Labour panel blocks Burnham’s attempt to reclaim his MP seat

January 26, 2026

Burnham's bid to return as MP blocked by Labour body — Andy Burnham is regarded as a potential rival to party leader Keir Starmer

The day Manchester’s mayor was told “not yet”: inside a choice that exposed Labour’s fault lines

The rain had just let up over Manchester when I walked past Piccadilly Gardens and felt the city’s familiar mix of grit and optimism: builders’ vans, a woman hauling grocery bags, a teenager with a football tucked under his arm. It’s the sort of place where the person on the campaign leaflets becomes almost tangible—the mayor you see at community centres, at hospital launches, on TV reminding people they’re not invisible.

So when Andy Burnham, the city’s twice-elected mayor and a national figure with long Westminster experience, sought permission this week to run for parliament in a sudden by-election, it felt like the opening of a chapter in a political novel. But the plot took a sharp turn: Labour’s National Executive Committee (the NEC), the party’s governing body, declined to grant him permission. The reason given was pragmatic—avoiding the cost and disruption of a mayoral by-election in Greater Manchester while the party prepares for elections in May—but the reverberations are about more than money.

What the NEC said — and what it didn’t

Labour’s ruling body released a statement explaining that directly elected mayors must seek NEC approval before standing as candidates for Westminster. The committee argued that Burnham’s attempt to contest the Gorton and Denton seat would have triggered a mayoral by-election, one that would divert funds, volunteers and attention away from the party’s wider campaign ahead of the May local elections and the votes for the Scottish Parliament and the Welsh Senedd.

“We must weigh the public cost and the campaign risk,” a senior NEC source told me off the record. “A mayoral by-election isn’t just a headline; it’s tens, possibly hundreds of thousands of pounds, and it draws on people-power we can’t afford to scatter right now.”

That financial framing was the core justification: the NEC said it feared “a substantial and disproportionate impact on party campaign resources,” even though the committee was confident Labour would retain the mayoralty. But to many, the ruling felt less like neutral stewardship and more like a political block—one that keeps a high-profile potential rival in his current post rather than letting local members decide.

Local reactions: pride, puzzlement and a sting of disappointment

On the market stalls of Gorton, where the by-election will be fought, people’s responses were a patchwork.

“This is local democracy, isn’t it?” said Aisha Khan, a hairdresser who has lived in the area for 24 years. “I want to choose the person who will be our MP. If Andy thinks he can help, why shouldn’t members have a say? It feels like decisions are being made upstairs and we’re not in the room.”

At a community centre in Denton, a retired teacher named Paul Griffiths shrugged. “Andy’s done good by the city,” he said, stirring his tea. “But I worry about money—if a new election would cost taxpayers, that’s not great either. It’s messy.”

Party unity vs. local democracy: a long-running tension

The row has highlighted a perennial dilemma for political parties: who gets the final say—local members or central bodies? Inside Labour’s tent the debate has become urgent and emotionally charged. Several senior figures, including deputy leader Lucy Powell and cabinet minister Ed Miliband, publicly urged that the question of Burnham’s candidature be left to local members to decide. Both are members of the NEC, and their intervention suggests this was not a straightforward procedural matter but one with broader strategic and symbolic stakes.

“There’s a real desire among activists to be trusted,” said a city councillor who supported Burnham’s application. “People are fed up with top-down decisions. If the job was to build trust between the party and its grassroots, this didn’t help.”

What Burnham himself said

Burnham framed his bid in moral, almost heroic terms. In a letter to the NEC he described the Gorton and Denton by-election as “the front line” of a fight against divisive politics, saying he felt a duty to step forward. “I owe it to a city which has given me so much to lead from the front,” he wrote—a sentiment that resonates with many who see him as a mayor deeply embedded in the life of Greater Manchester.

To some, his stance reads like the final act of a seasoned Westminster hand who prefers to lead from a platform of proven local credibility; to others it carries the hint of a leadership centre of gravity shifting away from party headquarters.

The practicalities: costs, timing and other looming votes

There are concrete reasons the NEC was anxious. The UK’s local elections in May are already a logistical mountain—councils across the country prepare thousands of polling stations, and political parties marshal volunteers, staff and cash to contest seats. The Scottish Parliament has 129 members and the Senedd 60, and both devolved institutions will demand campaign focus and resources.

By-elections for mayoral posts are relatively rare and costly. Officials estimate such an election in Greater Manchester could run into tens of thousands of pounds at minimum and could stretch into the low hundreds of thousands depending on turnout and the length of the campaign. In an era where councils are facing budget squeezes and charity groups are reporting more people needing help with basics, the optics of ordering a new election are politically sensitive.

Beyond Manchester: what this says about modern parties

This isn’t just a Manchester story. Across democracies, parties are balancing organizational cohesion with pressures for democratic participation. Central bodies argue for discipline and strategic coordination; local activists push for agency and the right to choose. Which side wins often shapes how voters perceive a party’s openness.

“You can’t pretend there’s no tension here,” said Dr. Emily Carter, a political scientist who studies party organisation. “Central committees worry about resource efficiency and message discipline. Local members want authenticity and voice. Both concerns are valid, but they pull in different directions.”

Ask yourself: would you trust a party that always defers to local activists, even when coordination matters? Or would you prefer a tight central hand that sometimes looks paternalistic? There are no easy answers—only trade-offs.

What’s next

The NEC says it remains confident of winning the upcoming by-election without Burnham on the ballot. Labour will field another candidate in Gorton and Denton, and the seat—vacated after the MP cited health reasons—will be contested by a field of hopefuls. For Burnham, the refusal closes one door and leaves others open: his role as Manchester’s mayor remains secure for now, and he continues to be a figure who looms large in national conversations about Labour’s direction.

For the people of Manchester, this episode will be remembered not just as a political skirmish but as a signal—a test of how parties steward local voices when national strategy bites. The bigger question is whether the party can reconcile that tension before the next set of ballots arrive.

Closing thoughts

Walking back through the city that evening, I saw a poster on a lamppost for a cost-of-living advice centre, and a group of teenagers passing a pizza box. Politics in Manchester, as elsewhere, is woven into daily life—the practical concerns of heating bills, school places, the state of the neighbourhood park. Decisions made in meeting rooms and committee hearings ripple into those ordinary moments.

Is centralised caution protecting the public purse, or is it shutting down democratic choice? Does a mayor more useful in city hall mean a lost opportunity for change in Westminster? These are debates that will outlive a single by-election—and they are worth watching closely, not just in Manchester but across democracies where party control and grassroots voice are forever negotiating their fragile balance.

Political fallout mounts after Minnesota’s second shooting incident

hanad

January 26, 2026

Political backlash grows after second Minnesota shooting — A Minneapolis police officer throws tear gas at people gathered in Minneapolis

They came for coffee. A man left in a pool of questions.

On a frost-stiff Saturday morning in Minneapolis, people arrived at the corner coffee shop for the ordinary comforts of caffeine and conversation. Instead, they got a demolition of certainty: bright cell-phone screens, a growing crowd, a federal operation unfolding on the sidewalk, and then, in a breadth of seconds that still feels impossible, a man on the pavement and the roar of shots that would send the city into a week of grief and fury.

If you watched the videos—if you live in the loop where social feeds and cable news replace front pages—then you know the frames. You know the way cameras hesitate, the way witnesses whisper into their devices. But knowing the picture does not make the questions easier. What was a medical nurse doing among federal agents? Why did national officials, within hours, call him a would-be domestic terrorist? And why, as images proliferated online, did those words not line up with the pictures?

What unfolded that morning

The man shot was identified in hospital and social networks as Alex Pretti, a 37-year-old nurse who worked in the ICU at the Minneapolis VA. Witnesses at the scene say Mr. Pretti was filming with his phone or holding it as he helped someone to their feet when federal agents—part of an immigration enforcement operation—moved in. Videos circulating online appear to show an agent taking a handgun from Mr. Pretti’s waistband. As the agent walks away, the first shot rings out. The footage that other bystanders captured becomes the lens through which the nation has tried to make sense of the event.

“He was just trying to help a woman who slipped,” said Maya Hernandez, 24, a barista who watched from the shop’s window. “Everyone had their phones up. One moment he’s standing, the next—bang. People started screaming. Nobody expected blood.”

Officials turn up the rhetoric

Within hours, the federal message had hardened. Department of Homeland Security leaders and the border agency’s public spokesman described Mr. Pretti not as a bystander but as a threat—someone determined to “massacre” officers, they said, who had “brandished” a weapon and “assaulted” agents at the scene.

That language landed like a blow. It shaped how some viewers interpreted the raw footage; it shaped how lawmakers readied their responses. But for many who watched the videos, the official framing felt retrofitted to the images—an uneasy mismatch between claim and captured reality.

“They called him a suspect before any independent review,” said Asha Verma, a policy analyst at a Minneapolis-based public-safety institute. “When officials use incendiary language, it changes everything: the public’s perception, the political calculus, and the urgency with which people demand accountability.”

Evidence, bodycams and the court of social media

One of the most ferocious modern ironies is that footage both empowers and muddles. The bystander videos sped around the country within hours—rewinds for television, threads of analysis on social platforms, frame-by-frame breakdowns by citizen-investigators who treat each pixel like testimony. Yet officials say they have footage the public has not seen: bodycam video, internal recordings, other perspectives that could explain what was allegedly unseen on the viral clips.

“If you have exonerating material, put it out,” implored Tom Li, 42, a neighbor who runs a small nonprofit and watched the clip dozens of times. “We need to know—because right now we’re watching a man die on repeat and trying to reconcile that with words like ‘terrorist.’ That’s a dangerous contradiction.”

What we know and what we don’t

We know: Cellphone footage shows Mr. Pretti injured on the sidewalk and a handgun taken from his waistband.
We don’t know: Whether agents perceived an imminent threat that justified the use of deadly force; whether additional video exists that shows actions unseen in the public clips.
We know: Federal officials publicly described Mr. Pretti as a violent threat within hours.
We don’t know: What documentary evidence, if any, underlies those public assertions.

Political shockwaves

The impact was instant and pervasive. Senate leaders face a live political crisis as they consider whether to advance legislation that funds DHS, including ICE and Border Patrol operations. Senators from both parties said their votes would hinge on the administration’s transparency and the outcome of independent investigations. In Washington’s calculations, footage is not just evidence; it is leverage.

“We cannot hand over more money without an independent inquiry,” said a senior Democratic aide who asked not to be named. “This isn’t about funding in the abstract; it’s about how federal agencies operate in our communities.”

Meanwhile, in Minnesota—where the VA nurse who died was a local worker and where the balance between federal enforcement and municipal sovereignty is already fraught—state leaders called for answers. “Our communities deserve truth,” said a state official. “And families deserve to grieve without their loved ones being called criminals on the morning of their funerals.”

Voices from the street, the hospital and the studio

In the small circles that make up a city, reactions vary but share an undercurrent of mistrust. At the VA hospital, colleagues still process the loss of a nurse described by some as “selfless” and “steady.”

“Alex was the guy who sat with veterans when nobody else could,” said a coworker, who asked that her name not be used. “He’d work triple shifts. To have him named a terror suspect—that’s an insult to his life.”

On national television, the face of the border agency defended the narrative. He reiterated that agents felt endangered, and he suggested their training justified the preemptive use of force. To viewers, the exchange only deepened the divide between official account and public perception.

Why this matters beyond Minneapolis

There are bigger currents under this story: the federalization of law enforcement; the friction between local governments and national immigration priorities; the weaponization of narrative in a polarized media environment. And woven through all of it is the role of the Second Amendment and how Americans interpret public demonstrations where firearms may be present.

“This is a moment, not just for a single family, but for the country,” said Professor Elena Morales, who studies police accountability. “How we respond to these incidents—independent investigations, timely release of evidence, clear rules about federal-local cooperation—will determine whether trust frays further or begins to mend.”

Questions to sit with

When federal agents operate in a city, who sets the rules of engagement?
How should authorities weigh the public’s right to see evidence with the need for a fair investigation?
What happens to public trust when language from the top does not match the images on our screens?

What comes next

Investigations will proceed. Videos may be released. Lawmakers will posture, bargain and vote. Protesters will again take to streets already hardened by earlier clashes. A funding bill hangs in the balance—potentially tipping toward a shutdown if leaders cannot find common ground on transparency and reform. And a family will bury someone described, by those who knew him, as a caretaker.

For readers watching from elsewhere in the world, this is more than another American headline. It is a story about the erosion and repair of trust between people and the institutions supposed to protect them. It is about how technology has turned citizens into witnesses and witnesses into prosecutors. It is about what we demand from public servants when a clip on our phones becomes the only unmediated evidence we can trust.

What would you do if you saw a man fall on a sidewalk and the authorities’ words did not match what your eyes told you? How much evidence should be withheld in the name of procedure before the public loses faith?

There are no simple answers. But the persistence of the question matters. Because if a democracy cannot demand clear, timely truths when a life ends in public, then the scaffolding of accountability starts to creak—quietly at first, then loudly, in ways that touch us all.

Trump administration defends fatal shooting of Minneapolis man by federal officer

hanad

January 26, 2026

Trump to charge $1bn for 'peace board' membership — Donald Trump would be the chairman of the peace board

Minneapolis in Winter: A City Holding Its Breath

The snow on the sidewalks had the brittle quality of old paper—scuffed, compacted, gray at the edges. People pressed their faces into scarves and held candles with mittened hands, leaving them at the base of a hurried shrine: a bouquet slightly snow-matted, a laminated photo, a nurse’s badge pinned to a mound of flowers.

It was here, under a streetlight and the slow drip of thawing ice, that a neighborhood tried to make sense of the killing of Alex Pretti. He was 37, an intensive care nurse at a Veterans Affairs hospital, the kind of person who spent more time giving oxygen than taking it. The scene—cold, intimate, furious—felt less like a news snapshot and more like a small town’s eruption of grief replayed on the big-city stage.

What Happened: A Short Timeline

Saturday: Confrontation between federal immigration agents and protesters in Minneapolis. Multiple bystander videos recorded the events.
Moments later: Alex Pretti is seen filming with a mobile phone, is pushed and pepper-sprayed, then pinned to the ground. A pistol is removed from his waistband in the footage; seconds later, he is shot multiple times.
Aftermath: State officials request court protections to preserve evidence. Vigils swell. Local and national leaders call for answers.

The Video vs. the Official Account

In the age of the smartphone, the first drafts of many tragedies are recorded by strangers. Several bystander clips, verified by independent journalists, show Mr. Pretti holding only a phone while trying to help others pushed to the ground. The footage shows federal agents grappling with him, forcing him onto his hands and knees. Then a pistol—pulled from his waistband by an agent—appears in the video. Less than a heartbeat later, shots ring out.

Federal officials defended the agents’ actions, saying they faced a lethal threat. “Our personnel acted to protect themselves,” a senior immigration official told reporters. The explanation landed like ice in the mouths of those waiting at the shrine. “That was not self-defense,” said a woman in medical scrubs, gripping tissue against her lips. “That was a man doing his job as a nurse, and now he’s gone.”

Clarity and Confusion

A former field chief for immigration enforcement, now speaking publicly for the first time about the operation, said the clip suggested fractured communication among agents. “On camera you can see people acting independently—one officer pulling a weapon, another shooting—no coordinated call of ‘weapon presented’ or ‘firearm neutralized,’” he said. “You need command, and you need clear roles. What we saw wasn’t that.”

Whatever the motive, the local and national response was immediate. Minneapolis’s mayor and governor asked the federal government to extract its forces. A federal judge issued a temporary order banning the destruction or alteration of evidence relating to the case. At least a dozen federal prosecutors reportedly stepped away from another investigation in protest at how Justice Department officials handled a similar killing earlier in the month.

Neighbors, Nurses, and the Human Story

In the days after, more than 200 healthcare workers—scrubs still smelling faintly of antiseptic—gathered near the spot where Pretti died. They left small medical items beside flowers: a pair of nitrile gloves, a Post-it with a hastily scrawled note, a badge from the VA.

“He was gentle with everybody,” a colleague said, eyes reddened, voice quiet. “He’d hum to Veterans who couldn’t sleep. If you were scared, he sat down next to you and made you laugh. That’s how I’ll remember him.”

At the vigil, a teenage protester in a University of Minnesota parka blew a whistle as the crowd marched. “We’re tired of seeing bodies on our streets,” she told me. “It doesn’t matter if the person had a permit, or if the government says they were a threat—the question is: why are we at a place where the armed face of the federal state shoots people on our sidewalks?”

Local Color

Minneapolis—home to lakes that freeze like glass and to corporations whose logos you see on the highways—has been transformed by the deployment. The city that gave America Prince and a downtown skyline of glass now sees masked federal agents moving through neighborhoods with little warning. Ice melt streaked byfootprints; a city bus idled while passengers peeked out to watch the protest march past; a Target employee on a cigarette break shook his head and said simply, “This is not who we are.”

Legal Battles, Corporate Voices, and National Echoes

Local and state leaders have challenged the federal operation in court. The state seeking injunctive relief argues that the nationwide deployment of immigration officers into a city to carry out sweeping operations raises constitutional questions about local control and civil liberties. Business leaders, from firms headquartered in the region, have urged calm and cooperation: Target, Cargill, Best Buy—names that suggest a different version of the city, steadier and less raw—published a letter calling for “immediate de-escalation.”

On the national level, former presidents weighed in. Their statements—broad, moral, stirring—echoed across social media and television, framing these local tragedies as part of a larger American story: of civic norms fraying, of law enforcement tactics shifting, of the perennial debate over federal power and local sovereignty.

Why This Matters Beyond Minneapolis

Ask yourself: what does it mean when a city’s sidewalks become a theater of federal enforcement? The push-and-pull between federal agencies and local communities is not new, but the scale and optics of Minneapolis’ moment matter.

Consider a few facts to ground the concern:

The U.S. Supreme Court’s 2022 decisions expanded the scope of gun rights in public spaces, complicating how law enforcement evaluates perceived threats.
In large cities across the country, federal immigration operations are increasingly visible—sometimes to the consternation of mayors and local police chiefs.
At least two U.S. citizens were killed by federal immigration agents in Minneapolis this month, a reality that has catalyzed protests involving thousands of residents.

These are not abstract legal questions only lawyers debate. They are questions of trust: Can a community rely on the people with guns to protect them, or do those same people become a new source of fear?

What Comes Next?

There will be investigations, and there will be court filings. There will be more videos made on phones and more vigils on cold streets. And there should be scrutiny—of tactics, of chain-of-command, of the legal theories justifying the deployment of federal enforcement inside an American city.

“We need to slow down and look at policy,” a law professor who studies policing told me. “This is a policy choice as much as an operational decision. Once you militarize civic spaces, the chance for tragic mistakes rises.”

For the people who knew Alex Pretti—those he nursed, those who shared a break room with him—the questions are simpler and sharper. Who will answer for this? How do we honor a life that tended to others when he was cut down in the act of what witnesses say was trying to help?

Maybe you, reading this, feel a distance from Minneapolis—an ocean, a time zone, an ideological divide. Or maybe you recognize the pattern: the heavy footsteps of power in your own city, the flicker of a candle at a memorial you passed once, the unease when a protest turns into a headline. What would you want your leaders to do? To listen, to restrain, to investigate, to rebuild trust?

In the end, the city’s candles will melt, footprints become slush, and daily life will press on. But the questions raised by these shootings—about force, about federal reach, about the value placed on life—will linger, like the smell of winter in the air. Minneapolis, bruised and watchful, will keep asking them until it gets answers.

Migrant deaths rise amid Trump’s escalating immigration enforcement push

hanad

January 26, 2026

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

When Snow Turns to Shouts: A City at the Center of a Nation’s Toughest Enforcement

On a bitter January afternoon in Minneapolis, steam rose from the city streets like the exhalations of a city holding its breath. The air was thin and raw; people wrapped scarves up to their noses, the kind of cold that makes chanting hurt. Still, thousands gathered—voices cracking in the cold, signs clenched in numb fingers—demanding answers, demanding that the swarm of federal agents encamped in their neighborhoods leave.

The death of a man at the hands of a federal agent this week has become one more painful stitch in a rapidly tightening national narrative: the human cost of an unprecedented immigration enforcement surge. In a matter of weeks, the headlines have traced a grim trail—shootings, detention deaths, conflicting accounts and an answer that feels incomplete to many.

A life interrupted

The man who died in Minneapolis, reported in local outlets as Alex Pretti, was known around his neighborhood as a nurse who kept odd hours and loved crossword puzzles. “He was the kind of person who wouldn’t hesitate to help,” said Marjorie Klein, 68, who lives two blocks from where the altercation unfolded. “He’d check on neighbors, shovel the steps of an elderly lady. This is just incomprehensible.”

According to the Department of Homeland Security, a Border Patrol agent fired after Mr. Pretti resisted attempts to be disarmed. But a mosaic of bystander videos circulating on social media and verified by independent journalists tells a more complicated story: footage shows agents pepper-spraying Mr. Pretti as he records them with his phone, then wrestling him to the ground. No weapon is visible in the recordings before multiple gunshots ring out.

“We are calling for a full, independent investigation,” said Council Member Amina Hassan, who has been at the protests almost daily. “People here feel like their city has been taken over—it’s an occupation. You can see it on their faces. You can see it in the way parents pull their kids in close.”

Protests in sub-zero temperatures

Temperatures plunged below freezing as demonstrators pressed on, wrapping themselves in layers and huddling around makeshift heaters. Their signs mixed anger with sorrow: “Investigate, Don’t Occupy,” read one; another: “No More Militarized Checkpoints.” A chorus of chants—”No more ICE!” and “People over policy!”—rose from a crowd made up of longtime residents, immigrant families, college students and retired nurses.

“It felt like we had to be here,” said Diego Ramirez, 24, a local organizer who traveled across town in a wool coat and gloves. “If we don’t show up now, this becomes our new normal. What kind of country lets federal forces snatch people off the street for civil violations?”

Five shootings, mounting questions

The Minneapolis shooting was the latest in a series of law-enforcement-involved shootings this month tied to immigration operations. In all, federal agents were involved in five shootings across January—an alarming cluster for what should be routine civil enforcement. One of the other incidents took place in Portland, Oregon, where a Border Patrol agent wounded a Venezuelan driver, Luis Nino-Moncada, and a passenger. DHS described it as a response to an attempted vehicle attack; prosecutors have since filed assault charges against Mr. Nino-Moncada, while his passenger, Yorlenys Zambrano-Contreras, recently pleaded guilty to unlawful entry.

Another episode in Minneapolis saw an ICE agent shoot a man in the leg after what DHS described as an assault involving a shovel and a broom handle. But court filings unsealed this week revealed that officers were pursuing the wrong license plate—a simple mistake, perhaps, with striking consequences. An FBI affidavit suggested the officers had chased the car of an innocent person after scanning a plate registered to someone else suspected in an immigration matter.

“When enforcement becomes a dragnet, the margin for error grows,” said Dr. Maya Patel, a migration and human-rights scholar at the University of Minnesota. “And every mistake is amplified when there’s a weapon in the mix. We need clarity—where did failures happen, and how are they being addressed?”

Detention centers: an invisible crisis now visible

Beyond the flash of firearms, a quieter but no less harrowing tally has emerged: at least six people have died in federal immigration detention this month alone. That follows roughly 30 deaths in ICE custody last year—a two-decade high. Families, lawyers, and advocates are demanding medical records, CCTV footage, and transparency as agency explanations shift and evolve.

Take the case of Geraldo Lunas Campos, a Cuban detainee who died on 3 January at a detention site on a military base in Texas. Initially, agency statements said he experienced “medical distress.” Later narratives suggested he attempted suicide and resisted officers. This week, the El Paso County medical examiner classified the death as a homicide, citing “asphyxia due to neck and torso compression.”

“The shifting story is exactly what fuels distrust,” said Erika Campos, a detention-rights attorney who has represented detainees for a decade. “When agencies change their description of death after public pressure—first ‘medical distress,’ then ‘suicide’—people have to ask: why the change? Who’s been accountable?”

ICE figures show that detention levels have swollen under new enforcement priorities. Early this month, roughly 69,000 people were held in immigration custody—levels not seen in recent years. Nearly 43% of those picked up by ICE had no criminal charge or conviction, according to the agency’s own statistics, highlighting a fundamental tension: mass detention for civil infractions.

Money, manpower and a political moment

All of this is taking place under a new, enormous budgetary umbrella: the administration has earmarked roughly $170 billion for immigration agencies through September 2029. And the visible symbol of that investment has been people—some 3,000 federal agents deployed to Minneapolis alone this month.

“The administration says it’s about removing dangerous criminals,” said Daniel Ruiz, a Department of Homeland Security spokesperson in a statement. “But we are also focused on enforcing civil laws meant to preserve order at the border and in our communities. Our agents are trained to apprehend and, when needed, defend.”

But many of those detained were apprehended for civil violations—the legal equivalent of a traffic ticket in other contexts—fuelling questions about proportionality, due process and the human impact of bureaucratic zeal.

What does accountability look like?

As the city of Minneapolis mourns and protests, as attorneys file subpoenas and as families demand answers, a larger question hangs in the cold air: what does a humane, effective immigration policy look like in a world of mass displacement and political polarization?

Should enforcement prioritize violent offenders? How much transparency should oversight bodies demand from federal agencies operating in communities? And perhaps most fundamentally: how does a democratic society balance the rule of law with the preservation of basic human dignity?

“We are not against borders,” said Nadia Ortiz, an immigrant-rights organizer, her breath fogging in the light. “We are against a system that treats people like numbers. We want rules that are fair, we want transparency, and we want accountability when things go wrong.”

Where we go from here

Minneapolis, with its frozen streets and boiling tensions, has become a focal point for those questions. For now, families grieve, investigators collect footage, and residents bundle up to march again. Whether those marches change policy or simply register outrage remains to be seen.

But one thing is clear: every life lost adds urgency to debates that are too often reduced to rhetoric. Across town, an elderly neighbor still shovels snow for those who can’t. At the protest, a young organizer keeps her placard dry. They, like the rest of us, are left to ask: what kind of country do we want to be—one that arms and detains, or one that enforces borders while protecting the dignity of those who cross them?

These are not abstract questions. They are immediate, urgent, and human. And they will likely echo through the courts, the halls of Congress, and the living rooms of towns across the country long after the snow melts.

What multiple videos reveal about the Minneapolis shooting

hanad

January 26, 2026

Minneapolis shooting: What the videos show — In one clip, a man can be heard saying, 'Where's the gun?' as Alex Pretti is motionless on the ground

A Winter Street, a Phone, and a Question That Won’t Go Away

It was one of those thin, bright Minneapolis mornings where snow grinds the sound down and everything feels a little closer — breath, footsteps, the scrape of tires on packed ice. People were gathered on the sidewalk and in the road, some holding signs, some filming, when the scene shifted and then, devastatingly, snapped into silence. A 37-year-old nurse, later identified by family as Alex Pretti, would be dead before the day was out. What followed was a clash of narratives: a government statement calling a violent threat, a video that looks different, and a family that says their son was holding only a phone.

The Video and the Official Line

Within hours, the Department of Homeland Security posted a terse message on X: according to the agency, Mr. Pretti “approached US Border Patrol officers with a 9mm semi-automatic handgun” and “violently resisted” when agents attempted to disarm him. A photo of a handgun, DHS said, was recovered at the scene. The department suggested the incident had the hallmarks of an attack that could have caused mass harm.

But the videos circulating online — footage that mainstream outlets replayed repeatedly and which the agency has said it will rely upon in its own account — present a scene that feels more complicated. In several clips, Mr. Pretti appears to be holding a phone, not a gun. He steps between a Border Patrol agent and a woman who had been shoved to the pavement, raises his hands, and is sprayed with a chemical irritant. Agents pull him to the ground; multiple officers wrestle with him on the iced roadway. Seconds later, as officers struggle to control him, something near his waist becomes visible to an officer in grey. Shots ring out. The video shows his body motionless. At least ten gunshots can be heard.

“Where’s the gun?” someone is heard asking in one clip, as the group of officers stands over him. The footage — raw and grainy, but forceful — is the sort of visual evidence that can both illuminate and confound.

What the family says

There is grief inside the official rhetoric. Mr. Pretti’s parents issued a statement denouncing what they called “sickening lies” from the administration. “Alex is clearly not holding a gun when attacked by Trump’s murdering and cowardly ICE thugs,” they said. “He has his phone in his right hand and his empty left hand is raised above his head while trying to protect the woman ICE just pushed down all while being pepper sprayed.”

Voices on the Street

On a day when Minneapolis still carries the memory of other high-profile confrontations between law enforcement and civilians, neighbors and witnesses struggled to make sense of what they had seen. “He was trying to help,” said one protester who had been near the woman shoved to the sidewalk and asked not to be named. “He stepped in and for a minute it felt like things might calm down. Then they grabbed him and everything changed.”

A woman who stood by the curb with a steaming coffee and a camera phone displayed the moment on her screen. “I could see a phone — clear as day,” she said. “This isn’t about supporting or defending anybody; it’s about wanting to know the truth.”

Not everyone sees the footage the same way. “We have to wait for the investigation,” said an adjacent business owner, rubbing his gloved hands against the chill. “Officials say there was a weapon. If that’s true, it’s a different story.”

The Bigger Picture: Accountability, Trust, and Use of Force

This is not an isolated question of one life taken in one city. It taps into broader global debates about the militarization of migration enforcement, the oversight of federal agents, and the crisis of confidence many communities feel toward armed authorities. In recent years, deaths and confrontations involving federal immigration officers have prompted calls from civil rights groups for clearer use-of-force standards and independent oversight.

Many Americans remember the images from Minneapolis that defined a national reckoning about policing — now the city is again at the center of a story that asks the same difficult questions: who gets the benefit of the doubt, and who is offered accountability?

Legal and investigative next steps

Federal shootings by immigration agents typically trigger reviews inside DHS, and sometimes independent inquiries by state or federal prosecutors. Civil rights advocates are already demanding an outside, transparent investigation in this case. “There must be a neutral, public accounting of what happened,” one advocacy director told me. “Communities deserve answers, and families deserve the truth.”

How to Read Video in an Era of Instant Judgment

Video is powerful. It can reveal what a written statement obscures. It can also be both incomplete and ambiguous. Angles, timing, and context matter. A frame that looks damning in one montage may tell a different story when you step back and watch the full minute or two. That is why independent forensics and chain-of-custody details matter so deeply in use-of-force cases — and why many calls for an impartial review are so urgent.

Consider this: within seconds, crowds form, statements are issued, and narratives harden. In a digital age, public opinion is guided as much by a social-media clip as by a formal press release. Who controls the first message can shape the debate for weeks.

Questions That Won’t Be Answered Immediately

Was the handgun DHS posted indeed the same object described by agents in their initial statement?
Where was the weapon at the moment officers opened fire — in his hand, on the ground, or elsewhere?
Will an independent forensic review be carried out and its results made public?
How will oversight structures within DHS respond to a case that pits agency claims against circulating video?

A Call to Look Closely, and to Care

What happens next matters. It matters to the family grieving in a Minneapolis living room, to the woman who was shoved and the neighbors who filmed and to an entire city still healing from earlier trauma involving law enforcement. It also matters to anyone who believes that the use of deadly force by agents of the state must be clear, accountable, and subject to independent scrutiny.

As you watch the clips and read the statements, ask yourself: when the state wields a gun in the name of security, what systems are in place to ensure the truth is found, not simply asserted? How do we balance the need for officer safety with the obligation to protect civilian life — and to make sure that each life taken is met with rigorous, transparent answers?

In the weeks to come, expect competing narratives, legal filings, and perhaps new footage or forensic findings. For now, the image that stays with me is quiet and terrible: a man on his knees in the snow, a phone in hand according to family and some video, and a city waiting for clarity.

For those who live here and for the many watching across the world, the task is not merely to watch but to demand that every aspect of this encounter be examined — carefully, independently, and with the humility to admit when an official account does not match what we can see with our own eyes.

Zelensky appeals for urgent air defenses after strikes hit Ukraine’s energy sites

hanad

January 25, 2026

Zelensky seeks air defence support as energy sites hit — People shelter in bitter temperatures during a Russia strike on Kyiv

A Cold City Under Fire: Kyiv’s Winter That Won’t Forget

The wind off the Dnipro felt like it knew the stories. It whisked across broken scaffolding and dim corridors, tugging at coats and carrying the faint, bitter smell of burned plastic. In Kyiv, this was not the winter of quiet evenings by a radiator and slow tea; it was the winter of queuing for warmth.

For two days running, hundreds of apartment blocks sat dark and cold after Russian strikes carved through the arteries of Ukraine’s energy grid. Heaters went silent. The city’s hum was replaced by low, desperate murmurs and the occasional clang of a kettle on a field stove. At a makeshift warming concert organized by volunteers, people in thick coats cradled paper cups of tea and hummed along to songs, more for the heat than the harmony.

“We’ve seen attacks on infrastructure since 2014,” said a volunteer handing out hot soup. “But this winter feels different. The strikes come like sleet—endless, small, and sharp—and the cold steals the courage from your hands.”

Sky Saturation: Numbers That Tell a Brutal Story

President Volodymyr Zelensky, traveling in Vilnius, did not soften the arithmetic. “This week alone, the Russians have launched more than 1,700 attack drones, over 1,380 guided aerial bombs, and 69 missiles of various types,” he said, underscoring the scale of what Kyiv is trying to repel.

Those figures are more than line items; they are a strategy in motion. Military analysts call it saturation: the deliberate launching of huge numbers of low-cost, often autonomous drones and stand-off munitions to overwhelm air-defence batteries. The result is not simply broken infrastructure but a stretched human response—repair crews frozen on scaffolds, hospitals operating on generators, parents protecting children from the chill.

An international air-defence expert, speaking on condition of anonymity, explained: “Systems like S-300s or upgraded Patriots are excellent, but they were designed for different threat profiles. When you face waves—literally hundreds—of small, low-flying drones, the calculus changes. You need more interceptors, more missiles, and, crucially, faster detection and decision systems.”

The Toll on Infrastructure

The assault has been particularly punishing to Ukraine’s energy backbone. Authorities reported that half a million people have been displaced by the bombardments, while the capital itself has seen a staggering number of residential towers hit.

“There are currently 1,676 high-rise apartment buildings in Kyiv without heating following the enemy’s attack on Kyiv city on January 24,” Mayor Vitali Klitschko announced. It is a number that hangs in the air like frost: precise, impersonal, devastating.

Lives in the Margins: Stories from the Blocks

Step into one of those high-rises and you feel the human geometry of this crisis. In a stairwell lit by a phone’s flashlight, an elderly woman named Halyna wrapped her granddaughter’s small shoulders in a wool blanket. “We were lucky,” she said. “Our neighbor brought extra bread. But the boy in 4B has nothing. He sits by the window and watches the sky.”

Children start to measure time not by school bells but by the rhythm of repair crews trying to reconnect pipes and cables. Repair teams work with relentless determination—backed by the solemn knowledge that a delay can mean frostbite, disrupted dialysis, or a day without heat for an infant.

“It’s not just infrastructure we’re repairing,” said one lineman, frost crusting his beard. “We’re repairing hope.”

Allies on the Ground and in the Halls of Power

Outside Kyiv’s immediate shock, a different story unfolds in the capitals of Europe. In Vilnius, Zelensky attended a commemorative ceremony marking the 1863 uprising against the Tsarist empire, a historical nod to the long shadow of imperial aggression across Eastern Europe. Observers noted how the symbolism resonated: yesterday’s fights for national autonomy echoed in today’s contest over borders, identity, and sovereignty.

Among the attendees was Karol Nawrocki, director of Poland’s National Museum, who reflected, “When history repeats, it does not do so quietly. These celebrations remind us that the struggle for freedom is continuous, that today’s solidarity is rooted in shared memory.”

Poland and Lithuania have been among Ukraine’s most steadfast supporters. Both countries have sent hundreds of generators, blankets, and winter supplies—small mechanical lifeboats in a sea of damaged grids. Those generators have become literal lifelines, powering warming centers, hospitals, and community kitchens.

“Without those generators, hundreds more would be on the streets tonight,” said a local municipal coordinator. “They aren’t glamorous, but they buy time. Time is everything right now.”

Diplomacy in the Midst of Darkness

Amid the blasts and the soot, diplomats in Washington brokered talks between Kyiv and Moscow that yielded no grand breakthrough yet were described by Zelensky as “constructive.” Both delegations agreed to reconvene in Abu Dhabi next week. It’s a reminder that while rockets fall, diplomacy still tries to weave a different kind of safety net.

“You can shoot the power lines,” an expert in conflict mediation observed, “but you can’t shoot the impulse to talk. Whether talks produce peace or stall, they matter because they create channels—small, fragile threads that can be strengthened.”

What This Winter Reveals—and Asks of Us

So what do we make of this winter? Is Kyiv merely a case study in a local war, or is it a warning about a new form of warfare—one that targets the critical infrastructure of modern life: power, water, heat?

Think of the broader sweep: in an era of climate unpredictability and stretched national budgets, striking energy networks is a way to amplify suffering without deploying conventional armies. It raises urgent questions about how democracies protect civilians and their lifelines, how allies share resources, and how to insulate communities from the weaponization of winter itself.

As you read this, consider this: what would you do if your heating stopped tomorrow? How resilient is your city to intentional blackouts? These are not academic questions for Ukrainians alone. They are now part of a global conversation about infrastructure, solidarity, and the price of peace.

Closing: The Human Thread

Back in Kyiv, as night deepened and the cold found new places to hide, a woman in a community center began to sing. The melody was simple; it was not a protest or a political slogan but a lullaby with a chorus of survival. People around her joined, not because they had to, but because song keeps the lines open between hearts.

“We will heat what we can,” she said, hands warm from a metal thermos. “We will mend what we can. We will talk to those who can help. And we will remember the small things—tea, a blanket, a neighbor’s voice—that keep us human in the cold.”

Second Minneapolis death amplifies pressure and scrutiny on Trump

hanad

January 25, 2026

Second Minneapolis death heaps pressure on Trump — Alex Pretti's family said he wanted 'to make a difference' in the world

A cold street, a bright flash, and a life ended: Minneapolis after the second fatal federal shooting

It was the kind of cold that makes the breath look fragile and the pavements treacherous — an icy ribbon of asphalt beneath boots and a dozen flashlights. On that morning in downtown Minneapolis, the air smelled of chemical irritant and burnt rubber, punctuated by the bark of orders from masked federal agents. Within seconds, a 37‑year‑old intensive care nurse named Alex Pretti, who had come out to protest an aggressive federal immigration sweep, was on the ground and dead.

What followed was the now‑familiar choreography of headlines and outrage: an administration statement portraying a deadly encounter as an act of self‑defense; bystander video shared across social platforms that seemed to tell a sharply different story; and a community left to gather, grieve and demand answers.

Two deaths in three weeks

Pretti’s killing is the second death of an American citizen in barely three weeks tied to federal immigration operations in Minneapolis. The first was Renée Good, also 37, who was shot in her car on 7 January. The proximity of the two tragedies — in time, place and context — has ratcheted public anger to new heights and deepened existing cracks between local leaders and federal authorities.

Federal officials, speaking early and forcefully, said a pistol was found and argued that an agent fired in self‑defense after a struggle. But video reviewed by journalists and shared widely online shows a different, more troubling sequence: an agent appears to deploy chemical spray at close range; Pretti, phone in hand, is shoved and wrestled to the ground; agents strike him; a sidearm is drawn; then roughly ten shots.

Warning: the footage is graphic and distressing, and many who have watched it say it does not match the administration’s initial account.

Voices on the street

“Alex was a man who took care of others for a living,” said Dr. Dimitri Drekonja, a colleague from the Minneapolis Veterans Affairs hospital where Pretti worked. “He was the type of nurse who would stay late to make sure a patient’s family understood what was happening. We joked about getting a mountain bike ride in. There are no more rides.”

Pretti’s parents, raw with grief and anger, called the official story “a string of sickening lies.” “He has his phone in his right hand,” they said in a prepared statement. “His left is empty and raised as he tries to pull a woman to safety. He will not be caricatured as a violent criminal.” They asked the public to “get the truth out about our son. He was a good man.”

“How many more residents, how many more Americans need to die or get badly hurt for this operation to end?” Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey demanded at a press conference, echoing the exasperation felt by many who have marched in freezing temperatures in recent days.

Crowds and confrontation

Hundreds — and on an earlier day, more than 10,000 people — took to the streets, their signs bobbing in the gray light. Protesters clashed with the heavily armed, masked federal contingent: tear gas canisters arced into crowds, flashbangs thundered, and officers pushed into protest lines. The city’s cultural institutions closed for safety; an NBA game was postponed. National Guard members were called in to support local police at the request of Minnesota officials.

Minneapolis Police Chief Brian O’Hara described Pretti as a lawful gun owner with no criminal record beyond traffic violations. Nevertheless, state investigators say they were blocked from immediately beginning their review of the scene by federal agents — a move that has heightened suspicions and eroded trust.

What officials are saying — and not saying

Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem — who has defended the agents’ presence but expressed a publicly altered tone after the video surfaced — told a television host: “I am grieved for the family.” Yet only a day earlier, she had described Pretti as someone “there to perpetuate violence.” Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche told NBC’s Meet the Press that investigators are still piecing together whether the gun was already under federal control when shots were fired. “I do not know. And nobody else knows, either. That’s why we’re doing an investigation,” he said.

For a community watching every angle of recorded video, such answers feel slow and insufficient. Governor Tim Walz, who has viewed the footage, called it “sickening” and said the federal government cannot be trusted to lead the investigation alone. “The state will handle it,” he added.

Local reactions and personal stories

Pretti’s co‑workers and neighbors describe a man who loved his patients and cared for veterans with steady hands and a soft laugh. “He was always, always putting others first,” one nurse told me, wiping at tears. “He would sit with families through the worst phone calls. That’s his whole life — caring.”

On a chilly block where candles now glow, a neighbor named Maria explained why she came out to protest despite the cold. “I worked nights last week,” she said. “I saw the footage and I couldn’t sit with myself. The sound of someone being shot — in the middle of the street — it doesn’t belong here.”

Wider patterns and uneasy questions

What is happening in Minneapolis is not just local drama. It’s a flashpoint in a broader debate about the federalization of immigration enforcement, the deployment of paramilitary tactics in American cities, and the accountability of officers who operate beyond the usual purview of city police departments. When federal agents — who are often masked, out of uniform, and resistant to local oversight — step into civic space, the friction with state and municipal authorities becomes almost inevitable.

How should communities balance public safety with rights to protest? How much transparency should there be when federal agents are operating in civilian neighborhoods? These are not abstract policy questions. They are urgent, human ones: they start with a name, and end with a mourning family trying to understand how their son — a nurse — was reduced to a viral clip and a disputed narrative.

What comes next

Investigations have been announced by federal authorities; state officials say they will also conduct inquiries. The families, the city, and the nation will watch closely for details that can either confirm or contradict the accounts now circulating. Meanwhile, protesters remain on the streets at night, their chants echoing across asphalt and lake wind: “No more deaths,” “Justice for Alex,” “End the raids.”

In a neighborhood coffee shop near the hospital where Pretti worked, a barista who knew him only as a regular customer summed up the fragile mood: “People are tired. They want to breathe again. But when you see someone who does that for a living — a nurse — end up like that, it feels like a breaking point.”

Questions for the reader

What does accountability look like in an age of viral video and rapid federal response? Whose safety is prioritized when enforcement operations bypass local structures? And how do we, as a society, reconcile the need for law enforcement with the imperative to protect peaceful civic life?

These are hard questions — and they are not going away. As the city of Minneapolis waits for forensic reports and legal reviews, one reality is undeniable: a family is mourning, a community is scarred, and two lives were lost in a span of weeks to a policy that is now coming under fierce and rightful scrutiny.

For those who felt the cold and came anyway, for the veterans Pretti cared for, and for any of us who shop at the same corner store, these events are a reminder that public safety is not only about enforcement. It’s about trust, transparency and the profound human cost when that trust breaks down.

Syria, Kurdish Forces Extend Ceasefire to Allow ISIS Detainee Transfer

hanad

January 25, 2026

Syria and Kurds extend truce for IS detainee transfer — Kurdish forces have been in retreat in north west Syria

A Fragile Pause in the Desert: Why Damascus and the Kurds Have Agreed to a 15-Day Truce

Dust hangs in the air above an abandoned checkpoint east of Hasakeh, where the paint on a rusted sign peels under a furnace sun. An old tea stall that once served drivers and fighters sits empty, its samovar cooling in the midday heat. This quiet is not the calm of peace so much as the hush that follows a sudden rearrangement of power—breath held, waiting to see whether the silence will hold.

In the past few days, Damascus and the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) reached for that pause. Officials announced a 15-day extension to a ceasefire that had been due to expire, saying the goal was to create breathing space for the United States to move people held in SDF prisons—members and suspected affiliates of the Islamic State—into Iraqi custody.

“We extended the truce to allow for the secure and orderly transfer of detainees,” said a statement attributed to the Syrian defence ministry. “This is in support of international efforts to prevent a security vacuum.” The SDF confirmed the decision, calling the extension the product of international mediation and a step towards reducing violence and protecting civilians.

Why the Pause Matters

Short truces in northeastern Syria are not unusual, but they are rarely so tightly tied to a single, high-stakes logistical operation. The SDF controls a network of detention sites that house thousands of people—fighters, suspects, and family members—captured during the campaign that crushed the Islamic State’s territorial rule by 2019.

U.S. officials, the SDF and Iraqi authorities told news agencies that Washington planned to transfer thousands of detainees to Iraqi prisons. One U.S. announcement that circulated widely spoke of a plan involving as many as 7,000 detainees. The first convoy reportedly carried around 150 high-value detainees, including some Europeans; Iraqi officials said a second movement could include up to 1,000 people and that the transfer process would stretch over several days.

“Moving that many people without creating chaos is a logistical nightmare,” said Lina Haddad, an international security analyst who has followed detention dynamics in Syria. “You need safe corridors, vetted lists, medical checks, and, crucially, international and local buy-in. That’s why temporary ceasefires—however fragile—become a political tool.”

On the Ground: Fear, Relief, and the Weight of History

For residents of Hasakeh and nearby towns, the truce is both a relief and a reminder that decisions are often made far from their neighborhoods. “Every time the flags change, children stop going to school for a week,” said Ahmad, a grocer who asked that only his first name be used. “We want safety, yes, but also stability. When fighters move and checkpoints open and close, our lives are the ones that get rearranged.”

An abandoned SDF checkpoint—concrete blocks sat like chess pieces along a highway—tells that story plainly. Trucks pass cautiously now, engines revving past the ruins of a small market where Kurdish tea sellers once traded gossip for coins. A woman pushing a cart of flatbreads said she favors the truce despite reservations. “We can at least harvest without worrying about shells,” she said. “But when they carry prisoners out of the area, I worry about reprisals, about who will be held responsible if things go wrong.”

Numbers, Risks, Realities

Some context helps us measure the stakes. Islamic State fighters and sympathizers swept across large parts of Iraq and Syria in 2014, declaring a caliphate and overseeing atrocities that shocked the world. By 2019, coalition forces, local partners including the SDF, and regional armies had retaken most territory once controlled by IS. But victory on maps didn’t erase the problem. Tens of thousands of detainees, suspected fighters, and family members remained in makeshift camps and prisons—many under SDF supervision.

That accumulation of detainees has been a pressing security and humanitarian issue for years. Overcrowding, poor sanitation and the risk of mass breakouts have made the facilities volatile. “Prisons can be incubators of extremism if they are not managed properly,” said Dr. Marcus Ellery, a British expert on counter-radicalization. “But deporting or transferring detainees en masse without proper legal procedures also creates long-term problems—statelessness, human rights abuses, and legal limbo.”

Reported planned transfers: up to 7,000 detainees (according to U.S. statements cited by local sources)
First move: around 150 senior detainees, including some Europeans
Second batch: reported up to 1,000 being transferred over the weekend
ISIS territorial defeat: largely achieved by 2019

Politics, Borders, and the Price of Control

At the heart of the ceasefire are not only security calculations but questions of governance. The truce followed sharp territorial shifts in which the Syrian government reasserted control over stretches of land previously held by Kurdish forces. Those moves reopened debates about who manages border crossings, who collects customs revenue, and how oil wealth—still a major prize in northeastern Syria—will be administered.

A Kurdish source told mediators, via a U.S. intermediary, they proposed that Damascus take charge of border crossings while allocating portions of the resulting revenues and some oil income to Kurdish-majority areas. “It’s a pragmatic proposal,” the source said. “We don’t want endless conflict. We want recognition—economic lifelines and local autonomy to manage our affairs.”

Whether Damascus will accept long-term compromises remains unclear. The Syrian state, fractured by years of war, is now engaged in a delicate dance: extending formal control while trying to reintegrate regions run by semi-autonomous administrations. For many in the area, the question is simple: who will fund schools, clear rubble, and pay teachers’ salaries next month?

What Comes Next?

The truce buys time. It opens a narrow window to move people, to negotiate terms, and to avoid an immediate clash that could reignite broader fighting. Yet time is also a pressure-cooker. Transfers of detainees could take days, maybe weeks, and each day increases the chance of friction—an intercepted convoy, a protest at a crossing, a hardline actor choosing violence.

“Temporary ceasefires are bandages, not cures,” Haddad said. “If we don’t pair them with a real political roadmap—legal status for detainees, a transparent accounting of resources, and guarantees for local governance—the vacuum will just reappear.”

So we ask the reader: what should come first—security or justice? Is it possible to safely move thousands of detainees while assuring due process and reconstruction funds for communities wearied by war? The answers will shape not only the future of northeastern Syria but also wider debates about how the international community handles the aftermath of extremist rule.

For the people in Hasakeh, the question is less theoretical. They want their children back in school, markets to reopen, and roads cleared. A ceasefire can give them yards of quiet to breathe in; whether that grows into something deeper depends on actors in tents, offices and embassies far from the tea stalls. For now, the desert holds its breath—and the rest of the world watches to see whether the pause will lead to durable calm or become merely another interlude in a long, painful story.

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