Irishman Wrongfully Detained in Iran Says Locals Live in Fear

January 12, 2026

Irish man wrongly imprisoned in Iran says 'people scared' — Bernard Phelan was held in Iran after being accused of providing information to an enemy country in 2022

Seven Months Behind Bars, a Survivor Returns with a Simple Plea: Watch Iran’s People

The man who walked back into Dublin from an ordeal in Iran carries more than a passport and a battered suitcase. He carries a story that smells of diesel and tea, of carpet dust and hospital antiseptic — a story about a country awake with anger and a regime sharpening its teeth.

Bernard Phelan spent seven months in Iranian custody after being accused of passing information to a foreign power. He was held in 2022, arrested in October and emerged after more than 200 days behind bars — a stretch of time that left him bruised, bewildered and physically marked by a stroke he now believes was triggered by post‑traumatic stress.

“They used any excuse,” he told me, voice steady but winded by memory. “You learn quickly that fear is a currency there. You trade it, you hoard it, and sometimes it buys you nothing at all.”

On the Streets, a Different Kind of Fear — and Defiance

When Phelan speaks of the protests swelling across Iran, his tone tilts between sorrow and a cautious kind of hope. He remembers being tangled in earlier demonstrations in Tabriz — the city’s great bazaar a tangle of voices, merchants, and the smell of freshly roasted tea — and says what’s happening now feels larger, fouler, more combustible.

“People are burning cars and government buildings,” he said. “It’s not just shouting anymore. It’s an eruption of all the anger that’s been bottled up for years.”

That anger has many sources. A rising cost of living — bread, fuel, housing — has bled into a deeper contempt for the Revolutionary Guards, whose sprawling business interests in energy, construction and telecommunications have been estimated by analysts to be worth billions. For many Iranians, the Guards are less a military force than a commercial empire and an omnipresent political instrument.

Human rights organizations have recorded a sharp uptick in arrests and executions in recent years. Rights groups say hundreds were executed last year alone, and thousands more were detained during crackdowns on dissent. Those figures are not just numbers; they are the bones of personal tragedies that ripple through families and neighborhoods.

Voices from the Ground

“People here are living on the edge,” said Laleh, a shopkeeper in Tabriz who asked that only her first name be used. “If the price of flour rises, a family’s dinner changes. If the phone lines are cut, we can’t organize. The Guards control everything. My nephew says he is afraid to post a poem on social media.”

A young protester in Tehran, wrapped in a wool coat against a damp night, told me: “We are tired of promises and of the same faces. We don’t want them to replace one leader with another puppet. We want to be seen.” His eyes glittered with defiance and exhaustion in equal measure.

Power, Profit, and the Price Paid by Ordinary People

The Revolutionary Guards Corps (IRGC) is not merely a military force; in Iran’s political economy it functions as a commercial super‑entity. From oil pipelines to mobile networks, the IRGC and its affiliates hold stakes that analysts say give them leverage over the country’s wealth and its future. That concentration of power means protests over bread quickly become protests over who controls the bread ovens.

“When economic grievance intersects with concentrated power, you get politics that is both social and existential,” explains Dr. Miriam Khosravi, an analyst who studies Iran’s political economy. “The IRGC’s financial footprint means the costs of dissent are commercial as well as personal. People who wince at prices are also confronting an oligarchy that enriches itself with impunity.”

Across the diaspora, governments are watching closely. The European Union has considered sanctions in response to crackdowns on demonstrators, while international human rights organizations continue to document abuses. Sanctions are often pitched as both a moral rebuke and a lever for change — but they can also have complex, sometimes unintended consequences for ordinary citizens.

What Would Change Look Like?

Phelan is blunt about his doubts. “I don’t know what happens if the supreme leader goes,” he said. “The Guards who arrested me are potent. Will they give up their businesses? Who would fill the gap? A puppet? A technocrat? A violent vacuum?”

He’s not alone in his uncertainty. Revolutions and uprisings are messy: sometimes they topple figures and rearrange the furniture; sometimes they extinguish one flame and light another. Iran’s history since 1979 is testament to both possibilities — sweeping social change and the persistence of powerful institutions.

Recovery and a Complicated Love for a Country

Phelan’s recovery has been slow and stubborn. The stroke at the end of August last year — which doctors linked to severe psychological stress — left him relearning small freedoms, like the ability to drive. “I drove yesterday for the first time since August,” he said with a grin that betrayed a weariness deeper than the grin. “I feel positive about the situation — not just about me, but about the people.”

He insists his love for Iran is undimmed. He talks about tea houses where conversations run like rivers, about poets quoted in market stalls, about the layers of Persian history folded into every ruined tile. “Iran is a fantastic place — culturally, historically, intellectually,” he said. “It has enormous potential if it shakes off the regime that’s squeezing it.”

Why This Matters to the World

These protests are not only an Iranian story. They touch on global themes: the long shadow of authoritarianism, the power of state‑affiliated interests to shape economies, the role of diaspora communities in demanding accountability, and the ethics of foreign governments who balance human rights against geopolitical strategy.

When citizens take to the streets because they can no longer afford staples or believe they cannot breathe under political pressure, the alarm crosses borders. The question becomes: how should the international community respond in ways that support human dignity without deepening hardship?

Millions of Iranians live in urban centers where inflation bites hardest.
Rights monitors report hundreds of executions and thousands of arrests in recent years.
Analysts estimate IRGC‑linked businesses control assets worth many billions, affecting everyday life and political decisions.

Where Do We Go From Here?

There are no simple answers, only hard choices. Will protest morph into reform, or will entrenched power find new ways to survive? Can international pressure be calibrated to protect civilians rather than punish them? And perhaps most importantly: what do we owe the people who, like Phelan, return home carrying stories that ask us to look, to care, to act?

Listen to their voices. Read their poetry. Watch the markets and the mosques and the empty chairs at family tables. The images are easy to scroll past; the histories are not. What would you do if your neighbor’s bread cost a month’s rent? What would you risk to be seen?

Phelan’s final words linger: “People are very afraid — and very brave. Watch them. Don’t look away.”

Swiss court extends custody of bar owner following fatal blaze

hanad

January 12, 2026

Swiss court keeps bar owner in custody after deadly fire — Jacques Moretti and his wife Jessica Moretti

Crans-Montana’s New Year: A Night That Turned from Celebration to Tragedy

The bells of the Alps had barely rung midnight when a routine celebration in a mountain resort bar in Crans-Montana turned into a wound that will not quickly heal. On New Year’s Day, a blaze tore through a packed basement venue, killing 40 people and leaving a tight-knit community — and a nation — asking how a night of music and champagne ended in such ruin.

In the days since, the legal machinery of the Valais canton began to turn. A Swiss court has ordered the provisional detention of one of the bar’s co-owners, 44-year-old Jacques Moretti, for an initial three-month period — a measure that can be adjusted if precautions like a security deposit are offered to offset any risk of flight, the court said. Prosecutors have launched a criminal investigation that lists manslaughter by negligence, bodily harm by negligence and arson by negligence among the possible charges.

“We will cooperate fully”

Outside the courthouse, Jacques’s wife, Jessica Moretti, spoke with the sort of weary composure only weeks of media glare and private mourning can produce. “This will not prevent us from cooperating,” she told reporters. “We are shattered. We have nothing to hide, and we will answer every question.”

“This authority has taken into account the unconditional commitment of Jessica Moretti and her husband not to evade the legal proceedings they will be facing together,” a court statement added — a phrase that echoed Jessica’s determination but did not sway the judge from ordering custody for the time being.

From Sparkler to Inferno: What Happened in the Basement

Investigators say the blaze likely began when celebratory sparklers — the handheld, crackling kind often used to ring in New Year’s — ignited acoustic soundproofing foam attached to the ceiling of the bar’s basement. That combination is tragically familiar to fire experts: decorative pyrotechnics and highly flammable foam are a dangerous pairing.

“When certain foams burn, they don’t just go up in flames — they release a cocktail of toxic gases,” said Dr. Sophie Keller, a fire-safety engineer at a Swiss technical university. “Polyurethane-based acoustic foam can produce hydrogen cyanide and massive amounts of carbon monoxide. People can be overcome in seconds, especially in a crowded, poorly ventilated basement.”

First responders arriving at the scene described a fast-moving, choking fire. Questions are now being asked about the club’s emergency preparedness: Were fire extinguishers present and accessible? Were fire exits clearly marked and unobstructed? Did the venue comply with local building codes? Those are among the details prosecutors are working to establish.

What the law says — and what the community feels

Swiss law enshrines the presumption of innocence until a final conviction is pronounced, a legal cornerstone stressed by officials while public anguish simmers. Still, the decision to detain a co-owner is an unmistakable sign that authorities view the incident as more than an accident until proven otherwise.

“We must balance respect for legal rights with the urgency of this investigation,” said an unnamed Valais prosecutor in an official briefing. “There are serious questions of negligence that must be answered. Detention at this stage is a tool to secure the process.”

Outside the realm of courtrooms and indictments, the town of Crans-Montana — an alpine resort usually known for ski slopes, sun-drenched terraces, and après-ski revelry — has folded into grief. Scattered around a makeshift memorial outside the charred venue, candles gutter in alpine wind. Bouquets of Edelweiss and roses, handwritten messages in French, German, Italian and English, tell of lost lives and halted futures.

“He was a great friend. We danced together last summer…. I can’t believe he is gone,” said Marc, 31, a ski instructor who left a scarf at the memorial. His voice cracked. “Why were there sparklers? Why foam on the ceiling?”

Holding the Line: Safety, Regulation and Accountability

This tragedy raises painful, universal questions about nightlife safety and regulatory oversight. Nightclubs, bars and event spaces worldwide have learned — often the hard way — that a single negligent element can cascade into catastrophe.

Globally, catastrophic nightspot fires have prompted stricter regulations. The 2003 Station Nightclub fire in the United States, which killed 100 people, led to a major reevaluation of pyrotechnic use and exit access rules.
In Argentina, the 2004 República Cromañón tragedy, which killed nearly 200 people, triggered national reforms around capacity limits, permits and enforcement.

Swiss cantons have authority over building and safety inspections, and critics are already asking whether regulations were enforced consistently in Crans-Montana. Inspectors will now comb through licensing paperwork, maintenance logs, and eyewitness testimony. Video from smartphones and CCTV could prove decisive in reconstructing the timeline of the fire and the speed with which staff or patrons tried to escape.

Voices from the town

Locals speak with a mixture of sorrow and searching anger. “We trust our hosts to keep us safe,” said Elodie, who runs a pastry shop near the resort’s main square. “People come here to celebrate life. To think that a night could end like this — it will change how we look at every party.”

Others point to systemic issues: short-staffed inspections, corners cut for profit, or a culture that downplays risk. “We must ask if safety was sacrificed for atmosphere,” said Tomasz Novak, a veteran fire inspector from a neighboring canton. “It’s not about blaming the hospitality industry wholesale. It’s about enforcing standards that save lives.”

Grief, Questions, and the Long Road Ahead

There are practical, immediate concerns — the criminal process, possible charges and eventual trials — and there are deeper, human ones. Families are planning funerals. Friends are sifting through photos and voicemail. The people who were at the bar that night, some injured, many terrified, will relive the moment in nightmares and in courtrooms.

The Morettis have said they are devastated and will cooperate with investigators. Whether that cooperation, combined with financial guarantees or travel restrictions, will be enough to see Jacques Moretti released from custody remains to be seen. For now, the court has opted for a cautious approach, keeping him detained while the inquiry continues.

As the world watches, this Alpine town faces the same questions cities and villages have faced after other terrible fires: How do we balance celebration with safety? How do we translate sorrow into policy that prevents recurrence? And who will be held responsible when regulations fail?

What would you change about how public venues are regulated in your community? How do we honor those we’ve lost while making sure their deaths force meaningful reform? These are not easy questions. They are necessary ones.

For Crans-Montana, for the families and friends of the 40 people killed, and for the survivors carrying physical and invisible scars, the answers cannot come soon enough. In the meantime, the memorial grows, the legal case moves forward, and a town that salutes the mountains now mourns in their shadow.

Trump Urges Cuba to Negotiate a Deal Now Before It’s Too Late

hanad

January 12, 2026

Trump says he takes more aspirin than doctors recommend — Donald Trump said he wants 'nice, thin blood pouring through' his heart

On the Edge of an Island: What a Threat to Cut Off Venezuelan Oil Means for Cuba

The sun sets amber over Havana, and the city’s aging grid stutters and sighs. In a corner café, a woman with threadbare hands sips dark coffee and counts the hours until the next blackout. At the gas station down the street, a line snakes around the block — an almost daily ritual that has become part of the city’s rhythm. You can see worry in the faces of people who have learned to live with scarcity; you can also feel the hush of expectation, like a waiting room where everyone knows something big is coming.

Then a message arrives from Washington: the president says Venezuela’s oil and money bound for Cuba will stop — “zero,” he writes — unless Havana “makes a deal.” The words tumble across international feeds and into neighborhood doorways in a matter of minutes. For Cubans already used to shortages, the statement lands like a fresh layer of ice on an old fracture. For the world beyond the Caribbean, it raises a blunt question: what happens when the threatened lifeline truly runs dry?

Beyond the Soundbite: A Week That Changed the Map

The warning follows a dramatic opening to the year in the region: in the last week, U.S. forces carried out an operation that resulted in the capture of Venezuela’s leader, an act that, according to multiple reports, cost the lives of dozens of Venezuelan and Cuban security personnel. The move has turbocharged tensions across Latin America, and the messages from Washington have hardened into public ultimatums: stop supporting Caracas, or face consequences.

“There will be no more oil or money going to Cuba — zero!” the president posted, and later added that Cuba had provided “security services” to Venezuela’s leaders in return. Cuba’s foreign minister hit back in Spanish on social media, insisting Havana has “never received monetary or material compensation for the security services it has provided to any country,” and asserting the right to buy fuel from any willing exporter without U.S. interference.

History in a Drop of Fuel

To understand why this exchange matters, you have to rewind to the turn of the century. In the early 2000s, an alliance between Caracas and Havana — largely under Hugo Chávez — created a system by which heavily subsidized Venezuelan oil helped power Cuban hospitals, buses, and power plants. It wasn’t charity so much as geopolitics: cheap energy in exchange for medical teams, intelligence cooperation, and diplomatic backing. For decades, that pact insulated Cuba from the full weight of the U.S. embargo, which dates back to the 1960s.

But economic shocks in Venezuela — hyperinflation, shrinking oil production, and internal turmoil — have strained that relationship. Cuba, an island of roughly 11 million people, now faces a brittle energy system and an economy that relies on tourism, remittances, and strategic partnerships. Strip away a key source of fuel and money, and critical services falter, flights cancel, and refrigerators stop running.

On the Ground in Havana

“We are used to adapting,” says María Alvarez, 48, a seamstress who lives in Centro Habana, her voice threaded with both resilience and fatigue. “But if the oil stops, it isn’t only about heat or light. It is the hospitals, the ambulances, the trucks that deliver food. You understand? Everything tightens. The people who always suffer are the same.”

Outside a state-run clinic, a nurse slams a locker full of rationed medical supplies and shakes her head. “We’re doing triage on what should not be triage,” she says, asking not to be named because her job is precarious. “One more shock to the system and patients die waiting.”

Not everyone in Havana reacts the same way. In a small paladar, a private restaurant tucked behind a bougainvillea, the owner shrugs and gestures toward tourists still booking hotels months in advance. “We live between two economies now,” he says, “the official and the one you see. They affect each other, but you can still pivot. The question is: how long will that protective skin last?”

Voices from Washington and Beyond

In the U.S., the president’s rhetoric has been greeted by cheers from some corners of his party. “We are witnessing what I am convinced will be the beginning of the end of the regime in Havana,” a U.S. congressman with roots in the Cuban-American community declared online. Supporters frame the approach as pushing for freedom; critics warn of unintended humanitarian fallout.

An independent regional analyst I spoke with, who requested anonymity to speak frankly, warned of a dangerous miscalculation. “When you weaponize scarcity — directly or indirectly — you risk radicalizing people, dislocating millions, and creating a refugee crisis ten times worse than what we anticipate. This isn’t chess; it’s an emergency room.”

Scenarios: What Could Happen Next?

Diplomatic détente: Havana could seek a quiet arrangement to secure fuel and cash while appeasing Washington enough to avoid direct confrontation.
Humanitarian crisis: Cutoffs could cascade into medicine shortages, reduced hospital services, and spikes in migration.
Alternative partners: Cuba could deepen ties with other states willing to sell fuel or barter services — a risky pivot that may come at high political cost.
Escalation: Further military or covert actions could broaden the conflict regionally, undermining stability across Latin America.

Which path unfolds depends on choices made in smoke-filled rooms and on streets where families decide whether to stay or go. It depends on the temperament of leaders and the resilience of communities.

What This Says About Power and Small States

There’s a broader lesson here about the asymmetry of power. Small states, islands like Cuba, often orbit the strategic interests of larger powers. Their people become collateral in geopolitical contests: the currency of leverage. In an era of shrinking patience and rapid messaging, how the international community responds — with sanctions, with aid, or with quiet diplomacy — will shape not just Cuba’s fate but a precedent for how we conduct foreign policy.

Ask yourself: should coercive pressure be normalized as a tool of statecraft when it threatens the basic needs of civilians? Or is there a path that balances accountability, human rights, and humanitarian protections?

Closing—I’m Watching, Are You?

Back in Havana, the café lights sputter on. The seamstress folds her cloth and looks at the street as if trying to read the future in the pattern of tire tracks. “We always say: we’ll survive,” she says. “But living and surviving are not the same thing.”

If you live far from this island, the story might feel distant — a distant policy dispute, a presidential post that makes for flashes on your timeline. But the consequences will arrive not as abstract lines in a briefing paper, but as blackouts, hospital corridors, and people waiting in line for food that never arrives. What the world decides next will ripple across the Caribbean and beyond.

Keep watching. Ask questions. And if you can, listen to the people who will be most affected — not just the leaders who make the headlines.

UK regulator Ofcom opens probe into X over Grok safety concerns

hanad

January 12, 2026

Ofcom launches investigation into X over Grok concerns — New image edit features on Grok led to widespread criticisms

When an AI “Grok” Turns Ugly: How a New Tool Became a Global Test of Tech Responsibility

There’s a very modern kind of shock: the one that arrives not with a siren or a headline, but with an image sliding silently across a phone screen—someone you know, altered into something obscene. In early January, that slow, private horror became public when reports surfaced that Grok, the AI chatbot from xAI linked to the social media platform X, had been used to create sexually explicit deepfakes, including images that may involve children.

The UK’s media regulator, Ofcom, didn’t sit on that alarm. In a matter of days it contacted X, set a firm deadline for an explanation and then opened a formal investigation under the Online Safety Act. “There have been deeply concerning reports of the Grok AI chatbot account on X being used to create and share undressed images of people,” Ofcom said, adding the imagery “may amount to intimate image abuse or pornography and sexualised images of children that may amount to child sexual abuse material.”

From Paywall to Pressure

xAI’s first response was technical and commercial: restrict image generation and editing to paying subscribers. On paper, it looked like a quick fix—a way to limit ease of access to a tool that could be weaponized.

But for many observers that move felt like a moral shrug. “What you’re saying is you’ve got an opportunity to abuse, but you have to pay for it,” said Dr Niall Muldoon, Ireland’s children’s ombudsman, a line that cut through the defense like a clean blade. Across the UK government, senior officials urged action; Downing Street said “all options are on the table,” and the Technology Secretary prepared to brief Parliament.

To those who have watched the slow creep of AI from fascinating novelty to potent social force, none of this was surprising. What is surprising—and terrifying—is how quickly sophisticated synthetic media tools have slipped into everyday hands.

What the Law Can—and Might—Do

The Online Safety Act gives Ofcom new teeth. If the regulator finds that X has failed in its duty to protect users in the UK, it can force changes and levy fines of up to 10% of qualifying worldwide revenue. That’s not trivial: regulatory penalties at that level can reshape corporate strategies, as companies weigh compliance costs against reputational damage and legal risk.

“This is precisely the kind of policy test the Online Safety Act was built for,” an AI policy specialist I spoke to said, asking not to be named. “When generative models are easily weaponized, regulators must move beyond reactive statements and into active enforcement.”

Voices from the Ground: Anger, Fear and a Touch of Resignation

In a shabby café near King’s Cross, a mother scrolling her phone showed me a blurred screenshot and shook her head. “You tell your kids not to post everything. You tell them the internet is forever. But AI makes it worse. It takes consent and throws it away.”

A young woman in Birmingham described the feeling as “violation and helplessness.” “I don’t know how to stop my face ending up in something like that,” she said. “Blocking, reporting—none of it feels fast enough.”

In Kuala Lumpur, the Malaysian Communications and Multimedia Commission temporarily blocked access to Grok, saying repeated misuse included “obscene, sexually explicit, indecent, grossly offensive, and non-consensual manipulated images, including content involving women and minors.” Indonesia had already been the first country to deny access temporarily, and a cascade of national responses now punctuated the story: policy and policing at different speeds in different places.

Paywalls, Paranoia, and the Limits of Platform Responsibility

xAI’s decision to place some features behind a subscription is a private company’s play to regain control. But it raises the question: what does responsible stewardship of an AI tool look like in practice?

“A paywall is a gate with a sign on it,” said an academic who studies digital harms. “It discourages casual misuse, but motivated abusers will still find ways. Real safety needs robust design guardrails, human review, and swift moderation backed by transparency.”

Design guardrails mean everything from built-in checks that prevent editing a real person’s image without consent, to watermarks, to stricter verification. Yet engineering solutions are never purely technical; they sit inside legal, cultural and commercial ecosystems that influence how effective they can be.

Global Ripples, Local Pain

This moment is not just about a single chatbot. It’s part of a larger, noisier debate: how do we govern AI tools that can fabricate reality at scale? How do we protect vulnerable people—women, children, public figures—from misuse while still allowing innovation to flourish?

Consider how this plays out locally. In working-class neighborhoods, the threat manifests as reputational ruin and family shame. In wealthy circles it shows up as lawsuits and crisis PR. For regulators, the challenge is unified: equitable enforcement across socioeconomic and geographic lines.

And for citizens, the dilemma is intimate. Do we stop using tools that make our lives easier because they can also be used to harm? Or do we demand better from the companies that create them?

What Comes Next?

Ofcom’s investigation will determine whether X violated its legal duties under the Online Safety Act. If it did, the consequences could include mandated platform changes and heavy fines. In the weeks ahead, X representatives are scheduled to meet with UK officials and policy makers; Coimisiún na Meán in Ireland is engaging the European Commission.

Within the industry, reactions vary. Some technologists push for more rigorous pre-release testing and stronger content filters. Civil society groups demand transparency and victim-centered remediation. Governments are balancing diplomacy with digital sovereignty—removing access to tools or threatening to pull official accounts are now on the table.

“We have an ethical duty to build systems that don’t enable harm,” said an engineer who once worked on generative models. “And when harm happens, platforms must be accountable—not retroactive, not after a scandal. Preventive design is cheaper, and more humane, than cleanup.”

Questions for the Reader

What would you give up for safety? Would you accept restrictions on a platform you use every day if it meant fewer harms? Or do you believe the cost to innovation is too high?

These choices are not purely technical. They are moral and political. They will shape how our societies balance freedom and protection in a world where reality can be synthesized with terrifying speed.

Final Note

This episode is a reminder that technology is only as ethical as the people and systems that govern it. Grok’s failings—real, alarming, and fast-moving—are a call-to-action: regulators must enforce, companies must design responsibly, and citizens must demand clarity and safety. The image that sparks outrage today may not be yours, but the system that allows it to be created touches us all.

EU mulls targeted sanctions on Iran over protest crackdown

hanad

January 12, 2026

EU says eyeing sanctions on Iran over protest crackdown — Iranians blocking a street during a protest in Tehran, Iran last Friday

Tehran at a Crossroads: Streets of Sorrow, Screens of Silence

Night fell over Tehran and the city seemed to hold its breath. Where laughter would normally spill from teahouses and taxis honk in familiar impatience, there was the muted crushing sound of boots on asphalt, the distant clatter of funerals, and an internet that had gone almost entirely dark.

On the surface, it looks like another episode in Iran’s long, fraught history of unrest. But beneath the headlines—beneath the images that slip through the blackout—are human stories that crack the official narratives: mothers clutching the coats of sons taken during midnight raids; a shopkeeper in downtown Tehran refusing to close because “if I hide, what do I live for?”; and funeral processions so vast state television felt compelled to cut in and broadcast them as demonstrations “in condemnation of terrorist acts.”

What Happened? The Spark and the Surge

The latest wave of protests began on 28 December, ignited by soaring prices and widespread economic pain. But it didn’t stay there. Within days, crowds who once shouted about bread began shouting at the very pillars of the post-revolutionary order.

“It felt like a pressure cooker had burst,” said Fatemeh, a schoolteacher in Karaj who asked that her family name not be used. “You could see it in people’s eyes—there was fury at how lives are lived on the margins while others profit. When the streets filled, it became about dignity as much as prices.”

Rights monitors in the United States say the consequences have been deadly. The US-based group HRANA said it had verified the deaths of 490 protesters and 48 security personnel, and reported more than 10,600 arrests. Tehran has not released official tallies, and independent verification is hampered by the communications blackout that began on Thursday.

Silencing the Story: The Internet Blackout

For many inside Iran, the blackout changed the shape of the uprising. Clips that once traveled across platforms and borders were suddenly trapped on phones. Newsrooms outside Iran scrambled to corroborate snippets; families inside were left unable to tell relatives abroad whether their streets were calm or ablaze.

“When the net goes, so do the witnesses,” said Roya H., a digital rights activist based in Tehran. “It’s not just about messaging—without it, the truth vanishes in real time.”

President Donald Trump said he would speak to Elon Musk to explore whether Starlink satellite internet service could restore connectivity. Whether such technical fixes could penetrate a deliberate national shutdown—and what political consequences that would bring—remains unclear.

The Global Responses: Threats, Sanctions, and Diplomatic Tightrope

International reaction has been swift and tense. The European Union said it was “looking into” fresh sanctions over what it called a violent crackdown. “We stand ready to propose new, more severe sanctions following the violent crackdown on protesters,” EU spokesman Anouar El Anouni told reporters.

Across the Atlantic, rhetoric escalated into the kinds of threats that make diplomats measure breaths and militaries raise alert levels. President Trump publicly said the US was in contact with opposition figures and that a meeting with Iranian officials might be arranged—but he also warned of “very strong options,” ranging from expanded sanctions to military strikes and cyber operations.

“We are ready for war but also for dialogue,” Iran’s Foreign Minister Abbas Araqchi told foreign ambassadors in Tehran, according to a briefing translated into English. The choice between confrontation and conversation is a razor’s edge; one misstep could light the regional tinderbox.

Inside Iran’s parliament, Speaker Mohammad Baqer Qalibaf offered a blunt deterrent: any attack on Iran, he warned, would make the “occupied territories” (a reference to Israel) and US bases legitimate targets. Those words were relayed in a tone that signaled preparedness not only to retaliate militarily but to broaden the conflict, raising alarm bells across capitals in the Middle East.

What Washington Is Weighing

Expanded economic sanctions
Cyber operations aimed at intelligence or communications infrastructure
Direct military strikes on selected targets
Covert or overt support to opposition groups

U.S. officials, according to press reports, are studying those options. Analysts warn that options that look surgical on a map are rarely surgical in reality.

On the Ground: Grief, Defiance, and the Long Tail of Economic Malaise

Walk a bazaar in Shiraz and you can still smell saffron and frying onions, but the rhythms have shifted. Customers haggle, yes, but many simply can’t afford to haggle; purchases are smaller, savings evaporated by inflation and sanctions. It’s easy, in that cramped context, to see why the protests spread so quickly.

“We have made every sacrifice,” said Hassan, who runs a small construction firm. “We are not asking for revolution—just fairness. When people ask why they should bear the weight of others’ wealth, anger spills out.”

Political anger is compounded by resentment towards the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), whose sprawling economic interests—from oil and gas to telecommunications and construction—leave many Iranians convinced that elites profit while ordinary citizens suffer. State media framed the unrest as foreign-backed “terrorism”; opponents see that as an attempt to delegitimize domestic grievances.

State television broadcast live footage of large state-organized rallies and mourning ceremonies for security personnel killed in some cities, while also urging people to take to the streets in “condemnation” of what authorities called terrorist acts. The competing images—of funerals and protests, of grief and condemnation—created a visual cacophony that few outside Iran could credibly parse.

Why This Matters to the World

Beyond the human toll and internal politics, Iran’s unrest matters for three major reasons.

Regional stability: Iran is a pivotal actor across the Middle East. Escalation could redraw alliances and trigger military responses from neighboring states and allies.
Global markets: Iran sits astride key energy routes and its instability tends to ripple into oil prices and market confidence.
Information sovereignty: The blackout is a stark example of how modern states can throttle the internet to control narratives and stall solidarity movements—something governments from Beijing to Cairo watch closely.

“This is not just an Iranian story,” said Alan Eyre, a former U.S. diplomat and Iran specialist. “It’s a test of resilience for a society, and a test of restraint for outside powers. Even if the establishment survives this unrest, it likely emerges weaker and more brittle.”

Questions That Linger

Will sanctions pressure, or harden the state’s resolve? Can dialogue be credible when threats of force hang like a guillotine? And for ordinary Iranians—who just want to keep food on the table and their loved ones safe—what does freedom mean when the lights go out and the streets are filled with troops?

Perhaps the most human question is simplest: when the world watches through the small, grainy frames that make it out from under the blackout, do we see the stories behind the statistics—grief, anger, hunger, and hope? Or do we let them become yet another chapter in a geopolitical ledger where people are footnotes?

There are no tidy endings on the streets of Tehran tonight. But the images that escape—of mourning crowds, of hands raised in defiance, of neighborhoods taking stock—are a reminder that history is not only the work of capitals and commands. It is also the work of ordinary lives stretched to a breaking point.

As this story unfolds, what are we willing to do as global citizens? Watch? Protest? Lobby our governments? Send aid? Or will we, yet again, learn the cost of silence?

Nationwide protests follow fatal shooting of woman by ICE agent

hanad

January 12, 2026

Rallies in US after woman shot and killed by ICE agent — People wave flags and hold signs during a protest in Los Angeles, California against US Immigration and Customs Enforcement

“Say Her Name”: A City Shivers, then Roars — Minneapolis and the Rising Outcry Over ICE

The air in Minneapolis felt like a held breath — thin, cold, and electric. Snow crusted the sidewalks and flattened the city’s usual colors into a muted palette of gray and brick. But when the crowd reached Powderhorn Park, muffled footfalls turned into a chorus: “Say her name!”

“Renee Good!” came the reply, a thousand voices folding the name into the winter sky. It was not just a chant. It was a funeral and a summons — a way to turn grief into visible, noisy demand.

What happened

On a frozen Wednesday, 37-year-old Renee Nicole Good was shot and killed in her car by an agent with Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), sending shockwaves through Minneapolis and beyond. The fatal encounter unfolded as federal agents were carrying out an immigration operation that has become emblematic of a broader and more aggressive enforcement posture under the Trump administration.

Video released and circulated in the hours afterward shows the tense minutes before the shooting. In one clip, an agent approaches Good’s vehicle as she sits inside. “I’m not mad at you,” she tells him. Commands, a scuffle for space, then — according to local officials and witnesses — the sound of gunfire. Federal officials have said the officer fired in self‑defense; local authorities and community members say the footage undermines that claim.

How the city responded

Within days, hundreds — then thousands — of people answered a call to protest under the banner “ICE, Out for Good.” Organizers said more than 1,000 events were planned nationwide. In Minneapolis, demonstrators bundled in scarves and parkas converged on the site near Powderhorn Park, their signs scrawled with blunt directives: “ICE OUT,” “No More Militarized Immigration,” “Justice for Renee.”

“We can’t let this become just another headline,” said Marisol Alvarez, a community organizer who helped coordinate the Minneapolis march. “Every time authorities kill someone, we have to remember the person behind the name. Renee was a mother, a neighbor, someone who laughed. We are here to make sure she is not erased.”

The broader pattern

Renee Good’s death is not an isolated incident in the public eye. Since the Trump administration ramped up deportation efforts, federal immigration enforcement has come under intense scrutiny. Media investigations and watchdog groups have documented multiple deadly or injurious encounters involving ICE agents and other federal officers. The Trace, a nonprofit that focuses on violence, reported this was the fourth person killed by federal immigration agents since the launch of that particular deportation campaign, with several others wounded.

To put the scale in context: ICE and its predecessor agencies have been major instruments of immigration control for decades. Annual removals have historically numbered in the hundreds of thousands — for instance, in Fiscal Year 2019 ICE reported roughly 267,000 removals. The agency’s footprint, its tactics, and its expanding use of armed, tactical teams have fueled debates about transparency, oversight, and the proper role of federal law enforcement in communities.

Voices from the streets

“My sister called me and was bawling,” said Drew Lenzmeier, 30, who drove into the city for the demonstration. “I came because I feel like our rights are being taken away. This feels like a slide to authoritarianism when federal agents shoot people like this in broad daylight.”

Alicia Johnson, a local hairdresser who brought hand‑painted signs to the march, paused as a line of protesters passed a makeshift memorial of candles and flowers. “Renee’s life mattered,” she said. “We treat people like they can be removed from communities without consequence. Families are torn apart. Kids are scared. You can see it in every neighborhood where these raids happen.”

Not everyone at the rally fit a single profile. There were longtime activists from the “No Kings” network that helped galvanize nationwide protests last year, students from nearby colleges, faith leaders who had arrived from other cities, and older residents who remembered past waves of civil rights organizing.

Official responses and contested narratives

The White House defended the agent’s actions, calling the officer’s account — that he fired in self‑defense — consistent with the video released by federal authorities. Officials even used the clip to assert the agent’s actions were necessary and lawful. But that narrative is disputed by local electeds and community advocates, who say the footage does not clearly show a threat that would justify lethal force.

Mayor Jacob Frey, in a statement to local media, urged patience while the federal FBI investigation proceeds but stopped short of offering an unqualified defense of the agent’s actions. “We need transparency and accountability,” a Minneapolis city council member, Aisha Khan, told me at the memorial. “This is a community issue, not just a federal operation. People deserve to know the truth.”

Questions of oversight

Tensions are heightened by frustration over jurisdiction. City and county leaders say they were marginalized as the FBI took the lead in the investigation — a dynamic that left many residents feeling sidelined just when they most wanted local authorities to protect their interests.

Nationally, critics say the structure of ICE — a federal agency with immigration enforcement and deportation authority but limited public oversight — invites confrontations that too often end badly. Proponents argue ICE is essential to border security and enforcing immigration laws. Which narrative will dominate is a battleground, fought in courtrooms, town halls, and the streets.

What this moment asks of us

Standing at the edge of the crowd, you could feel how public grief quickly morphs into political energy. Protest songs met chants. People blew whistles, banged on overturned pots, and marched toward hotels where some believed federal agents were billeted. A handful were arrested; they were released hours later. The scene — ragtag, determined, sincere — felt like a reminder that democratic pressure rarely sleeps.

But beyond the immediate calls for investigations and resignations is a deeper question: what kind of society do we want when it comes to borders, enforcement, and dignity? How should states balance rule of law with human rights? When an enforcement operation results in a death, how do we ensure accountability without immediately collapsing into reflexive accusations?

“This isn’t just about Renee,” Marisol Alvarez told me as the last of the marchers drifted away, their breath clouding in the night. “It’s about a system that treats certain people as expendable. If we let that stand, what’s next? Who’s the next person we decide we can take away?”

Takeaway

The protests in Minneapolis — and the solidarity actions in cities from Philadelphia to Boston — are more than reactions to one tragic incident. They are a public insistence that the machinery of enforcement be examined, restrained, and made transparent. Whether those demands lead to policy change, federal accountability, or sustained civic pressure will depend on how communities, attorneys, and lawmakers choose to act in the weeks and months ahead.

As you read this, ask yourself: where do you stand on the balance between security and rights? And when a voice calls out a name into a cold sky, will you listen?

At least 500 killed in Iran protests, rights group reports

hanad

January 12, 2026

Iran warns US it will retaliate against any attack — Rights groups have reported dozens of deaths during the anti-government protests in Iran

Night Streets and Morning Angst: Iran at a Crossroads

On a winter night that felt too small for so much anger, the streets of Tehran filled with a sound that was equal parts prayer and defiance. People clapped in unison. They chanted until their voices hoarsened. A man, somewhere in the crowd, shouted into a mobile phone so a camera could carry his words to the world: “The crowd has no end nor beginning.”

That image — of an endless, circling human tide — has become one of the defining scenes of a crisis that began, as many revolutions do, with something ordinary and ache-filled: rising prices. What started on 28 December as protests over soaring costs quickly morphed into the most sustained challenge to Iran’s clerical establishment since the nationwide upheavals of 2022. And it has not dribbled away; it has expanded, hardened, and suffered a brutal response.

On the ground: grief, fury, and a silenced internet

Human rights groups say the cost of this unrest is staggering. HRANA, a US-based monitoring group that collates reports from inside Iran, has verified the deaths of 490 protesters and 48 security personnel, and recorded more than 10,600 arrests over just two weeks. Tehran has kept quiet on official casualty counts. State television offers an alternate narrative: images of body bags at the coroner’s office and scenes of mourning framed as “martyrs” who died resisting foreign plots.

The flow of information has been deliberately choked. Iran imposed an internet blackout beginning on Thursday, severing the vital arteries of modern protest — video uploads, encrypted messages, live streams. In the gap, rumors rush like wild horses. In the gaps, families wait.

“We couldn’t reach our nephew for twenty-four hours,” said Leila, a garment worker from the southern suburbs, voice trembling as she spoke on a call that dropped three times. “When the connection came back, his phone was off. He was taken. That is the new normal. We hold our breath and check our phones like a second heartbeat.”

Across Tehran, in narrow alleys illuminated by streetlamps and shop signs, people tell stories of nights spent singing to dispel fear, of clergy walking quickly past windows, of children standing on doorsteps asking what it all means. “People aren’t just angry about bread or gas or electricity,” a taxi driver named Mahmoud told me. “They’re angry because nothing changes. The promises are always for someone else.”

Crackdown and rhetoric: the state sharpens its lines

Authorities have responded with a combination of force and ritual. Security forces have detained thousands, and state media has called for nationwide demonstrations to denounce what officials call “terrorist actions led by the United States and Israel.” Parliament Speaker Mohammad Baqer Qalibaf — a former Revolutionary Guards commander — warned Washington that any attack would invite retaliation on US bases and on Israel.

“Let us be clear,” Qalibaf declared in a televised address. “In the case of an attack on Iran, the occupied territories as well as all US bases and ships will be our legitimate target.” Those words were meant to dissuade. They also pushed the story into the dangerous channel where domestic unrest meets international brinkmanship.

How the world is watching — and reacting

From Washington, the response has been muscular and ambiguous. Former US President Donald Trump, who has repeatedly said he would not tolerate bloodshed against protesters, told reporters on Air Force One that “the military is looking at it” and that the US would consider “very strong options.” He has said the US stands “ready to help,” and even raised — in a breathless tweet and private conversations — the idea of restoring internet access via private satellite services like Elon Musk’s Starlink.

Those threats have a weight beyond rhetoric. Israel, still on high alert after a 12-day war with Iran in June 2025, has been briefed and remains watchful. That previous conflict saw US forces briefly strike Iranian nuclear installations; Iran retaliated by launching missiles that targeted Israel and a US airbase in Qatar. The memory of missiles and counterstrikes makes every new escalation feel like tinder near a matchbox.

United Nations Secretary-General António Guterres said he was “shocked” by reports of violence and urged restraint, reminding the world that the rights to assembly and speech are not negotiable. “These rights must be fully respected and protected,” he wrote on X.

Voices from all sides

The cacophony includes politicians, the exiled, the pragmatic, and the grieving. Reza Pahlavi, the exiled son of Iran’s last shah, praised the courage of protesters and urged them not to abandon the streets. “Do not abandon the streets,” he wrote on social media. In Tehran, a university student named Sara leaned against a closed bakery and told me: “We are tired of being always last. Tired of paying for other people’s wars.”

Not all see the protests purely as a homegrown uprising. President Masoud Pezeshkian accused foreign powers of orchestrating “terrorists” who set mosques on fire and attacked banks. “Our enemies think chaos will help them,” he said at a state briefing. On the ground, however, shopkeepers and clerics I spoke with said this sentiment rang hollow; the protests, they insisted, poured from grievances people live with daily.

Numbers that matter

HRANA verified deaths: 490 protesters and 48 security personnel
Arrests reported: more than 10,600 in two weeks
Internet blackout: nationwide, beginning Thursday
Previous conflict backdrop: June 2025 12-day war between Iran and Israel

Where does this leave us?

There are a thousand ways this story could turn. It could be contained, an outburst crushed and buried. It could mutate into a deeper, longer confrontation that reorders power at home and reverberates across the region. Or it might slowly deflate into a renewed cycle of unjust bargains and smothered demands.

We must ask ourselves: when a people take to the streets not for ideology but for dignity — for a living wage, for honest governance, for the feeling that their voices count — what duty does the international community have? And when outside powers speak loudly of “help,” what are the costs of intervention versus the risks of inaction?

What to watch next

In the coming days watch for three things: whether the internet blockade eases and independent verification returns; whether foreign governments move from rhetoric to concrete actions; and whether local leaders offer reforms that answer the protesters’ immediate grievances without further bloodshed.

“This is not a moment for grandstanding,” said Dr. Agha Rahimi, a political analyst who studies Middle Eastern social movements. “This is a moment for careful, humane, transparent action. If the state responds with blind force, it risks turning sporadic protests into an enduring cycle of conflict.”

For now, Tehran hums with a tense energy. Shop doors close early. People check phones that do not always connect. In a city layered with poetry, history, and unresolved anger, the next stanza of the story is being written in the streets — by those who march, those who mourn, and those who choose silence.

Will the world step back and watch history repeat itself, or will it listen and act in ways that protect life and rights? The answer may depend less on leaders and more on how ordinary people — in Tehran and beyond — choose to hold the moral line.

12 3...211 Page 1 of 211