Starts and stops: The uphill task of revitalizing Europe’s economy

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February 14, 2026

Feb 14(Jowhar)-Amiirka dalka Qatar, Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani, ayaa maanta gaaray magaalada Abu Dhabi ee dalka Imaaraadka Carabta, halkaas oo ay uga bilaabatay booqasho rasmi ah.

Rubio: US and Europe Are Meant to Stand Together

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February 14, 2026

Rubio says United States and Europe 'belong together' — US Secretary of State Marco Rubio said the US and Europe 'belong together'

At Munich’s Edge: A Plea for Renewal and the Quiet Work of Rebuilding Trust

The conference center in Munich sits like an oversized living room for the anxious and the ambitious—rows of folding chairs, impossible coffee, badges that double as passports to an anxious conversation about the future. Outside, the Bavarian air has a winter bite. Inside, a different chill has settled: the transatlantic alliance, frayed by four years of public burps and private alarms, is trying to stitch itself back together.

When the United States’ top diplomat took the stage, you could feel the room lean in. Not because an old script was being dusted off, but because the lines being read were deliberately softer, a measure of balm. The message was clear: not a retreat, but a revival. Yet words—however well chosen—have to find purchase in deeds. That is the work people came here to press for.

“We do not seek to separate”—and what that sounds like in a changing world

“We do not seek to separate,” one official paraphrased, describing the tone coming from Washington this week. “We want to revitalize.” It is a sentence meant to be at once reassurance and summons: Europe should be strong—and it will be stronger, the argument goes, if both sides can anchor themselves to a shared sense of purpose.

For some attendees the speech read as a hand extended. For others it was a reminder that the ground beneath the alliance has shifted. “Words are welcome,” said Anna Kovač, who runs a small think-tank in Zagreb, sipping an espresso between sessions. “But we’ve heard promises. This time, we need predictable policy and shared burden—especially on defense and economic resilience.”

Local eyes on a global stage

At a cafe near the conference halls, a security analyst named Elias, who has watched NATO summits from the press pit for more than a decade, offered a wry observation: “You can smell politics here—the cologne of long meetings and short patience. The question now is whether allyship is performative or structural.” He traced his finger along a paper map of Europe and added, “Europe needs room to grow up—not to grow away.”

The mood in Munich was not only about great-power strategy. It was peppered with the small, human realities of geopolitics: an Estonian veteran who worries her country’s voice is getting lost; a Polish NGO coordinator who spoke of refugees of conflict zones; an architect from Lisbon who argued Europe must invest in cyber-defenses as fiercely as in tanks.

Where rhetoric meets reality

Since 2022, European capitals have shifted budgets, ratcheted up stockpiles and recalibrated strategy. NATO’s 2% of GDP guideline—long a lodestar—has become a baseline conversation rather than a goal. Several member states that once viewed defense outlays as a reluctant necessity now cast them as central to their sovereignty. That change is not merely monetary: it is psychological. The old assumption that the United States would always pick up the tab has been tested and found wanting.

“We saw the cracks,” a European foreign ministry official told me off the record. “Now we’re working to fill them—nationally and collectively.”

And Washington’s messaging is adjusting. The call here was for a “reinvigorated alliance,” for Europe to be a partner that can both stand on its own feet and be a reliable co-laborer in global crises. The new tone avoided the culture-war fireworks that have recently detonated in transatlantic relations, even as it reiterated contentious positions on immigration and global institutions.

On institutions and the rules-based order

One of the more provocative themes at the conference was the critique of the post-Cold War complacency—the belief that liberal democracy had, as some once claimed, reached a final form. “Calling it ‘the end of history’ was a mistake,” said a retired ambassador attending the conference. “It assumed uniform progress. It ignored cycles, and those cycles are back.”

That skepticism extended to international institutions. Delegates of varying stripes argued that organizations such as the United Nations still have immense potential, but they are hamstrung by structural weaknesses and political gridlock. “We can’t rely on institutions to solve everything,” an African delegate said, “but we also can’t abandon the architecture that has kept so much of the post-war world functioning.”

Ukraine, Russia and the long test of solidarity

Shadowing every conversation was the war in Ukraine—an event that continues to test the durability of alliances. Leaders from Kyiv have come to Munich repeatedly to press their case for sustained support, and they were present again: a reminder that conflict does not pause while diplomats recalibrate their rhetoric.

“What we hear here matters,” said a Ukrainian liaison in a corridor conversation. “If Europe steps up, it helps deter further aggression. If it falters, the consequences are regional and global.”

European leaders used the platform to stress a new posture: greater autonomy in defense combined with continued partnership with the United States. “We’re not seeking a divorce from the transatlantic relationship,” one Western European minister told me. “We are asking for a marriage with clearer roles.”

The Greenland episode and public trust

Not all setbacks are strategic. Some are theatrical: the episode about Greenland—one of many recent eyebrow-raising moments—left a residue of confusion that many Europeans still say needs addressing. “It felt like an impulse play,” an academic in Copenhagen said, “and impulses don’t build alliances.”

Rebuilding trust, diplomats said, involves both the mundane and the monumental: routine consultations, clearer lines on defense commitments, and a shared doctrine for navigating economic coercion and technological rivalry.

What comes next—and what you can watch for

If Munich was a reset button, it was a tentative one. Expect several markers in the coming months that will show whether the hour is the start of true repair or merely a pause in tension:

Concrete defense cooperation frameworks from Brussels and selected capitals, not just vague pledges.
Visible coordination on sanctions and energy security linked to the war in Ukraine.
Reforms in international institutions that actually allocate decision-making to those on the front lines of crises.

Ask yourself: do you believe alliances are built by speeches or by structures? By optics or by ordnance? The answer matters because the next decade will test these bonds in ways that outstrip one bad year or one controversial tweet. The cost of miscalculation is not just political embarrassment; it is lives, markets and the fragile sense of security communities have come to expect.

Closing notes from Munich

Walking back through the conference hall toward the tram, I overheard a young diplomat from Latvia say, “We came here to be seen as needed, not as an afterthought.” That line lingered because it captures the essential bargain being renegotiated: mutual respect, predictable support, and shared responsibility.

The task ahead is both practical and moral. If transatlantic leaders can move past rhetoric to durable policies—investment in defense, governance reforms, and a credible commitment to shared values—then Munich will prove to be a beginning, not an elegy. If they cannot, the alliance risks becoming a museum of past glories rather than a living instrument for navigating a turbulent century.

Which path will leaders choose? The answer will unfold not just in summit communiqués, but in the lives of people across Europe, North America, and beyond who depend on a world where agreements are kept and trust is not merely proclaimed—it is lived.

Farmaajo oo la kulmay Deni iyo Axmed Madoobe

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February 14, 2026

Feb 14(Jowhar)-Madaxweynihii 9-aad ee dalka Farmaajo ayaa kulamo gaar ah wadajir ula yeeshay madaxweynayaasha maamulada Puntlqnd iyo Jubaland ee degan Airport Hotel oo xeyndaabka Xalane ku yaala.

Markabkii ugu horeeyay ee Sahminta Qodista Shidaalka oo beri kusoo wajahan Soomaaliya

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February 14, 2026

Feb 14(Jowhar)-Warar aan helnay ayaa sheegaya Maalinta Barito ah oo Axada 15 Febraayo uu Magaalada Muqdisho Kusoo wajahanyahay markabkii ugu horreeyay ee sahaminta qodista Shidaalka.

Judge finds ICE denied Minnesota detainees access to attorneys

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February 14, 2026

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

When Access to a Lawyer Becomes a Luxury: Inside Minnesota’s ICE Surge

On a cold January morning in Minneapolis, lawyers huddled outside the Bishop Henry Whipple Federal Building with steaming cups of coffee and crisp legal pads, their breath hanging in the air like the questions they could not yet answer. They had come prepared — folders full of case files, a list of numbers, a calendar packed with hearings — only to be told that many of their clients had already been moved, sometimes hours earlier, sometimes without a forwarding address.

It is an image that refuses to leave the mind: skilled advocates left in the lobby while people they represent are shuffled through a system so opaque that even those who run it lose track. Last week, a federal judge in Minneapolis stepped into that breach. Judge Nancy Brasel issued a temporary—but urgent—order requiring U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) to stop sweeping detainees out of Minnesota in a manner that, the court found, “all but extinguish[es] a detainee’s access to counsel.” The order will remain in effect for 14 days as the case proceeds.

A surge that scattered people and lawyers alike

The case centers on a recent enforcement initiative dubbed Operation Metro Surge. According to filings and testimony reviewed by the court, ICE deployed thousands of agents to the region, detained thousands of people, and used facilities not intended for long-term custody. What emerged in litigation was not merely a logistical mess but a pattern: detainees routinely moved quickly and silently out of state; phone calls were restricted or monitored; attorney-client visits became difficult or impossible.

“We had clients who literally vanished from our docket,” said Maya López, an immigration attorney who has represented detainees in Hennepin County for seven years. “One day I prepare for a bond hearing; the next, I’m told they were transported to a facility three states away with no notification. How do you mount a defense, how do you prepare a family, when people are relocated like chess pieces?”

The plaintiffs — a class of noncitizen detainees — argued their constitutional access to counsel had been infringed. In court, ICE acknowledged that detainees have a right to counsel but defended its practices, pointing to resource constraints and operational priorities. Judge Brasel did not find that explanation convincing. “Defendants allocated substantial resources to sending thousands of agents to Minnesota,” she wrote, “and cannot suddenly lack resources when it comes to protecting detainees’ constitutional rights.”

What the judge ordered — and why it matters

The temporary court order is straightforward on paper but seismic in effect. It requires ICE to stop rapidly & covertly transferring detainees out of the state; to permit private attorney-client visits; and to allow detainees confidential phone calls with their lawyers. For lawyers who had been running in circles, it was at once relief and vindication.

“The right to counsel is not optional,” said Skye Perryman, president of Democracy Forward, the nonprofit that filed the suit on behalf of detainees. “You can’t detain people in a building never meant for long-term custody, put them in shackles, move them in secret, and call that due process.”

Advocates say the case lays bare a broader problem: enforcement strategies that prioritize rapid arrests and removals over procedural fairness and oversight. In practice, that can mean families lose contact with loved ones, legal claims go unfiled, and courts lack the information needed to ensure people’s rights are protected.

Lives in transit: stories behind the headlines

Listen to the people, and the legal language becomes visceral. There is Amina, a mother who called her sister from a detention center phone and heard static on the line. By the time her lawyer could track her, she was in a facility three states away, her case calendar a blank space. “They moved her like luggage,” Amina’s sister told a reporter. “She could not tell us where she was. My children ask for their mother. What do we tell them?”

There is also Jacob Ramirez, a community organizer who spent the night in the cold outside the federal building representing volunteers checking on detainee welfare. “People think this is far away from them,” he said, rubbing his hands against his coat. “But the neighbors who bring soup, the kids who go to school here — they are connected. When counsel is cut off, the whole community feels it.”

And then there are the attorneys who learned ingenuity the hard way: establishing circle-of-trust contacts at detention centers, building phone trees, and even coordinating with social workers to piece together where someone might have been taken. “It’s detective work,” said an attorney who asked not to be named. “But it shouldn’t have to be.”

Context and consequences

On a structural level, the Minnesota case raises questions about how modern immigration enforcement balances speed and scale against legal safeguards. Enforcement surges are not new; they are often framed as necessary for public safety. But judges and civil-rights advocates increasingly warn that surges can lead to corners being cut.

Consider some of the stakes:

Legal representation dramatically improves outcomes in immigration proceedings: studies show that noncitizens with lawyers are far more likely to obtain relief or avoid deportation than those without counsel.
Transparency and consistent tracking of detainees are essential to prevent family separation and to allow oversight of detention conditions.
Rapid transfers complicate access to medical care, delay case processing, and can undermine the integrity of the legal process itself.

These are not abstract risks. They affect parent-child bonds, employment and housing stability, community trust in institutions, and the United States’ ability to live up to its legal commitments.

Bigger questions: What kind of system do we want?

We can read the court’s order as a narrow injunction concerned with access to counsel, but the ripples run deeper. What obligations do enforcement agencies have when carrying out large-scale operations? How do we ensure accountability when power is concentrated and actions are shrouded behind logistical rationales?

Ask yourself: is speed worth the cost of due process? When systems trade notice and transparency for operational advantage, who bears the harm? The detainees shuffled across state lines are not faceless statistics — they are parents, workers, dreamers, neighbors. Their access to legal counsel is the hinge on which fairness swings.

Looking ahead

The immediate relief provided by the judge’s order is only temporary. The litigation will continue, and the broader policy debates will not be resolved in two weeks. But the spotlight on Minnesota has already pushed questions into public view: whether enforcement strategies can be retooled to preserve legal access, and whether oversight mechanisms are robust enough to catch and correct abuses.

“This isn’t about being soft on enforcement,” Maya López said. “It’s about being faithful to the rule of law. We can have enforcement and we can have fairness — the two are not mutually exclusive.”

As the legal clock ticks, lawyers will keep knocking on detention doors — and families will keep waiting by the phone. For a democracy that prides itself on legal process, the outcome in Minnesota will resonate well beyond its courthouse walls.

It asks us, quietly and insistently, to decide what we’re willing to sacrifice in the pursuit of order: efficiency, perhaps — but not the right to be heard.

Xamze oo xalay la kulmay Deni iyo Madoobe

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February 14, 2026

Feb 14(Jowhar)-Ra’iisul wasaaraha dalka Xamze Cabdi Barre ayaa xalay fiidkii kulamo gaar gaar ah lakala yeeshay madaxweynayaasha maamulada Puntland iyo Jubaland Siciid Deni iyo Axmed Madoobe.

US lawmakers seek Peter Mandelson’s testimony on Jeffrey Epstein ties

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February 14, 2026

British MPs back plan to release Mandelson files — Peter Mandelson has resigned from the House of Lords

A Letter, a Legacy, and the Strange New Geography of Scandal

When a crisp envelope crosses an ocean these days, it does not merely carry paper; it carries headlines, hashtags and the kind of political oxygen that can smother reputations. This week, a terse letter from two Democratic members of the United States House of Representatives landed with that sort of gravity at the feet of Peter Mandelson — the veteran British politician who until recently held the most prestigious diplomatic posting London offers to Washington.

The ask was simple and uncompromising: give a transcribed interview to the House Oversight Committee about Jeffrey Epstein and the web of relationships around him. The letter, signed by Representatives Robert Garcia and Suhas Subramanyam, distilled suspicion into a pointed request. As they put it: “While you no longer serve as British Ambassador to the United States and have stepped down from the House of Lords, it is clear that you possessed extensive social and business ties to Jeffrey Epstein and hold critical information pertaining to our investigation of Epstein’s operations. Given the appalling allegations regarding Epstein’s conduct, we request that you make yourself available for a transcribed interview with Committee staff regarding the crimes of Jeffrey Epstein and his co-conspirators.”

That paragraph, printed and reprinted across screens from Whitehall to Capitol Hill, sits at the center of a story that is at once old and eerily new: the unfolding accountability for the transnational networks of power that once seemed beyond scrutiny. It is not a small thing when a former British ambassador is asked, in effect, to explain contacts tied to one of the most notorious criminals of recent memory.

Who is Being Asked — and Why It Matters

Peter Mandelson is not an unknown. A towering figure in Labour politics for decades, he helped craft the New Labour era and has been a familiar presence in the corridors of power in both London and Brussels. Appointed as ambassador by Prime Minister Keir Starmer, Mandelson’s Washington posting was immediately framed by supporters as a signal that Britain wanted seasoned hands in the capital at a fraught moment for transatlantic relations.

But this is also the unforgiving age in which who you socialised with — who you sat beside at dinners, who you allowed into your orbit — is now public material for investigations and reputational audit. Epstein, who died in a New York jail in 2019 as he faced federal sex trafficking charges, left behind not only criminal allegations but networks of business, social and political ties that have been subjected to painstaking scrutiny ever since. Ghislaine Maxwell, a central figure in the Epstein saga, was convicted in 2021 of sex-trafficking offenses; Epstein himself had been the subject of prior criminal convictions and a widely criticised 2008 plea deal.

“This is not merely about names on a guest list,” said a former congressional counsel who has followed the Epstein probes closely. “Committees want to understand how patterns of behaviour perpetuated by powerful people were enabled — and that requires testimony from people who were in the room.”

Backlash in Britain — and a Test for Leadership

The letter’s consequences ricocheted quickly back to London. Opponents of Prime Minister Keir Starmer seized on the request as fresh ammunition, asking whether the Prime Minister had exercised good judgment in nominating Mandelson for such a high-profile role — and demanding accountability. Calls for Starmer to stand down have not been mainstream, yet the political heat is real: appointing a figure now asked to assist a US criminal probe invites questions about vetting, political calculation and moral hazard.

“It’s about competence and trust,” said an opposition MP who asked not to be named. “If you appoint someone to represent the country in Washington, you have a responsibility to anticipate the risks that person carries — including past associations that may become political flashpoints.”

Downing Street has so far remained circumspect. Mandelson’s own representatives have been contacted for comment; official spokespeople have reiterated that the government takes any request for cooperation with US authorities seriously. The drama, however, plays differently on the city streets of London and the brownstone-lined avenues of Washington.

Scenes from Two Cities

In the tidy cafes behind Westminster Abbey, baristas who voted for different parties sip coffee and exchange views that blend the personal with the political. “You grow up seeing these people at official functions,” said a local civil servant. “You expect that a diplomat will have a wide Rolodex. But there’s a difference between trading notes with people of stature and being linked to someone accused of preying on minors.”

Across the Potomac, in Georgetown’s tree-lined lanes where embassy flags flutter, neighbours hear the news with a mix of weary familiarity and renewed curiosity. “Washington is used to scandals,” said a Georgetown resident who runs a small bookshop. “But this one is different because it’s transatlantic: it makes you think about how the rich and powerful travel in global circles that can be opaque to ordinary citizens.”

What Congress Wants — and What It Could Reveal

Committee letters like the one sent to Mandelson are rarely ceremonial. The House Oversight Committee has investigation powers that can include transcribed interviews, documentary subpoenas and public hearings. Whether Mandelson consents, declines or is compelled to participate is another matter — and a stage on which diplomacy and domestic politics will collide.

“Even when people aren’t citizens, congressional committees can still seek their testimony — especially when it pertains to crimes that occurred on US soil or involved US citizens,” said a law professor specialising in congressional investigations. “The value of such testimony is not just in naming names; it’s in drawing the threads that reveal patterns of complicity, enabling behaviours, and institutional failures.”

In the years since Epstein’s arrest and death, dozens of civil suits, investigative reports and journalistic exposés have attempted to map the architecture of his activities. They have revealed troubling facts: a 2008 plea deal that many legal observers called deeply inadequate; an arrest and indictment in 2019 that reignited public fury; and a litany of accusers who have said that Epstein exploited his wealth and connections to traffic young women and girls. The broader narrative is about power, secrecy and the limited accountability of elites.

Beyond the Headlines: Questions for a Global Audience

Why should this matter to someone in Cairo, Nairobi, São Paulo or Sydney? Because what’s unfolding is not merely a British political story or an American inquiry. It is part of a global conversation about how societies police the corridors of influence, how democratic institutions protect the vulnerable, and how transnational networks of wealth are regulated — or not.

Are reputations being reassessed in light of new standards of accountability? Can systems built to privilege the powerful be restructured so they no longer reward secrecy? And perhaps most urgently: how do we ensure that demands for answers do not become exercises in political score-settling, but rather genuine efforts to prevent future harm?

“People want facts,” said a human rights advocate. “They want to know who knew what, and how decisions were made. That’s the only way to rebuild confidence in institutions.”

Where This Might Lead

The next act in this story could take many forms. Mandelson may choose to cooperate; he may decline; Congress might escalate its requests. Whatever happens, the ripple effects will be felt in political circles, in the public square and, perhaps, in the quiet offices where diplomats weigh the long-term reputational consequences of affiliations made in earlier chapters of their lives.

For readers watching from afar, the moment is an invitation to reflect: how do we, as societies, reckon with the past behaviors of the powerful? How should leaders be vetted for roles that require moral as well as political judgment? And what does accountability look like when it crosses borders and legal systems?

These are messy questions without tidy answers. But one thing is clear: a single letter, carried across an ocean, has the capacity to reopen old wounds and force public reckoning. Will it lead to new transparency — or simply fresh rounds of partisan theatre? The next few weeks may tell us, and they will remind us that in an interconnected world, private networks can no longer be assumed private.

Merz proposes European nuclear shield, calls for reset with Washington

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February 14, 2026

Merz eyes European nuclear shield in call for US reset — British Prime Minister Keir Starmer, NATO Chief Mark Rutte, Danish leader Mette Frederiksen, and Ukrainian president Volodymyr Zelensky among world leaders at a meeting in Munich

A Quiet Storm in Munich

On a cold February morning, the Bavarian sky was the pale colour of newsprint and the halls of the Munich Security Conference thrummed with the low, purposeful hum of diplomacy—suits, scarves, nametags that carried the weight of capitals. It felt, for a few intense hours, like the world was concentrated into one conference center: a place where old alliances are inspected, new anxieties negotiated, and futures quietly sketched on folded napkins over coffee.

Amid that hum, Germany’s chancellor stepped up to the lectern and dropped a line that stopped conversation across rooms: Berlin has opened confidential conversations with Paris about a European nuclear deterrent. The words were crisp, even cautious, but their echo will be anything but. For Europe—still reeling from Russia’s aggression in Ukraine, tectonic shifts in global trade and a fraying relationship with its most powerful ally—this was not just a policy tweak. It was a challenge to the assumptions that have held Western security together since 1945.

What was said, and what it means

The announcement wasn’t theatrical. It was deliberate. Germany, a nation that constitutionally and legally has long restrained itself from acquiring nuclear weapons, framed the talks as “strictly embedded” within NATO arrangements and in keeping with existing obligations. But the subtext was clear: the continent is reconsidering how it defends itself.

“This is less about a new arms race than about sober contingency planning,” said an experienced European diplomat who asked not to be named. “We are trying to buy time: time to repair trust with Washington, time to convince domestic publics that our security will not be left to chance.”

France, of course, sits at the centre of this conversation. As the European Union’s only country with an independent nuclear arsenal, Paris carries a disproportionate share of the continent’s strategic weight. According to open-source estimates, France maintains roughly 200–300 nuclear warheads—far fewer than the United States or Russia, but still the umbrella that some in Brussels and Berlin now contemplate expanding into a broader European architecture.

Why now? The fraying transatlantic anchor

The backdrop to these talks is a transatlantic relationship that has looked less like a firm alliance and more like a marriage navigating a row. A YouGov survey of the six largest European countries delivered a jolt: favourability towards the United States has sagged to its lowest point since the poll began in 2016. Complaints from both sides—about trade, culture wars, and perceived unilateralism—have eroded the automatic assumption that Washington will always be the continent’s primary security guarantor.

“Europe’s strategy has to be two-fold,” said a defence analyst in London. “We need to keep NATO alive and thriving, while also making sure we aren’t waking up to discover our security is wholly contingent on Washington’s domestic politics.”

That anxiety is not merely abstract. In parliamentary cafes and university corridors in Berlin, conversations are haunted by scenarios that once seemed remote: a sudden decoupling of US military support, economic coercion, or another conflict that stretches America’s attention. Hence the push to ensure “no zones of differing security” open up across the continent—phrases that sound technical but point to a raw political fear.

Munich in microcosm: voices from the floor

Walk through Munich during the conference and you meet a cross-section of Europe—defence ministers, NGO activists, students from Kyiv, a Bavarian barista who makes the best espresso within ten blocks. The air is punctuated by bursts of optimism and the dull thump of fatigue.

“We come here with hats in our hands but boots on the ground,” said a Ukrainian researcher, who travelled to Munich to press her government’s case. “European security isn’t an abstract debate for Ukrainians—it’s the difference between a future and ruin.”

A local café owner, polishing a tray between shifts, offered a view that felt both blunt and human: “People here will fight for peace, but they do not want to be told peace is free,” she said. “It costs money. It costs choices.”

Greenland, the Arctic, and the geography of anxiety

Far from Munich’s polished rooms, another corner of the European security story plays out across ice and tundra. Greenland—nearly 2.2 million square kilometers of ice and strategic real estate—has become a flashpoint between allies. Conversations in Munich spilled into discussions with Danish and Greenlandic officials about sovereignty, development, and the creeping interest of powers who view the Arctic as the next strategic frontier.

“Greenland is small in population but very big in consequence,” a Nordic security adviser told me. “Control of airspace, sea lanes, resources—these are world-class headaches wrapped in local communities.”

Denmark and Greenland have said meetings with external powers have been “constructive” and that a working group will press on. For Greenlanders, the calculus is intimate: choices about autonomy, economic opportunity, and cultural survival sit beside the strategic chessboard of great powers.

Numbers, budgets, and the geometry of defence

Since 2022, European defence budgets have risen noticeably. Many NATO members moved toward the alliance’s 2% of GDP defence spending guideline—some to meet it, others to edge closer. The trend is not uniform, but the pressure is evident: electorates demand security without the drama of conscription or open militarisation, while politicians juggle inflation, energy crises, and social spending.

“You can’t rehearse deterrence on a spreadsheet,” an ex-general from a NATO country told me over lunch. “But you can’t pretend it doesn’t need funds, doctrine, and clear political will.”

What should readers take away?

There’s a simple truth beneath the diplomatic parlance: Europe is asking uncomfortable questions about independence and interdependence. How far should it go to build its own shield? How much can it rely on partners whose politics swing like weather?

These are not academic puzzles. They ripple through towns like Munich and Nuuk, through parliaments and kebab shops, through the lives of soldiers and the dreams of students. They force a reckoning with the old idea that peace could be managed by a handful of guarantee-givers in distant capitals.

Ask yourself: when institutions fray, where does responsibility move? To experts with models and graphs? To citizens who demand security and sovereignty? To neighbours who stand together, or to alliances that stretch across oceans?

The answer will not be found in a single speech or a single conference room. It will be forged, messy and political, in the years that follow. But in Munich this week, amid coats and coffee cups, the conversation turned from assumption to agency. That, in itself, is a lasting story worth following.

Bangladesh’s BNP poised for landslide win in national elections

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