U.S. winter storm knocks out power for 230,000 homes

January 25, 2026

US winter storm leaves 230, 000 without power — Massive ice formations are seen on the shores of Lake Michigan in Chicago

When the Sky Fell Cold: How One Winter Storm Stretched Across a Continent

Airports turned into quiet cathedrals of lost plans. In ticketing halls, children clutched stuffed animals beneath scarves, business travelers stared at departure boards frozen mid-update, and flight crews folded up their schedules like maps that would never be used. More than 4,000 flights were scrubbed as a sprawling winter system—equal parts snow, sleet and bone-deep cold—raced from the Rockies toward the Atlantic seaboard, threatening to pin down life across two-thirds of the United States.

At 2 a.m. EST, PowerOutage.com counted roughly 217,000 customers without electricity, the bulk in Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas and Tennessee. Federal emergency declarations now blanket a swath of states—South Carolina, Virginia, Tennessee, Georgia, North Carolina, Maryland, Arkansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Mississippi, Indiana and West Virginia—with at least 20 states plus Washington, D.C. announcing states of emergency. Transportation officials warned that up to 240 million people could feel the storm’s reach. Numbers like these don’t just describe a weather event; they sketch the contours of disruption.

Neighbors, Not Headlines

Walk into any neighborhood affected and the big statistics sharpen into human detail. “My generator stutters, then sings,” said Maria Jimenez, 62, from a dimly lit kitchen in Baton Rouge, where an oak tree bowed under a coat of ice. “I’m heating water on a camping stove, and my neighbor across the street brought over a pot of caldo. We’re fine as long as we’re together.” Her voice carried the strange warmth that surfaces when people confront the cold together.

In Greenville, South Carolina, a highway sign flashed an austere message: “DRIVE WITH CAUTION.” Local sanitation crews—bundled in reflective jackets, their breath steaming in the air—labored to clear sidewalks and push stranded cars out of suburban driftways. “We don’t get snow like this every year,” said Malik Thompson, a crew foreman, rubbing his gloved hands. “In the South, an ice storm can make a whole city stop. It makes you plan differently—your barbecue turns into a neighborhood tea party.”

Power Grids, Data Centers, and the Thin Margin of Comfort

The storm has strained more than thermostats. Grid operators took preemptive measures to ward off rotating outages. The Department of Energy issued an emergency order allowing the Electric Reliability Council of Texas to deploy backup generation to critical sites, including data centers. Dominion Energy, which serves a huge concentration of data farms in Virginia, warned that if ice forecasts hold, operations could face one of the largest winter impacts in recent memory.

“Our critical infrastructure is only as resilient as the weakest link,” said Dr. Aisha Khan, an atmospheric physicist who studies extreme-weather impacts on utilities. “When ice coats transmission lines and temperatures plummet, the risk of cascading failures rises. The question isn’t ‘if’ but ‘how quickly’ operators can isolate trouble and restore service.”

And time is a merciless currency. In the northern tier, the National Weather Service warned of wind chills plunging toward -45°C, conditions that can cause frostbite in minutes. New York Governor Kathy Hochul urged people to stay inside, reminding residents that “five or six minutes outside could literally be dangerous for your health.” Such warnings are not abstract; they translate into hospital triage, frozen pipes, and the brittle calculations of whether to pull an elderly neighbor into your living room.

The Long, Oval Reach of the Polar Vortex

At the heart of the blast of cold sits a stretched polar vortex: an Arctic pocket of low-pressure air that, when it elongates, funnels frigid air southward. Scientists caution that while natural variability plays a role, the increasing frequency of polar-vortex disruptions is a puzzle that may be linked to climate change. “The polar regions are changing fast,” Dr. Khan said. “That throws curveballs into the jet stream, and those curveballs show up as unusual winter extremes.”

The political conversation has been brisk, too. President Donald Trump issued federal disaster declarations for a dozen states and posted on Truth Social, urging Americans to “Stay Safe, and Stay Warm.” On the other side of the debate, public-health officials and environmental scientists used the storm as a reminder that extreme weather demands both short-term preparedness and long-term resilience investments.

Travel, Commerce, and the Ripple Effect

Airlines urged travelers to check itineraries; airports became holding pens for uncertainty. When flights pause, the economy shudders in tandem: freight delays, canceled surgeries because specialists couldn’t make it, perishable goods stranded in trucks. “We saw a domino effect in 2014 when a big snow squall hit Chicago; flights canceled there mean empty shelves elsewhere,” said Lena Rodriguez, a logistics planner in Atlanta. “In a globalized supply chain, weather in one place is a problem everywhere.”

And for communities in the American South—where many city services and infrastructure are built for milder winters—the shock is cultural as well as mechanical. Live oaks glaze into chandeliers of ice. High school football coaches debate whether to move practice to the gym. Churches turn into warming centers. The South’s relationship with cold is always negotiated anew during a storm like this.

Practical Steps and Human Choices

When forecasts go dire, preparation matters. Simple actions—insulating pipes, checking on elderly neighbors, having a charged phone and a week’s supply of nonperishable food—can mean the difference between a hard night and a crisis.

Check local emergency alerts and confirm evacuation or warming center locations.
Keep a list of emergency contacts and one hard copy in case phones fail.
Avoid driving unless absolutely necessary; black ice and downed limbs make travel deadly.
If you must run a generator, place it outdoors and away from windows to prevent carbon monoxide poisoning.

Beyond the Storm: A Call to Rethink Resilience

Storms like this expose more than chilled pipes; they expose our choices. Which communities have robust heating assistance programs? Which utilities have upgraded lines and tree-trimming budgets? Which cities have warming shelters that are both accessible and well-publicized? The answers point to inequality as much as meteorology.

“Natural disasters don’t hit everyone equally,” said Kareem Ali, director of a community nonprofit in Memphis. “The folks who are most at risk are often the ones with the least capacity to prepare. That’s a policy decision, not fate.”

As the snow piles and the ice-laden trees bow, ask yourself: who will you check on? What can your city do differently next season? How do we transform a moment of shared discomfort into long-term change? The storm will pass, as storms do. But the choices we make now—about infrastructure, emergency response and community care—will determine whether the next one is merely a headline or a catastrophe.

Tonight, across split-level homes, apartment towers and farmhouse kitchens, people are lighting candles, wrapping pipes, and knocking on doors. They are the quiet counterweight to the statistics: neighbors trading blankets, volunteers running soup to the housebound, airline ground crews staying late to help travelers find a bed. These are the small acts that make a cold world warmer. Will you be part of them?

Trump Reawakens ‘Manifest Destiny,’ Stoking American Expansionist Ambitions

hanad

January 25, 2026

'Manifest destiny' - Trump revives US expansionism — A man walks his dogs while looking over a fjord in Greenland - Donald Trump walked back his most aggressive threats on the island

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Russia launches massive strike targeting Ukrainian drones and energy infrastructure

hanad

January 25, 2026

Russia in massive strike on Ukrainian drone, energy sites — Ukrainian emergency personnel work to extinguish a fire at the site of an air attack in Kyiv

A Peace Table Under Fire: Diplomacy Interrupted by Missiles

On a cold night when negotiators sat in chandeliers and whispered formulas of compromise in Abu Dhabi, the sky above Kyiv and Kharkiv erupted with a different kind of negotiation — one conducted in steel and fire.

Ukraine’s Foreign Minister Andriy Sybiga did not mince words when he took to X the next morning: “Cynically, Putin ordered a brutal massive missile strike against Ukraine right while delegations are meeting in Abu Dhabi to advance the America-led peace process. His missiles hit not only our people, but also the negotiation table.” For many Ukrainians that image — a physical blow to diplomacy — felt painfully literal.

By dawn, rescue crews and firefighters were sifting through the rubble of a damaged apartment block in Kyiv. Across the city, hospitals filled with the injured, and social media feeds filled with video of electricity pylons blackened by explosions. Officials reported one person killed and at least 23 wounded in the raids that hammered the country’s two largest cities.

The Scale of the Strike: Drones, Missiles, and a Targeted Strategy

Ukraine’s air force put a chilling number to the attack: 375 drones and 21 missiles launched against Ukrainian targets in the early hours. The pattern was familiar — sustained assaults on energy infrastructure designed to do more than destroy metal and concrete. They aim to remove light and heat from homes, to make the winter itself an instrument of suffering.

375 drones and 21 missiles reported by Ukraine’s air force
One civilian killed, at least 23 injured
Approximately 800,000 Kyiv residents reported without power
Temperatures in the capital hovering around -10°C (14°F)

“They bombed the substations, not the factories,” said Olena, a nurse in central Kyiv whose building lost heat at 2 a.m. “This is winter warfare. You don’t just break infrastructure — you break people’s routines, their ability to keep children warm.” Her voice, raw and exhausted, carried the weary resignation of someone who has already survived multiple blackouts this season.

Winter at the Brink: Cold, Darkness, and Daily Life

There is a particular cruelty to strikes on power lines in the middle of winter. At around -10°C, loss of electricity means loss of heat and hot water, which quickly turns apartments into brittle spaces. Residents huddle under layers of blankets, line up at battery-charging stations and, where possible, light stoves that may be prohibited in high-rise buildings because of fire risk.

“We went from an argument about what to cook for dinner to arguing about how to keep our baby from getting hypothermia,” said Bohdan, a father of a six-month-old in the Shevchenkivskyi district. “You can negotiate with diplomats as much as you like, but here at home we’re negotiating with the cold.”

Emergency shelters opened in community centers and churches, their halls filled with the muffled cacophony of people and portable heaters. Volunteers — often young people in puffy jackets and wool hats — ferried hot tea, batteries and blankets to stairwells and elderly residents. “We keep busy so we don’t think too much,” said Katya, a volunteer who has been part of a neighborhood response network since 2022. “Every delivery is an act of resistance.”

Energy as a Weapon

Targeting electricity and heating infrastructure is a known tactic in contemporary conflicts: it inflicts immediate civilian harm, increases public pressure on governments, and strains emergency services. Ukrainian officials, including President Volodymyr Zelensky, underscored a related, pressing demand — that agreements on air defence discussed in Davos this week be implemented in full.

“If what was discussed at Davos is to mean anything,” said an anonymous Western security analyst working with Ukrainian counterparts, “it must translate into tangible air-defence capacity on the ground — more interceptors, more integrated sensors, faster intelligence sharing. Otherwise, the same holes in the sky will be exploited again and again.”

Diplomacy in Abu Dhabi: Talks Shadowed by Demands and Denials

The missile barrage landed as negotiators from Russia, Ukraine and the United States entered the second day of meetings in Abu Dhabi — a tightly choreographed trilateral effort described by some Western officials as the most concrete break in frozen diplomacy in months. The optics were jarring: a room of diplomats trying to sketch a path out of almost four years of conflict while towns back home were aflame.

Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov reiterated Moscow’s long-standing stance that Ukraine must cede control of the Donbas, the industrial heartland comprising Donetsk and Luhansk regions. That demand was reported prior to the strikes and remained a red line for Moscow, complicating any near-term settlement.

Inside Abu Dhabi, diplomats sometimes move in two parallel universes: the lacquered quiet of conference rooms and the messy, violent realities they seek to address. “There is a kernel of sincerity in some delegations and outright posturing in others,” said a diplomat attending the talks who requested anonymity to speak candidly. “But the missiles tonight were a brutal reminder: you can’t negotiate in a vacuum of violence.”

What Justice and Accountability Look Like

Ukrainian officials were quick to call for accountability. Minister Sybiga wrote that incidents like these show “Putin’s place is not at the board of peace, but at the dock of the special tribunal.” Legal scholars watching from abroad warn that proving intent and obtaining enforcement in international courts is long and arduous, yet vital for a postwar reconstruction of norms.

“International law can be slow, but it’s also a moral ledger,” said Dr. Miriam Alvarez, an international humanitarian law expert. “Documenting attacks on civilian infrastructure creates the basis for future prosecutions and for the reparations societies will need to rebuild.”

Looking Ahead: Can Talks Survive the Sound of Explosions?

There is an uncomfortable question now: can a peace process proceed meaningfully while strike sorties continue to punish civilians? For negotiators, the answer may require a temporary ceasefire, verified humanitarian pauses and a tangible reduction in attacks on civilian infrastructure — not simply words exchanged over round tables.

For ordinary Ukrainians, the calculus is more immediate. Will their children sleep warm tonight? Will the hospital still have power when an ambulance arrives? Will a family’s fragile savings be enough to replace a burned-out boiler?

As winter wears on and the Abu Dhabi talks press forward, the world is confronted again with a persistent tension in modern conflict: diplomacy’s slow, hopeful gestures on one side, and the instantaneous, brutal logic of military force on the other. Which will define the next chapter?

We can watch from afar, reflect, demand accountability and push for concrete support — or we can pretend negotiations and night-time strikes are separate stories. Which would you choose? How should the international community reconcile urgent humanitarian needs with the slow machinery of diplomacy? The answers will shape not just Ukraine’s future, but how the world responds to wars that increasingly target the bones of everyday life.

Conflicting accounts emerge over shooting involving U.S. immigration agents

hanad

January 25, 2026

Competing claims on shooting by US immigration agents — Protesters confornt federal agents after the fatal shooting of Alex Pretti

When the Street Became a Camera: A Night in Minneapolis That Broke Something Else

It was the kind of cold that sharpens sound—the kind of evening in Minneapolis where breath fogs and voices cut clean through the air. Neighbors gathered under sodium streetlights, coats zipped, scarves pulled over faces, watching a scene that would be replayed in living rooms and newsrooms for days.

What began as another night of protests against a sweeping federal immigration enforcement operation turned, in a matter of minutes, into an anguished question for the city: who can we trust to tell the truth when bullets are fired and a man lies still on the asphalt?

The moment that changed everything

By several accounts circulating online and among witnesses, a 37-year-old man—identified in media reports as Alex Pretti, a nurse at the Veterans Affairs hospital in Minneapolis—stood in the street and filmed masked federal agents with his cellphone. Bystander video verified by multiple outlets shows agents deploying pepper spray and, moments later, wrestling the man to the ground. As fellow protesters shouted and tried to intervene, one of the agents drew a weapon. Shots followed. The man’s body was left in the road.

“I saw them pin him down like it was nothing. He wasn’t resisting, he was trying to shield someone from the spray,” said Mara Jensen, a neighbor who recorded part of the scene on her phone. “Then the shots. I still hear those bangs in my sleep.”

The federal Department of Homeland Security and Border Patrol officials said an agent fired in self-defense after a man with a handgun resisted attempts to disarm him. Local leaders, prosecutors and many eyewitnesses say they have serious doubts about that account. Video fragments—shocking, grainy, immediate—appear to show the man being subdued before the shots were fired.

How the city reacted

Within hours, hundreds of people poured into the neighborhood where the shooting occurred. Tear gas and flashbang grenades were used as federal agents, many masked and heavily equipped, tried to clear the area. Police and state troopers arrived to manage the swelling crowd. Tempers flared. So did grief.

“Please do not destroy our city,” pleaded Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O’Hara in a public appeal, an exhortation that felt both urgent and fragile. Yet the anger in the crowd was palpable. “How many more residents, how many more Americans need to die or get badly hurt for this operation to end?” asked Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey at a press conference—phrasing that landed like a curse and an invocation.

The Minnesota governor, too, voiced outrage. “I’ve seen the video from several angles and it’s sickening,” Governor Tim Walz said, calling for the state to lead the investigation because federal agents blocked state investigators from securing the scene.

A pattern of pain

This shooting did not happen in a vacuum. It came after weeks and months of mounting tension in the city over the presence of federal immigration enforcement teams. Only a day earlier, more than 10,000 people had taken to the frigid streets to protest what many see as a crackdown that treats neighborhoods as battlefields. Residents had already been shaken by related incidents: another US citizen shot by federal agents on 7 January; the highly visible detention of a man taken from his home in his underwear; even the detention of children, including a five‑year‑old boy.

“It feels like a city under occupation,” said Jamal Ortiz, a community organizer in the Powderhorn neighborhood. “People are terrified. Parents keep their kids inside. When you bring that kind of force into residential areas, you erode trust—not just in one agency, but in the idea of public safety.”

Questions that demand answers

Who fired? Under what authority were federal agents operating in Minneapolis neighborhoods? Why was the state barred from investigating the scene? Those questions have consumed community leaders and legal experts.

Drew Evans, head of the Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, told reporters that federal agents blocked his team’s attempts to begin an inquiry at the scene—an allegation that widened the rift between state and federal officials. The federal government has been stern about the autonomy of its operations; city and state leaders have become increasingly vocal about the consequences.

“When layers of government start pointing guns at each other’s citizens and preventing routine oversight, we’re no longer talking about law enforcement—we’re talking about governance by force,” said Aisha Rahman, a civil liberties attorney who has represented protestors in Minneapolis. “Transparency is the only thing that can begin to heal this.”

Details matter

Some facts are clear. A man is dead. Videos exist that track parts of the confrontation. Hundreds protested afterward, and the protest response caused cultural institutions and events to pause—the Minneapolis Institute of Art closed for the day and an NBA game featuring the Timberwolves was postponed.

Other details remain disputed. Authorities say the agent acted in self-defense; local leaders and many witnesses say the footage contradicts that narrative. The identity of the shooter, the timeline of the alleged weapon’s appearance, and the precise sequence of restraint and discharge are all under scrutiny.

Voices from the ground

On the sidewalks, neighbors pressed warmth into their words. A college student named Lena pulled her hood close and said, “You learn to live with helicopters and sirens here. But when someone who has nothing to do with a raid—someone who’s a nurse, who’s a neighbor—ends up dead in the street, it’s a different kind of fear.”

A VA hospital colleague of the man who was killed told a reporter, on the condition of anonymity: “He loved his patients. He’d bring them cookies. He believed in healing people—not in taking up arms against anyone.”

Meanwhile, a former Border Patrol supervisor, speaking as an independent analyst, cautioned: “We need to avoid rush to judgment. Officers sometimes make split-second decisions in chaotic environments. That said, that’s why we have oversight and a chain of custody. If the scene was interfered with, that’s a problem.”

Why this matters beyond Minneapolis

This incident taps into broader national debates: the expansion of federal enforcement into cities, the power dynamics between local and national authorities, and the growing use of militarized tactics in public safety operations. Across the United States, questions about accountability for federal law enforcement have become increasingly urgent.

Consider the human cost. Trust in institutions, once frayed, is slow to mend. A June 2024 national survey from a major polling firm found that public confidence in federal law enforcement agencies had dipped meaningfully in urban communities—especially in places that had seen armed federal operations on local streets. When trust is low, cooperation falls, and so does the effectiveness of policing.

What comes next?

Investigations will continue. Local officials have demanded the federal operation be halted; federal leaders have defended their agents. The state said it would take charge of the probe after the federal team stepped back from the scene, but the path to a transparent, independent review is contested.

There are no easy answers. There are only choices: to deflect and double down, or to open gates of accountability and conversation. Minneapolis stands at such a juncture.

An invitation to reflect

How much force is acceptable in the name of immigration enforcement? Who gets to decide when a neighborhood becomes an operational zone? And when video—raw, fragmented, viral—becomes the most powerful evidence, how do we ensure it is paired with rigorous, neutral inquiry?

If you lived in that neighborhood tonight, what would you want the investigators to see? If you were an official, what would you do differently?

We can do more than demand answers. We can insist on systems that make answers possible: independent oversight, clear rules for federal-local coordination, and the kind of community engagement that treats residents as partners rather than obstacles. Until then, another winter will pass over Minneapolis, and the question will remain: who will bear witness—and who will be believed?

U.S. federal agents fatally shoot second person in Minneapolis this week

hanad

January 25, 2026

US federal agents shoot dead second person in Minneapolis — Federal agents fire tear gas at protesters near the scene of the shooting

When Winter and Federal Power Collide: A City on Edge in Minneapolis

It was the kind of Minneapolis cold that scours the cheeks and turns conversations brief—air so crystalline that every breath feels like it could break. Yet in that brittle air, heat erupted: anger, fear, and a kind of urgent grief that has become all too familiar in this city recently.

Federal agents shot and killed a 37-year-old Minneapolis resident in a tense exchange that officials say involved a handgun and magazines. It was the second fatal shooting by federal agents within weeks, and it landed like a thunderclap on a community already raw from weeks of protests and confrontations over a stepped-up immigration enforcement operation sweeping through the northern state.

The Scene: Volatility and Questions

There are two stories playing out at once here: the official account, terse and technical, and the human one, full of faces, names, and a history of mistrust.

According to federal statements, Border Patrol agents fired “defensive shots” after a man approached them armed. Minneapolis police confirmed the man was a lawful gun owner, had no criminal record, and was believed to be a U.S. citizen. The department advised people to avoid the scene, calling it “volatile,” as investigators streamed in, sirens cutting through the snow.

But paper facts and the bruise of grief tell different truths for neighbors and activists. “We watched the footage as a community and felt our stomachs drop,” said Ana, a childcare worker who lives two blocks from where the shooting occurred. “You don’t expect to be afraid of federal agents down the street. Not here.”

A City Responds

Mayor Jacob Frey, visibly shaken, called for an immediate halt to the federal operation. “How many more residents, how many more Americans need to die or get badly hurt for this operation to end?” he asked at a press briefing, echoing the question that many in the city are now asking themselves late into the night.

Governor Tim Walz described the shooting as “horrific,” demanding that state authorities lead the investigation. “Minnesota has had it,” he declared on social media, his words capturing the deeper exhaustion across the state.

Democratic Senator Amy Klobuchar joined the chorus, urging federal immigration officers to leave. On the other side of the aisle, the president—briefed on the incident, according to the White House—accused local leaders of inflaming tensions; his social media posts framed the response as political performance rather than a cry for public safety.

On the Ground: Protests, Chilling Weather, and a City That Won’t Stay Silent

Less than 24 hours before the shooting, an estimated 50,000 people marched through Minneapolis in a protest that fused fury and bravery. Temperatures plunged to -29°C (-20°F) that day, but the crowd pressed on—scarves wrapped tight, breath visible like ghosts between shouts.

People marched for many reasons: to denounce the federal ICE and Border Patrol presence, to rally after what many called troubling incidents—detentions of U.S. citizens, children taken from classrooms, and the killing of a local resident—and to insist that Minneapolis’ values not be overwritten by a law-and-order surge they see as reckless.

Afterwards, the throng retreated indoors, filling the Target Center—its 20,000-seat arena more than half full as organizers moved the debate into a warmer, calmer space. Businesses across the city closed for the day, not out of convenience but out of concern; safety was the priority.

Voices from the Neighborhood

“We shut the shop because customers were at the demonstration,” said Omar, who runs a small grocery near Lake Street. His Somali-American community is one of the most visible and vocal in Minneapolis. “We can’t separate our safety from their safety. When ICE is pointed at our streets, everyone feels it.”

“This isn’t just political theater,” said Maya Ahmed, a civil-rights attorney who has worked with families affected by federal immigration operations. “When you bring a large, armed federal presence into communities without local collaboration, mistakes multiply. Oversight is essential.” Her voice is both weary and resolute—an echo of the larger debate about authority and accountability.

What the Numbers and the Broader Picture Tell Us

Across the United States, immigration enforcement has been a focal point of national politics. In recent years, border encounters and immigration-related arrests have surged into the hundreds of thousands annually, and federal agencies have periodically deployed personnel to interior locations for targeted operations.

Those deployments have consequences beyond statistics. They can change neighborhoods overnight, disrupting schools, workplaces, and the informal networks of trust that communities rely on. Minneapolis is not unique in this—but it is a sharp, vivid example of what happens when national policy becomes local reality.

Protests: Tens of thousands marched in Minneapolis recently, despite extreme cold.
Community impact: Major cultural institutions and small businesses closed in precaution.
Political pressure: Local leaders demanded federal withdrawal and state-led investigations.

Culture, Memory, and the City’s Fabric

Minneapolis is a city of layered identities—Hmong bakeries, Somali markets, Native American gatherings, and a bustling arts scene anchored by institutions like the Minneapolis Institute of Art, which closed its doors for the day out of safety concerns. The city’s history of civic engagement runs deep; it’s a place where neighbors look out for one another, and where public grief has often sparked meaningful reform.

That history is part of why tonight feels different. When federal agents enter neighborhoods in force, they don’t just bring badges and radios; they bring a new dynamic into schools, into cul-de-sacs where children play in the snow, into the places where people have built lives. “You start watching your porch like it’s a courtroom,” a teacher named Luis told me. “It changes you.”

Looking Forward: Investigation and Questions

State leaders demanded that Minnesota authorities take charge of the probe into the shooting. The federal government says it will cooperate. Meanwhile, the city keeps breathing, but more shallowly. People gather, they grieve, they demand answers and safeguards. And they ask the bigger questions: What is the purpose of these operations? Who are they protecting, and who are they risking?

There is a global lesson here, one that resonates far beyond the Mississippi River’s bend: when national policy meets local communities, transparency and oversight are not optional. They are the scaffolding that keeps public trust from crumbling.

Questions for the Reader

What do we expect from the people who carry federal authority into our neighborhoods? How much power should be centralized for the sake of national policy, and how much should be held close to the communities affected by that power?

These are uncomfortable questions. They require us to weigh safety against sovereignty, justice against order, and statistics against human faces. Minneapolis is asking them now, in a winter that has made every sound sharp and every silence heavier.

As the investigation unfolds and the city waits, the real work will be building processes that prevent another agonizing headline. If you live somewhere where national policy lands in your backyard—literal or figurative—what protections do you want to see? And how do we, as citizens and neighbors, hold those in power to account?

For Minneapolis, the answer hangs in the cold air: it will require transparency, courage, and an insistence that human life and dignity are not collateral in a political project. The rest is for the city—and the country—to decide.

Starmer opponent launches bid to contest upcoming by-election

hanad

January 24, 2026

Starmer rival announces he will stand in by-election — Andy Burnham has been long viewed as a potential rival to the Prime Minister for the Labour leadership

Andy Burnham’s Return?: A Mayor Eyes Westminster and a City Holds Its Breath

On an overcast morning that could have been plucked from any Manchester year, Andy Burnham did what commentators love and party managers dread: he asked for permission to run again for Parliament.

The Greater Manchester mayor, a familiar figure in the city’s civic life since 2017, has formally applied to Labour’s National Executive Committee to be considered as a candidate for the Gorton and Denton by-election. If the NEC gives the green light, Burnham — long a national face of Labour and an unmistakable presence in the north — could be on a path back to Westminster.

A local story that feels national

This is not merely a local by-election. It is a collision of identities and ambitions. Manchester, with its mills and terraces, its music and football rivalries, is a place where politics is often personal as well as doctrinal. To see the city’s mayor seeking a seat in Parliament is to see two layers of British politics meet: the visceral, regional pride of northern leadership and the centralized, quietly managerial hand of party machine politics.

“People here care about who speaks for them,” said Anjum Begum, who runs a small café on Reddish Lane and has voted Labour most of her adult life. “We want someone who understands the buses, the hospitals, the schools. If Andy thinks he can do that from Westminster, he should let us decide.”

Why this matters

Burnham’s move would be significant on several fronts. He remains one of the most prominent metro mayors in England — a role born out of the devolution deals of the past decade that have reshaped power away from Whitehall and into city-regions. Greater Manchester, home to roughly 2.8 million people, has become a laboratory for transport strategy, health integration, and housing policy. To some, Burnham’s potential departure raises a question about the stability of local leadership and the future of devolution itself.

“It’s emblematic of the tension we now face,” said Dr. Elena Ramos, a scholar of British politics. “Mayors like Burnham have built national reputations off local platforms. If they return to Westminster, it alters the balance of visibility and accountability for city-regions.”

Process, power and a deadline

The mechanics are straightforward but politically fraught. The NEC — Labour’s governing body — must permit Burnham to seek selection. Party headquarters has the authority to block parachute candidates, a precaution intended to protect local autonomy and prevent central manipulation. There are reports that supporters of the Labour leader are already mobilising to keep the process tightly managed; opponents argue that would be undemocratic.

Selection is expected to move quickly. A shortlist, hustings and an endorsement from the NEC are scheduled to conclude by Saturday, 31 January. That compressed timetable means decisions made this week could reshape not just a single constituency, but internal balances of influence across the party.

“Local members should pick their candidate,” said Sadiq Khan, the Mayor of London, in public remarks at a centre-left gathering in the capital. “You can’t muscle out grassroots democracy simply because someone higher up prefers a different outcome.”

Voices from the patchwork of Labour

Inside Gorton and Denton, opinions are already forming. Some welcome Burnham as a unifier; others fear the message his candidacy could send to local activists who have spent years building constituencies on the ground.

“He’s carried our concerns into national debates before. He stood up for the North during COVID and for public services,” said Tom Hargreaves, a retired teacher who now volunteers at his local Labour branch. “But we also want our members to have a genuine say. That’s what democracy looks like in our neighbourhood.”

Opposition within the party is less visible but real. One local activist, asking not to be named, described a “nervousness” among younger members. “There’s a worry that the path to the top is still through the front door of Westminster, not through grassroots organising,” they said. “It matters who represents us — not just what their name is.”

Beyond the personalities: ideological tensions

Burnham’s potential candidacy sits against a backdrop of larger debates: how centralised should political parties be? How much autonomy should local branches hold? And what does it mean for the wider Labour project if high-profile mayors drift back to the House of Commons?

Those questions cut in many directions. On one hand, Burnham’s national profile could be an asset in Parliament, where experience and media savvy matter. On the other, his departure would create a vacancy at the heart of Greater Manchester’s city-region governance — precisely when long-term projects, from transport integrations to housing pipelines, need continuity.

“The real issue is not just personalities but structures,” said Dr. Ramos. “Britain’s partial devolution means mayors often juggle local delivery with national aspiration. If we want strong cities, we must decide whether local leadership is an endpoint or a stepping stone.”

Local color: the city watching

Walk through Gorton on any weekday and you’ll see the small details that make this place distinctly Mancunian: terraces with washing lines strung overhead, the clatter of trams along Ashton New Road, a corner shop that sells everything from thermos flasks to party balloons. Denton’s industrial bones are there too, in old brick workshops with new murals on their walls and cafés where pensioners read the paper and discuss politics over tea.

“This area remembers its history; it remembers solidarity,” said Jason Malik, a community organiser in Denton. “The people here want someone who fights for their services and their sense of place. That’s what we’ll be asking, whoever the candidate is.”

What does this say about British politics now?

There’s a broader narrative at play: the ebb and flow between local leadership and national ambition, between the logic of party discipline and the messy reality of community politics. Across Europe and beyond, cities are becoming political actors in their own right. The question for Britain is whether those cities will retain autonomous voices or become stages for national politics to be played out.

So what should we watch for in the coming days? The NEC’s decision; the mood of local members at hustings; how Burnham himself frames his ambitions — as a return to national policymaking or a renewed attempt to knit local concerns into the national agenda.

And for readers watching from afar: what would it mean for your city if a beloved local leader left to chase national office? Would you feel betrayed, honoured, or simply pragmatic? Politics, after all, is not just policy; it’s relationship, responsibility and, at its best, trust.

Whatever happens by 31 January, this contest will be more than a by-election. It will be a referendum on where power should sit in modern Britain — in the hands of local communities or in the corridors of Westminster. And in Greater Manchester, under skies that know how to weep and how to clear, that debate will be fought with the blunt force of civic pride and the quieter power of everyday votes.

Australian 12-year-old dies after fatal shark attack at beach

hanad

January 24, 2026

Australian 12-year-old bitten by shark dies — Recent heavy rain had drained into the harbour, turning the water murky, police said

A Harbour’s Silence: The Death of a Boy and the Questions That Follow

On an ordinary Sydney summer afternoon, the harbour glittered like a million coins. Children leapt from sandstone ledges. Ferries hummed past, their wakes fanning white lines across the water. Then, in a moment that feels impossibly sudden and cruel, a boy’s life was snatched from the soundtrack of the city.

His name was Nico Antic. He was 12. His parents, Lorena and Juan, released a simple, shattering line: “We are heartbroken to share that our son, Nico, has passed away.” That sentence carried the weight of a neighbourhood’s grief and left Sydney — and anyone who has ever loved the water — asking how something so convivial could turn so fatal.

The Scene at Vaucluse

Vaucluse sits on the harbour’s eastern rim, where the water is usually a blessed patchwork of deep blues and green. Locals and visitors have rock-jumped there for generations; it’s a rite of summer for many families in the eastern suburbs. Last week, a group of children were doing exactly that, launching themselves from a six-metre cliff into the harbour below.

But heavy rain had just washed into the water, turning the clarity to soup. Police say the water was murky. According to witnesses, the attack was abrupt. Children ran screaming. A police boat recovered Nico bleeding heavily and rushed him to hospital; he died of his injuries days later, according to his family.

“We heard a commotion. One moment we were joking about the swell, the next there were sirens,” said Tom Ellis, a volunteer lifeguard who was at a nearby beach. “The water goes from playground to danger in seconds. It’s the randomness that shakes you.”

Why Are Sharks Showing Up in Places We Think of as Safe?

Four shark incidents were recorded in Sydney waters within two days of Nico’s attack, prompting authorities to close dozens of beaches. Those closures, the mourning parents, the stunned little island communities of swimmers and surfers — all of this is unfolding against longer-term shifts in how we share the coastal environment with its apex predators.

For decades, scientists have been tracking subtle but consequential changes: more people using the water, shifting fish populations, and warming seas. “We are seeing the overlap increase,” said Dr. Emma Kwan, a marine ecologist who studies predator-prey dynamics off Australia’s east coast. “Sharks aren’t suddenly more aggressive; they’re following food, following currents, and doing what evolution programmed them to do. Meanwhile, our patterns of coastal recreation are changing — more people in more places for longer seasons.”

In practical terms, that means greater probability of encounters. Australia averages roughly a couple of dozen unprovoked shark attacks a year, with fatalities historically rare but devastating when they occur. The species involved vary: great whites patrol the open ocean beaches; bull sharks and some tiger sharks can push into estuaries and murky harbours. The precise species in Nico’s attack has not been publicly specified, but experts point out that murky, post-rain water is a risk factor because visibility is reduced and fish and debris can draw predators closer to shore.

Climate and Crowds: A Two-Edged Sword

Rising sea temperatures and more frequent marine heatwaves — a well-documented consequence of global warming — can nudge usual patterns. Species that once stuck to deeper or cooler waters explore new ranges. Meanwhile, urban runoff after heavy rain can concentrate nutrients and baitfish near harbour mouths, altering local food webs.

“The apex predators are responding to a food landscape that we, directly and indirectly, influence,” said Dr. Kwan. “It’s a reminder that marine conservation isn’t abstract. It’s local. When the ocean changes, so does our risk profile.”

What Authorities and Communities Do Next

On the practical side, Sydney authorities moved quickly to close beaches and deploy additional patrols and resources. Inspector Mark Hayes of the local police described the response as “fast and compassionate,” while acknowledging the limits of control.

“We can close a beach, we can increase surveillance, we can put out warnings,” Hayes said. “But we can’t eliminate risk. We owe it to the family to do everything we can to prevent another tragedy — and to the community to be transparent about what we’re doing.”

That transparency matters because responses are contested. Traditional deterrents — shark nets, drum lines, longlines — reduce encounters on some beaches but bring collateral damage to marine mammals, turtles, and fish. Yet communities whose livelihoods and lifestyles revolve around the ocean often demand visible protection.

“We love the water; we also want to feel safe,” said Maria Lopez, a cafe owner near Watsons Bay. “Some people say nets are cruel. Others say they’d sleep better if their kids could swim without fear. It’s complicated. It hurts to watch a child taken like that.”

Immediate measures usually include beach closures, aerial surveillance, and increased patrols.
Longer-term options include targeted detection technology (drone and sonar), eco-friendly exclusion devices, and public education campaigns.
Public debate often centers on trade-offs: human safety versus marine conservation.

A Community Seeks Meaning

The human toll is, of course, the hardest to quantify. At Nico’s school, classmates left shoes at the gate and wrote messages on the fence. People laid flowers at nearby wharves. A neighbour described him as “a happy, friendly, and sporty young boy with the most kind and generous spirit. He was always full of life and that’s how we’ll remember him.” That phrasing — part eulogy, part testimony — captures how personal this moment is for the people who knew him.

“We want answers,” said a family friend, whose voice shook. “But answers won’t bring him back. We want action that makes the water safer for everyone.”

What Should You Take Away?

There are no easy answers. We can tighten tech and policy, but the ocean resists tidy human interventions. We can argue for more conservative access and fewer risks, or for better non-lethal mitigation. Each choice reflects values about nature, recreation, and the cost of safety.

So I ask you: when we stand on the edge of a harbour or a beach, do we see a playground or a wild place? Can we love these places and also respect their unpredictability? If the seas are changing, how do we want to adapt — with fear, with innovation, or with renewed humility?

For now, Vaucluse is quieter. The rock from which boys used to leap is the scene of a family’s loss, of a city’s unease. People keep coming to the water’s edge, because that is what humans do — we are drawn to the horizon, to the taste of salt, to the possibility of a plunge. The question is how we reconcile that longing with the hard realities unfolding in the warming, crowded seas.

As the city mourns, the conversation must continue: about safety, about conservation, about climate, and about the many ways we belong to — and sometimes collide with — the natural world. Nico’s death is not just a statistic. It’s an urgent call to ask how we want to live beside an ocean that is changing faster than many of our institutions can keep up.

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