Klitschko urges continued EU support, calling it vital for Ukraine

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February 11, 2026

EU support for Ukraine 'critically important' - Klitschko

In the Frost and the Fire: Kyiv’s Winter, Its Mayor, and a Nation Waiting for Peace

On a raw November morning in Kyiv, the air tasted like metal and hot tea. The city that once hummed with trams and café conversations now moves to the rhythm of generators and the careful choreography of charging phones. In this gray light, Vitali Klitschko—boxer turned mayor—cuts a familiar figure: tall, serious, a man whose fists once settled rounds now trying to steady a city through rounds of missiles.

“European support is critically important,” Klitschko told a radio interviewer recently, his voice patient and urgent. “We want to be part of the European family. We want to build a democratic country.” He speaks not as an ideologue, but as someone who has traded the ring for politics and the blunt edges of sport for the bluntness of war.

A city armored in routine and resilience

Walk through Kyiv these days and you’ll find ordinary acts of defiance: neighbors sharing stove heat in stairwells, volunteers ferrying electric heaters to high-rises, musicians staging small concerts in bomb shelters. “You’d be surprised how much humanity fits in a subway platform,” said Kateryna, 42, a volunteer who runs a mobile soup kitchen out of an old minibus. “People come for food, and they leave with each other’s stories.”

Yet human warmth collides with hard realities. Temperatures drop. Power lines have become targets; whole neighborhoods can wake to silence from heaters, lights, and lifts. Klitschko has been blunt about these mechanical limits: “We prepare for winter, we are ready to give services to our citizens, but we are not responsible for air defence,” he said. “We have a huge problem right now — not just in Kyiv, but in the whole of Ukraine—a huge deficit of energy, of electricity, and that is why we depend on air defence.”

The logic of Vladimir Putin, according to Kyiv

For Klitschko and many Ukrainians, the war is not merely territorial. “Putin disagreed that Ukraine was independent,” the mayor argued, framing the conflict as an attempt to reassert a lost imperial order. “He believes Ukraine belonged to the Russian empire. The reason for this war is that he wants to rebuild the Soviet Union.”

Whether you accept that historical motive or see the conflict through the lens of geopolitics and security, the result is the same: infrastructure smashed, a civic life interrupted, and a people living under the long shadow of missiles. “When the strikes start, the whole city holds its breath,” said Mykola, a retired history teacher who now volunteers to check on elderly neighbors. “We don’t want pity—we want stability. We want to keep our schools open and our lights on.”

Politics on the home front: blame, responsibility, and public anger

Tensions have risen beyond Kyiv’s streets and into the corridors of government. President Volodymyr Zelensky publicly criticized the city administration over winter preparations, saying some residents were left without heat and electricity in sub-zero temperatures. Klitschko pushed back, insisting that some responsibilities—most notably air defence—are national in scope.

“This back-and-forth is painful for people who are just trying to survive the night,” said Olena, who runs a community center turned warming hub. “We need clarity. We need coal and diesel and fixed generators. We need to know that when a missile hits a transformer, someone is ready to fix it.”

Who protects a city from the sky?

The question of responsibility—who shields civilians from missiles—speaks to wider dilemmas in modern war. Cities can fortify water supplies, distribute blankets, and stockpile medicine, but they cannot build a roof against a ballistic strike or an airborne swarm. Air defence is expensive, complex, and dependent on a network of allies. Kyiv’s fate is tied to whether foreign partners supply interceptors, radars, or intelligence-sharing capabilities.

“Local governments can do a lot, but ultimately a missile is not something you fix with municipal budgets,” said Dr. Andriy Kovalenko, an analyst who studies urban resilience. “You need integrated defence systems, which require national acquisition and international cooperation.”

European lifelines: money, weapons, and political belonging

Across Europe, parliaments and capitals have wrestled with how far to go in supporting Ukraine. Loans, grants, military aid, and sanctions against Russia have been part of the response. For Kyiv, this support is both practical and symbolic: practical in the sense of fuel, generators, and air-defence munitions; symbolic because many Ukrainians see European integration as affirmation of a sovereign, democratic future.

“Being part of Europe is not just economic—it’s dignity,” said Klitschko. “It means a place at the table where rules matter and where a small country can expect protection in the face of aggression.”

Yet European support is not monolithic. Debates rage in Brussels over limits to arms transfers, how to manage refugee flows, and how to structure long-term financial assistance. These debates, at their core, are about how democracies respond to aggression in the 21st century.

Millions have been displaced, morale is strained, and civilians face winters without reliable heat.
Urban infrastructure—energy grids, water treatment, hospitals—has been repeatedly damaged in attacks.
Local authorities, international partners, and private volunteers jointly carry the burden of keeping cities alive.

Local stories, global questions

Consider the story of Olga, a kindergarten teacher who converted her tiny flat into a nighttime refuge for three neighbors. “We have stories to read,” she says. “We have tea. It is small, but it’s life.” Or the engineer who spends nights repairing a communal boiler by flashlight. Their acts are local but their implications ripple: How does the world protect civilians in urban modern warfare? How do democracies support nations under attack without becoming the direct actors themselves?

“This is not merely about funding,” Dr. Kovalenko told me. “It’s a test of collective resolve. The decisions made in European capitals will resonate in Kyiv’s stairwells and in its hospitals.”

Beyond the headlines: what does peace look like?

“We have a dream,” Klitschko said. “And the question is when can peace come to our homeland?” It’s the oldest question in the newest war. Peace, for many here, is not an abstract treaty but a return to small certainties: warm water in the morning, children walking to school without fear, farmers selling crops in markets, servers in cafés that don’t flicker out during dinner.

These are tangible markers of statehood—daily life woven with democratic practice. They require diplomacy, defence, and an international framework that can prevent the reimposition of imperial wills. They also demand patience, because will and strategy do not always match urgency.

So what can a reader do, sitting far from snowed-in Kyiv? First, bear witness. Ask the questions we’ve raised here. Second, support verified humanitarian efforts and reputable organizations delivering relief. Third, keep asking your own leaders what they are doing to protect civilians and to support durable peace.

Final reflections

In the end, Kyiv’s winter is a test of more than survival. It’s a test of stories—how a city that has been pummeled still finds a way to host music in an underground station, to serve soup from a van, to debate politics passionately even as satellite signals flicker. It is a reminder that sovereignty is lived through lights and laughter as much as through treaties.

“We are not victims,” Mykola told me, folding his scarf. “We are people trying to live well. If Europe stands with us—not only with money, but with understanding and common sense—then perhaps our grandchildren will inherit something better than cold and rubble.”

As night falls and generators hum, the city waits—the same way it has held breath through air raid sirens and power cuts: patient, defiant, and quietly hopeful. Will the world answer that hope? That is the question echoing from Kyiv’s stairwells to the halls of distant parliaments.

Soomaaliya oo xil weyn ka qabanaysa Golaha Nabadda Iyo Amniga Midowga Afrika

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Mahad

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February 11, 2026

Feb 11(Jowhar)-Dalka Soomaaliya ayaa Ku Guuleysatay Doorasho Taariikhi Ah Oo Lagu Doortay xubin ka noqoshada Guddiga Nabadda iyo Ammaanka ee Midowga Afrika ee 2026–2028.

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Labada Aqal ee Baarlamaanka oo soo gabagabeeyay dooda cutubka 5aad ee dastuurka

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Mahad

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February 11, 2026

Feb 11(Jowhar)-Mudanayaasha labada Aqal ee Baarlamaanka Jamhuuriyadda Federaalka Soomaaliya ayaa xarunta xarunta Golaha Shacabka ku yeeshay kalfadhiga 7-aad, kulankiisa 13-aad, waxaana shir guddoominayey Guddoomiye kuxigeenka koowaad ee Golaha Aqalka sare

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Trump told a police chief that ‘everyone knew’ about Jeffrey Epstein

By

hanad

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February 11, 2026

Trump told police chief 'everyone' knew about Epstein — US President Donald Trump advised the police chief that Ghislaine Maxwell was 'evil' (file photo)

A Telephone Call, a Lunch on a Tiny Island, and the Unquiet Echoes of a Scandal

There are some stories that never truly go away; they only change shape. This week, a cache of government documents pulled one of those stories back into the light, peeling open old conversations and uncomfortable connections that many hoped had been sealed shut with time.

At the center: Jeffrey Epstein’s sprawling network, the people who orbited it, and the uneasy question that keeps returning — who knew what, and when?

The call that nudged at the edges of a presidency

In the summer of 2006, as headlines in Florida began to turn dark, an unexpected phone call is said to have landed on the desk of the Palm Beach police chief. The newly surfaced summary of an FBI interview — part of a broader release of documents tied to Epstein — records that a then-prominent real estate magnate told the chief: “Thank goodness you’re stopping him, everyone has known he’s been doing this.”

That exchange has to be read against a backdrop of marble foyers and private jets. Palm Beach is a place where parties spill from salons into sunlit terraces, where the society pages and the police blotter sometimes brush shoulders. To locals, the revelation is less a shock than a confirmation of something they’d suspected for years.

“People here knew whispers, but we never imagined how loud the whispers were,” said a longtime Palm Beach resident, standing on the seawall as pelicans drifted by. “You learn to read between the lines of polite conversation. That’s how the town survives and how it hides.”

The Justice Department, responding to inquiries, said it is unaware of corroborating evidence that the president contacted law enforcement two decades ago. The White House emphasized that any ties in the past were severed long ago. “He has been honest and transparent about ending his association,” the press office said, even as it conceded uncertainty about whether a specific call took place.

A lunch on an island and a question of memory

Across the ocean, the narrative takes a different form. Emails uncovered in the same tranche suggest that a prominent figure in the business world visited Epstein’s private Caribbean island for lunch in 2012 — a gathering that seems at odds with previous public statements that ties had been cut years earlier.

Howard Lutnick, now serving as the US commerce secretary, told senators his contact with Epstein was extremely limited. “I barely had anything to do with him,” he told lawmakers, insisting that the island lunch happened only because his family was on a nearby boat and that he met Epstein only a handful of times over many years.

Yet the trove of messages paints a slightly different picture, documenting communications and a visit that undercut a straightforward narrative of complete disassociation. “There are human beings at the center of these files, not just scraps of paper,” said a legal scholar who has studied white-collar reputations. “Memory is a complicated thing when power and convenience are involved.”

The result has been public discomfort on the Hill. Calls for resignation came from both sides of the aisle — a rare bipartisan cadenced rebuke — and questions over judgment public and private clung to Mr. Lutnick like salt to skin after a boat ride. At the same time, the White House reiterated that Mr. Lutnick retains the president’s full support.

Silence, immunity, and the long reach of trauma

Meanwhile, Ghislaine Maxwell — convicted of sex trafficking and serving a 20-year sentence — declined to offer testimony to a congressional panel, invoking her Fifth Amendment rights. She did, however, have an attorney suggest she might speak if offered clemency, a conditional statement that turned the committee hearing into a chessboard of legal and political maneuvering.

The optics were striking: a woman, filmed via video link from a prison setting in Texas, eyes down, choosing silence when asked about some of the most powerful names in modern finance and politics. For survivors following the hearings, the choice to remain quiet felt like a reopening of old wounds.

“When people in the courtroom or committees take the Fifth, it’s not just a legal tactic; it’s a message,” said a survivor advocate. “It tells victims that the mechanisms meant to give them voice are still clogged. We need more than rhetoric. We need concrete legal pathways to healing.”

Legislative ripples and a push for change

That push for change is visible on Capitol Hill. In response to the flood of material and the resurgent public questions, Democrats unveiled legislation aimed at extending the time window victims of sexual abuse and trafficking have to sue their abusers — an initiative framed as giving survivors an opportunity that the legal system sometimes denies them.

“We’re talking about restoring agency,” Senator Chuck Schumer said at a press event, standing beside survivors and lawmakers. He and Representative Teresa Leger Fernandez backed what has been called “Virginia’s Law,” honoring one of Epstein’s most vocal accusers and sending a signal that legal timelines should not be another barrier to justice.

The effort taps into a broader global trend: lawmakers are increasingly willing to revisit statutes of limitations for sexual violence. From #MeToo-era reforms to recent legislative moves in states and countries around the world, a cultural shift is underway about how societies measure justice over time.

Why this still matters — and why you should care

There is a natural temptation to tuck this story away into a drawer labeled “old scandals.” But the documents remind us of the ways power, secrecy, and social ritual can conspire to shield wrongdoing. They ask a stubborn question: what does accountability look like when the powerful behave as if they are beyond reproach?

What are we to make of a society where whispered knowledge can persist for years without intervention, and where proximity to money and influence seems to erode the boundaries that protect the vulnerable?

The stories in these files are not just about names on guest lists or lunches on islands. They are about communities — Palm Beach’s guarded promenades, a Caribbean isle ringed by coral and rumor, the courthouse corridors where survivors seek redress. They are about the countless small decisions that accumulate into a culture of impunity or one of responsibility.

As the hearings continue and as further documents are parsed by journalists and lawmakers, what we watch for next is not merely the next revelation but whether institutions — from the police to the courts to Cabinet offices — demonstrate the will to change. Will new laws translate into new realities? Will survivors finally get clearer paths to compensation and closure? Will public figures be judged not only by short-term loyalty but by long-term accountability?

Those questions are for more than Washington; they are for every community that believes it can be better than the sum of its powerful. So ask yourself: when evidence arrives that allows us to look again, how will we respond? With impatience for a new headline, or with the patience for reform that survivors deserve?

Behind the headlines lie human lives — messy, stubbornly resilient, and deserving of truth. The coming months will tell us if that truth, for once, is enough to reshape what follows.

Olympic medalist wins bronze, then admits affair during live TV interview

By

hanad

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February 11, 2026

Olympian wins bronze then confesses to affair on TV — Sturla Holm Laegreid of Team Norway poses for a picture during the medal ceremony

When a Bronze Medal Becomes a Confession: A Night of Glory and Reckoning on the Snow

There are images that lodge themselves into the public imagination: a man on a podium, breath steaming in the cold, a small bronze medal hanging against a Norway jacket, the national anthem already a distant echo. There was that image this week — Sturla Holm Laegreid standing under the lights after a biathlon race, damp-eyed and raw, clutching a small piece of metal and an even larger secret.

It was the kind of Olympic moment designed to be tidy — victory, elation, the tidy narratives broadcasters love. Instead, Laegreid transformed it into something messier and eerier: a public, tearful admission that he had betrayed the person he called “the love of my life,” and a plea for forgiveness broadcast into millions of living rooms. The confession immediately made headlines, but it also did something harder: it made the audience uncomfortable in a new way. How do we watch someone at the height of sport and then see them reach for absolution in the same breath?

More than skiing and shooting

Biathlon is a sport of contrasts — furious, lung-bursting cross-country skiing punctuated by pin-drop quiet at the shooting mat. It is also a sport that Norwegians treat like family business. On a cold evening, under flags that embroidered entire valleys and fjords into a sea of red, white and blue, fans cheered as Johan-Olav Botn took gold. Laegreid picked up bronze.

But trophies don’t arrive in emotional vacuums. The weeks leading up to the race had already been heavy: the Norwegian team was still reeling from the death of teammate Sivert Guttorm Bakken in December. “We’re carrying grief into each start line,” a veteran coach told me, voice low. “Every glide, every shot feels doubled.”

A confession in full view

Moments after the ceremony, Laegreid chose openness in a way few do. He described meeting someone he believed to be the person he wanted to spend his life with, then, with palpable shame, admitting he had made a mistake and ended that relationship by telling the truth. “I told her everything,” he said in an interview with Norwegian media. “I had to put it on the table. I have nothing to hide anymore.”

The words landed like a hand on a bell. Across social platforms, people replayed the clip — some sympathetic, others incredulous. In the athletes’ village and at cafés outside the venue, conversations flowed from split-second misses at targets to the moral calculus of public confession.

Voices from the crowd

“You could tell he meant it,” said Ingrid, a retired biathlete now coaching juniors in Oslo, who watched the race on a small TV at a training centre. “We teach them to be honest with their coaches, but not like that — not when the whole world is listening.”

A teammate who asked not to be named leaned against a wall, shaking his head. “He wanted to be clean. Maybe he thinks that makes him better. But this isn’t just about him. We’re teammates, we’re friends, and we’re human.”

On a bench outside a hotel a few kilometres from the stadium, an elderly fan with a knitted cap and weathered hands said quietly, “Everyone makes mistakes. It’s how you live after that matters. I hope she sees that.”

Sports, shame and the pressure cooker of fame

There’s a larger context here. Athletes operate in a pressure cooker: national expectation, intense training, and a spotlight that magnifies failure. Research into elite sport consistently finds that mental health challenges are real and common — many studies suggest that a substantial portion of elite athletes experience anxiety, depression, or distress at some point in their careers. When grief, isolation or the adrenaline of competition meet personal turmoil, decisions can be impulsive and confessions public.

“We’re seeing more athletes vocalise their struggles,” said Dr. Amalie Berg, a sports psychologist who has worked with Nordic athletes. “Transparency can be healthy, but the public dimension changes the calculus. People expect athletes to be role models, yet we also know they’re people with frailty and the very human need for forgiveness.”

What is forgiveness worth in public?

Laegreid’s plea was both brutally private and unmistakably public: he begged his partner for another chance, admitted that he regretted his actions “with all my heart,” and said he wanted to be a role model but had to own up to his failings. The paradox is sharp: by seeking privacy, he traded it for the potentially corrosive scrutiny of a global audience.

“Do we let people repair in public?” asked cultural commentator Hanna Lunde. “Or do we recognize that drama and confession are a spectacle that can harm both the confessor and the person they’ve wronged?”

Small details, big human truths

Walking through the village, I noticed small, telling things: a mother pinning a child’s Norwegian flag to a jacket; a barista layering brown cheese on toast for a tired volunteer; an elderly man wiping a tear as he scrolled through video clips. These are not grand statements, but they shape the backdrop of a human story. They remind us that sport is woven into ordinary life, and that when an athlete speaks, they are speaking into a full social world.

Biathlon basics: racers alternate fast cross-country skiing with four shooting bouts, alternating between prone and standing positions.
Punishment for missed targets can be extra distance or time — pressure intensifies as the race progresses.
For nations like Norway, biathlon is not just a sport; it is a cultural heartbeat during winter months.

Beyond the headlines

So what do we take from a confession that sits on the border between honesty and spectacle? First, the undeniable humanity: a gifted athlete, grieving, imperfect, looking for repair. Second, the questions it exposes about celebrity, privacy, and the ethics of watching.

Laegreid’s story doesn’t have a tidy ending. He walked away with a medal and an ocean of commentary. He also carries a private reckoning that will not be solved by social media applause or criticism. “I am taking the consequences,” he said. “I regret it. I want to be better.”

What would you do?

Maybe the most uncomfortable question we can ask ourselves is simple: if someone you loved made a public confession and asked for your forgiveness, would the public nature of that apology help you heal — or would it wound you further? It’s a question that cuts across lovers, fans, and citizens. It asks us what we want from our heroes: perfection or honesty, spectacle or privacy, punishment or a path toward redemption.

In the end, the image that will stay with me is small and human: Laegreid, shoulders heavy beneath a medal, voice breaking, choosing transparency in a moment when most would choose radio silence. Whether that choice leads to reconciliation or deeper rupture remains to be seen. But the scene will, for a long time, be a reminder that behind every polished performance, there are messy, ordinary lives that deserve the same compassion we ask for ourselves.

Caqabado hareeyay shirka dowladda iyo Golaha Mustaqbalka ee Muqdisho

By

aden

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February 11, 2026

Feb 11(Jowhar)-Wararka naga soo gaaraya magaalada Muqdisho ayaa ku warramaya in durba ay caqabado hareeyeen shirka mucaaradka iyo dowladda ee la filayo inuu beri ka furmo magaalada Muqdisho.

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Markab dagaal oo Turkigu leeyahay oo ku soo xirtey dekeda Muqdisho

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Mahad

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February 11, 2026

Feb 11(Jowhar)-Markab dagaal oo lagu magacaabo TCG SANCAKTAR, oo ka mid ah maraakiibta dagaalka ee Ciidamada Badda Turkiga ayaa maanta soo gaaray magaalada Muqdisho.

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Bad Bunny attracts 128 million viewers with Super Bowl performance

By

hanad

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February 11, 2026

Bad Bunny draws 128m viewers for Super Bowl show — Bad Bunny's half-time show was the fourth most-watched Super Bowl performance in the United States

A Night in Black and Red: When Bad Bunny Turned the Super Bowl into a Puerto Rican Callejón

There are images that linger: a sea of phones held high like lanterns, a stage wrapped in neon and reggaetón drums that felt like a heartbeat across an ocean. When Benito Antonio Martínez Ocasio—known to most of the world as Bad Bunny—stepped into the Super Bowl limelight, he did not deliver a pop-music interlude. He opened a window onto Puerto Rico’s sound, swagger, and stubborn joy, singing almost entirely in Spanish for roughly 15 pulsing minutes that many viewers say they will not soon forget.

“It felt like my abuelo was in the stands,” said Marisol Vega, a nurse from San Juan who watched the broadcast with her family. “We danced, we cried, and when he sang in Spanish we all sang back. That stage became our street.”

On the scoreboard, the night belonged to the Seattle Seahawks, who beat the New England Patriots 29–13 in a competitive rematch of the 2015 final. But on the turf—on the stage suspended between the halves—the evening belonged to a cultural reckoning and to a young artist who has made language and identity central to his art.

How Big Was It? The Numbers That Matter

It wasn’t just emotion that measured the moment. Nielsen’s Big Data + Panel system reports the half-time show averaged 128.2 million viewers across television and streaming platforms in the United States—making it the fourth most-watched Super Bowl performance in the nation’s history. Only Kendrick Lamar’s 2025 set, Michael Jackson’s epochal show, and Usher’s high-energy performance sit above it on that list.

The game itself drew an average audience of about 124.9 million viewers in the U.S., slightly down from the previous year’s championship. But social-media metrics tell a story of global reach: NBC and Ripple Analytics tallied a staggering four billion social-media views of Bad Bunny’s half-time appearance within the first 24 hours. More than half—roughly 55%—of those engagements came from outside the United States, underscoring the worldwide appetite for music that speaks in other tongues.

Halftime average U.S. viewers: 128.2 million
Game average U.S. viewers: 124.9 million
Social media views in 24 hours: approximately 4 billion
International share of NFL social views: ~55%

“This is a reminder that culture is global,” said Dr. Ana Rodríguez, a professor of Latinx Studies at Columbia University. “When artists perform in Spanish on the biggest American stages, they are not excluding English speakers—they are insisting on the multilingual reality of contemporary audiences.”

Stars, Cameos, and a Carnival of Reactions

Bad Bunny’s set featured a constellation of collaborators—Ricky Martin and Lady Gaga provided high-impact guest spots, while brief cameos from Cardi B, Jessica Alba, and Pedro Pascal added star-struck moments that felt like a Hollywood wink to the mainstream. Cameras cut to fans who had painted faces with Puerto Rican flags, to couples swaying shoulder to shoulder, to older generations watching younger ones reclaim a cultural lineage on national television.

Ricky Martin later posted about the performance, describing a rush of gratitude and emotion. “Standing on that stage, surrounded by that music, reminded me why we sing,” he wrote, noting that the night felt both intimate and monumental.

Lady Gaga, who joined the spectacle, told reporters backstage, “There’s nothing like music in your mother tongue. Benito invited us into his home, and the world was invited too.” Her social posts—photos of behind-the-scenes embraces and shared smiles—underscored a camaraderie that many viewers found heartening.

Beyond the Music: Politics, Protest, and an Alternative Stream

Not everyone received the show warmly. In a country where art and politics increasingly clash, the decision to have a Spanish-language-heavy performance prompted outspoken criticism from conservative quarters. Former President Donald Trump called the set “absolutely terrible” on social media, calling it “a slap in the face” to the country—comments that only fanned the flames of debate.

Conservative nonprofit Turning Point USA organized an alternative half-time broadcast headlined by Kid Rock. The group’s stream peaked at around five million simultaneous viewers on YouTube and has since accumulated more than 21 million views on its channel. By comparison, the NFL’s own official post of Bad Bunny’s performance had amassed more than 62 million views on YouTube within days.

“We wanted to offer a counter-programming option,” said a Turning Point organizer who spoke on condition of anonymity. “People should have choices.”

That pushback, and the fervent support, reveal how a pop-culture moment can become a mirror for national anxieties: about language, about who is seen as authentically “American,” and about the role of live spectacle in shaping identity.

What This Means for Language, Identity, and the Global Stage

Bad Bunny’s ascent to global stardom—propelled earlier by last year’s sixth studio album, which won album of the year at the Grammys as a record sung entirely in Spanish—has been both commercial and cultural. At the Grammys he used his acceptance speech to call for compassion on immigration enforcement, urging authorities to “opt for love” in cities where communities live in fear. Whether you agreed with his politics or not, you could not deny the force of his platform.

“This was not just performance; it was visibility,” said Javier Morales, owner of a small music shop in Boston’s South End, where fans gathered after the game to trade reactions. “For our kids to see someone singing in Spanish on this stage—it matters. Languages should not be gatekept. They should be celebrated.”

The NFL’s embrace of global audiences has been deliberate: international games, multilingual marketing, and a concerted push into streaming markets. The halftime viewership and social numbers suggest those efforts are paying off, even as they ignite cultural debates at home.

Questions to Sit With

As you scroll past highlight reels and think pieces in the days after, consider this: what does it mean when a massive American institution showcases an artist who foregrounds a non-English language? Is it a sign of pluralism, a commercial calculation, or both? And when millions worldwide watch in adoration while a loud minority decries the same performance as un-American, what does that say about our shared cultural future?

Art never exists in a vacuum. It carries the freight of history, migration, and longing. On this Super Bowl Sunday, as reggaetón beats reverberated from Miami’s stadium to living rooms across continents, a distinct truth was on display: culture travels faster than borderlines and louder than political rhetoric.

“Music is the place where we can meet without words sometimes,” Bad Bunny said in an earlier interview this season. If last night was any indication, millions arrived ready to meet—speaking different tongues but humming the same chorus.

Nine dead, 27 wounded in Canadian school and home shootings

By

hanad

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February 11, 2026

Nine killed, 27 injured in Canada school, home shootings — Seven people were shot dead at Tumbler Ridge High School

Tumbler Ridge: When a Quiet Valley Lost Its Silence

They call it a picturesque place for a reason: pine-scented mornings, a slow ribbon of highway through foothills that roll into the Rockies, and a tight knot of people who know one another’s children by name. Tumbler Ridge is the sort of town where the barista remembers your order and the high-school teacher is also the hockey coach. It has roughly 2,400 souls and an ordinary rhythm—until, on a winter afternoon, that rhythm was torn open.

By evening, nine people were dead and 27 more wounded. Seven of the dead were found at Tumbler Ridge Secondary School; two others were discovered at a nearby residence that police say may be connected. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police said two injuries were serious and 25 were non-life-threatening. The suspected shooter appears to have taken their own life at the school, authorities said, but they refused to release identifying details.

The scene

Imagine a mechanics classroom with the smell of oil, tools hanging on the wall, and a row of students bent over projects. That’s where, according to accounts emerging from the town, lockdown announcements crackled through speakers and then a surreal waiting—not knowing, then a terrifying realization. “At first I thought it was an exercise,” one student later recalled. “Then my phone blew up with photos. That’s when it hit me—this was real.”

Residents described police moving methodically through the school, ordering hands up before guiding students outside. Elsewhere, officers found two more bodies in a home believed to be linked to the rampage. The northern district commander, RCMP’s Ken Floyd, called the situation “rapidly evolving and dynamic” and acknowledged the emotional toll on a community that had to watch as the worst possible thing happened in a place where worst-case scenarios were usually discussed at kitchen tables with a shake of the head and a laugh.

Voices from the valley

“There are no words sufficient for the heartbreak our community is experiencing tonight,” the town’s municipality said. That official sorrow was echoed in messages from the highest offices: Prime Minister Mark Carney said he was “devastated,” postponed a planned trip to an international conference, and offered condolences to families and friends. British Columbia Premier David Eby called the violence “unimaginable,” while federal opposition leader Pierre Poilievre described it as a “senseless act of violence.”

Amid statements from politicians and police, the everyday voices of Tumbler Ridge gave the tragedy texture. A parent waiting at a school parking lot described the moment they learned: “I ran to the school like a fool, shoes half on. You want answers and there aren’t any. You want to see your kid and you can’t.” A teacher, still in shock, said, “We teach kids how to read and write and dream. Tonight we had to teach them how to get to a safe corner.”

On the police force’s social channels, condolences poured in: “We are thinking of the community of Tumbler Ridge… Our hearts are with the victims,” the RCMP wrote, a brief message carrying the weight of an entire city’s grief.

More than numbers: the ripple of trauma

Statistics reduce lives to a ledger—and yet statistics matter. Nine lives lost, 27 people wounded. For a town of 2,400, that is not an abstract percentage; it is a ripple that sweeps through nearly every household. The cafeteria where students once traded jokes will now be a place where memories of laughter jostle next to images of sirens. The grocery aisle where someone once bumped you and said, “Sorry,” will become a corridor of shared sorrow.

How do you grieve when your community school, the place that hosted graduation photos and science fairs, is now a crime scene? Experts in trauma recovery say rural places face unique challenges: fewer mental health resources, long travel distances for specialized care, and a cultural tendency to keep pain private. “Small towns feel these losses more deeply because everyone is connected,” said an academic who studies community trauma. “The map of grief includes that entire town.”

What happens next?

Police say they will continue searching other homes and properties in the area, looking for any additional sites connected to the incident. Investigators are piecing together how the violence unfolded, why it happened where it did, and whether anything could have prevented it.

In the meantime, the community must reckon with immediate needs: medical care for the injured, counseling for students and families, and the practicalities of funerals and financial support. Local churches, volunteer groups, and neighbors have already mobilized—offering shelter, hot meals, and rides for people who feel like their foundations have been rearranged overnight.

9 dead, including 7 at the school
27 wounded (2 serious, 25 non-life-threatening)
2 additional dead found at a residence believed to be linked
Suspected shooter reported to have died by apparent suicide at the school

Context and questions

Mass shootings are rare in Canada, a country that has far lower rates of gun violence than some of its neighbors, but rare is not the same as impossible. In April of a recent year, Canada was shocked when 11 people were killed in a vehicle attack in Vancouver that targeted a cultural festival—an event that, even years later, is still being mourned and learned from.

What should communities and policymakers learn from tragedies like this? Are there ways to shore up safety without turning schools into fortresses? How do we balance privacy, mental-health care, and preventative measures? These are thorny, urgent questions that will now be part of an already difficult conversation across BC and the country.

As night fell over the valley, the stars burned their indifferent fires. Yet in living rooms and corners of cafés, people gathered to talk, to cry, to remember. A local volunteer coordinator summed it up in a voice that trembled but remained steady: “We will get through this because we have to—and because we always have. But the way we come together afterward will shape who we are for years.”

To the reader

What would you offer a town after a blow like this? What does safety mean in a small community? Take a moment to breathe for the families who have lost people they loved, and to consider how public policies, mental-health services, and community ties might be strengthened so fewer towns have to learn this lesson the hard way.

Tumbler Ridge will hold vigils, plans for memorials will be sketched, and, in many small ways, life will try to resume. But this valley will carry new scars, and the sounds of its silence will be a call to understand, prevent, and heal.

Shabaab oo diyaarado Drone ah u isticmaalay dagaalkii u danbeeyay ee Jamaame

By

aden

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February 11, 2026

Feb 11(Jowhar)-Sida ay xaqiijinayaan ilo wareedyo amni dagaalkii ka dhacay deegaanka Maanbile (duleedka Jamaame ee dhexmaray ciidanka JL & kooxda Argagixiso) waxay muujinayaan in kooxaha Argagixisada ay adeegsadeen diyaarado drone ah, oo qaar qaraxyo lagu xiray, qaarna sirdoon ahaan loo isticmaalay, balse la soo riday.

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