Commissioner warns a military takeover of Greenland would dissolve NATO

January 13, 2026

Greenland military takeover would end NATO - commissioner — The EU's defence commissioner said that any move against Greenland would be 'very negative'

When an Island Becomes a Diplomatic Hotspot: Greenland, Guns, and the Future of NATO

Walk the icy streets of Nuuk at dusk and you can taste the steel of the Arctic air—sea salt, diesel, and the faint tang of seals simmering in pots at back-alley kitchens. Children race on scooters past murals of hunters and humpback whales; satellite dishes bloom like flowers on corrugated roofs. Greenland is small in people but vast in story, and right now its future has become a flashpoint for a larger global conversation about power, law, and belonging.

What would you do if a superpower stared across the ocean and said, bluntly, “We want that land — one way or another”? That’s the scenario Danish leaders and defence ministers across Europe are grappling with as headlines about President Trump’s repeated suggestions to “take” Greenland have refused to die. The rhetoric has sparked more than headlines: it has ignited meetings in Reykjavik, Stockholm, Brussels and Washington, and it has provoked a rare, broad chorus of European disapproval.

The stakes — why Greenland matters

Greenland is 2.16 million square kilometres of ice, rock and midnight sun — and, increasingly, of strategic value. It sits astride the North Atlantic, guarding sea lanes that are becoming more navigable as the Arctic warms, and it hosts the Thule Air Base, a linchpin for missile warning and early-space surveillance. Beneath its ice lie minerals and rare earths that a modern economy prizes. Climate scientists warn that the Arctic is warming faster than much of the planet — a phenomenon called Arctic amplification — opening previously frozen seas to ships and submarines alike.

“If Greenland were to be seized by force, it wouldn’t be a problem between two nations,” Andrius Kubilius, the EU’s Commissioner for Defence and Space, told a security conference in Sweden. “It would be the end of NATO.” The words landed like a dropped glacier: constitutional, treaty-bound, and yet terrifyingly possible in the fevered logic of great-power chess.

Voices from capitals and from the docks

In Copenhagen, Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen framed the controversy as more than a geopolitical spat. “This is a decisive moment,” she said in public comments ahead of talks in Washington. “We are ready to defend our values — including in the Arctic. We believe in international law and in the right of people to decide their future.” Those words were echoed by leaders across Europe: Sweden’s prime minister called the rhetoric “threatening,” Germany committed to greater responsibility in Arctic security, and a coalition of seven European states signed a letter insisting Greenland’s destiny belongs to Greenlanders and Denmark alone.

On the wind-scoured wharves of Ilulissat, where iceberg tongues glitter in the late light, locals speak with more personal alarm than diplomatic nuance. “We are not a chess piece,” said Aqqalu, a fisherman who asked that only his first name be used. “Our fathers hunted here, our children will live here. You do not just buy a home from its people.” In a café in Nuuk, a teacher named Sara shrugged and said, half-joking, half-frightened: “Imagine someone coming and telling you they can take your kitchen. That is how this feels.”

Polls consistently show Greenlanders are overwhelmingly opposed to being transferred to another sovereign power. While precise numbers vary, independent surveys have documented deep scepticism about any sale or transfer, with many citing a history of Danish colonial rule that lingers in memory and in policy.

Alliances, law, and the fragile scaffolding of order

NATO has long been the network through which North America and Europe coordinate defence. The suggestion that the United States might seize territory from an ally — even if framed as a security necessity — challenges the bedrock assumption that alliances protect members from each other’s appetites. “If a member were to take such unilateral action, it would tear at the very fabric of collective defence,” said a retired NATO strategist who asked not to be named. “We are not just talking bases and missiles. We are asking whether the rules that bind states are still strong enough to stop the biggest among them from acting alone.”

At a defence conference in Sweden, NATO commanders acknowledged the rising importance of the Arctic. “There is no immediate threat to NATO territory,” General Alexus Grynkewich noted, describing ongoing military activity from Russia and China as cause for attention rather than alarm. But talk of “no immediate threat” does not comfort communities that live on the frontlines of climate change and strategic competition.

What the maps don’t show

Maps flatten stories. They cannot capture the warmth of a Greenlandic living room, the collection of whalebone carvings in a trading post, or the legal pathways that produced Greenland’s home rule in 1979 and enhanced self-government in 2009. They also don’t show the practicalities of sovereignty: who runs education, who manages fish quotas, and who negotiates with mining companies seeking the rare earths and uranium tucked into Greenland’s bedrock.

“People forget there are negotiations that happen every day,” said Anja, a municipal planner in Sisimiut. “We are discussing schools, water, and infrastructure. These are the things that determine our lives more than any headline.” She laughed softly. “But headlines shape the air we breathe, too.”

Global ripples

Why should a reader in Nairobi, São Paulo, or Seoul care about a potential dispute over a distant, icy island? Because Greenland is part of a web of emerging pressures: great-power competition, climate change that rearranges trade routes and resources, and norms around sovereignty and coercion. If one powerful country can take territory from an ally because it says “security” demands it, what does that say to smaller nations watching their borders and resources?

And there is the climate connection. As Greenland loses ice — the island has contributed significantly to global sea-level rise over recent decades — the physical geography that made its remoteness a buffer is changing. Warmer waters, new shipping lanes, and expanded access to minerals make the Arctic a strategic theatre, not a frozen backwater.

Where do we go from here?

European diplomats are not idly issuing press releases. Meetings in Brussels, Reykjavik and London have focused on clarifying defence commitments and strengthening legal protections; ministers are discussing practical steps to ensure the Arctic remains secure for all who live there. “We will protect what is at stake here — together,” a Western European foreign minister said at a closed briefing.

At street level, Greenlanders continue their quiet stewardship: repairing nets, teaching traditional songs in schools, debating self-determination in municipal halls. Their voice — not geopolitical grandstanding — will be the vital piece in any future. That is the simplest, most radical assertion in this drama: that sovereignty is not a commodity to be traded in backrooms, but a living relationship between people and place.

So ask yourself: how do we balance legitimate security concerns with respect for the decisions of small communities? How do global powers avoid treating territories like chess pieces? The answers are not military alone. They require diplomacy, respect for international law, and listening to the people who call Greenland home.

In the end, whether alliances hold or fray will depend on how states choose to interpret their neighbours — as partners bound by shared rules, or as rivals to outmaneuver. Greenland’s icy shores are watching us all. Will we learn to be better neighbours?

Key factors determining Iran’s future: politics, economy, and regional dynamics

hanad

January 13, 2026

What are the factors determining Iran's future? — An Iranian flag over the Iranian capital, Tehran

A country at a crossroads: Streets that refuse to be silenced

Walk through a Tehran market at dusk and you can still smell the saffron and frying flatbread — ordinary life threaded through the extraordinary. But over the last fortnight, those alleys and plazas have pulsed with something else: chants, the clang of rolling shutters being pulled shut, the echo of slogans that used to be whispered. What began in small demonstrations has rippled into one of the most sustained bursts of dissent Iran has seen in years.

“We are not just angry about prices anymore,” said a young woman who gave her name as Laleh, speaking quietly in a side street near the bazaar. “We want dignity. We want a say.” Her voice was soft but steady, the kind of voice that has been heard in squares across the country for days.

From breadlines to bold demands

The current wave of unrest has its roots in bread-and-butter grievances — soaring costs, shrinking job prospects, and a currency that has bled value over decades of sanctions and economic mismanagement. But it has taken a sharper turn. Protesters are no longer limited to economic demands; many are openly challenging the political order born in 1979, calling into question the authority of clerical rule and the system that sustains it.

Analysts watching the movement note the unusual mix of people on the streets: young women, shopkeepers, students, and older men who remember other moments of national upheaval. The protests began with strikes at Tehran’s bazaar late last month and quickly spread to other cities. Where past demonstrations swirled around a single spark — the disputed election protests of 2009, or the 2022 unrest after Mahsa Amini’s death in custody — this moment carries a broader, more systemic energy.

The numbers that matter — and those we don’t fully know

Exact figures are always hard to pin down in a fast-moving protest environment, and the authorities’ usual tactic of throttling or cutting internet access has made verifying on-the-ground claims difficult. Human rights groups say the crackdown has been lethal — with reports of hundreds killed — though access and reliable counts remain constrained.

“There’s a fog of information,” said a digital rights researcher who asked not to be named. “When networks vanish, the world loses its windows into the streets.” Yet even with restricted communications, images and voices filter out: tear-streaked faces, empty university lecture halls, and shopfronts closed by defiant owners.

The state’s response: force, rhetoric, and theatre

The Iranian state has mobilised its instruments of control quickly and visibly. Security forces and the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) have been deployed in cities large and small. Official media has broadcast counter-rallies where thousands gather in fervent support of the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, who has been the country’s highest authority since 1989.

“The government moves like a colossus,” said a political scientist watching from abroad. “It has deep institutional muscle — from security services to state broadcasters — and it has used those levers to stifle dissent before.”

At the same time, Tehran’s authorities have sought to reclaim the narrative. State channels have framed the protests as the product of foreign interference, while religious and local officials appear on television urging calm and loyalty. Back at the bazaar, a grocer named Farhad pointed to a radio and said, “They tell us to be careful of outsiders. But it’s our sons and daughters in the street.”

Cracks — real or imagined?

For any protest movement to translate into political change, observers say, there must be fractures within the institutions of power and the security apparatus. So far, those pillars — parliament, the executive, and the IRGC — have publicly lined up behind Khamenei. There is no clear sign of mass defections among the security forces or a decisive split at the top.

“History teaches us that elites breaking ranks is usually the decisive moment,” said an academic who studies revolutions. “Absent that, regimes are resilient. They withstand even prolonged unrest.”

Yet resilience is not unassailable. Some analysts argue the state has been weakened by years of economic strain, international isolation, and the political scars left by the 1980–88 Iran–Iraq war. The calculus changes if key military or clerical figures recalibrate their allegiance; until then, the balance of power favors the incumbents.

What the diaspora and opposition figures are doing

From Los Angeles to London, Iranians in exile have been vocal. Reza Pahlavi, the son of the deposed shah and a polarising figure among the diaspora, has urged larger demonstrations and occasionally appeared as a symbol for monarchy-leaning chants on the streets inside Iran. But the exiled opposition remains fractured — decades of exile politics have splintered into competing factions.

“You can have the loudest voice abroad, but it won’t replace organised leadership on the ground,” a longtime Iran watcher said. “The diaspora is a chorus with many singers, not a single conductor.”

Voices from the street: anger, hope, fear

A mother named Mahsa (not the same woman whose 2022 death sparked earlier protests) stood outside a school in Shiraz and watched a convoy of police cars pass. “I walked with my children today,” she said, “because if we do not demand something now, what will our children inherit?” Her hands shook when she spoke of fear — but there was also a fierceness there.

On the other side of town, at a pro-government rally, a factory worker named Reza told a reporter, “My family relies on stability to keep food on the table. I don’t want chaos.” These are two sides of the same coin: both anxious about the future, both desperately searching for security.

Why the world is watching — and why it matters

What happens in Iran has ripple effects far beyond its borders. The country sits at the crossroads of the Middle East’s long-standing geopolitical rivalries. An internal meltdown or a prolonged, blood-soaked stalemate would deepen regional instability. Western capitals watch for two things in particular: whether the IRGC fractures and whether foreign powers might be drawn into direct confrontation.

Some voices in the West have suggested sanctions or diplomatic pressure; others have hinted at the spectre of military involvement. A direct external intervention, analysts warn, would fundamentally alter the dynamic — likely in ways that would hurt ordinary Iranians most.

Where do we go from here?

No crystal ball exists for a country as complex and tightly controlled as Iran. The immediate future will be shaped by three interlocking threads: the persistence and organisation of protesters, the cohesion of security forces, and the response of the international community. Each thread is frayed and uncertain.

So I ask you, reader: when citizens rise not only for cheaper bread but for broader political dignity, how should the world balance solidarity with prudence? How do you support human rights without becoming a footnote in someone else’s war?

For Iranians on the ground, choices are more immediate and raw. Do they push, retreat, or endure a long, grinding contest of wills? The answer will not come in a day — and yet, on streets where voices once whispered, the sound of speaking up now rings clear. The rest of the world can listen, learn, and hope that whatever comes next reduces suffering and expands the space for ordinary lives to flourish.

Trump warns Minnesota faces an impending day of reckoning

hanad

January 13, 2026

Day of reckoning coming for Minnesota, says Trump — A memorial to Renee Nicole Good outside the US embassy in Berlin

When a City Grieves: How One Killing Brought Federal Agents, Lawsuits and a Global Call for Answers

On a January evening that should have been ordinary—a mother dropping off a child, a community lighting candles—the air in Minneapolis snapped like a wire. Grief arrived first: quiet vigils, flowers pressed into sidewalks, photographs taped to lamp posts. Then came the questions, louder than the sirens: How did a routine immigration operation end with the death of a woman named Renee Nicole Good? Why were heavily armed federal agents deployed across a state that had not asked for them? And who gets to decide how public safety is enforced in America’s towns and cities?

The shooting set off a cascade of reactions that reached from neighborhood corners to the marble halls of state government, and overseas to the United Nations. What began as an individual tragedy became a national flashpoint—raising fresh arguments about immigration policy, federal power, and the use of force by agents whose presence many Midwesterners say they never invited.

A City Without Answers

Renee Good, a mother of three, was killed in Minneapolis on 7 January during an encounter with a federal immigration officer. Her death has been followed by protests in cities from Minneapolis to New York, by vigils that will not let the story go, and by a demand that is straightforward and unyielding: an independent, transparent investigation.

“We want truth,” said Marisol Jensen, who brought a bouquet to a vigil outside the station house. “Not a press release, not a filtered video. We want the camera footage, we want the autopsy, and we want people who actually live here involved in the investigation.”

The federal government has said it will investigate through the FBI, while state and local leaders have criticized that approach, arguing that leaving locals out of the inquiry undermines trust and accountability. Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison has taken the dispute to court, filing suit against the Biden-Harris administration’s recent deployment of immigration officers to the state—an action he calls an unconstitutional and dangerous “invasion.”

The Surge: Politics, Power and Presence

In recent days, the Department of Homeland Security moved a surge of immigration officers into Minnesota, a state with Democratic leadership and a history of fraught police-community relations. Officials in the state have described the influx as aggressive and poorly coordinated, telling reporters that armed agents—some of them unfamiliar with local neighborhoods—have unsettled residents and strained relations with community organizations that are vital to public safety.

“Thousands of poorly trained, aggressive and armed agents have rolled into our communities,” Minnesota’s attorney general told a press conference, capturing a sentiment heard from neighborhood associations and community clinics. “This is, in essence, a federal invasion.”

Federal authorities say the operation is part of a national push to arrest individuals with criminal records or outstanding immigration violations. In recent years, immigration enforcement has involved a complex web of federal agencies, with hundreds of field offices and thousands of personnel across the country. ICE itself employs a workforce that includes several thousand enforcement officers, and budgets for enforcement have been a flashpoint in debates over immigration policy and civil liberties.

Voices from the Street

On a chilly Saturday, protesters filled a stretch of downtown Minneapolis, their signs a collage of grief and fury. A woman in a winter coat shouted into a megaphone: “No mother should be taken like this!” Nearby, a retired schoolteacher, clutching a thermos, reflected on why the community had come together.

“We live side-by-side with people who are undocumented,” she said. “They are our neighbors, our kids’ coaches, the people who stack shelves and teach our kids. We asked for safety, not occupation.”

Not everyone spoke solely about policy. Some told stories about Renee—an image of a woman who loved music, who cheered at her children’s games, who collected recipe cards. Those humanizing details made the abstract debates about federal power feel sharper, more immediate.

From Local Dispute to International Concern

The killing did not merely reverberate nationally; it drew the attention of the United Nations. The UN human rights office urged a “prompt, independent and transparent” investigation, reminding the United States of international obligations that limit the intentional use of lethal force to cases of last resort when an imminent threat to life is present. The office also cautioned against inflammatory rhetoric and urged de-escalation measures amid high tensions.

“Under international human rights law, lethal force must be strictly necessary and proportionate,” a UN spokesman told reporters in Geneva. “We take note of domestic investigations, but we reiterate the need for impartial reviews that inspire public confidence.”

The Political Crossfire

The fallout has predictably spilled into the political arena. The former president took a combative tone online, framing the operation as long overdue and promising “reckoning” for what he described as lawlessness. State leaders, including Minneapolis’ mayor, Jacob Frey, have suggested the choice to deploy forces in Minnesota was politically motivated—directed at a Democratic-led state rather than Republican ones with comparable or larger undocumented populations.

“If the goal were simply to find people who lack papers, you’d see them in Florida and Texas and Utah,” Frey said. “Minnesota’s being targeted for its leadership and its diversity.”

As litigation proceeds—Minnesota is not alone; Illinois has also filed suit—lawyers on both sides argue over statutory authority, the reach of federal agencies, and the constitutional protections that states say federal actions threaten.

What Experts Say

Professor Amara Singh, an immigration law scholar at a Midwestern university, says the case touches on long-standing tensions in American federalism.

“There’s a real legal question about preemption and the limits of federal operations in state jurisdictions,” Singh said. “Courts will be looking at whether the federal government followed its own rules and whether it collaborated with local authorities. But beyond the legalism, there’s a social cost: deploying armed agents en masse erodes trust, which we know is essential for communities to report crimes and cooperate with public safety efforts.”

Public health and mental health advocates have also raised concerns about rhetoric that frames people as “dangerous” or locates blame in mental health institutions overseas—language that can stigmatize people with psychiatric histories and conflates illness with criminality.

Questions Forward

What does accountability look like in a democracy when federal power meets local trust? How do communities balance the desire for safety with the imperative that enforcement be fair, transparent and humane? And how should officials investigate when the parties to an incident include those who represent national authority and those who live every day among the affected communities?

As Minnesota’s courts prepare to challenge federal moves, as families and neighbors mourn, and as the world watches a country that often exports lessons on law and liberty, residents ask a simpler question: will we ever see the whole story?

“Justice isn’t a tweet,” said a community organizer at a downtown meeting. “It takes cameras, it takes witnesses, it takes independent exams—and it takes time. But time feels like a luxury when a life has been taken.”

Final Thoughts

On the street where candles glow and signs flutter, the debate continues—not only about borders and enforcement but about what kind of society we want to be. The path from tragedy to reform is messy and long. Yet every protest, every courtroom filing, every appeal for an independent investigation is part of a larger conversation about power, responsibility and human dignity.

Will the answer come from law or from community? From the judge’s gavel or the neighbor’s testimony? The question now belongs to all of us—because the values we defend in a crisis define us after it passes.

BBC launches bid to get Trump’s defamation lawsuit dismissed

hanad

January 13, 2026

BBC to take steps to dismiss Trump's defamation lawsuit — Panorama faced criticism late last year over an episode broadcast in 2024

When a BBC Clip Becomes a $10 Billion Storm: A Global Moment for Journalism and the Courts

Late one damp evening in London, the hum of computers in a BBC newsroom felt, temporarily, like the eye of a storm. Producers who have spent decades chasing stories across continents were suddenly parsing legal filings. Somewhere in Florida, a courthouse would become the unlikely battleground for a dispute that stretches from a television edit to questions about free speech, jurisdiction and the future of international journalism.

The dispute is simple in outline but gargantuan in consequence: US President Donald Trump is seeking up to $10 billion in damages, alleging that a Panorama documentary spliced a segment of his January 6, 2021, remarks in a way that falsely suggested he encouraged the crowd to storm the US Capitol. The BBC, in response, has filed for the suit to be dismissed, arguing that a Florida court lacks the power—and the legal basis—to try a broadcaster based in the UK for a program produced and aired in Britain.

A clip, a caption, a courtroom

On that chaotic day in 2021, Mr. Trump addressed supporters in Washington. In footage later used by Panorama, the sentence fragments — “We’re going to walk down to the Capitol … and I’ll be there with you and we fight” — were juxtaposed and edited in a way that one side says distorted the sequence and meaning. For Mr. Trump, the edit is damning. His legal team calls the segment “false and defamatory” and has attached jaw-dropping damages: $10 billion, a number that reads less like compensation and more like a strategic sledgehammer.

“This isn’t just about one clip,” said Rebecca Porter, a spokesperson for the former president’s campaign, in an email statement. “It’s about accountability — when a major broadcaster reshapes a public figure’s words and distributes that version internationally, there must be consequences.”

BBC’s defense: jurisdiction, venue, and malice

But the BBC’s reply is precise and procedural. In a motion filed in Florida late on a UK evening, the corporation argued the court lacks “personal jurisdiction” over it, that the venue is “improper,” and that the complaint “fails to state a claim.” The broadcaster also pushed back on an assertion central to the plaintiff’s case: the claim that the episode was available in the United States via BritBox.

“The BBC did not create, produce, or broadcast this documentary in Florida,” said Emma Davies, a BBC legal adviser, through a written statement. “The programme was made in the UK for a UK audience. We will vigorously defend our journalism and the integrity of Panorama’s long record of investigative reporting.”

Crucially, under American defamation law, a public official must show “actual malice” to succeed — that the broadcaster either knew the statement was false or acted with reckless disregard for the truth. The BBC’s filings assert that Mr. Trump has not plausibly alleged such malice.

Legal experts say that requirement, established by the landmark 1964 US Supreme Court decision New York Times Co. v. Sullivan, is a high bar. “For a plaintiff who is a public figure or officeholder, ‘actual malice’ is not a synonym for bad judgment,” explains Dr. Marina López, a media law scholar at King’s College London. “It’s a very specific and demanding legal standard designed to protect vigorous public debate.”

What the BBC wants now

Beyond dismissal, the BBC has asked the court to pause all discovery—the pre-trial phase where lawyers subpoena documents and take depositions—until the judge rules on whether the case should proceed. In effect, that’s a bid to avoid the intrusive and expensive trawl of internal emails and editorial notes that would come with litigation in an American forum.

A trial date in 2027 has been penciled in should the case survive the threshold motions. Until then, the theatrics of court calendars, jurisdictional doctrines and pleading standards will play out in filings rather than public hearings.

Why this matters beyond a single program

At first glance this is a dispute about one segment of television. Look closer, and you see a collision of legal systems, media ecosystems and political theatre. How do courts decide when a national broadcaster is subject to a foreign court’s power? When does global distribution of journalism equal consent to be hauled into distant lawsuits?

BritBox, the streaming service through which many British programs reach international viewers, is central to the jurisdictional debate. The BBC disputes that this Panorama episode was made available to US subscribers there; Mr. Trump’s filings say otherwise. The truth of that assertion could determine whether a Florida court has the authority to adjudicate the claim.

This fight also sits against a recent backdrop of high-profile defamation litigation in the US. Consider Dominion Voting Systems’ successful suit that led to a settlement of roughly $787 million with Fox — the size of that settlement showed how costly claims can become when amplified by national media distribution. Yet $10 billion, as sought here, would dwarf nearly every modern defamation award and would mark a new scale in the law of reputational harm.

Voices from both sides of the Atlantic

“We’ve been careful in our reporting,” said Julian Carter, a veteran producer who worked on political documentaries for more than two decades. “Panorama has a legacy stretching back to 1953 — we know what is at stake when you put an edit on air. It’s terrifying to think an editorial decision could bring a British public broadcaster into prolonged litigation in the US.”

Across the Atlantic, the question of court access matters to ordinary people, too. “I’m a small-business owner in Jacksonville,” said Marco Rivera, pausing outside a courthouse. “If American courts are open to suits about broadcasts made abroad, what stops someone from suing any podcast I post about politics?”

For civil liberties advocates, there’s a deeper anxiety. “Strategic lawsuits against public participation—SLAPPs—use legal systems to silence critics,” says Aisha Khan, an attorney with an international free-speech NGO. “Even if the BBC wins a dismissal, the cost and distraction of discovery can chill future reporting.”

What should readers take away?

So what should we notice as this story unfolds across legal briefs and transatlantic news cycles? First, that the law isn’t merely a technical backdrop. The rules about where a suit can be heard, what a plaintiff must prove, and how discovery works shape the practical realities of journalism worldwide.

Second, large-dollar claims change the dynamics. Whether $10 billion is a legitimate measure of damage or a litigation tactic, the size of the demand forces newsrooms to weigh risk in ways that may influence editorial choices.

And finally, the case invites a broader question: in an era when a clip can cross oceans instantly, how should democracies balance the protection of reputation with the need for robust public scrutiny?

What do you think? Should a broadcaster be answerable in foreign courts when its content reaches that country’s audience, or does that risk turning national outlets into targets for cross-border lawsuits? Are existing legal standards like “actual malice” sufficient to protect both reputation and press freedom in the streaming age?

As the filings pile up and lawyers sharpen their arguments, the outcome will shape more than a single headline. It will help define the boundaries that govern global journalism in the internet era. For now, the BBC newsroom returns to its daily work, aware that every edit and every frame could one day echo not just on air, but in court.

Denmark, Greenland delegations to hold talks with Senators Vance and Rubio in U.S.

hanad

January 13, 2026

Denmark, Greenland officials to meet Vance, Rubio in US — Donald Trump first floated ⁠the idea of a US takeover of Greenland in 2019 during his first term in office

Under the Midnight Sun: Why Greenland Has Suddenly Become the World’s Most Contested Island

On a wind-whipped street in Nuuk, a woman in a brightly painted parka pauses to watch a cargo plane make its slow turn above the harbor. The houses behind her—cheerful blocks of red, yellow and blue—lean toward the sea as if eavesdropping on the world. “We have always lived on the edge of the map,” she says, “and now everyone wants to redraw it.”

Tomorrow, that map will be discussed in a room with a heavy table and heavier history: the White House. Denmark’s foreign minister will sit down with a delegation from Washington that, according to Danish officials, includes the US vice president and the US secretary of state. The meeting is being framed as a rare, face-to-face effort to cool a diplomatic flare-up sparked by proposals—from once and future presidential circles—to treat Greenland as a bargaining chip in geopolitical chess.

Why a Meeting Matters

The Danish foreign minister described the request for the sit-down in simple, human terms: “We wanted to come to the table and look each other in the eye,” he told reporters. The symbolism is striking. Greenland is not merely a piece of territory on a chart. It is an autonomous people with a distinct culture, a government moving slowly toward self-rule, and a future that dozens of policymakers now claim to care about.

Greenland’s government, which won increased self-rule in 2009, controls many of its domestic affairs while Denmark continues to handle foreign policy and defense. But the island’s geopolitical gravity has expanded dramatically as the Arctic warms, ice retreats and new maritime routes and mineral prospects emerge.

The numbers that explain the fuss

Consider the backdrop: Greenland is the world’s largest island, roughly 2.16 million square kilometers, but only about 56,000 people live there—most in tiny coastal communities such as Nuuk, Sisimiut and Ilulissat. Nearly 80% of the land is buried under an ancient ice sheet that scientists estimate has lost around 3.8 trillion tonnes of ice since 1992, contributing measurably to global sea-level rise.

Economically, the island is sustained in part by a Danish annual subsidy—roughly DKK 3.6 billion (about $500–600 million)—and a fishing sector that accounts for around 90% of its exports. Yet beneath the ice and in the cold gravel plains lie deposits of rare earth elements, zinc, iron and possible hydrocarbons—resources that global powers increasingly view through the lens of strategic necessity.

Voices from the Ice

“We are not a pawn,” says a young Greenlandic politician who asked not to be named for fear of political fallout. “This is our home. We will decide our future.”

At a small café where coffee steams against the windows, an elderly fisherman stirs his cup and looks at a map on the wall with knitted brows. “When you live here, you learn the weather and you learn the sea. But you do not learn how to be taken,” he says. “We’ve seen outsiders come and go. This feels different—louder.”

Officials in Copenhagen have made their unease public. Denmark’s defence minister is arranging talks with NATO’s leadership to discuss Arctic security, while the European Union’s commissioner for defence warned that any military seizure would have consequences stretching beyond a single island: “An act of aggression here would not only test NATO, it would reshape our collective security arrangements,” he said at a conference in Stockholm.

The Washington Angle

The rhetoric in Washington has been raw and transactional. In 2019, the idea of buying Greenland made headlines and provoked bipartisan astonishment. This time congressional proposals have gone further, with at least one US lawmaker introducing a bill that would, in effect, authorize steps toward annexation and request detailed plans for how federal law would adapt to make Greenland the nation’s 51st state.

“Greenland is not a distant outpost we can afford to ignore—it is a vital national security asset,” one lawmaker said in a statement that encapsulates a view held in some strategic circles: that geography has become destiny, and whoever controls Arctic chokepoints and resources holds leverage in a warming world.

Is this realism—or revanchism?

For many observers, the debate exposes a larger question. Is the scramble to assert influence in the Arctic driven by legitimate concerns—defense, supply chains, climate adaptation—or by a revived great-power competition that treats remote communities as checkers on a board? The answer probably sits in the uneasy space between those ideas.

What’s at Stake

Security: Greenland sits astride the shortest trans-Atlantic air routes and provides strategic depth for missile early-warning systems and military basing. During the Cold War, the island’s importance was obvious; in a new era of strategic rivalry, it has revived.
Economy and autonomy: The desire for full independence is a long-standing political undercurrent among Greenlanders. Any external moves to alter governance could accelerate or stall those aspirations.
Climate and resources: Melting ice is opening potential shipping lanes and exposing mineral wealth, but it also threatens traditional livelihoods such as hunting and fishing that are central to Greenlandic identity.

A Local Perspective

“My son wants to be a pilot,” says a mother outside a school playground, watching children lob a snowball at a passing dog. “He hears about bases and soldiers and thinks of planes and jobs. But he also learns how to read the ice. When leaders talk of ‘doing what is necessary,’ we need to ask—necessary for whom?”

This tension—between opportunity and loss, between outside interest and local priority—echoes through Greenland’s small towns and capital. People here are pragmatic. They want reliable electricity, better healthcare, schools that prepare their children for a changing economy. They do not want to become the prize for other nations’ security anxieties.

Where Do We Go From Here?

The upcoming White House meeting offers a narrow but important opportunity: to move debate off headlines and into a room where faces can be seen and the messy, human aspects of sovereignty discussed honestly. “Talk is better than tweets,” a Danish diplomat said. “But talk must lead to respect.”

As readers halfway across the world, what should we take from this? Perhaps this: in an age when climate change redraws the contours of the possible, the choices we make about places like Greenland will be tests of our collective imagination. Will we center the voices of the people who live there? Will we treat valuable land and sea as strategic resources only, or will policy prioritize long-term stewardship and self-determination?

When a place at the edge of maps becomes the center of world attention, the rest of us should be paying attention—not because remote islands are novelties, but because the decisions made there will ripple across oceans. Are we ready for those ripples?

President Congratulates Buckley on Remarkable Recognition, Hails Achievement

hanad

January 13, 2026

'Fantastic recognition' - President congratulates Buckley — Hamnet writer Maggie O'Farrell (in floral) dress and Best Actress winner Jessie Buckley pose with cast members and director Chloé Zhao and producer Steven Spielberg

When Killarney Applauded in Los Angeles: Jessie Buckley’s Golden Globe and the Quiet Power of “Hamnet”

It was barely daylight in Killarney when the cheers started, soft and surprised, like someone tapping the rim of a teacup and waiting for the music to begin.

At O’Malley’s Bar on Main Street, a television perched above the dartboard flickered to life and a handful of locals — farmers, a primary school teacher, a woman who’d once run a small guesthouse — drifted in to see the moment their fellow Killarney native, Jessie Buckley, had been crowned Best Actress at the Golden Globes.

“We all knew she’d be brilliant,” said Eamon Fitzgerald, the bar’s owner, wiping a glass with a rag thumbed by years of service. “But there was still that gasp when she won. It felt like watching one of our own climb a hill and plant a flag.”

A performance that crosses oceans

Buckley’s award was not merely personal triumph. It was a recognition of a film that reaches deep into grief, imagination, and history. Hamnet — adapted from Maggie O’Farrell’s bestselling novel — imagines the private life around one of history’s most luminous but enigmatic figures, William Shakespeare, portrayed in the film by Paul Mescal. Buckley, as Agnes, anchors the story with a fierce, tender intelligence that critics and audiences alike have described as incandescent.

“Jessie carries the role like someone carrying a small country,” said a film scholar I spoke with in Dublin, who asked to remain anonymous because she’s mid-revision on a book about contemporary Irish cinema. “She doesn’t just act; she translates a cultural memory into something we can feel in our ribcage.”

From the Kerry hills to the LA red carpet

The win in Los Angeles rippled back across the Atlantic. President Catherine Connolly issued a warm congratulatory statement, and the Taoiseach, Micheál Martin, took to Twitter to call the victory “richly deserved.” Their words mattered not because of ceremony but because they framed Buckley’s achievement as part of a larger national moment — a reminder that storytelling remains one of Ireland’s most persuasive exports.

Maggie O’Farrell, who won the Women’s Prize for Fiction in 2020 for the novel Hamnet, was in Los Angeles when the awards were announced. Speaking to reporters, she captured what many felt: that this film is less a singular auteur’s triumph and more a communal labor of love. “We’re all part of the Hamnet family,” she said. “This recognition is for everyone who breathed into the film.”

Who was nominated (and who went home with what)

Jessie Buckley — Golden Globe winner, Best Actress (Drama), Hamnet
Paul Mescal — nominated for Best Supporting Actor, Hamnet (winner: Stellan Skarsgård for Sentimental Value)
Maggie O’Farrell — nominated for Best Screenplay; director Chloe Zhao also nominated for Best Director (both awards won by One Battle After Another)
Element Pictures and Wild Atlantic Pictures — production companies behind Hamnet

Not every nomination became a trophy — such is the way of awards nights — but nominations themselves are markers, signposts indicating which stories are moving across borders and into conversations.

Inside the press room: tributes and small human things

After the announcement, Paul Mescal, his voice still soft from the rush of the ceremony, didn’t mince words. “Jessie carries grief and love in the same breath,” he said, according to a recording shared by journalists at the event. “She works like she’s carrying a lantern through fog, and she lights the way for everyone else.”

Back in Killarney, jars of turf smoke and the salty tang of the nearby Atlantic seemed to settle into the story as the town reflected on one of its daughters becoming a global symbol of craft and resilience. “She’s always been a quiet force,” said Mary O’Leary, who teaches local history. “We used to see her at the small festivals. She’d be gone for a while, and then suddenly everyone would be talking about her again.”

What Hamnet means beyond awards

Hamnet’s success sits at the intersection of several larger currents. It’s an adaptation that proves literary fiction can find cinematic life without diluting its intricacies. It’s proof that stories anchored in local specificity — in the smell of peat, the cadence of conversation, the way women grieve and protect — can resonate globally. And it’s another chapter in the growing influence of Irish storytelling in international cinema.

People often ask: why do these wins matter beyond the glamour? For one, recognition like the Golden Globe can open doors for funding, distribution, and future projects from smaller studios. Element Pictures and Wild Atlantic Pictures, both credited with producing Hamnet, are emblematic of a creative ecosystem that mixes international ambition with local roots. Such success can mean more crews hired in small towns, more film students inspired, and a stronger pipeline for telling diverse narratives.

Stories as cultural diplomacy

There’s also a diplomatic dimension. Cultural exports — films, music, literature — shape how countries are perceived. An Irish film that travels well tells audiences worldwide not just about Ireland’s past, but about its present: its filmmakers, its actors, its production crews, its marketplaces for ideas. “Soft power is quieter than armies or treaties,” an industry analyst in Cork told me. “It’s a song people remember when they meet you.”

And yet, awards season also forces a conversation about who gets the spotlight. Mescal’s nomination, O’Farrell’s screenplay nod, and Zhao’s director nomination (even as both awards went elsewhere) underscore ongoing debates about representation on and off screen — about whose stories are funded, whose histories are adapted, and who gets to tell them.

What to watch next — and why you should care

If you haven’t seen Hamnet, the film is an invitation: to sit with loss, to consider the slivers of history that give rise to myth, and to listen to performances that ask the audience to do more than look — to feel. If you have seen it, Buckley’s win is a moment to celebrate craft and the invisible teams behind every polished frame.

So where do we go from here? Perhaps the most useful question is this: what stories from your own town, your own family, have power beyond their borders? Who is doing the work of making them visible? That’s what wins like Buckley’s can do best — they remind us that the local and the global are braided together, that a voice raised in a Kerry pub can be heard in a Hollywood press room, and that a lifetime of quiet work sometimes ends in a single, incandescent second on stage.

“It’s not the statue,” Eamon in O’Malley’s said later, turning the television off. “It’s the doors it opens — for Jessie, for our town, for the people who will now try.”

And in that small, stubborn hope, the evening belonged not just to an actress on a stage in Los Angeles, but to a community that has long known how to listen to stories. It belonged, too, to everyone who believes that art can be a bridge between the one and the many.

Minnesota Files Lawsuit Against Trump Administration Over ICE Operations

hanad

January 13, 2026

Minnesota sues Trump administration over ICE operations — Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison said 'thousands of poorly trained' ICE agents had poured into the state

A City in Vigil, a State in Court: Minneapolis After a Death that Changed Everything

The wind that evening carried the smell of melted wax and wet chrysanthemums. A weathered photograph of Renee Nicole Good—smiling, eyes steady—leaned against a traffic cone near a stretch of sidewalk turned suddenly into a communal altar.

People came and stood, some in silence, some talking in low, urgent voices. Candles guttered in the grey air. A woman in a knitted cap pressed her hand to the frame and said, “This could have been any of us.” It was not a slogan. It was a sentence heavy with the kind of recognition that stops conversation and starts protest.

What Happened — and Why Minnesota Is Suing

Last week, in the middle of a city that has trained the nation’s attention in past years for its fault lines—racial, political, social—an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent shot and killed 37-year-old Renee Nicole Good. Her death set off a cascade of grief and fury, and an escalation that moved from the sidewalk memorials to the courthouse steps.

On Monday Minnesota Attorney General Keith Ellison filed suit against the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), arguing that the federal surge of immigration officers into the state has “made us less safe.” “Thousands of poorly trained, aggressive and armed agents of the state, of the federal government, have rolled into our communities,” Ellison declared at a press conference. “This is, in essence, a federal invasion.”

Ellison’s choice of words is dramatic by design; he and his team say the lawsuit is both a legal move and a public rebuke. The claim alleges that the federal deployment targeted Minnesota not simply for enforcement, but because of its political leadership and diversity—grounds that the state says put it on a collision course with the Constitution and federal law.

Mayor Frey: “Targeted for Our Differences”

Jacob Frey, the mayor of Minneapolis, has also positioned the federal activity as political. “If the goal were simply to look for people who are undocumented, Minneapolis and Saint Paul would not be the place you would go,” he told reporters. “There are countless more people that are undocumented in Florida and Texas and Utah,” he said, pointing at a pattern—Minnesota is Democratic-led; many of those other states are not.

His words land differently depending on who’s listening. For community leaders, they confirm a sense of political targeting. For federal officials, they invite rebuttal. For families like Good’s, such legal chess feels distant. They are left with photos and civic processes and the slow work of grief.

Federal Defense and Local Doubt

From Washington, DHS Secretary Kristi Noem defended the actions of the ICE officer involved, saying the officer acted in self-defense when Ms Good’s car moved toward him. That account was met with immediate skepticism among local officials and community witnesses who say footage from the scene tells another story—one where the vehicle appears to be turning away from the agent, not toward him.

On national television over the weekend, Noem said hundreds more federal agents were en route to Minneapolis as unrest persisted, even as vigils and daily protests multiplied. “We are committed to enforcing the law,” she said. “And our personnel will follow legal standards.”

That language—“enforcing the law”—is itself freighted. Enforcement is a neutral verb that, in practice, skews heavy with decisions about who gets targeted, where resources are placed, and what tactics officers bring to neighborhoods that are already strained by trauma and distrust.

On the Ground: Voices from the Neighborhood

I spoke to a range of people in Minneapolis over two days: a barista who held a candle at the vigil, a Somali community organizer who had feared the arrival of armed agents since the first rumors of a federal surge, and a retired teacher who’d walked from her block to the memorial to “see what our city is becoming.”

“It feels like occupation,” said Malik Ahmed, a shop owner near the memorial whose mother emigrated from Somalia three decades ago. “Not because these are federal agents, but because they came in without any conversation. We weren’t asked what we needed.”

“My cousin is undocumented,” said Sofia Alvarez, 29, who works at a community health clinic. “He’s terrified. He won’t come to get his insulin. That’s not public safety.”

Experts Weigh In

A university-based immigration scholar I spoke with—who asked that her name be withheld to speak candidly—pointed out the broader pattern at work. “Data from groups like the Migration Policy Institute show that the largest populations of undocumented immigrants are concentrated in states such as California, Texas and Florida,” she said. “A federal focus on smaller, more politically liberal states like Minnesota raises questions—both about the selection logic for these operations and about the political calculations behind them.”

She added that federal interventions can have chilling public-health consequences: fewer people accessing medical care, declining attendance at community services, and a fracturing of trust between municipal authorities and residents who fear cooperating with institutions.

Legal Ripples: Illinois and Other States

Minnesota is not alone. Illinois, another Democratic-led state, filed a similar suit against the federal government. The litigation signals a growing trend of states pushing back against federal immigration tactics when those tactics intersect with local governance and civil-rights concerns.

Legal scholars say these cases could define new boundaries in federal-state relations—especially if courts rule that federal enforcement tactics violated constitutional protections or exceeded statutory authority. Yet litigation moves slowly, and for communities living day to day, the reflexive realities of policing and power arrive first.

What This Means Beyond Minneapolis

Read closely, this is not just a Minnesota story. It is a story about how we govern in a polarized era—about the tension between national priorities and local care, about which neighborhoods are deemed worthy of protection, and about how enforcement can compound the very insecurities it claims to remedy.

Consider three questions:

Who decides where enforcement happens, and with what oversight?
How should cities balance cooperation with federal agencies against protecting the trust of marginalized communities?
What mechanisms exist to ensure accountability when actions by one arm of government have lethal consequences in another jurisdiction?

Small Scenes, Large Stakes

At dusk, people continued to gather near Renee’s photograph. A teenage boy handed out hand-lettered flyers calling for a community safety council. An older woman sang a hymn, voice threading through the murmur like a call. In a city that has seen too many such scenes, the ritual of vigil and protest is both a refusal and a request: do better; explain; be human.

One organizer who has been working with immigrant communities for years told me, “We don’t want fewer laws. We want better laws. Laws that respect dignity. Policies that don’t treat people like collateral in a political fight.”

That demand—quiet in its simplicity, radical in its humanity—might be the only consensus left in a conversation otherwise split by strategy and authority. How the courts answer Minnesota’s suit, how the federal government responds to public scrutiny, and how communities weather the aftermath will tell us something about where we stand as a nation.

Where Do We Go From Here?

There are no easy fixes. But there are things to watch for: transparent use-of-force reviews, independent investigations, meaningful dialogue between federal agents and community leaders, and data-driven assessments of where enforcement truly does the most good and the least harm.

As you read this, imagine your own neighborhood under similar strain. What would you want from elected officials? What would make you feel safer: more enforcement, or a different kind of investment—housing, healthcare, community policing? The answer may reveal what kind of country we intend to build: one that punishes and polices, or one that protects and heals.

For now, Minneapolis stands at a crossroads—mourning, litigating, demanding answers. The photograph of Renee remains taped to a lamppost, not merely a relic of grief but a small, persistent beacon asking a large, urgent question: whose safety are we really securing?

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When an Island Becomes a Diplomatic Hotspot: Greenland, Guns, and the Future of NATO

The stakes — why Greenland matters

Voices from capitals and from the docks

Alliances, law, and the fragile scaffolding of order

What the maps don’t show

Global ripples

Where do we go from here?

A country at a crossroads: Streets that refuse to be silenced

From breadlines to bold demands

The numbers that matter — and those we don’t fully know

The state’s response: force, rhetoric, and theatre

Cracks — real or imagined?

What the diaspora and opposition figures are doing

Voices from the street: anger, hope, fear

Why the world is watching — and why it matters

Where do we go from here?

When a City Grieves: How One Killing Brought Federal Agents, Lawsuits and a Global Call for Answers

A City Without Answers

The Surge: Politics, Power and Presence

Voices from the Street

From Local Dispute to International Concern

The Political Crossfire

What Experts Say

Questions Forward

Final Thoughts

When a BBC Clip Becomes a $10 Billion Storm: A Global Moment for Journalism and the Courts

A clip, a caption, a courtroom

BBC’s defense: jurisdiction, venue, and malice

What the BBC wants now

Why this matters beyond a single program

Voices from both sides of the Atlantic

What should readers take away?

Under the Midnight Sun: Why Greenland Has Suddenly Become the World’s Most Contested Island

Why a Meeting Matters

The numbers that explain the fuss

Voices from the Ice

The Washington Angle

Is this realism—or revanchism?

What’s at Stake

A Local Perspective

Where Do We Go From Here?

Further Reading and Context

When Killarney Applauded in Los Angeles: Jessie Buckley’s Golden Globe and the Quiet Power of “Hamnet”

A performance that crosses oceans

From the Kerry hills to the LA red carpet

Who was nominated (and who went home with what)

Inside the press room: tributes and small human things

What Hamnet means beyond awards

Stories as cultural diplomacy

What to watch next — and why you should care

A City in Vigil, a State in Court: Minneapolis After a Death that Changed Everything

What Happened — and Why Minnesota Is Suing

Mayor Frey: “Targeted for Our Differences”

Federal Defense and Local Doubt

On the Ground: Voices from the Neighborhood

Experts Weigh In

Legal Ripples: Illinois and Other States

What This Means Beyond Minneapolis

Small Scenes, Large Stakes

Where Do We Go From Here?