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

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.

Zelensky Praises UAE Talks as Constructive Following Diplomatic Visit

hanad

January 24, 2026

Zelensky says UAE talks were 'constructive' — The first known direct contact between Ukrainian and Russian officials on the proposal began yesterday

On the Edge of a Deal: Abu Dhabi Talks, Cold Cities, and the Human Cost of a War That Won’t Quit

Late January in Abu Dhabi felt, for a few days, like a pause in a narrative that has otherwise galloped from one tragedy to the next. In a glass-and-steel conference room, diplomats and military aides from Ukraine, Russia and the United States sat across from one another and sketched the contours of a possible peace that has eluded Europe for years.

The conversations were described by some participants as “constructive.” Delegates compared notes, military representatives tallied the sticking points, and an Emirati host cast the encounter as an effort to iron out the “outstanding elements” of a US-backed framework. For a fleeting moment, the machinery of diplomacy hummed: paper, posture, and the cautious theatre of compromise.

What was on the table

At the center of every exchange was the same, immovable object — territory. The fate of the Donbas, a swath of eastern Ukraine that has been a battlefield and a political fulcrum since 2014, remains the most combustible issue. Russia says it wants Ukrainian forces to leave; Kyiv refuses to cede ground it still controls, roughly one-fifth of the region. Across these positions sits the unspoken calculus of national pride, security guarantees, and millions of lives already upended.

“We came to test whether a real pathway exists,” said a Western diplomat who witnessed parts of the talks and requested anonymity to speak freely. “The military teams mapped practical problems — troop positioning, withdrawal timelines, verification mechanisms. That’s the first honest step; the second is whether political leaders can stomach the compromises those measures imply.”

Back in Ukraine: Streets Without Heat

Meanwhile, thousands of kilometers away, the consequences of the war were not theoretical. In Kyiv, temperatures dropped below freezing, and whole neighborhoods felt the sudden, aching absence of heat. Russian strikes on energy infrastructure left block after block with cold pipes and shivering families. Social media filled with grainy videos of apartments lit by candles, of children wrapped in coats indoors, and of volunteers ferrying hot tea to high-rise stairwells.

“You can survive the shells,” said Olena, a schoolteacher who spent the night in a neighbor’s living room, her voice a mixture of fatigue and wry defiance. “But the lack of warmth — that changes everything. It makes the winter feel like another enemy.”

The European Union, which has sent hundreds of generators to parts of Ukraine, accused Moscow of deliberately targeting civilian heating infrastructure — a tactic that officials say compounds humanitarian distress during the harshest months. Overnight strikes also claimed lives in Kyiv and in the northeastern city of Kharkiv, leaving one dead and more than twenty injured, authorities said.

Human improvisation

In neighborhoods around Khreshchatyk, residents improvised. Community centers and metro stations turned into warming hubs. Local cafes served free soup and bread. Volunteers — young and old — moved like an ad-hoc relief corps, carrying heavy jerrycans from generators to apartment basements and wiring together heaters like those grim, necessary puzzles that keep life going.

“We’re not waiting for the world to fix it for us,” said Maksym, a 29-year-old electrician who volunteered after work. “You learn to make do. You get a generator working for an entire building. You light a stove. You teach the neighbors how to keep the pipes from freezing.”

Diplomacy and the Theatre of Global Players

The Abu Dhabi meeting was not an isolated event. It threaded into a broader, accelerated diplomacy. Leaders crossed paths in Davos, where Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky and former US President Donald Trump shared a public handshake and a private conversation. Envoys crisscrossed capitals. Steve Witkoff — a business figure thrust into the role of emissary — met Russian President Vladimir Putin inside the Kremlin. The optics suggested momentum; the content, less certain.

“There’s a difference between talking and negotiating,” said Dr. Livia Hartmann, a scholar of conflict resolution. “Talks can be helpful in clarifying red lines and confidence-building. Negotiations require trade-offs, third-party verification, and a believable enforcement mechanism. We are not yet past the talking stage.”

Ukrainian negotiators said the discussions in Abu Dhabi mapped “parameters” for ending the war and suggested there might be further rounds of talks soon. The Kremlin, for its part, reiterated its demand that Ukrainian forces withdraw from Donbas. “This is not a simple adjunct to negotiation; it’s the core,” said a Kremlin-affiliated spokesperson who spoke on condition of anonymity. “Until that demand is met, Russia says it will pursue its objectives militarily.”

The problem with drafts

Even when frameworks are drafted, they rarely satisfy everyone. An early US proposal was criticised in Kyiv and parts of Europe for appearing to align too closely with Russian demands. Later versions drew fire from Moscow for suggesting European peacekeepers — a concept Russia has long viewed with suspicion. Each iteration reveals fractures: between allies, within publics, and between the urgent human need to stop the killing and the political reluctance to make concessions.

Lives in the Balance

These high-stakes arrangements are not abstract. More than a million people remain displaced within Ukraine; millions more have fled abroad. Estimates of lives lost vary, but most assessments point to tens of thousands killed and infrastructure devastated. Hospitals, schools, and apartment blocks in the east and south bear the scars of bombardment; agricultural land has been abandoned or mined; economies have contracted and rebuilt in fits and starts.

“When you sit at a negotiation table you must keep these faces in your head,” said Anatoliy, a volunteer with an aid organization who lost his sister in a shelling last spring. “You can’t treat the map as only lines and dots. Those are homes. Those are graves. That should change how leaders talk.”

What the world watches

Europe watches with a mixture of sorrow and strategic anxiety. Energy security, grain shipments, and the flow of refugees are not mere footnotes; they are central to how nations calibrate their responses. For the United States and its allies, the dilemma is classic: how to push for an end to hostilities without underwriting a settlement that rewards aggression.

“Some outcomes might look like a ceasefire but entrench the very injustices that sparked the conflict,” Dr. Hartmann warned. “We need a settlement that is durable — one that addresses political grievances, ensures security, and provides accountability.”

Waiting, Warming, Hoping

On the cold streets of Kyiv, people mound up blankets and share pots of soup. In Abu Dhabi, negotiators fold maps and make lists. In Moscow and Washington, officials posture and puzzle. For most of the continent, the question is painfully simple: can these talks move beyond process to produce a settlement that sticks?

When you imagine the end of this war, what do you see — a map redrawn, a fragile ceasefire, a long-term peace process, or something worse? The answer will determine the winter to come for millions.

“We want the guns to fall silent,” Olena said, looking out at the pale Kyiv morning. “But silence without dignity is not peace.”

Prosecutors Dismiss Abuse Investigation Into Singer Julio Iglesias

hanad

January 24, 2026

Prosecutors drop abuse case against singer Julio Iglesias — Spanish prosecutors said the court lacked jurisdiction to try singer Julio Iglesias

A courtroom paused, a story redirected: How a Spanish probe into Julio Iglesias stalled on jurisdiction

In a building of granite and quiet power in Madrid, judges folded a case back into their files and, in doing so, forced a complicated story to shift its geography. What began as a complaint lodged amid newspaper exposés and television investigations has been stilled for now — not because the questions disappeared, but because the map of justice is uneven and the alleged events, according to Spain’s High Court prosecutors, occurred beyond Spain’s reach.

On a crisp winter morning, prosecutors at Spain’s High Court said they would not proceed with a preliminary inquiry into singer Julio Iglesias. The reason given was straightforward in law and stubborn in consequence: the alleged crimes were said to have taken place in the Dominican Republic and the Bahamas, and the women claiming harm were not Spanish residents — meaning Madrid’s courts lacked the jurisdiction to try the case.

What sparked the complaint

The complaint was filed on January 5 by Women’s Link Worldwide, a rights organisation that frequently brings strategic litigation on behalf of survivors. It represented two women described as having worked in properties owned by Iglesias in the Caribbean for roughly ten months in 2021. The filing cited reporting by U.S. broadcaster Univision and Spanish outlet elDiario.es that detailed allegations ranging from forced labour and servitude to sexual assault and violations of workers’ rights.

“We brought this case because survivors asked for their voices to be heard,” said a lawyer for Women’s Link Worldwide. “When institutions in the country where the alleged harm occurred are not moving, you look for alternatives. That is how transnational justice should function — but it requires legal pathways that sometimes aren’t available.”

Allegations on record

The accusations, as described in the complaint and subsequent media reports, included:

Human trafficking for forced labour and servitude
Sexual assault
Systematic violations of employment and labour rights

Julio Iglesias, the 82-year-old global music star once celebrated on stadium stages and in glossy profiles, publicly dismissed the allegations on social media as “completely false.” Attempts to reach his representatives for further comment were not successful, and his record label declined to engage on the matter.

Why the High Court stopped the inquiry

In a terse but consequential filing, the prosecutor’s office said that because the alleged acts occurred in the Dominican Republic and the Bahamas, Spain’s High Court lacked the competence to investigate. The filing also underlined a second legal hurdle: the alleged victims were not Spanish citizens nor residents — a factor that, together with existing Supreme Court jurisprudence, limits Spain’s application of universal jurisdiction in such circumstances.

“This is not a question of whether allegations are true or false. It is a question of where a court has the mandate to adjudicate,” a senior prosecutor told me. “Our legal system sets boundaries. Those boundaries can sometimes frustrate victims seeking remedies when transnational crimes are involved.”

Context: universal jurisdiction and Spanish law

Universal jurisdiction is a legal principle that allows a nation to prosecute certain serious crimes — such as genocide, war crimes or torture — even if they were committed elsewhere and neither the perpetrators nor victims are nationals. Spain’s courts once applied this principle expansively; the 1998 attempt by Spanish judge Baltasar Garzón to issue an international arrest warrant for Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet became a landmark moment, showcasing Spain’s reach in international human rights cases.

But in recent years, Spain has narrowed the scope of universal jurisdiction. Supreme Court rulings and legislative tweaks have increasingly required stronger links to Spain — such as Spanish victims or suspects within Spanish territory — for cases to proceed. That jurisprudential tightening is exactly what the High Court cited in declining the Iglesias inquiry.

Voices from the street and the court

On a Madrid sidewalk outside the National Court, opinions were a mosaic of curiosity, scepticism and weary recognition.

“It’s frustrating,” said Ana, a 34-year-old social worker who asked to be identified only by her first name. “When powerful people are implicated, you expect cross-border mechanisms to work. But international law is complicated. The survivors deserve an effective forum.”

A music industry veteran familiar with Iglesias’s career, who spoke on condition of anonymity, reflected on how reputation and the legal system can diverge. “He is an icon for many — sold millions of records, filled arenas — and that fame can create a pressure to close ranks. But that documentary journalism matters. It brings stories that would otherwise drift away.”

What this means for survivors and for justice

For the women named in the complaint, the High Court’s decision does not erase the allegations or remove the possibility of accountability in the future. The prosecutor’s office explicitly noted that prosecution could still be pursued in the Dominican Republic and the Bahamas. But the path ahead is difficult. Countries with smaller legal systems often lack resources, may struggle with political pressures, or face obstacles in investigating foreign-linked cases.

“When jurisdictional gaps appear, victims often fall through them,” said a university professor of international law. “This is a global issue — crimes increasingly cross borders, but legal remedies remain mostly tied to them.”

Globally, human trafficking and forced labour remain pressing concerns. According to the International Labour Organization, an estimated 24.9 million people were in forced labour worldwide in a 2016 assessment, and the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime reports that only a fraction of traffickers are ever convicted. Those numbers speak to the institutional challenge: identification of victims is often the start, not the end, of a long hunt for justice.

Media, memory, and the court of public opinion

This episode also illuminates how modern investigations unfold. The complaint relied heavily on investigative journalism — long-form reporting that can take months of interviews, fact-checking and careful documentation. In an age when news cycles spin fast, slow investigative work continues to play a crucial role in unearthing stories that might otherwise remain private.

“Journalism and law are partners here,” said the Women’s Link lawyer. “Journalists uncover facts, survivors speak out, and lawyers try to translate narratives into enforceable claims. Where one link breaks down, the whole chain can fail.”

Where do we go from here?

For now, the story travels. It must land in the Caribbean courts if channels for justice are to open. It will likely be followed by renewed calls from rights groups for stronger international cooperation, better victim protection, and more robust avenues for survivors to seek redress.

And for the public, it surfaces uncomfortable questions: How do we hold the powerful to account when alleged wrongs span oceans? Whose courts answer for harm that crosses borders? What responsibilities do journalists and advocates carry in bringing these matters into view?

These are not academic queries. They are questions about power, place, and the promise of law. They ask us whether justice should stop at territorial lines or find ways to follow the people most affected.

In the end, the High Court’s decision is procedural, but its reverberations are human. Two women, a music star whose songs have roused millions, and a legal framework that must reconcile the local with the global — all exist in the same story. If this chapter has closed in Madrid, the book is far from finished. Who will read the next pages? Who will write them? And most importantly, will the search for truth continue where it must?

Former Canadian Olympian Arrested, Accused of Leading Drug Ring

hanad

January 24, 2026

Canadian Olympian turned alleged drug lord arrested — FBI Director Kash Patel has previously described Ryan Wedding as a 'modern day iteration of Pablo Escobar'

From Olympic Slopes to International Headlines: The Strange, Shadowed Life of Ryan Wedding

Imagine a man who once carved arcs of snow at 80 kilometres an hour in front of cheering crowds, now pictured handcuffed on a tarmac somewhere south of the border. The image jars. It feels like a script pulled from a novelist’s notebook: an athlete who became a fugitive, a life that seems to splinter into two almost incompatible biographies.

That, in essence, is the story authorities unveiled when they announced the arrest of Canadian-born Ryan Wedding — a former Olympic snowboarder — in Mexico. Wedding, 44, who represented Canada at the 2002 Salt Lake City Games and finished 24th in the parallel giant slalom, is now accused of running a transnational cocaine trafficking ring and implicated in murder charges, according to U.S. law enforcement statements.

The capture and what authorities are saying

Officials described a cross-border operation that ended with Wedding in custody in Mexico and being transported to the United States to face charges. He had reportedly been on the run for more than a decade and was listed among the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted. The U.S. State Department put a $15 million reward on information leading to his capture — a sum that signals how seriously authorities viewed this case.

“This is the kind of arrest that required patience, coordination and years of following threads that crisscross borders and oceans,” said a U.S. law-enforcement official involved in the investigation, speaking on condition of anonymity. “We followed financial flows, communications, and the people around him. That led to Mexico.”

Authorities say Wedding — known to associates by aliases like “El Jefe,” “Giant” and “Public Enemy” — was allegedly part of a Sinaloa Cartel operation that shipped hundreds of kilograms of cocaine from Colombia through Mexico and into Southern California and Canada. Seven alleged co-conspirators were arrested in Canada last November, among them individuals who worked as legal and logistical support for the scheme; extradition proceedings are reportedly underway.

How does an Olympian become a fugitive?

To hear former teammates tell it, Wedding’s descent into the underworld is not the stuff of overnight transformation. “You don’t wake up one day and become a cartel kingpin,” said a man who once trained with him in Calgary and asked not to be named. “There are fractures you only see afterward — debt, anger, the people who pull you in.”

But the juxtaposition is unnerving. The same hands that once balanced a board on icy rails are now alleged to have orchestrated shipments of cocaine measured in hundreds of kilos. The transformation invites a host of questions about identity, opportunity and the porous borders between sport, celebrity and criminal enterprise.

Voices from the places that mattered

In a dusty border market not far from where investigators believe some of the smuggling routes ran, vendors shrugged as if to say such headlines land here like seasonal storms: loud, then forgotten. “People come and go,” said Mariela, who runs a taco stall. “Some are athletes, some are tourists, some are dangerous. We sell tacos either way.” Her laugh is a small, human punctuation to a story that otherwise leans on indictments and wiretaps.

Down the block, a retired customs officer recalled the ingenuity of traffickers. “Over the years, the techniques evolve — hidden compartments, commercial shipments, the use of third parties,” he said. “What’s stayed the same is the hunger for profit and the human cost.”

Scale and context: why this arrest matters

The arrest is more than a celebrity-fugitive story; it spotlights the stubborn persistence of global drug networks that funnel hundreds of tonnes of cocaine annually toward North American markets. While yearly totals ebb and flow, international agencies consistently report that Latin America — particularly Colombia — remains the principal source of cocaine, with Mexico serving as a major transit and distribution hub.

Why should a reader in Tokyo, Lagos, Lagos or London care? Because those flows fuel violence, corrupt institutions, and public-health crises across continents. Cocaine trafficking is not merely a headline in North American papers: its ripple effects are global, shaping migration patterns, straining law-enforcement resources, and contributing to a market where synthetic and adulterated substances increasingly endanger users.

Allegations, not convictions

It’s critical to remember — Wedding faces allegations. In the U.S. legal system he is entitled to the presumption of innocence until proven guilty in court. Defense lawyers often argue that high-profile cases attract sensationalism that can muddy facts in the public imagination.

“The court of public opinion moves fast; the court of law moves more slowly,” said an experienced defence attorney in Toronto. “We will examine the evidence thoroughly. Allegations don’t equal guilt.”

The human cost behind the headlines

Amid the sketches of seizures, rewards and extradition paperwork, the human consequences ripple outward. Families on two continents watch court calendars. Communities where shipments pass become more dangerous, and law-enforcement officers in multiple countries risk their lives to track networks that are increasingly sophisticated.

“Every kilogram has a story,” said a drug policy analyst in Washington who studies trafficking corridors. “Behind the numbers are farmers, smugglers, users, kids who never had a fair start. When we talk about a single arrest, we must also ask what systems enabled the crime.”

Questions to sit with

What does it mean when an Olympic athlete is alleged to have become a central cog in a transnational criminal machine? What responsibilities do sporting bodies, governments and communities have to spot and intervene in the slow unravelling that can lead to crime? And how do societies balance the need for security against the presumption of innocence?

These are not rhetorical flourishes; they are invitations to think about prevention, rehabilitation and the social scaffolding that either catches people or fails them.

What’s next

Wedding’s fate now moves through legal hallways: extradition procedures, arraignments, discovery and, potentially, a trial. If convicted, the penalties for large-scale cocaine trafficking and murder are severe in the U.S., and the case could take years to resolve. The Canadian detainees arrested last year also face legal reckonings tied to the alleged network.

For now, the arrest closes a chapter in a chase that involved tips, surveillance and international cooperation — and opens another that will be written in court filings and witness testimony. It is a rare and strange story: one that stitches together snow-swept slopes and the shadowy corridors of global crime.

As readers, what do we do with a tale like this? We listen. We ask hard questions. We remember that every headline lives atop a deeper reality of people and choices, and we keep watch — not just for the fall of a single man, but for the structures that enable such falls to happen at all.

Key facts: Wedding is accused of cocaine trafficking and murder, allegedly tied to shipments from Colombia through Mexico into Southern California and Canada.
Reward: U.S. State Department reportedly offered $15 million for information leading to his capture.
Previous life: Competed for Canada in snowboarding at the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics (24th in parallel giant slalom).

U.S. Rescinds Invitation for Canada to Join Board of Peace

hanad

January 24, 2026

US revokes Canada's invitation to join Board of Peace — Last week, Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney's office said he had been invited to serve on the board and planned to accept

When Davos Frost Met a Political Firestorm: The Strange Rise and Rapid Shrink of Trump’s ‘Board of Peace’

Snow dusted the alpine streets of Davos like a soft editing hand, and the World Economic Forum hummed with the usual blend of caffeine, optimism and guarded power-brokering. Then, in the space of a single day, a gesture meant to signal global leadership turned into a theatrical public spat—one that left diplomats, hotel concierges and baristas trading whispers over espresso about what “peace” really costs in today’s geopolitics.

A bold invitation, a sharper rebuke

It began with an invitation. On paper, it was an offering of prestige: a seat at an initiative being billed as the “Board of Peace,” an assembly President Donald Trump framed as a new mechanism for conflict resolution. But the moment Canada’s leader, Mark Carney, used his Davos platform to denounce the weaponization of economic ties—tariffs held as leverage, trade used as geopolitical cudgel—the board’s brief warmth froze.

“Please let this Letter serve to represent that the Board of Peace is withdrawing its invitation to you,” Mr. Trump posted on his social channel, bluntly rescinding the offer in public view. It was a move equal parts policy and performance art—part Twitter-age diplomacy, part Davos showdown.

In the room where Carney spoke, the reaction was unmistakable: a rare, sustained standing ovation. His message—arguing that countries should not weaponize integration, and that middle powers can band together to resist coercion—struck a chord with delegates who have watched increasingly brittle global rules reshape commerce and security. “We cannot let economic ties become instruments of intimidation,” Carney told the Forum. “Canada will show another way.”

Short, sharp words—and longer echoes

The exchange that followed was personal and pointed. Mr. Trump, in a Davos appearance, reminded listeners that Canada “lives because of the United States,” admonishing Carney to remember American generosity. Carney fired back on home soil: “Canada doesn’t live because of the United States. Canada thrives because we are Canadian.” The lines were short. The implications long.

“This is more than a spat,” said Dr. Aisha Rahman, an international law scholar who has studied alternative multilateral structures. “It’s a test of whether new institutions will reinforce the UN system—or begin to pull at its seams.”

For locals in Davos, the spectacle felt oddly cinematic. “You get used to seeing big people say big things here,” joked Lukas Meier, a waiter at a small café near the congress center. “But this time, everyone kept craning their necks. It was like watching a slow-motion collision.”

What is the Board—and who’s signing the cheque?

Behind the performative headlines lay concrete mechanics. Mr. Trump insisted that permanent members of the Board of Peace would be expected to contribute $1 billion each (roughly €850 million) in seed money. His stated ambition was large: a board capable, he said, of “doing pretty much whatever we want to do,” working in coordination with the United Nations.

The ambition brought scrutiny. The initiative secured a form of endorsement through a UN Security Council resolution tied to a Gaza peace framework, but the U.N. spokesperson later clarified that any U.N. engagement would be circumscribed by that narrow remit.

Already, a partial roster of member states began to emerge: nations like Argentina, Bahrain, Morocco, Pakistan and Turkey signed on. But prominent Western allies—Britain, France and Italy among them—appeared hesitant, declining at least for the moment to participate. The European Union publicly voiced “serious doubts” about parts of the board’s charter, questioning its scope, governance and congruity with the U.N. Charter.

Permanent-member contribution: $1 billion (~€850 million)
Initial listed participants: Argentina, Bahrain, Morocco, Pakistan, Turkey
UN member states: 193 (for context on the scale of global representation)

Why some countries balked

For several European capitals, the problem wasn’t the idea of peace—who could oppose that?—but the architecture. “We can’t join a structure that seeks to mimic or undermine the UN Security Council,” said Helen McEntee, Ireland’s Minister for Foreign Affairs and Trade, echoing a broader worry that the board’s remit might expand beyond Gaza to areas traditionally governed by the U.N.

Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez told reporters after the summit that Spain had “declined” the invitation. “Peace must be pursued without creating parallel institutions that distort international law,” he added.

Those objections hinged on deeper anxieties about legitimacy: who gets to shape post-conflict reconstruction, who decides the rules, and how accountability will be ensured when enormous sums are pooled outside established global institutions.

Middle powers, middle ground—or a new playing field?

Carney’s broader argument—visible in his Davos address and the domestic speech he gave in Quebec—was that middle powers can demonstrate governance alternatives. “Canada can’t solve all the world’s problems, but we can show that another way is possible,” he told a domestic audience, asking his countrymen to look to democratic resilience and inclusive institutions.

His example resonated with a subset of states wary of being caught between great-power demands. For countries that recently diversified trade—Canada’s agreement with China was cited as an example—there’s a growing interest in crafting a foreign policy that neither bows to nor is swallowed by a single superpower’s influence.

“There’s a real, quiet coalition forming among countries that want multilateralism to be more than a slogan,” said Marta Delgado, a geopolitical analyst. “They’re focused on operationalizing cooperation in ways that are transparent and accountable—not ad hoc frameworks priced for the highest bidder.”

Practical questions, human costs

Beyond high-level mechanics, skeptics asked pointed, practical questions: How will funds be spent? Who will be the auditors? What happens to local voices in Gaza if an external board adopts a top-down reconstruction plan? Such worries matter not just to technocrats but to ordinary people whose lives depend on the mechanics of aid and governance.

“We want rebuilding that listens to us,” said Samir, a shop owner in a Gazan neighborhood now reduced to rubble. “Money is important, but who decides what stays and what goes matters even more.”

Why this matters to you—and the rest of the world

At its heart, the Davos episode is a microcosm of a larger balancing act playing out on the world stage: the friction between emergent power centers, the stress test of post-war reconstruction, and the question of whether new, private or semi-private institutions can deliver peace without weakening the public, multilateral frameworks that have held global order in place since 1945.

Do we accept new structures that promise speed and decisive funding at the cost of traditional checks and balances? Or do we double down on an imperfect but universal system meant to ensure equal footing for smaller states?

Those are not merely academic questions. They shape whether humanitarian funds reach hospitals, whether rebuilding respects local culture, whether displaced families can return home under fair governance. They shape trust.

As the snow in Davos melted into spring runoff, the spectacle—the rescinded invitation, the standing ovation, the resonant speeches—remained a reminder that geopolitics is equal parts policy and performance. What comes next depends on whether states choose tempers or treaties, theatrics or transparency.

What would you demand of any new global body entrusted with peace—and would you trust money and power concentrated in the hands of a few to deliver it? Think about it the next time headlines promise fast solutions to slow problems.

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