Sep 11(Jowhar)-Wasiirka Gaashaandhigga XFS, Mudane Axmed Macallin Fiqi, oo ay weheliyeen Taliyaha Ciidanka Xoogga Dalka, Sarreeye Gaas Odowaa Yuusuf Raage.
Israeli military reports missile launched from Yemen was intercepted
Smoke Over Sanaa: A City Caught Between Missiles, Media and Mourning
When the sirens began blaring across Israel late on a humid evening, they carried with them the faint, distant echo of a conflict that has stretched to the edges of the Arabian Peninsula. Israel’s military announced that a missile launched from Yemen had been intercepted — a terse line on Telegram that landed like a second shockwave on a region already wound tight with grief and fury.
In Yemen, the impact was immediate and visceral. Officials in Sanaa, the capital held by the Iran-backed Houthi movement, reported that airstrikes had struck the Houthi armed forces’ media offices and a complex in Jawf province, killing 35 people and wounding at least 131. “The toll includes 28 dead and 113 wounded in Sanaa, and seven dead and 18 wounded in Jawf,” Anees Alasbahi, a spokesman for the Houthi health ministry, wrote on X, warning that the numbers were not final.
Where the headlines meet people
Walk through Sanaa and you feel the layers of history and daily life: the ornate gingerbread-like facades of multi-century homes; the city’s market stalls where vendors sell silver coffee pots and qat leaves alongside stacks of rubber tires; the minarets calling the faithful to prayer. Now, the air carries another scent: burnt plastic and diesel, and the metallic tang of uncertainty.
“We lived through bombing before,” said one shopkeeper who asked to be identified only as Ahmed. “But today the school nearby is closed, and we don’t know when we can go back.” His hands trembled around a small wooden box of incense. “People are afraid to gather. Mothers worry the most.”
Across the city, funerals are happening in spare lots and mosque courtyards. Neighbors who once traded jokes and tea stand shoulder to shoulder in silence. “This is not just numbers on a screen,” said Leila, a teacher in Sanaa. “These were our teachers, our neighbors, our sons. You can see the grief in every home.”
What happened — and the murky chain of reprisals
The strikes in Sanaa and Jawf came amid a spiral of tit-for-tat actions since October 2023, when Hamas’s assault unleashed a wider confrontation involving multiple state and non-state actors. The Houthis, aligned with Iran and now a vocal—and active—ally of Gaza, have repeatedly launched missiles and drones toward Israel. Israel has responded with targeted strikes in Yemen, aiming at military infrastructure, ports, power stations and the international airport in Sanaa.
This recent wave of violence followed another deadly episode: last month, Houthi leaders say, a government cabinet meeting was struck, killing the movement’s prime minister Ahmed Ghaleb Nasser al-Rahawi, nine ministers and two cabinet officials. Those assassinations were described by Houthi sources as among the most high-profile of nearly two years of hostilities tied to the Gaza war.
Yahya Saree, the Houthi military spokesman, has pointed to casualties among journalists, saying reporters from the 26 September and al-Yaman newspapers were among those killed at what the Houthis call the “Moral Guidance Headquarters” in Sanaa. The Israeli military made its own claim: that it targeted “military camps in which operatives of the terrorist regime were identified, the Houthis’ military public relations headquarters and a fuel storage facility that was used by the terrorist regime.”
A global ripple: why this matters beyond the battlefield
At first glance, Yemen may seem remote from Tel Aviv’s streets or Jerusalem’s cafes. But the modern battlefield is threaded through trade routes, satellite signals and international law. The Gulf of Aden and the Red Sea — lifelines for global shipping — sit within eyeshot of Yemen. Attacks on ports, power grids, and airports can disrupt supply chains, raise insurance costs, and push up prices from consumer goods to fuel.
Consider this: even a short closure of a major Suez-Red Sea lane can reroute billions of dollars in commerce, adding days to delivery times and millions to costs. Add to that the human cost: hospitals with intermittent power, children missing school, economies already frayed by years of civil war, cholera outbreaks and famine-like conditions.
- 35 people killed and 131 wounded in recent strikes, according to Houthi health officials.
- Repeated cross-border drone and missile fire since October 2023.
- Infrastructure damage — ports, power stations and airports — threatens regional stability and global trade.
Voices from the ground and the world
“Every strike multiplies the number of displaced families,” said Fatima al-Kibsi, a coordinator with an international NGO working in northern Yemen. “Our teams report more children with trauma, and clinics struggling to get medicines through checkpoints and damaged roads.”
An Israeli military analyst, speaking on condition of anonymity, told me, “The calculus is harsh: allowing the Houthis to use southern Yemen as a staging ground would invite greater hostility closer to our civilian centers. But every strike increases the chance of wider escalation.”
And there are those who worry about the narratives being shaped online. “Striking media offices is not just a tactical move — it is symbolic,” said Dr. Miriam Haddad, a researcher on media in conflict zones. “Attacks on press operations can silence voices, skew reporting, and fuel cycles of propaganda and revenge.”
Questions to sit with
What responsibility do foreign powers have when interventions deepen local suffering? Can surgical military responses avoid the wider spiral of civilian harm, or do they merely change the geography of grief? And for the rest of the world: how much instability are global markets, humanitarian agencies and diplomatic channels prepared to absorb before the costs become intolerable?
There are no tidy answers. Yemen is a palimpsest of competing claims: tribal loyalties, regional power plays, a fractured state and an exhausted population. Each strike redraws those lines, and each reprisal echoes beyond national borders.
What comes next — and why you should care
For the people of Sanaa and towns in Jawf, the next days will be about tending the wounded, burying the dead, and protecting what little is left of normal life. For policymakers, the calculus is different — a mix of deterrence, diplomacy, and political pressure. For the rest of the world, there is a quieter but no less urgent task: to remember that every headline obscures a human life.
So ask yourself: when distant conflicts catch fire in markets and airports halfway across the globe, how do we measure our stake? When the smoke clears, who will be left to tell the story? And will the world listen, or simply scroll on to the next crisis?
Authorities release images of person of interest tied to Kirk shooting
On a Bright Utah Afternoon, Politics Turned Deadly
The afternoon sun sat low and warm over Utah Valley University when the sound that would reshape lives and headlines split the air.
People came for debate, for spectacle, for an argument staged in public: a charismatic, young conservative voice—Charlie Kirk—speaking to a campus crowd of roughly 3,000 at an event billed “Prove Me Wrong.” They expected jeers, applause, maybe a shouted question or two. They did not expect a bolt of violence to turn the quad into chaos.
Surveillance video later showed a figure in a baseball cap and dark sunglasses moving through the crowd and up stairwells before mounting a nearby roof. Moments later, a single shot rang out. Students scattered; chairs toppled; phones were raised and trembling hands recorded the aftershock in streams that would circle the globe.
Who Was the Stranger on the Roof?
By the next morning, the FBI’s Salt Lake City office had published two photos of a “person of interest”—a person in casual clothing who seemed to blend in, university officials said. The bureau stopped short of naming that person a suspect, asking instead for the public’s help in identification.
“We will let the evidence speak,” said FBI Special Agent Robert Bohls at a press briefing, as he described investigators’ discovery of a high-powered bolt-action rifle in a nearby wooded area and the painstaking search for palm prints and footprints. “This weapon, recovered close to the scene, is being analyzed forensically.”
Officials believe the shooter was young—”college age,” according to Utah Public Safety Commissioner Beau Mason—and skilled at moving unnoticed through a crowded campus. From the roof, they say, the gunman fired a single round that would prove fatal.
What Happened to Charlie Kirk
Charlie Kirk, 31, a conservative activist known for founding Turning Point USA and a prominent voice to younger Republican voters, was struck and later pronounced dead at a Salt Lake area hospital. He was married and had two young children.
This was not a quiet, private act. It took place on a public stage, in front of students and cameras—during a moment when Kirk, an outspoken defender of gun rights and polarizing commentator on issues of race, gender, and immigration, was being questioned about gun violence by an audience member.
“When someone takes the life of a person because of their ideas or their ideals, that undermines the very aspiration of open debate that our universities are supposed to embody,” Utah Governor Spencer Cox said. “It is a political assassination, plain and simple.”
Scenes from the Quad: Voices from the Crowd
There are a hundred ways to describe panic; the students and residents who witnessed the shooting offer details that make the moment feel personal and immediate.
“It sounded like a firework, but then people started screaming and running,” said Anna Martinez, a sophomore who had come for the debate. “You could hear phones everywhere—someone was yelling ‘lockdown’—and you could see confusion and fear on everyone’s faces. I thought we were safe on campus.”
A resident who lives in the neighborhood adjacent to the university, who asked not to be named, described the aftermath: “We saw someone jump down from a rooftop. He ran into the trees like it was pre-planned. It felt like a movie—until you remember this is real life.”
Local chaplains and volunteers arrived as the evening turned to night, setting up a triage of blankets and quiet spaces for grieving students. A university police officer, shaken, told a reporter, “We do active-shooter drills, but living through this is something else. The sound, the faces—it’s etched in us.”
Investigations, Speculation, and the Hunt for Answers
Investigators moved quickly but cautiously. Two people were detained near the scene and questioned, then released, officials said. Authorities emphasized that those detentions were part of the inquiry, not an indication of guilt.
Meanwhile, the recovered rifle was being processed, and forensic teams were mapping an escape route into the adjoining neighborhood. “We’re running down every lead, canvassing witnesses, and combing digital evidence,” an FBI official said. “This investigation spans local, state, and federal jurisdictions.”
Across the country, the killing sparked immediate outrage from many leaders. Vice President J.D. Vance postponed a scheduled event and flew to Utah to be with the Kirk family. Former President Donald Trump called the killing “a dark day for America” and blamed incendiary rhetoric from the political left, decrying violent language and urging restraint.
Why This Resonates: The Broader Strain of Political Violence
To understand why this shooting seizes national attention, it’s useful to look at the pattern. Since the January 6, 2021, attack on the U.S. Capitol, researchers have documented a striking number of ideologically motivated violent incidents. A Reuters tally cited more than 300 politically motivated violent acts across the ideological spectrum.
“We are witnessing a worrying normalization of political violence,” said Dr. Lena Patel, a scholar of political extremism. “When rhetoric dehumanizes opposing views and public discourse abandons restraint, violent acts can move from the margins into tragic reality.”
The U.S. has seen attempts on high-profile political figures in recent years; President Trump survived two separate assassination attempts in 2024, one of which left him with a grazed ear, illustrating an elevated and dangerous context in which political disagreement increasingly bleeds into acts of violence.
Universities as Battlegrounds
College campuses have become prime stages for this conflict. Events featuring controversial speakers draw large crowds and sometimes hostile encounters. Organizers argue such events test free speech; critics argue they deliberately provoke. Either way, the campus becomes a microcosm of national polarization.
“Universities are meant to be laboratories of ideas,” Governor Cox told reporters. “When violence invades that space, we’re not just losing one life—we’re losing faith in our ability to disagree without killing.”
Questions We Have to Ask
What responsibility do speakers, organizers, and spectators share for the climates they help foster? Do heated exchanges and confrontational formats invite escalation? And if rhetoric matters, what policy steps can meaningfully reduce the chances of such violence without choking off legitimate protest and debate?
These are hard questions, and they cut across free-speech law, campus safety protocols, gun policy, and the social media ecosystems that amplify outrage.
Small Rituals, Large Grief
In the days after the shooting, flags flew at half-mast in public places. Vigils were held; candles were lit in student centers and town squares. Some wore buttons in memory of a man whose life had a profound influence on young conservative politics—others simply sought a way to name their loss.
“This could have been any of us,” said Fatima Khan, a senior majoring in political science. “We argue and we shout, but at the end of the day, there are people tied to this person—children, a spouse. The political map doesn’t map their grief.”
Where Do We Go From Here?
Investigators continue to piece together the who, the how, and the why. The images released by the FBI are a plea not just for a name, but for closure. The nation watches and waits—grappling with questions about safety, democracy, and the costs of a politics that has become lethal for far too many.
As you read this, consider: how do communities heal after violence that is both deeply personal and unmistakably political? What changes would you want to see in public dialogue, campus security, or national politics to make such tragedies less likely?
We will update the story as investigators release more details. For now, the image of a crowd dispersing under a bright Utah sky remains a stark reminder: debate need not—and must not—end in bloodshed. If we value the marketplace of ideas, we have to protect the people who step into it.
Activists Claim Second Boat Hit in Suspected Drone Strike
Night Fires off Sidi Bou Said: A Flotilla, a Drone, and the Weight of a Blockade
The sea off Sidi Bou Said is usually a picture of Mediterranean calm — whitewashed houses perched on cliffs, bougainvillea spilling over balconies, the smell of mint tea drifting from cafes. Last week that quiet was broken by smoke and the surreal geometry of blue flashing lights reflecting on dark water.
Here, in Tunisian waters just north of the capital, a convoy of small vessels known as the Global Sumud Flotilla — activists and aid workers bound for Gaza — says one of its boats was hit by what they suspect was a drone attack. “Second night, second drone attack,” Melanie Schweizer, one of the flotilla’s coordinators, told reporters, voice raw with fatigue and resolve. The boat, the British-flagged Alma, suffered fire damage to its top deck but, organizers said, no one was hurt.
The scene at sea
It was a strange nocturne: a small ship, a smudge of orange, and the staccato of flashlights. Journalists on the shore saw coastguard vessels ring the burning boat. Security footage shared by the flotilla shows what looks like a burning object falling from the sky and striking the vessel. Francesca Albanese, the UN special rapporteur for the occupied Palestinian territories, posted video of the Alma alight and wrote that “video evidence suggests a drone — with no light so it could not be seen — dropped a device that set the deck of the Alma boat on fire.”
Not everyone saw it the same way. Tunisia’s national guard spokesman, Houcem Eddine Jebabli, said categorically that “no drones have been detected.” Tunisian authorities suggested a discarded cigarette might have started the blaze — a suggestion that drew immediate skepticism from the flotilla and several independent observers.
Voices from the docks
“I live here, I fish these waters,” said Ali, a weathered fisherman who watched the vessels from the shoreline of Sidi Bou Said. “At first I thought it was fireworks. Then we saw smoke. The boat tried to put out the flames. It was terrifying — not just for the people on board, for all of us.”
A volunteer medic on the flotilla, who asked not to be named, described chaos that settled into grim determination. “We pulled people away, we checked burns and inhalation, we rationed water. It could have been worse. But it’s terrifying when your small boat is suddenly vulnerable in open sea.”
A maritime security analyst based in Malta, Dr. Nina Rossi, described how small unmanned aerial vehicles — some capable of carrying incendiary or explosive devices — have become an asymmetrical threat in recent years. “The technology has become more accessible. A UAV can loiter over a ship at night and be almost invisible. That raises difficult questions for coastal states and for organizations undertaking humanitarian missions.”
Why this flotilla matters
This is not merely another activist crossing; it’s a deeply symbolic — and painfully practical — effort to deliver aid amid one of the world’s most acute humanitarian emergencies. The flotilla, calling itself Sumud — an Arabic word meaning resilience — aims to break the naval blockade on Gaza, deliver supplies, and draw global attention to the crisis unfolding on the other side of the Mediterranean.
Last month, the United Nations declared famine in parts of Gaza and warned that roughly 500,000 people faced “catastrophic” conditions. More than two million people live in the territory, and aid agencies have repeatedly warned that crossing borders and seas to deliver life-saving goods has become increasingly fraught.
Among the passengers on board were well-known activists, including Greta Thunberg, whose presence has repeatedly turned such missions into international spectacles. The flotilla insists it is an independent group, unaffiliated with any government or political party, and says that its mission is peaceful.
Two nights, two fires — or a campaign to silence?
The flotilla says this was the second incident in as many nights. For organizers, the suspicious timing — occurring amid intense fighting and a wider campaign of airstrikes that has devastated Gaza — suggested a pattern. “These incidents come during intensified Israeli aggression on Palestinians in Gaza, and are an orchestrated attempt to distract and derail our mission,” the flotilla said in a statement.
Israel’s military did not immediately respond to requests for comment. For observers and analysts, the ambiguity — who did what, and why — is a reminder of how murkily modern conflict plays out across borders, in public view and in dark, technical spaces where attribution is hard.
The larger currents beneath this episode
People on the docks spoke like they were watching a larger drama unfold: humanitarian law, the rights of civilians at sea, national security, and the politics of protest. The flotilla harks back to a painful precedent — the 2010 raid on the Mavi Marmara, when Israeli forces boarded a Gaza-bound vessel and nine activists were killed. That incident reshaped international debate about blockades and humanitarian access.
So when a flotilla sets off, it carries more than boxes and duffel bags. It carries memory and the potential for escalation. It forces simple, urgent questions into the open: How do we ensure aid reaches those who need it when borders are locked? What rules govern the use of force — and increasingly, drones — in waters where neither side fully controls the narrative?
Dr. Rossi urged caution in drawing definitive conclusions from footage alone. “Images are powerful, but they can mislead. Independent verification matters. Still, whether drone or accident, the effect is chilling: crews on small boats feel exposed and vulnerable.”
Local color and human texture
Back in the cafés of Tunis, people spoke about the flotilla in overlapping languages: concern, curiosity, indifference. A tea seller in the medina, Fatma, laughed and shook her head. “They always make dramatic arrivals,” she said. “But when it comes to people on the ground, we know the suffering is real. It is close in the heart, even if far in geography.”
At the harbor, a volunteer wrapped a wet blanket around a shivering passenger and handed out sweet dates. “We play our part,” the volunteer said simply. “We can’t fix everything, but we can be there.”
Questions for readers — and for policymakers
What does it mean when humanitarian missions themselves become targets or suspects in an electronic fog of war? How should coastal states balance security with the urgent need to let aid flow? And perhaps most troubling: in an age where small, remotely controlled machines can escalate conflict at a fingertip’s distance, how do we design rules and accountability that keep civilians safe?
As the Alma was repaired and the flotilla insisted it would continue, there was a clear message in the mix of defiance and weariness: aid, attention, and protest are stubborn forces. “We will press forward with determination and resolve,” the flotilla said, a phrase heavy with the kind of hope that persists even under smoke-streaked skies.
That resolve — anchored in a small word, Sumud — asks a broader question of the international community: when famine and conflict press at the margins of our conscience, how will we act? Will we watch from safe harbors, or will we grapple with the risks, the politics, and the humane duty to keep people alive?
Xiisad ka dhalatay dilka Charles Kirk oo ka taagan Mareykanka
Sep 11(Jowhar)-Charles Kirk waxa uu ahaa 31 jir Mareykan ahna taageere koox diimeedka Isra aad u taageera ee loo yaqaan ‘Kirishaanka Zahnuuniyiinta’ ee rumeysan in Yhdu tahay dad Alle ka doortay ummaddiisa kale.
Former EU ambassadors urge suspension of EU-Israel pact
A Turning Point in Brussels: Former Diplomats Call for Sanctions as Europe Wrestles with Gaza
There are moments when the air in a city like Brussels thickens with politics—the sort of moments that smell faintly of espresso, paper, and something heavier: urgency. This week, more than 300 former European Union and national ambassadors, together with ex-EU officials, delivered one such jolt. In a joint letter addressed to EU institutions and the leaders of all 27 member states, they demanded immediate suspension of the EU-Israel Association Agreement and targeted sanctions on members of the Israeli government. They urged 13 holdout EU countries to join 147 United Nations members already recognising the State of Palestine. It was a rare, ringing plea from the diplomatic corps that raised the stakes of a debate otherwise confined to committee rooms and press briefings.
“We cannot stand idly by, watching Gaza reduced to rubble and its inhabitants to destitution and starvation,” said former EU Ambassador Sven Kühn von Burgsdorff on behalf of the co-signatories. “Action needs to be taken urgently to preserve life, end the military onslaught on Gaza, secure the return of all hostages and move to governance arrangements that allow for a swift return of the Palestinian Authority to Gaza.”
The letter and what it asks for
This is the fourth such intervention from a cohort of former diplomats who once wore their countries’ colors abroad. Their asks are blunt and specific: suspend the EU-Israel Association Agreement—which forms the legal backbone of trade, research and institutional cooperation between Brussels and Jerusalem—impose targeted sanctions on Israeli officials. They also call for emergency UN General Assembly and Security Council meetings to adopt measures addressing “multiple violations of international law” and encourage EU backing for a Global Alliance for the Implementation of the Two-State Solution.
The diplomats’ appeal is framed in legal and moral terms. But it’s also a practical call to action: in their view, halting parts of formal cooperation and applying financial pressure will not only be a moral statement but a tool to reopen space for diplomacy.
From Strasbourg’s hemicycle to the streets
Across the Rhine in Strasbourg, European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen used her State of the Union address to push Brussels toward some of these measures. “What is happening in Gaza has shaken the conscience of the world,” she told Members of the European Parliament, invoking images of mothers clutching lifeless children and people begging for food. “Man-made famine can never be a weapon of war.” She pledged to propose sanctions on extremist settlers in the West Bank and suggested suspending the trade element of the Association Agreement—echoing the diplomats’ demands.
In the corridors of the Parliament, the mood was a mix of anger and exhaustion. “People are asking how much worse things must get before there’s unity,” von der Leyen acknowledged. In a tone both urgent and defensive, she insisted Europe must lead: not only in humanitarian aid—”our support far outweighs that of any other partner”—but in defending the principles of the post-war order.
Money on pause, but not everything
Practical steps are already being sketched. The European Commission confirmed it will put some financial support to Israel on hold—without touching funds earmarked for Israeli civil society or Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Center. Brussels says the funding specifically intended to foster bilateral relations amounts to roughly €6 million per year across programmes and that this stream will continue through 2025–27 before suspension. Around €14 million in ongoing projects will be paused as the Commission evaluates institutional cooperation and regional programmes.
For diplomats who have watched the EU run on incrementalism, these are meaningful moves. “It’s a calibrated pressure,” one senior EU official told me on condition of anonymity. “Not a severing—yet. But enough to indicate real consequences.” Others worry the measures may still be too little, too late.
Voices from the ground and the wider world
Letters and speeches matter, but so do people. In a Gaza neighborhood reduced to skeletons of buildings, a teacher named Amal described a classroom that once held 30 children and now shelters a single family, displaced repeatedly. “We teach children to dream,” she said softly in a phone call, “but how do you teach hope when the classroom keeps disappearing?”
Across the West Bank, an Israeli farmer whose land abuts a growing settlement spoke of fear and frustration. “We were raised on the idea of security,” he told me. “But security for some shouldn’t mean denying a people a state. This spiral hurts everyone.”
Legal experts say the diplomats’ call leans on concrete arguments. “Targeted sanctions can be legally justified under international law when there is grave breach of humanitarian norms,” said Dr. Leila Haddad, a specialist in international humanitarian law. “But they must be carefully designed to avoid collective punishment and to protect humanitarian access.” Her warning underscores the thin line between pressure and punishment in sanctions policy.
Europe’s strategic moment?
Ms von der Leyen did more than critique the conflict; she tied the debate to a broader project. “This must be Europe’s independence moment,” she said—an insistence that the EU needs to assert autonomy in technology, energy, defence and diplomacy. The message is clear: Europe cannot be the world’s moral voice if it is divided and dependent. Her speech also referenced global pressures—from Russian drone incursions into Poland to the ongoing war in Ukraine—and highlighted EU aid to Kyiv, which she put at nearly €170 billion in military and financial support so far.
“Do we have the stomach to fight?” she asked MEPs—a rhetorical dare that nods to Europe’s recent history of coming together in crisis, from the Covid recovery package to support for Ukraine. But the Gaza debate also reveals how hard unity is to achieve when member states differ on legal recognition, strategic interests and domestic politics.
What happens next — and why you should care
Policymaking is an exercise in consequences. If Brussels suspends the trade element of the Association Agreement, the move will be symbolic and practical: trade ties, research collaborations and institutional exchanges could be affected. Sanctions targeted at settlers or Israeli officials would be a political earthquake, altering Brussels’ relationship with a long-time partner and stirring transatlantic tensions with Washington.
Is that a risk worth taking? For the diplomats who signed the letter, the calculation is moral and strategic: stronger pressure might open the door to renewed governance in Gaza under the Palestinian Authority, the return of hostages, and a revival of the two-state pathway. For sceptics, the worry is that punitive steps will harden positions and deepen suffering.
So let me ask you: when international institutions hesitate in the face of human suffering, what should give way—principle or pragmatism? When collective conscience collides with complex geopolitics, which do we choose? These aren’t theoretical questions. They will shape lives, borders, and the credibility of the rules-based order for years to come.
Europe appears to be at an inflection point. Whether it acts—and how it acts—will tell us much about its ability to translate values into leverage, and about the kind of world order we all want to inhabit: one where laws and human dignity matter, or one where power alone writes the rules.
Khikaaf diblomaasiyadeed oo ka dhex qarxay safiirada Soomaaliya ee Kenya iyo Tanzania
Sep 11(Jowhar)-Ismaandhaaf xoogan oo ku salaysan awoodaha shaqo ayaa ka dhex qarxay Safaaradaha Soomaaliya ee dalalka Kenya iyo Tansaaniya.
Shelter Afrique Development Bank (ShafDB) and Afreximbank Forge Strategic Partnership to Unlock US$1 billion in investments
Sept 11 (Jowhar)-Algiers, Algeria, 11 September 2025: – Shelter Afrique Development Bank (ShafDB) and African Export-Import Bank (Afreximbank) have signed a groundbreaking Joint Project Preparation Facility (JPPF) Framework Agreement.
Queensland authorities launch probe into viral crocodile-wrestling videos
A Wild Stunt, A National Flashpoint
There is something about a man and a monster that captures the internet’s imagination — the same old recipe that once made Steve Irwin an international household name. But when an American influencer known online as “therealtarzann” dove into the murky waterways of Queensland and grappled live with saltwater and freshwater crocodiles, it didn’t feel like awe so much as a provocation. Tens of millions watched. Tens of millions were horrified.
In the grainy, sun-splashed clips he posted, the man strips to the waist, wades into tannin-stained water, and struggles with reptiles that have ruled these estuaries for millennia. In one breathless shot he emerges clutching a croc by the throat, blood glistening at his elbow. “He got a hold of me, but I got a hold of him,” he says to the camera. The tone is showmanlike; the consequences, for both human and animal, are anything but.
Why Australians See Red
Queensland’s reaction was swift and incandescent. The state’s environment department labelled the behaviour “extremely dangerous and illegal” and vowed to pursue “strong compliance action” against anyone who tries to replicate it. Fines for interfering with a saltwater crocodile can reach AUS $37,500 (around €21,200), a reminder that Australia treats its wildlife laws seriously.
Premier David Crisafulli, reflecting the blunt tenor of public sentiment, called the influencer a “goose” — blunt, colloquial and telling. For locals, the outrage runs deeper than a single foolhardy stunt. It is about disrespecting a landscape and species that are protected, iconic, and woven into the social fabric of far-north Queensland.
Data, Danger, and a Long Tail of Incidents
Saltwater crocodiles (Crocodylus porosus) are not only ancient apex predators; they are resilient. Government estimates put their numbers in Queensland at between 20,000 and 30,000 — a population that has rebounded since conservation measures began several decades ago. But numbers do not equal safety. Between December 1985 and April 2024 Queensland recorded 34 non-fatal and 14 fatal attacks by wild saltwater crocodiles. These are more than statistics; they are the ledger of grief for families, for communities.
“You don’t tango with a wild croc and walk away unmarked,” said Emma Ngata, a crocodile ecologist who has spent 12 years tracking estuary populations along the Gulf of Carpentaria. “They are part of the ecosystem. They are predictable in ways — they hunt, they nest, they defend — but they are not props in an influencer’s reel.”
Voices from Croc Country
Walk into any small township north of Cairns and the conversation will be textured with crocodile lore: the old timers pointing to mangrove roots and grinning at the memory of a boat trip where a “big’un” slipped by in the night; Indigenous elders tracing ancestral stories where crocs are both totem and teacher. There is pride in living alongside such a creature, but also a sober respect.
“We teach our kids to stay away from the water’s edge at dusk,” said Tony Marri, a fisherman from Cooktown, who remembered losing a friend to a croc attack years ago. “These aren’t Instagram likes — they’re people’s lives. The animals have rules. People should follow them.”
Rangers who patrol “Croc Country” take a different, quieter kind of pride. “Our job is to manage risk, not to star in videos,” said Lucy Marr, a wildlife officer who travels routinely in a pickup across marshy roads and stilted causeways. “When someone like this shows up and makes a spectacle, it undermines safety messaging and can trigger copycats.”
From Viral Clips to Policy Questions
The online platform is the amplifier here. A stunt that would once have been a cautionary anecdote in a pub now sits on a million feeds, edited for drama, scrubbed of context, and likely to inspire imitation. This is not an isolated trend. Earlier this year another influencer drew ire after a video showing a baby wombat being pestered circulated widely. The common denominator: wildlife treated as accessories, not living beings with ecological and legal status.
Experts warn that such content does more than offend sensibilities — it can endanger conservation gains. “When people interfere with protected species, it creates hazards that sometimes end in the animal being removed or euthanised,” said Dr. Marcus Yeo, a conservation policy specialist. “That outcome is tragic for everyone — the public, the wildlife, and the ecosystem.”
Legal and Ethical Lines
- Maximum fine for interfering with a saltwater crocodile in Queensland: AUS $37,500 (≈€21,200).
- Estimated saltwater crocodile population in Queensland: 20,000–30,000.
- Recorded croc attacks in Queensland (Dec 1985–Apr 2024): 34 non-fatal, 14 fatal.
Beyond fines, enforcement is a challenge. The waterways are vast, remote, and hard to police. The state says permits and licences exist for trained professionals to relocate dangerous animals — but those are legal, regulated actions performed by trained teams, not stunts for an audience.
What This Moment Reveals
There is a larger story nested inside this spectacle: the collision between social media’s hunger for the extraordinary and the realities of living in biodiverse places. The internet rewards risk-takers with followers and sponsorships; local communities pay the price in stress, misinformation, and sometimes real harm to animals and humans.
We should ask: what kind of culture are we cultivating when danger is currency? Are platforms complicit when they amplify content that glorifies reckless treatment of wildlife? And importantly, what responsibility do viewers have when a viral clip is just a click away?
Small Remedies, Big Responsibility
There are practical steps communities and platforms can take. Content moderation that flags dangerous wildlife interactions, clearer labelling that differentiates entertainment from legitimate conservation work, and education campaigns aimed at tourists and influencers could all help. Local rangers call for more visibility for licensed wildlife handlers and for a stronger narrative that elevates respect over spectacle.
“If you come here, learn the rules,” said Marr. “Talk to rangers. Read the signs. The crocodile is not a stunt prop. It’s a living being who has every right to exist without being harassed.”
A Final Thought
As you scroll past your next jaw-dropping clip, ask yourself: did that moment teach me something meaningful, or only give me a jolt? The answer matters. Because in places like Queensland, the creatures we marvel at are part of a larger story — a story that requires patience, law, and a bit of humility from the rest of us.
If nothing else, perhaps this episode will remind us that real courage in conservation isn’t wrestling an animal for views; it’s showing restraint, sharing knowledge, and protecting the wild spaces that sustain us all.
Charlie Kirk’s Key Role in Driving Trump’s Re-Election Campaign
The Last Speech: A Campus Evening That Ended Too Soon
There are moments that feel like a weather front rolling in — sudden, loud, impossible to ignore. On a warm evening in Orem, Utah, at the broad lawn of Utah Valley University’s campus, one of those fronts arrived when Charlie Kirk, the brash young founder of Turning Point USA, took the stage surrounded by a sea of stretched necks and flashing phones.
He had just returned from an international speaking tour — Tokyo one day, South Korea the next — and the event was billed as a high-energy rally: bright lights, throbbing anthems, the sort of spectacle that has become the currency of 21st-century politics. Then, in a sequence that supporters and bystanders describe as chaotic and surreal, a shooting occurred and the 31-year-old organizer died.
Details remain under investigation and the community is reeling. For many who knew him only through a grainy livestream or a podcast episode, the news landed like a jolt: this was a figure who had been debated and demonized, lauded and loathed — now gone in an instant.
Who He Was: A Product and Producer of Polarized Politics
Charlie Kirk was, in many ways, the prototype of a modern political influencer. He founded Turning Point USA at 18 and, over the next decade, built it into a magnet for conservative youth, a national network of campus chapters, a media operation and a political machine.
Turning Point Action, launched in 2019 as a nonprofit arm to back candidates, helped channel that cultural energy into electoral power — an asset that, according to observers, played a role in mobilizing young conservative voters in the November 2024 election.
He wrote books (“Time for a Turning Point,” “The College Scam”), hosted The Charlie Kirk Show — podcasts that drew half a million monthly listeners — and amassed 5.3 million followers on X. For supporters, he was a truth-teller who made politics feel urgent and personal. For critics, he trafficked in inflammatory rhetoric about race, gender and immigration that stoked division.
“He didn’t just talk to young people — he gave them permission to think and fight differently,” said Maya Thompson, a former Turning Point volunteer who worked on campus outreach in 2022. “Whether you agreed with him or not, he made politics feel like something you could step into at 19.”
The Turning Point Machine
To understand Kirk’s influence, watch a Turning Point event. Fans describe them as parts revival meeting, parts rock concert: speakers arrive to ear-splitting anthems, pyrotechnic surges of light, and crowds that chant as if at a sports stadium.
“Imagine a political pep rally turned up to eleven,” a political science lecturer at BYU told me. “The aesthetics are engineered to hook you—the lighting, the jokes, the crowd dynamics. It’s about identity as much as ideology.”
Across Oceans: From Tokyo to Orem
In the week before his death, Kirk’s itinerary read like a map of a growing global conservative network: he was the headline speaker in Tokyo at an event organized by Sanseito, a political party that made notable gains in Japan’s July upper house election. He also spoke in South Korea, where conservative movements are increasingly looking to each other for strategy and morale.
“We are not isolated,” Kirk once told a packed hall abroad, according to a participant at the Tokyo event. “This is an international conversation about culture, identity and policy.” Whether lauded or criticized, his message traveled — not just across media, but across environments and borders.
Controversy: Line-Testing and Crossed Boundaries
Kirk’s rise did not occur in a vacuum. He frequently tested lines of decorum and decency, drawing sustained criticism for remarks about Muslim politicians and for invoking theories about demographic change in racially charged terms.
“He pushed buttons on purpose,” said Leila Farouk, a Minneapolis community organizer. “That’s how he stayed relevant. But the rhetoric had real-world consequences — it made people feel unsafe in classrooms and neighborhoods.”
Those who studied radicalization and online persuasion noted that Kirk’s methods mirrored a larger shift in political communication: short, viral bursts of outrage that amplify solidarity among followers while sharpening antagonism toward opponents.
“We need to look at the structure, not just the sound bites,” said Dr. Aaron Belmont, who researches digital political movements. “This was an influencer economy meeting hard politics. It turns attention into action, and action into votes.”
A Small, Ordinary Family Life
Behind the public persona was an ordinary, intimate domestic life. Kirk is survived by his wife, Erika — a former Miss Arizona USA — and their two children. Friends describe a man who could be warm and genial in private.
“He loved his kids fiercely,” a family friend told me. “When he wasn’t on stage, he was a dad who would play castles and dinosaurs for hours.” These portraits complicate the caricatures: a man who could be both a household presence and a national provocateur.
What This Moment Means
So what do we do with a death that feels both private and public? How should communities digest grief that is tangled up with politics? The questions extend beyond Orem. They ripple through college quads, legislative chambers, comment sections and kitchen tables around the world.
Some will use this moment to eulogize a strategist who reshaped youth politics; others will see it as a prompt for hard conversations about the rhetoric that frames civic life. Both are, in their ways, necessary. Grief and critique can coexist.
“We cannot pretend he’s a single-story figure,” said Professor Belmont. “He changed the game in how young people get recruited, and we should study that without sanctifying or vilifying him without nuance.”
Voices from the Crowd
“I came because I wanted to feel part of something,” said Jordan, a 20-year-old student who attended many Turning Point events. “Politics felt lonely before. He made it loud and visible.”
“We were protesting his visit,” added Asha, a community activist who countered events with signs and chants. “But seeing people who disagreed with me panic after the shooting — that was the moment I realized the toll of this culture of confrontation.”
Looking Forward
Whether Turning Point USA continues in the same form, or whether other leaders emerge to carry its mantle, is a question for the months ahead. Trump ordered flags at half-staff in Kirk’s honor — a symbolic gesture that underscores the political bonds that linked them.
Those who study political movements say the truly consequential work is quieter: rebuilding civic spaces where disagreement doesn’t have to be performative, and where young people can be trained in argumentation rather than just mobilized for spectacle.
So I ask you, reader: where do we draw the line between fervor and fury? Between mobilizing energy and stoking enmity? If politics is a kind of storytelling, what stories do we want to teach our children to tell about each other?
The loss in Orem is raw. It is a personal tragedy and a political inflection point. For communities that were once animated by his rallies — for those who loved him, those who loathed him, and those who simply want safer streets and saner conversations — the next chapters will test how we reckon with charisma, conflict, and consequence in an age when ideas travel faster than ever.
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