic Forum in Davos next week—an audacious plan to take a local deal into a global spotlight.
Between Private Envoys and Public Stakes
One striking element of these negotiations is who’s in the room: private envoys, former advisers, and family members of powerful figures. Steve Witkoff, Jared Kushner—names more familiar in business and past White House corridors than in official diplomacy—add a peculiar texture to talks otherwise dominated by generals and foreign ministers.
“Private diplomacy can move fast, but it can also complicate signaling,” said Anna Petrenko, a Kyiv-based analyst. “When back-channel figures are negotiating, it raises questions about the chain of command, about who will be held to promises.”
There is also a deep global dimension. The war in Ukraine has contributed to volatile energy markets, strained NATO’s unity, and repeatedly put grain and fertilizer exports in the balance—items that matter to food security across Africa, Asia, and the Middle East. How this conflict resolves will shape not just the map of Europe, but the geopolitics of the next decade.
Questions for the Reader
What would you expect from a security guarantee that would feel real to a nation that has been invaded twice this century? Is the presence of foreign troops on sovereign soil a guarantee—or a provocation? How should the international community weigh immediate peace with long-term security?
What Comes Next?
These Miami talks are a waypoint, not a destination. As delegates trade proposals and red lines, gunfire in eastern and southern Ukraine continues. Moscow claims fresh village captures in Donetsk and Zaporizhzhia regions. On the ground, civilians tally losses in homes and in trust.
“We live in hope and fear,” said Maksym, a volunteer who coordinates wood and blankets for families in Bucha. “I hope our leaders come back with a plan to keep us safe. I fear they will sign something for the cameras and leave us warming in the dark.”
In diplomacy, as in weather, storms are rarely ended by a single negotiation. They are managed, alleviated, and—sometimes—transformed by patience, power, and an appetite for risk. This week, under Miami’s sun and Kyiv’s freezing lights, the world will watch whether a fragile band of conversations can begin to stitch back a battered nation—and whether the guarantees on paper will hold when the guns fall silent.
EU leader praises ‘fair trade’ as Mercosur pact is finalized
Under the Paraguayan Sun: When Two Blocs Rewrote the Rules of Trade
As the late afternoon light draped over Asunción’s Palacio de los López, the atmosphere felt almost ceremonial—warm, humid air carrying the smell of grilled beef from nearby stalls, flags snapping gently in the breeze, and an audience made up of diplomats, ministers, and a smattering of farmers who had travelled from both continents.
After a quarter-century of negotiations, European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen stepped forward with a pen and a message: a choice had been made. “We are choosing partnership over isolation,” she said, voice steady against the whisper of cameras. Around her, officials from Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay signed a pact that, if fully ratified, would stitch together the European Union and the Mercosur bloc into the world’s largest preferential trading area—connecting roughly 700 million consumers and anchoring over €111 billion of annual trade, according to 2024 figures.
The deal is more than ink on paper; it is a geopolitical signal. António Costa, who represents the European Council, framed it bluntly: this is a defense of trade rooted in rules and multilateral law. “It is a counterweight to the weaponisation of commerce,” he told assembled journalists, as photographers clicked away.
What the Agreement Actually Does
At its core, the accord promises to eliminate tariffs on more than 90% of bilateral trade between the two blocs. That sounds like a win-win on paper, and in many respects it is: European automakers, wine producers and cheesemakers expect expanded market access across South America, while Mercosur’s beef, poultry, soybeans, rice, sugar and honey will find a freer path into European markets.
- Population reach: ~700 million consumers.
- Trade: ~€111 billion in 2024.
- GDP weight: together the EU and Mercosur represent about 30% of global GDP.
- Tariff reductions: more than 90% of bilateral trade to be tariff-free.
“For Paraguay, this is a horizon-opening moment,” said Santiago Peña, Paraguay’s president, who hosted the signing. “At a time when global currents pull many countries inward, we are sending an unmistakable signal in favor of openness.”
Scenes From the Plaza—and the Protest Lines
Yet the signing ceremony was a study in contrasts. Outside the polished interior, thousands of kilometers away in European farm towns and capital squares, tractors, placards and protest chants told another story.
“We did not give our farms to be undercut,” said Margaux Leclerc, a dairy farmer from the Vendée region in France, who had joined a caravan of tractors that wound its way to Paris earlier this week. “If South American beef and soy enter Europe at lower cost because of different environmental and animal welfare standards, small producers like me will be squeezed out.”
Protests erupted in Ireland, France, Poland and Belgium—places where rural communities fear lost livelihoods and where consumers worry about dilution of standards. Environmental groups raised a second alarm: will cheaper access for beef and soy accelerate deforestation in the Amazon and the cerrado? “Trade cannot be blind to ecosystems,” said Dr. Helena Moretti, an ecologist with a São Paulo-based NGO. “Without rigorous supply-chain monitoring, demand can turn into a driver of forest loss.”
Voices From Both Shores
The mood in Asunción included pragmatic optimism and guarded reassurance. “This agreement is not a blank cheque,” said a trade adviser to the EU delegation, asking to speak on background. “There are clauses on sanitary standards, mechanisms for dispute resolution, and commitments to sustainable supply chains.”
On the other hand, local voices in Paraguay celebrated the prospect of smoother market access. José Ávalos, a third-generation rancher whose family has grazed cattle on the banks of the Paraguay River for decades, wiped sweat from his brow and said, “For us, this could mean steady contracts, investment in refrigeration and trucks, and jobs for young people who otherwise would leave the countryside.”
But not every South American farmer is sanguine. “Brazil’s big meatpackers may profit,” said Mariana Costa, a smallholder from the state of Rio Grande do Sul. “But unless the benefits trickle down, inequality in rural areas can widen.”
Why Now? The Wider Context
The timing of this accord is significant. The past several years have seen a surge in trade tensions, tariff swings and questions about the reliability of trade partners—especially during the Trump administration in the United States, where tariffs and trade threats recalibrated many governments’ calculations about who to trust and how to secure supply chains. The EU–Mercosur deal can be read partly as a strategic hedging: a bid to lock in market access and diversify ties in an uncertain world.
It’s also an effort to reassure global multilateralism. The negotiators have framed the pact as a nod to rules-based trade—an argument that resonates in capitals where policymakers fear a slide back into transactional geopolitics.
Who Wins—and Who Loses?
The arithmetic is complex. Consumers in both regions may enjoy lower prices on certain goods. Exporters with scale—car manufacturers in Europe, large beef and soy producers in South America—stand to benefit. Smaller producers, niche protected-labelled farmers, and environmental advocates worry that market forces could sweep away local protections unless enforcement is strong.
Trade economist Dr. Armand Khatri, who studies agricultural policy at the London School of Economics, cautioned: “Economics predicts gains in aggregate GDP and trade flows, but distribution matters. Without redistributive measures and targeted supports, rural communities can be the ones left behind.”
Next Steps: Ratification and Reality
The pact signed in Asunción is not yet law. It must clear the European Parliament and then be ratified by the national legislatures of Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay. That process could be prolonged, and domestic politics will play a decisive role.
Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, notably absent from the Asunción ceremony, met von der Leyen in Rio de Janeiro the day before the signing to signal his government’s support. “This deal is essential for prosperity and for reinforcing multilateralism,” Lula told reporters there—an echo of the broader diplomatic choreography surrounding the signing.
How will Brussels respond to the farmers’ protests? Will South American governments step up traceability for commodities to allay deforestation concerns? Will measures be implemented to ensure smallholders receive a fair share of gains?
These are not rhetorical questions. They matter to families in rural France and agribusiness CEOs in São Paulo alike. They matter to consumers who want affordable food without sacrificing environmental stewardship. They matter to citizens watching whether multilateral agreements can be modernized to reflect 21st-century priorities—climate accountability, fair labor and equitable growth.
Looking Ahead: More Than Trade
Five countries and a continent sit now with a choice. Will this pact become a template for responsible, rules-based liberalization that includes enforceable environmental standards and social safeguards? Or will it become simply another free-trade deal whose benefits are unevenly distributed?
As you read this, consider this: are you willing to pay a little more at the checkout or support stricter labeling if it meant protecting a slice of rainforest, or a small dairy farm in Europe? Can politics muster the courage to pair liberalized markets with robust social policies?
The ink is fresh for now. But history will judge whether this agreement marked a turning point in how nations balance open markets with the social, cultural and ecological costs they impose. Between jubilant handshakes in Asunción and the protest chants across European squares, the real work is only beginning.
Madaxweyne Xasan oo la kumay Boqor Burhaan iyo qaar kamid ah Ismida Puntland
Jan 17(Jowhar)-Madaxweynaha Jamhuuriyadda Federaalka Soomaaliya Mudane Xasan Sheekh Maxamuud ayaa kulan la qaatay, qaar ka mid ah Odayaasha, Isimmada iyo Cuqaasha dhaqanka Dowlad-goboleedka Puntland oo uu hoggaaminayo Boqor Burhaan Boqor Muuse, kuwaasi oo ka qayb galay, Munaasabadda caleemo-saarka Madaxda Dowlad-goboleedka Waqooyi Bari Soomaaliya.
NASA Readies First Lunar Orbital Mission Since the 1970s
Dawn and thunder: watching America’s moonshot roll to the pad
They moved the rocket before sunrise, like a sleeping giant eased onto its feet.
At Kennedy Space Center the air smelled of salt and sunscreen, a Florida dawn smeared in orange light. A low, mechanical rumble rolled across the vehicle assembly building as Crawler-Transporter 2 inched forward, carrying the Space Launch System and its Orion capsule four miles toward Launch Pad 39B. Technicians in bright vests walked alongside like midwives, checking bolts, whispering into headsets. Tourists stopped their cars and craned their necks. A coffee vendor on the causeway handed out free black coffee—“For the long watch,” she said with a grin.
This slow-motion procession marks the final choreography before Artemis II’s opening launch window on 6 February. If all goes to plan, a four-person crew will loop around the Moon and return to Earth on a roughly ten-day voyage—the first time humans have left low Earth orbit and visited lunar distance since Apollo 17 in 1972.
Why this flight matters
Artemis II is not a joyride. It is a proof point and a statement: that after decades of robotic missions, international partnerships, and a new era of commercial spaceflight, humans are ready to travel beyond the gravity well again. NASA frames Artemis as a program to explore the Moon for science, test technologies for sustained exploration, and lay groundwork for human missions to Mars.
Consider the arithmetic: more than half a century has passed since the last humans walked on the Moon. Artemis I—an uncrewed test flight—completed its mission in 2022, validating Orion’s systems. Artemis II now brings crew back into the equation. The stakes are technical, logistical, and symbolic. A successful flyby will demonstrate Orion’s life-support, navigation, and reentry systems under the stresses of a full lunar trajectory—data that planners will lean on before attempting Artemis III, which aims to land humans on the lunar surface.
“This flight is the bridge between testing and presence,” a veteran NASA systems engineer told me, watching telemetry numbers scroll on a laptop. “It’s one thing to send hardware alone; it’s another to keep people safe at lunar distances and bring them home.”
What the mission will do
- Launch vehicle: Space Launch System (SLS), the agency’s heavy-lift rocket.
- Spacecraft: Orion crew capsule, carrying four astronauts.
- Duration: about 10 days, with a free-return or near-free-return trajectory around the Moon.
- Recovery: Pacific Ocean splashdown, with U.S. Navy recovery forces standing by.
The crew—the human dimension
Four names lead the mission manifest: Reid Wiseman, Victor Glover, Christina Koch, and Jeremy Hansen of the Canadian Space Agency. Together they represent decades of training, flights in low Earth orbit, and a blend of personalities that NASA hopes will thrive when the unexpected inevitably arrives.
“You don’t go into deep space expecting only what you rehearsed,” a flight surgeon explained. “Adaptability is the real skill. You practice, yes—but you also practice not panicking when a system behaves slightly off.”
On the tarmac outside the astronaut quarters, I spoke to a retired fighter pilot from nearby Titusville who had worked on flight simulations. “They’ve trained for so many contingencies they dream about them,” he said, laughing. “But there’s awe, too. My grandson keeps pointing his little telescope at the Moon every night now—he says it’s our turn again.”
Jeremy Hansen, who grew up under Canadian skies as a fighter pilot, has described the mission to fellow Canadians as “good for humanity”—a reminder that enthusiasm for the Moon is not confined to one nation. For many observers, Artemis is a collaborative endeavor: international partners provide instruments, astronauts, and complementary capabilities that turn a national program into a global enterprise.
Precision, propellant, and rehearsal
The crawler’s lumbering procession is more than symbolism. Once the stack is secured to the pad, teams will perform a wet dress rehearsal: loading the cryogenic propellants—liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen—running the countdown clock, and simulating abort scenarios. These rehearsals are designed to stress the systems in near-flight conditions without actually igniting the engines.
Loading cryogens is a careful ballet. One wrong valve sequence or a misreadtherm could scrub a launch. Engineers who work these operations speak of a peculiar kind of calm—an intense focus born from repetition. “You watch a hundred parameters,” said one propellant systems lead, “but you also pay attention to the weather and the ocean surface—the whole environment changes how we operate.”
On long missions, autonomy becomes a partner to humans. Robotic rovers and autonomous landers will scout terrain and prospect for resources—water ice, volatile minerals—that could make long-term presence possible. “The Moon is our proving ground,” a space policy analyst told me. “We’ll test autonomy, in-situ resource utilization, new power systems. These lessons will ripple into Mars plans and beyond.”
Local color and global questions
At a diner near Cape Canaveral, a waitress named Maria pictured the mission in plain terms: “If they bring back something useful—like a new way to power things, or a discovery—we tell the kids that we were here.” She sipped her coffee, glanced at a small TV showing archival Apollo footage, and added, “But also, I wonder—how much is all this costing? Could that money fix a lot of things on Earth?”
That tension—between exploration and earthly priorities—follows every ambitious space program. Artemis supporters point to jobs created in aerospace and spin-off technologies; critics raise questions about budgets and social needs. Both views matter. Good exploration, many argue, should be ethical, equitable, and transparent.
“We have to think about who benefits from these missions,” said a university ethicist who studies space policy. “The technology, the data, the opportunities—how do they translate into broader gains for humanity?”
Looking forward: the Moon as mirror and roadmap
When the Orion capsule arcs around the Moon and re-enters Earth’s atmosphere, the images and data will be pored over by scientists, engineers, and children with telescopes. The Moon holds a record of the early solar system—its surface a witness plate to planetary formation, asteroid impacts, and solar history that Earth has mostly erased through erosion and tectonics. Studying it, as Christina Koch has said in previous communications, may tell us more about where we came from and whether life could arise on planets elsewhere.
Artemis II is a waypoint, not an endpoint. Artemis III aims to land crew on the lunar surface, and beyond that lie ambitions of a sustained presence—habitats, rovers, and industry that could support exploration of Mars. How quickly and how equitably we get there will depend not just on rockets and robotics but on politics, international collaboration, and public imagination.
So as the crawler finishes its last turn toward the pad and mechanics fasten the last cover, take a moment and look up. What do you see when you look at the Moon these nights? Do you see a destination, a mirror, a mystery—or perhaps a new chapter for humankind? The slow roll toward the pad is only the beginning of an answer we’ll all write together.
Trump threatens tariffs on European countries amid dispute over Greenland
Greenland on the Line: A Tiny Arctic Nation, a Global Storm
Imagine waking up to the sound of drums and throat-singing echoing off a fjord carved by ice older than most nations. Now imagine, without warning, being told your homeland is the subject of an international bargaining chip. This is the surreal scene that unfolded this week as tens of thousands of people from Nuuk to Copenhagen marched, chanted, and hammered home a simple demand: respect our right to decide our future.
The flashpoint is Greenland — an island the size of Western Europe, home to roughly 56,000 people, a proud Inuit culture, and a strategic position that has suddenly become a global card on the geopolitical table. What began as offhand talk has hardened into a political crisis: a threatened tariff campaign and a rash of diplomatic posturing that have lit a fire under conversations about sovereignty, colonial legacy, and the shifting Arctic map.
Tariffs, Threats, and Trompe-l’œil Diplomacy
Late last month, an ultimatum arrived on social media: a series of escalating tariffs would be placed on a cluster of European countries unless a transfer of Greenland was negotiated. Whether you see it as rhetoric or real policy, the message rattled capitals across the North Atlantic.
“It feels like being pawned off at an auction,” said Anori, a fisherman from Sisimiut who traveled to Nuuk to join a rally. “We’re not something you buy at the market.”
International law scholars and diplomats were quick to point out the dizzying legal obstacles. Greenland is an autonomous territory within the Kingdom of Denmark; any transfer of sovereignty is far from a simple real estate deal. NATO covers the defense umbrella for Denmark — and thus Greenland — and the island hosts decades-long U.S. military infrastructure that has survived Cold War tensions and new climate-driven strategic calculations.
Still, rhetoric has consequences. In the Danish capital, thousands — Greenlanders in exile, Danish allies, and students — draped themselves in red-and-white and Greenland’s vivid green-and-white flag, stopping by the U.S. embassy to make their displeasure visible. Caps reading “Make America Go Away” were as much a cultural jab as a political slogan, embroidered with a dry humor that belied alarm.
Voices from the Street
“We came to say no,” said Marie Olsen, a nurse who now lives in Copenhagen. “It’s about dignity. There’s a history here — colonial histories — and you can’t just sweep them aside because of a tweet or a threat.”
Back in Nuuk, young activists told reporters they were determined not to be turned into bargaining chips. They sang traditional songs, waved homemade signs, and spoke with a fierce, protective tenderness for the land that has raised them and their grandparents.
Numbers, Polls, and the Broader Stakes
Concrete data underlines the political mood. A recent poll cited by local organizations found that about 85% of Greenlanders oppose becoming part of the United States, with only a small minority in favor. That statistic is not an abstract number; it is a loud, public expression of identity.
Why the sudden interest in Greenland? Climate change plays a starring role. As Arctic ice retreats, shipping lanes open, and strategic resources become more accessible, the region’s geopolitical salience grows. The U.S. is not alone in eyeing the Arctic: Russia and China have both signaled increased interest in northern sea routes and mineral prospects. For smaller nations and territories, this can feel like being squeezed between giants.
“The Arctic is becoming a chessboard,” said Dr. Lena Mikkelsen, an expert in international security at a Copenhagen think tank. “But it’s also a place where local communities are living with rapid change in their environment. Policies that treat the region as only strategic real estate ignore the human and cultural costs.”
Allies, NATO, and the Language of Defense
European governments have responded with a mix of solidarity and practical maneuvers. Several NATO members announced deployments to Greenland for joint exercises designed to underscore that the island’s sovereignty will not be up for negotiation. Troops from France, the U.K., Germany, and others will participate in operations intended less for confrontation than for reassurance — to show Greenlanders that their status will be defended by the alliance they have long counted on.
“This is not a pageant of force,” said a NATO official briefed on the exercises. “It’s a signal: we stand by our commitments.”
Meanwhile, a bipartisan delegation from the U.S. Congress visited Copenhagen, meeting Danish and Greenlandic leaders and reiterating that formal seizure was not on their agenda. Inside the halls where diplomats spoke softly and reporters hustled for soundbites, one visiting lawmaker sighed and said, “This is a manufactured emergency that has real consequences on the ground.”
Culture under the Lights: Identity, Memory, and the Arctic Future
What struck many observers was the cultural texture of the protests: not just banners and slogans, but throat-singing that could silence a crowd, sealskin hats and parkas that tell stories of survival, and elders who spoke to reporters about treaties and memories of a time when decisions were made in Copenhagen without asking them.
“We have a long memory,” said an elder who held a carved tupilak — a Greenlandic protective figure. “We remember when others came to take. We will not be taken.”
Such words cut to the heart of a larger, global debate: who gets to decide the futures of small nations in a world increasingly defined by climate urgency and great power rivalry? Are international norms of sovereignty and self-determination strong enough to protect communities that are strategically tiny but geopolitically large?
Questions to Carry Home
As you read, ask yourself: when the strategic map shifts, who pays the price? Are alliances strong enough to protect not only borders but rights? And what does justice look like when climate change forces the world to confront centuries of unequal power?
Greenland’s dilemma is not just a northern curiosity. It is a vivid case study of how climate change, strategic ambition, and the legacies of empire collide. The voices rising from its towns are not parochial; they are part of a global conversation about dignity, law, and the responsibilities of richer nations toward those whose land they once administered.
Where This Might Lead
At best, this crisis could spark renewed attention to the Arctic — investment in community-led adaptation, greater respect for indigenous governance, stronger multilateral mechanisms to prevent coercion. At worst, it could normalize a transactional view of territory and people.
For now, people in Greenland and Denmark continue to march. They keep singing. They press their hands to the cold rocks and to the policy papers, insisting that their future will not be an afterthought.
“If the world is watching,” said a young activist with paint on her cheeks, “let it see us as we are: a people with a voice, not a line item in someone else’s ledger.”
And so the story unfolds — raw, human, and far from over. Will geopolitical theater give way to diplomacy grounded in law and local consent? Or will the Arctic become a laboratory for blunt power plays? The answer will shape more than maps; it will shape what kind of world we become as the ice recedes and new routes — and old ambitions — open up.
Madaxweyne Xasan oo ka hadlay asakrtii Somaliland looga qabtay dagaalkii Laascaanood ee wali xiran
Jan 17(Jowhar)-Madaxweynaha Jamhuuriyadda Federaalka Soomaaliya Xasan Sheekh Maxamuud oo ka hadlayay askartii Somaliland looga qabtay dagaalkii Laascaanood ee wali xiran ayaa sheegay in aysan sax ahayn islamarkaana aysan xaq u lahayn in wiilal Soomaaliyeed ay ku sii jiraan xabsiyo sababo la xiriira aragtiyo siyaasadeed.
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